Flavian Epic Interactions 3110314274, 9783110314274

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Flavian Epic Interactions

Trends in Classics – Supplementary Volumes

Edited by Franco Montanari and Antonios Rengakos Scientific Committee Alberto Bernabé · Margarethe Billerbeck Claude Calame · Philip R. Hardie · Stephen J. Harrison Stephen Hinds · Richard Hunter · Christina Kraus Giuseppe Mastromarco · Gregory Nagy Theodore D. Papanghelis · Giusto Picone Kurt Raaflaub · Bernhard Zimmermann

Volume 

Flavian Epic Interactions Edited by Gesine Manuwald and Astrid Voigt

DE GRUYTER

ISBN ---- e-ISBN ---- ISSN - Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data A CIP catalog record for this book has been applied for at the Library of Congress Bibliographic information published by the Deutsche Nationalbibliothek The Deutsche Nationalbibliothek lists this publication in the Deutsche Nationalbibliografie; detailed bibliographic data are available in the Internet at http://dnb.dnb.de. ©  Walter de Gruyter GmbH, Berlin/Boston Logo: Christopher Schneider, Laufen Printing: Hubert & Co. GmbH & Co. KG, Göttingen ♾ Printed on acid-free paper Printed in Germany www.degruyter.com

Preface and acknowledgements Most of the papers in this volume were originally delivered at the conference ‘Flavian Epic Interactions’ held at University College London on 23 and 24 June 2011. This conference was organized by the Flavian Epic Network and generously sponsored by the Department of Greek and Latin at University College London, the Institute of Classical Studies in London, the Classical Association in the UK and the home institutions of several of the speakers. A brief report about the conference appeared in Bollettino di studi latini (41.2, 2011, 809 – 811). Some of the papers delivered at the conference have appeared elsewhere, while those published here have been supplemented by a few additional ones, some by people who were unable to attend the conference and some specifically commissioned for this volume to ensure a good coverage of topics and approaches. We are grateful to the editors of ‘Trends in Classics’ for accepting this volume for the series: ‘Trends in Classics’ is an excellent home for this collection of papers, since they show how the study of Flavian epic is moving on by considering the connections between the three poets and their works. Thanks are also due to the anonymous readers for the press, who have made a number of very helpful suggestions on the shape of the volume as a whole as well as on individual articles. Katrin Hofmann and Maria Erge at De Gruyter have supported the project from the start and were excellent collaborators in the publication process. Just as at the original conference, contributors range from advanced PhD students to senior scholars; all of them, in their own ways, have new and exciting ideas on Flavian epic to offer. The editors have imposed a certain level of standardization of formalities to ensure consistency across the volume, but contributions have been allowed to maintain their distinctive styles and some of the conventions that go with them. Everybody involved in creating this volume was very cooperative and patient; hence the editing process was very pleasant and a true ‘interactive’ enterprise! London, January 2013

G. M. / A. V.

Contents Preface and acknowledgements

V

Gesine Manuwald / Astrid Voigt Flavian epic interactions 1 Part I Flavian Epic Politics Marcus Wilson The Flavian Punica?

13

John Penwill Imperial encomia in Flavian epic

29

Daniela Galli Recusatio in Flavian epic poetry Valerius Flaccus’ Argonautica (1.7 – 21) and Statius’ 55 Thebaid (1.17 – 33) Bruce Gibson Praise in Flavian epic

67

Federica Bessone Critical interactions Constructing heroic models and imperial ideology in Flavian epic Marco Fucecchi Looking for the Giants Mythological imagery and discourse on power in Flavian epic Part II Flavian Epic Themes and Techniques Philip Hardie Flavian epic and the sublime

125

87

107

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Neil W. Bernstein Distat opus nostrum, sed fontibus exit ab isdem 139 Declamation and Flavian epic Antony Augoustakis Teichoskopia and katabasis The poetics of spectatorship in Flavian epic Martin T. Dinter Slavery in Flavian epic

157

177

Cecilia Criado The contradictions of Valerius’ and Statius’ Jupiter Power and weakness of the supreme god in the epic and tragic 195 tradition Stephen Harrison Proleptic ekphrasis in Flavian epic Valerius Flaccus and Statius

215

Christiane Reitz Does mass matter? The epic catalogue of troops as narrative and metapoetic device

229

Part III Flavian Epic Intertextuality Dániel Kozák Traces of the Argo Statius’ Achilleid 1 and Valerius’ Argonautica 1 – 2 Mark Heerink Silius versus Valerius Orpheus in the Punica and the Argonautica

247

267

Joy Littlewood invida fata piis? Exploring the significance of Silius’ divergence from the night raids of Virgil and Statius 279

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Raymond Marks The Thebaid and the fall of Saguntum in Punica 2 Anke Walter Beginning at the end Silius Italicus and the desolation of Thebes

297

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Michiel van der Keur Of corpses, carnivores and Cecropian pyres Funeral rites in Silius and Statius 327 Jean-Michel Hulls ‘Well stored with subtle wiles’ Pyrene, Psamathe and the Flavian art of interaction

343

Jörn Soerink Statius, Silius Italicus and the snake pit of intertextuality Pramit Chaudhuri Flaminius’ failure? Intertextual characterization in Silius Italicus and Statius Bibliography

399

Index of names and subjects Index of epic passages

435

425

361

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Flavian epic interactions The studies on Flavian Epic Interactions in the current volume form part of a major scholarly enterprise that has taken place in the field of Classics over the last two decades, namely to rehabilitate and emancipate the epic poems by Valerius Flaccus, Statius and Silius Italicus within the history and scholarship of Latin literature. One marker of the beginning of this enterprise is Philip Hardie’s book The epic successors of Virgil (1993). This study provides insights into the ways in which post-Virgilian epic poets engage creatively and dynamically with their literary heritage.¹ Hardie defines the tradition of Roman epic through certain structural patterns characterizing Virgil’s Aeneid (partly developing aspects present already in the Homeric poems) and then shows how Valerius Flaccus’ Argonautica, Statius’ Thebaid and Achilleid and Silius Italicus’ Punica, together with the earlier epic poems by Ovid and Lucan, respond to or develop contradictions and tensions underlying these patterns in their Virgilian formulation. Similarly influential in the reversal of scholarly condescension towards the Flavian epic poets, but slightly less evenly weighted in its consideration of Valerius, Statius and Silius, is Denis Feeney’s book The gods in epic (1991).² Feeney examines the role of the gods in the Greek and Roman tradition of epic poetry, considering the intellectual environment of their presentation and reception as well as their fictional status in both historical and mythical epic. Since then a wealth of translations and commentaries, but also of individual studies and eventually companions to each of the poets, the modern hallmark of status in the scholarly industry, have appeared or are being prepared.³ While this spadework is still going on, it becomes gradually possible and also appears as the logical next step to examine the Flavian epic poems as a group and find out how they relate to each other. Especially in the last decade and a half aspects shared by at least two of the Flavian epic poems have become the subject of substantial studies.⁴ So, in relation to the beginning of the enterprise, the question has slightly broadened from how the epic poems by Valerius, Statius and Silius

 P. Hardie 1993; see also P. Hardie 1990a.  Feeney 1991. Also important, but less influential are the earlier studies by Juhnke 1972 and Schubert 1984 as well as the later one by Keith 2000.  Silius Italicus: Augoustakis 2009; Statius: in preparation; Valerius Flaccus: in preparation; Latin epic, 14– 96 CE: in preparation; see also ancient epic: Foley 2005; Lucan: Asso 2011.  Note especially McGuire 1997; Ripoll 1998a; Cowan 2003; Bernstein 2008; Augoustakis 2010.

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relate to their epic predecessors to how they engage with certain themes as a group. Increasingly, their shared contemporary background comes into view. No longer are they mainly considered as poems of the late first century CE, but they are more distinctly perceived as a group that can be assumed to participate in the same cultural and, more specifically, political and literary discourses of the Flavian dynasty.⁵ This shift signals the full emancipation of Flavian epic poetry. Classical scholars now aim to explore these poems in their own era and accord them their own space and value in the history of Latin literature. In some respects the Flavian epic poets share a good part of this process of emancipation with Flavian poetry in general or even the Flavian era as a whole. The recent collections of essays on Flavian Rome, Flavian Poetry or media strategies in the Flavian era are testimony to this and to a certain extent can be regarded as forerunners of the present collection.⁶ However, in contrast to these preceding concerted critical efforts, the scope of this volume is more specifically defined by the focus on the epic genre. The underlying assumption is that each individual poet’s decision to write in the genre of epic guarantees uniformity of some sort and that this makes it worthwhile to examine the poems by Valerius, Statius and Silius as a group of texts, taking advantage of the unique fact in Latin literary history of several extant epics from roughly the same period. In addition to the Virgilian matrix (as explored by Hardie) or the divine apparatus inherited from Homer (as investigated by Feeney), one of the main aspects that defines the Flavian epic poems is the need to respond to the question of how to create a space for themselves in the imperial discourse of the Flavian dynasty. While this question is a challenge for any piece of poetry in the Flavian era, it is more intricately bound up with the choice of a genre that, certainly in the Roman tradition, is the primary vehicle for panegyric and carries the request for the poet to commemorate a patron’s exploits. Put differently, because the choice of the epic genre may imply the promise of imperial panegyric or at least ideological affinities to the imperial form of political power,⁷ the question arises of how this promise is fulfilled or how these affinities are expressed.

 Flavian epic, of course, has always received its own section in literary histories (e. g. Vessey 1982b). However, the treatment in those accounts is still informed by a certain lack of appreciation for the epics of the Flavian poets on their own terms and ‘Flavian’ does not appear to be more than a shorthand for their shared (if complex) chronology. Conte (1994, 481– 496) makes first attempts at determining what is distinctly Flavian about these poems.  Boyle / Dominik 2003; Nauta / van Dam / Smolenaars 2006; Kramer / Reitz 2010. For an early attempt at creating a more distinct space for Flavian literature on the map of literary history see Boyle 1990.  P. Hardie 1993, xi.

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While the focus on one poetic genre (rather than poetry in general) in the Flavian era perhaps seems to require little justification, the focus on an era that hardly spans thirty years in total and is not characterized by a significant change in the political system may appear more questionable. However, it seems that the following paradox is constitutive for Flavian epic poetry and the modern reading of it:⁸ on the one hand, Valerius, Statius and Silius compose their epic poems in a re-energized cultural climate. Especially Domitian had a particular interest in poetry.⁹ Most importantly, as emperor he resumed Nero’s transformation of imperial patronage into a means of public support for poets. In particular, he made literary contests an integral part of the two festivals that he founded during his reign: the Capitolia, held once in four years in Rome, and the annual Alban Festival, held on his Alban estate.¹⁰ These festivals were partly modelled on the games of the Greek east, which had attracted poetic talents for centuries. Especially the institution of the Capitolia, with its architectural innovation of public performance space, the Odeum,¹¹ stimulated the poetic production of the Roman west. On the other hand, the Flavian era is a time of pervasive imperial control and extreme political suppression. Particularly under Domitian, ideologically opposed intellectuals were executed or banished until any voices of dissent were successfully silenced.¹² In such a climate panegyric becomes the compulsory mode of poetic expression, and the feeling of anxiety is bound to engender more or less genuine responses to the emperor’s attempts at co-opting poetry into the construction and promotion of his selfimage. At least on the surface these responses will appear to be conformist. Of the three Flavian epic poets, we know with certainty that Statius participated in the poetic contests of the games initiated by Domitian and that performances of his epic poem Thebaid were popular at the time. He is also the one who

 For a comprehensive effort to see the period of the Flavian emperors as an era that can be meaningfully separated from the preceding Julio-Claudian dynasty, including the turmoil after Nero’s death, and the following period of the adoptive emperors, see Boyle 2003.  On Domitian’s relationship to literature see Coleman 1986. She characterizes the literature of Domitian’s period as “determined by two opposing attitudes on the part of the emperor: concern for literature and a tendency to smother it” (3115). This characterization coincides with the paradox described here as constitutive for the Flavian epic poems.  See e. g. A. Hardie 1983, 46 – 47; 2003; Nauta 2002, 328 – 335.  See A. Hardie 2003, 130 – 133.  See e. g. Coleman 1986; Penwill 2003. – Of course, evidence for Domitian’s reign comes largely from later testimonies. The historiographical accounts by Tacitus and Suetonius in particular have been considered problematic because of their senatorial bias and also the need to denigrate the last emperor of the preceding dynasty in order to present the contemporary emperor in a brighter light. On this debate see Wilson 2003.

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quite certainly seems to have gained favour at the imperial court at various points of his life.¹³ Rather than the Thebaid, the six poems addressed to Domitian in the Silvae as well as his earlier epic poem on Domitian’s military exploits, the lost De bello Germanico, are testimony to this. Valerius Flaccus, of whose life we know little, paid homage to Vespasian in the proem to the Argonautica. Silius Italicus, in turn, starting to write his Punica in his retirement in Naples after a long life spent in public affairs, will have been independent from patronage at this stage. On the contrary, he himself may have provided support for aspiring young poets.¹⁴ Nevertheless, in the Punica the military exploits of Vespasian, Titus and Domitian form the culmination of Jupiter’s prophecy on the destiny of the Roman empire (Sil. Pun. 3.594– 629), though its role is disputed; and the buzzing climate of poetic production will have affected Silius in the literary hotspot of Naples. Still, in comparison with the Augustan era, the time of the Flavian dynasty is less clearly characterized by optimism born from a sense of relief after an extended period of civil war (despite the Flavian resolution to the turmoil of 69 CE), nor does it promote as pronounced a value system or manifest the same euphoria about the culmination of universal history.¹⁵ So one might question the value of the term ‘Flavian’ in relation to the four epic poems whose interactions are under scrutiny in this current volume. What does one gain from this term in comparison to (say) the term ‘Silver Latin epic’ which has been applied to them previously? The problem of the periodization of literature according to political history is discussed in the contribution by Marcus Wilson in this volume. Wilson calls into question the applicability of the very term ‘Flavian’ to the poem on the Second Punic War by Silius Italicus. At the beginning of the first section on Flavian Epic Politics he re-evaluates the political significance of Silius’ Punica in a fundamental way. Emphasizing Silius’ longevity, he argues that the formative period of the Punica should be located in the Neronian rather than the Flavian era and more generally calls into question a historicist approach to the poem, postulating instead its ‘transhistorical significance and value’ (p. 22). Marcus Wilson’s paper stands at the beginning of this collection in order to be an apt reminder of the problems that are intricately bound up with an attempt at periodization of literature. Firstly, the term ‘Flavian’ and its association with the political history of Rome at the time of Vespasian, Titus and Domitian may

 See A. Hardie 1983, 66.  See Coleman 1986, 3103; Leigh 2000, 480.  See Boyle 2003, 32.

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overemphasize the historical determination of poems that are to a high degree defined by the tradition of the epic genre and of Greek and Roman literature more generally. Secondly, the term ‘Flavian’ will not necessarily be able to convey all aspects of the identity of either poem or poet and this is especially true of Silius Italicus and his poem, the Punica. With respect to Silius, however, especially the contributions in the sections on Flavian Epic Politics and Flavian Epic Intertextuality, suggest that the phase of revision and recitation in advance of publication may well have left traces in the poem and that there are at least some aspects of Silius’ poem that can profitably be called ‘Flavian’. What contributions have to say on Silius in the first section on Flavian Epic Politics shows that the way in which his poem engages with the epic discourse on (imperial) power and civil war shares features that can be identified as distinctly Flavian with at least one other of the Flavian epic poems. The majority of contributions in the section on Flavian Epic Intertextuality, in turn, indicate ways in which Silius’ poem displays signs of genuine interaction with at least one other of the Flavian poems. Altogether these papers show that Silius’ Italicus Punica can be called Flavian in the sense that specific contemporary circumstances have changed some of the poem’s aspects and our reading of these in a significant way. Moreover, with respect to all of the four epic poems of the Flavian era, written or completed within the same span of not more than a decade or two, the contributions collected in this volume together will reveal a determined engagement of these poems with contemporary Flavian circumstances including imperial power and literary practice. While the term ‘Silver Latin epic’ implies a focus on literary tradition and includes the notion of decline, the current volume will explore what it is that is distinctly ‘Flavian’ about these poems and how they can, therefore, claim a distinct place in the history of the epic genre, individually and collectively. After Wilson’s challenge to a historicist approach, the main focus in the first section of the volume on Flavian Epic Politics is on how Flavian epic poems engage with their political environment.¹⁶ The fact that this environment is characterized by increasing imperial autocracy and political oppression necessitates a sensitive approach. The expression of dissent in Flavian poetry, if at all attempted, will always be veiled or mediated, and the endeavour to find traces of this in the epic poems, so much at the heart of our modern political sensibilities, needs special methodological justification. There are only a few instances in the Flavi-

 This question has been explored previously by MacDonald 1971 and McGuire 1997. See Dominik 1994a on the political criticism implicit in Statius’ Thebaid.

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an epic poems where the contemporary context or the emperor himself is addressed directly. However, it is clear that panegyric disingenuousness was entirely plausible for contemporaries. Dio Chrysostom, for example, speaks of Domitian’s reign as one where ‘because of fear everyone felt they had to lie’ (Or. 3.13).¹⁷ So even these explicit references do not necessarily allow for an unequivocal reading.¹⁸ Any attempt going beyond those explicit references in order to answer the question of how the Flavian epic poets engaged with their political environment will have to rely on an allegorical or figurative reading of their poems. Of course, where it tries to ascertain a certain subversive quality of the poems, this kind of reading may first and foremost originate in the modern desire to marry art and intellectual freedom. However, ancient poets and readers share the assumption of a hidden meaning in literature. Quintilian’s contemporary discussion of emphasis (Inst. 9.2.64 – 67) may serve as one testimony for at least the possibility of this practice under the Flavian emperors.¹⁹ Emphasis is a rhetorical figure enabling speakers / poets to express themselves in a veiled manner. Whatever is hidden needs to be found by the recipient. The explicit advantage of this figure is that it allows anyone to speak in circumstances that are unsafe, such as that of open criticism of a tyrant.²⁰ Another testimony to the common assumption of a hidden meaning in literature may be found in another work from this period, Tacitus’ Dialogus de oratoribus, where it is discussed how the Republican theme of a contemporary tragedy can be read as the “mediated expression of dissent” at the time of the Flavian dynasty.²¹ However, figurative reading can also be made fruitful for an optimistic interpretation, and the debate about the degree to which Flavian epic poets engage critically with their political environment is ongoing. The problem is a hermeneutic one: we will never be able to make a statement with absolute certainty, but we can collect and present evidence in order to advance a case for one or the other side. In fact, the ambivalence of the matter and the impossibility of coming to an unequivocal conclusion is perhaps in itself the most adequate description of the Flavian epic poems, and readers should not let themselves be forced to make a decision between a conformist / panegyric and a non-conformist / subversive reading of these epic poems. Rather, both the panegyric and the emphati-

    

Quoted from Penwill 2003, 358. See especially Penwill in this volume. See further Ahl 1984a. See further Penwill in this volume. Leigh 2000, esp. 468 – 469. Cf. also McGuire 1997, 10 – 11, 27.

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cally critical may well be present in the same piece of literature, but readers may at any one time only be able to follow one or the other reading through.²² This explains why the contributions on Flavian Epic Politics sometimes come to different conclusions on individual aspects; yet altogether they are able to offer a more comprehensive view by looking at several authors in context. This can help to identify standard practices of the time and also alert readers to subtle differences in the poet’s approach to panegyric, which may make all the difference. In particular, there are three papers that in one way or another engage with the motif of praise and the problem of its genuineness. John Penwill presents an emphatic reading of the panegyric passages of all three Flavian epic poets, considering their context, their intertexts and, in particular, the way in which they evoke Lucan as the paradigmatic example of an epic poem about the civil war, and thereby the civil war of 69 CE. Daniela Galli, in turn, analyses the ways in which Valerius Flaccus and Statius combine the topos of recusatio, especially popular with the Augustan poets as a means to decline the demands of a patron for a panegyric epic, with imperial praise and what this practice may reveal about the poets’ respective relationship to the Flavian imperial court. Bruce Gibson examines the presentation of praise in Flavian epic poetry, including an example from Statius, apt to suggest the possibility of disingenuous praise and thereby able to tinge the perception of praise in these poems in general. These papers are thrown into relief by two papers that propose a more optimistic reading of the Flavian epic poems: Federica Bessone’s focus is on Silius Italicus’ Punica and Statius’ Thebaid and on the heroes who dominate the respective endings of the poems. While using intertextuality (according to her the preferred method of pessimistic readings) to support many of her points, she makes a strong case for acknowledging the significant features of the macrostructure of both poems and their right to imperial partisanship. Marco Fucecchi examines the use of the myth of gigantomachy and the way in which this myth, whose presentation is always resonant of contemporary power structures, is reformulated in the Flavian epic poems. Contributions on Flavian Epic Themes and Techniques in the second section continue the important task of examining standard epic motifs and devices that are shared by at least two of the poems and are able to provide examples of a distinct Flavian treatment. Philip Hardie’s paper on the sublime introduces this section paradigmatically. With a focus on “the continuing presence of Lucre-

 This ambivalence is perhaps similar to the one that is at the heart of Carole Newlands’ work on Statius’ Silvae. See e. g. Newlands 2002, 17: “The Silvae … as poetry of praise … encompass anxiety as well as celebration.”

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tius as a source of the Flavian sublime” (p. 130), his paper reveals how the sublime in its different kinds can serve as a prime example to illustrate, on the one hand, the indebtedness of the Flavian epic poets to the preceding tradition of epic poetry and, on the other, how the three Flavian epic poets share an approach to the sublime that liberates them from this tradition. Neil W. Bernstein considers the various situations and topoi that shape speeches in the epic poems in the context of the exercises that formed the basis of the training of the Roman male elite. Other themes examined in this section are that of spectatorship and gender in Antony Augoustakis’ paper on teichoskopia and katabasis; slavery in Martin Dinter’s on Valerius Flaccus, Statius and, in particular, Silius Italicus; and the weight of the literary tradition on the presentation of the supreme god in Valerius’ Argonautica and Statius’ Thebaid in Cecilia Criado’s. Two of the papers in this section show that there is clear continuation and development of epic devices like the catalogue analysed by Christiane Reitz and the use of ekphrasis as prolepsis, which is very pronounced in the poems of Valerius and Statius as Stephen Harrison is able to show. Most important for a consideration of the four epic poems by Valerius Flaccus, Statius and Silius Italicus is the final section on Flavian Epic Intertextuality. The contributions here examine how the Flavian epic poems interact with each other when they make use of each other as intertexts. This aspect is hitherto almost unexplored, and this final section thus lends a new quality to the emancipation of Flavian epic poetry from its subordination to its predecessors. The contributions in this section focus on this new aspect and do so in various and intriguing ways. Taken together the papers in this section explore several different traits of Flavian epic intertextuality: amongst them are features of intertextual composition, such as the self-conscious display of secondariness and the dialogic relationship to a different text, which are common to intertextual practice elsewhere in Latin poetry. In particular, Dániel Kozák shows how the self-conscious display of secondariness in Statius’ Achilleid is exploited for sophisticated intertextual games; Anke Walter argues that Silius fashions himself as the epic successor of Statius, equally self-consciously and with the same sophistication. Joy Littlewood and Michiel van der Keur explore how Silius engages in a dialogue with Statius’ Thebaid and thereby adds a further level of meaning to his poem. Other papers reveal features of intertextuality that appear to be more peculiar to Flavian epic and are observed less elsewhere: the first of these results from the notable fact that at least to a certain extent the composition of some of these poems may have overlapped in time. This invites us to consider the possibility that the intertextual relationship between the Flavian epic poems is not so much a relationship between a preceding and a succeeding text, but rather a re-

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lationship between texts in the making. Put differently, the composition of one individual poem may have responded to parts of another poem in the making when they were made available to the Roman literary public in advance of the completion of the whole. In this peculiar situation lies the opportunity for genuine interaction between the epic poems. The papers of Raymond Marks and JeanMichel Hulls respond to this invitation and take the possible interaction between Silius Italicus’ Punica and Statius’ Thebaid as their point of departure. Similarly with the difficulties in establishing a certain chronology of Silius’ and Statius’ poems in mind, Jörn Soerink reflects on two passages from the Punica and the Thebaid and shows how nevertheless one can shed light on the other even on a micro-textual level. Equally peculiar to Flavian epic intertextuality appears to be the fact that acknowledgement through verbatim allusion is often missing and the intertextual relationship is constituted rather through the use of types and topoi as well as parallels of a more general nature. While to a certain extent this is standard practice in generic composition, the intertextual quality in these cases is gained from the way in which the use of types and topoi or parallels and their combination achieve particular significance in the poems. Just as Hulls in his exploration of Psamathe in Statius’ Thebaid and Pyrene in Silius’ Punica and to a great extent Marks in his paper about connections between Saguntum in the Punica and Thebes in the Thebaid, so does Pramit Chaudhuri take this approach when examining the intertextual characterization of Flaminius in Silius’ epic poem through Capaneus in Statius’ Thebaid. In this context, Mark Heerink, in his paper on Orpheus in Valerius Flaccus’ Argonautica and Silius’ Punica, suggests Silius’ poetological disagreement with Valerius, manifested in his preference for historical over mythological epic poetry, as an explanation of this covert and in some ways paradoxical intertextuality. Flavian epic poems are defined by their position in the literary tradition and could not be thought of without reference to Virgil or Homer. At the same time Valerius Flaccus’ Argonautica, Statius’ Thebaid and Achilleid and Silius Italicus’ Punica can claim a place of their own in literary history, individually and as a group, and their sophistication goes far beyond their engagement with the defining works of the epic genre. Instead, ‘Flavian epic interactions’ reveal a lively and varied literary practice and a determined engagement with the contemporary Flavian framework. However, it is also clear (and desirable) that more colours and pieces will be added to this kaleidoscopic picture of ‘Flavian epic interactions’.

Part I Flavian Epic Politics

Marcus Wilson

The Flavian Punica? While the current revival of interest in ‘Flavian epic’ has undoubtedly been productive of valuable and novel insights into the works of Statius, Valerius Flaccus and Silius Italicus, the very designation ‘Flavian’ cannot be assumed to be an innocent shorthand reference to date, for it imports with it a certain historicist methodology that primarily directs critical attention to the relation of each poet to the Flavian emperors and to other poets, writers and cultural and ideological movements of the Flavian era. The three epic poets, as a result of being classed together under the ‘Flavian’ banner, are thereby defined as a group sharing common features that distinguish them from other Roman poets writing earlier or later. Of the three, it is Tiberius Catius Asconius Silius Italicus¹ whose relation to the other two and to Flavian culture generally is most problematic. He belonged, in the first place, to an older generation than Statius and Valerius; secondly his sole passage of poetry that refers to the Flavian emperors occupies a far smaller proportion of his work than do the equivalent passages in the Thebaid and Argonautica, and it is dislocated from the beginning of the work and placed in a much less prominent position in book 3; and, thirdly, the relatively abundant information about his life indicates that, at least in his later years, he chose to isolate himself from the city of Rome and its current political and ideological climate. In the argument that follows I shall explore the dangers and limitations of an approach to the Punica that seeks to identify it too closely with the Flavian cultural environment. When I query the accuracy of the designation of the Punica as ‘Flavian’, I am doing so not in the weak sense of merely indicating there are non-Flavian elements in the poem, which is obvious, but in the strong sense, to assert that the poem is in certain fundamental ways non-Flavian and that to come at it too rigidly as a piece of Flavian writing or a product of Flavian culture is to mischaracterise it from the outset and to trip up even before beginning to analyse or comment upon it. There are three main planks to the argument I wish to make: first, that while it may be useful in other circumstances, the historicising approach is singularly inappropriate to the understanding of the Punica, a violation of the way the text invites us to read it. Secondly, if one does insist on historicising it in relation to a particular imperial dynasty or emperor, it might be argued that recent scholarship has chosen the wrong one. The most relevant period to focus on in order  For the full name as recorded in an inscription, see Calder / Cormack 1962, 76, no. 411.

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to make more sense of the poem may not be that of Domitian, but that of Nero. Thirdly, the political significance of the poem lies not in what it says about the author’s attitude to Domitian, but what it says about his experience of multiple emperors, successive imperial dynasties and the shifting conditions of political life in the second half of the first century. If anything is beyond dispute in the scholarship on Silius Italicus, it is that he is, as a poet, imbued with the epic tradition, unremitting in his allusion to Homer, Ennius and above all Virgil. Most famously it was T.S. Eliot who envisaged the mental state and cultural situation of the ‘traditional’ poet. Such a writer carries, he says in Tradition and the Individual Talent, a perception ‘not only of the pastness of the past, but of its presence’. To Eliot, this, not the confinement of a writer to the narrowed context of the time of writing or publication, is to give due regard to the ‘historical’. The historical sense compels a man to write not merely with his own generation in his bones, but with a feeling that the whole of the literature of Europe from Homer and within it the whole of the literature of his own country has a simultaneous existence and composes a simultaneous order. This historical sense, which is a sense of the timeless as well as of the temporal and of the timeless and the temporal together, is what makes a writer traditional.²

If any writer in the history of literature can be claimed to have turned Eliot’s vision into a lived reality, that writer must be the author of the Punica. His poem embodies the presence of earlier writers, both poets and historians, on every page, and from what we know of his self-created and self-reflexive working environment, he was surrounded by the images and works of the Greek and Roman literary figures he more than admired. This lifestyle, which we know from the letter of Pliny (3.7),³ is not just a matter of how and where Silius Italicus lived, but of how and where he eventually chose not to live: he stayed away from Rome and the imperial court; even before his withdrawal to Campania he avoided exercising obvious influence and so also avoided incurring envy (sine potentia, sine invidia).⁴ If we take seriously the historical evidence supplied by Pliny, it leads to the conclusion that Silius did everything he could to dehistoricise himself. Pliny is also at pains to make the point that Silius belonged to a different generation from Pliny himself and Pliny’s readers.

 Eliot 1951, 14. The concept Eliot articulated seems particularly applicable to writers of so traditional a genre as epic. It also forms part of the theoretical foundation for ‘intertextuality’ as a modern critical methodology.  multum ubique librorum, multum statuarum, multum imaginum … habebat.  Pliny, Ep. 3.7.4.

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We know with a fair degree of accuracy the chronology of Silius’ life and career, though there remain some frustrating uncertainties on some unresolved questions as to his place of birth,⁵ the date of his service as proconsular governor of Asia,⁶ and the precise year of his abandonment of Rome for Campania. While there may be some minor question about the precise year of his birth (25 or 26 CE), it makes little difference here. If we take it as 25 CE (as most do), he was 56 years of age when Domitian became emperor. Domitian was the tenth emperor under whom Silius had lived. Silius was more than 10 years older than Nero and was in his late twenties when the teenaged Nero succeeded Claudius. Silius was already 23 when Statius was born. Silius was born 14 years before Lucan. It seems to me that people do not discover their literary taste or personal attitudes or cultural values between the ages of 56 and 76. If we are determined to tag Silius with an imperial epithet, there is an equally compelling and possibly much better case for calling him a Neronian poet than a Flavian one. In other words, the point is not when he eventually published the Punica, perhaps not even when he was writing it, but when his literary taste and poetic ideas were formed. First there is the external evidence of Pliny. What he emphasises above all in his obituary letter is that Silius is a hangover from the Neronian era. That was when his slightly dubious reputation (in Pliny’s eyes, at least) was acquired. He was the last person made consul under Nero. He was the last Neronian consul to die. He was consul in the last year of Nero’s life. Furthermore, as is well recognised, Silius differs from the ‘Flavian’ poets, Statius and Valerius Flaccus, in choosing to write historical rather than mythological epic. It was in the time of Nero that interest in historical epic was at its height. According to Dio (67.29.2– 3) the emperor himself became enthused by the idea of writing an epic that embraced all of Roman history, holding discussions with various people, particularly about the scope of the project. We have surviving two historical bellum civile poems from that time, Lucan’s more celebrated work and the 400-line poem on the same subject in the Satyricon. The latter is preceded by

 For his place of birth see Campbell 1936, and the comments of Dominik 2009, 428 and Littlewood 2011, xv.  It has of late become commonplace to cite the date of the proconsulship as ‘c. 77’, yet this is speculative, vague and above all convenient for those who wish to push the composition of the poem out into the mid-Flavian period. Magie 1950, 1582, who cites all the evidence, guessed at some time in the years 70 – 73. Jones 1979, 67, gives a table of Proconsules Asiae for the years 70 – 96 CE that includes Silius (listed as being of north-Italian birth, and 77 as the year of office – with Pliny cited as the source!). In the absence of firm information, it seems specious to nominate any specific year, since the ‘circa’ covers such a lengthy period of time.

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a critical discourse on the approach that should be adopted by all those youthful poets embarking upon the composition of a historical epic narrative.⁷ The principal matter of contention concerns the role of the traditional divine machinery in a historical poem. As we know, Lucan took a stand (not fully realised) against it. The position given in the Satyricon is similar to that of T.S. Eliot, a keen reader of that work:⁸ the poet must be imbued with the tradition, immersed in the mighty flood of literature (ingenti flumine litterarum inundata), a pretty good description of Silius Italicus, when you think about it. Whoever takes up historical epic in particular must be plenus litteris or he will sink under the burden (sub onere labetur). Above all, the poet must make full use of allusion and the participation of the divine (per ambages deorumque ministeria).⁹ It is the context of this Neronian literary debate that makes better sense than does Domitianic literary culture of the most salient features of the Punica: its overdriven intertextuality and its almost excessive enthusiasm for intervention by the gods. Silius goes out of his way to do what Lucan did not. His invocation of the divine power of the Muse in the third line of Punica 1 is in itself a pointed rejection of the outraged undivine narratorial voice concocted by Lucan. In his poetics, I would suggest, Silius Italicus is a dyed-in-the-wool Petronian. But, it will no doubt be argued, Jupiter’s speech about the Flavians at Punica 3.594– 629 dates the poem to the time of Domitian.¹⁰ That does not follow at all. At best it dates the publication of the poem in its present form to that period. It says nothing about when Silius began writing it, let alone when it was first conceived. Nor does Pliny tell us anything about that, but only that Silius in later life read his poetry to invited audiences and engaged in a lengthy process of revision and improvement. All the attempts to date the actual composition of the poem

 The discussion in the Satyricon refers, of course, to a particular type of historical epic, on civil war (presumably with implied reference to Lucan), but the principles expounded are applicable to historical epic in general. The Punica itself has, in any case, a well-documented ‘civil war’ dimension, given that most of the conflict takes place in Italy, and parallels are set up within the narrative between Caesar and Hannibal. For this civil war flavour of the Punica, see Ahl / Davis / Pomeroy 1986; Dominik 2003, 492– 493; Marks 2009, 128 – 153; Tipping 2009, 197– 199; 2010, 36 – 41.  He quoted from Petr. Sat. 48, for instance, for the epigraph at the start of The Wasteland.  Petr. Sat. 118.  Martial 7.63 might be taken as further evidence. Yet Martial’s aim in this poem is to remind readers that the author of the Punica is not only a poet, but had also a record as a successful orator and a consul. It would be straining the meaning of the temporal clause non attigit ante … quam (5 – 6) to read it so narrowly as to exclude Silius from having any poetic interests prior to the accession of Vespasian. This epigram will be examined more closely below.

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are based on a modern misconception. ‘The Flavian references occur in book 3, so surely what comes in book 4 or book 17 must have been written later.’ Not at all. This is to apply anachronistically a modern approach to writing by linear composition that Roman poets did not habitually employ. In the Suetonian life of Virgil (23 – 24), we are told that the process for creating the Aeneid was as follows: prosa prius oratione formatam digestamque in XII libros particulatim componere instituit, prout liberet quidque, et nihil in ordinem arripiens. ac ne quid impetum moraretur, quaedam inperfecta transmisit, alia levissimis verbis veluti fulsit, quae per iocum pro tibicinibus interpoli aiebat ad sustinendum opus, donec solidae columnae advenirent. After writing a first draft in prose, it was then divided into twelve books. Then he proceeded to rewrite them in verse in no particular order, taking up whichever part he fancied at the time. So as not to restrict the flow of his thought, he would leave off some parts before completing them and bolster others with flimsy phrases, as he used jokingly to say, like props, to support the structure until he had time to come back and add the solid columns.

Irrespective of whether this was actually Virgil’s method (and I see no reason to doubt it), what is more important is that in the early empire this was believed to have been Virgil’s method. Given Silius’ well-attested devotion to Virgil and following of his example in so many other ways, it seems particularly unlikely that he would have eschewed Virgil’s method of non-sequential composition.¹¹ The passage on the Flavians in book 3 is extremely self-contained, such that it could be added, altered or replaced without damage to the coherence of the narrative of the Punica as a whole. That it is a late addition seems apparent from the failure to refer back to it or even acknowledge it explicitly anywhere in the following fourteen books. I know there are some who will say that there are subtle echoes and recollections of the passage later in the poem, especially in the portrayal of Scipio Africanus, but I find these strained and unconvincing and, as I shall explain below, I do not find persuasive the oft-postulated parallel between Scipio and Domitian. What is more pertinent is that in a poem that includes repeated backward references to the major episodes of Saguntum, Ticinus, Trebia, Trasimene and Cannae and even of the crossing of the Alps, there is no explicit recollection anywhere of the prediction of the Flavians made by Jupiter in book 3, even where the narrative could be said not only to invite but to demand it. The most obvious of

 Others have also pointed out the likelihood that Silius did not compose the verses or even books of the Punica in the order in which they occur in the final published version. See, for instance, von Albrecht 1999, 292; Fröhlich 2000.

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such situations are those where Jupiter again enters the action, notably at the end of book 12 and the end of book 17.¹² The poet’s failure to make any explicit connection with Domitian when his narrative reaches the point at which Jupiter from the Capitol repels three times the attacks of the Carthaginians (12.605 – 752) is remarkable, since the same god has previously commented on Domitian’s experience on the Capitol in 69 CE and subsequent restoration of the temple of Jupiter in book 3 (3.609 – 610, 623 – 624). Similarly, the speech of Jupiter prior to the battle of Zama at 17.341– 384, which in other respects recalls the earlier part of Jupiter’s speech in book 3 prior to Hannibal’s descent into Italy – both predict the fated dominance of Rome among nations (3.582– 590; 17.347– 349) –, fails utterly to refer to the second half of the earlier speech that predicts the eventual rise to power of the Flavians. The moment in book 3 at the end of Jupiter’s reply to Venus was, it seems to me, reserved for a panegyrical passage to be inserted, whoever might be in power at the time of publication.¹³ Its inclusion is almost certainly late. The postponement of the passage until after the narrative has been running already for two and a half books and the positioning of it in a transitional book, between Hannibal’s Spanish campaign and his first battles in Italy, conspire to deny it the prominence it would have had in the reader’s mind if it had been placed at the beginning of the poem and if it had been spoken in the narrator’s own voice.¹⁴ The most popular basis for a Flavian reading of the Punica is to argue for reflections of Domitian in the characterisation of Scipio. This argument, as noted above, I find implausible. It is possible to assert certain similarities, but these are selective and strained; they do not outweigh the differences of treatment, and Scipio is, in any case, not so dominant a figure in the poem that, even if there is a connection, it justifies interpreting the whole poem in line with it. Yes, both Domitian and Scipio celebrate triumphs, but Domitian’s tri-

 And, on the model of the Aeneid, readers might legitimately anticipate some further foreshadowing of the current imperial dynasty when Scipio visits the Underworld in book 13.  Silius by the end of his life had already seen 11 emperors come and go. He had been around long enough to know there was no guarantee the same emperor who was in power when he was beginning the Punica would still be in power when he completed it.  The brief mention at the end of book 14 of a vir who acted to curb the profiteering of provincial administrators is so non-specific it could be taken by any emperor to be a compliment to himself. Basing their argument on 5 words in Suetonius (Dom. 8.2), commentators have tried to read this as a compliment to Domitian. Then why not identify him specifically? In fact, it was the principate of Nero that the ancient historiographic sources indicate as the time when these abuses were brought under tighter official scrutiny and large numbers of governors were prosecuted for extortionate conduct while in office. See, for instance, Shotter 2008, 109 – 110.

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umph gets four lines in passing (3.614– 617) whereas Scipio’s is the climax of the whole poem, described in detail over 35 lines (17.629 – 654). Yes, if we compare the passage on Domitian with the final image of the victorious Scipio at the end of the poem, there are features in common: allusion to Bacchus, father imagery and elevation to divinity. But the same features are also found in the tribute to Fabius Maximus at the end of book 7. The main emphases in the Domitian passage do not match up with the presentation of Scipio at all. In the presentation of Domitian in book 3, he is the third in a series of one-man rulers after his father and his brother. There is no corresponding dynastic succession to supremacy in the state in the case of Scipio. The purported analogy between Domitian and Scipio depends on detaching the Domitian section from the wider Flavian panegyric and reading it in isolation. Great attention is given by Silius to Domitian’s writing of poetry (3.619 – 621). Scipio is not shown as a poet; he is not, like Domitian, attended by the Muses; nor is he said to be admired by Apollo; nor is he compared with Orpheus, as Domitian is. Domitian is given credit for his construction and architectural achievement in building the temple on the Capitol (3.622– 624), but Scipio lacks these imperial attainments. Nor, one might add, is Scipio accounted a begetter of gods, a brother of a god, or a ruler of a prosperous world with his fatherly authority (beatas | imperio terras patrio rege, 3.625 – 626). And the inconsistencies create obstacles equally in the other direction, where imagery attached to Scipio has no parallel in Domitian. Much is sometimes made of the reference to Quirinus in relation to both Domitian (3.627) and Scipio (17.651); but in the latter case Scipio is likened at the same time to Camillus, which has no counterpart in the Domitian passage. Scipio in triumph is compared with both Bacchus and Hercules (17.647– 650), but any Hercules connections that might be claimed by Domitian seem to have escaped Jupiter’s notice in his prophecy.¹⁵ If we were to look for a telling parallel between the presentation of Domitian and any other personage involved in the poem I do not think it is to be found in Scipio. Domitian is addressed as ‘Germanicus’ (3.607), but the more obvious parallel that is suggested for this ‘speaking name’ is not with Africanus (for which the reader would have to wait another fourteen and a half books to 17.626).¹⁶ If one allows for the possibility that Silius Italicus sometimes employs a degree of

 Scholarship can point to external sources for Domitian’s identification with Hercules (Marks 2005a, 222– 227; Klaassen 2009, 125 – 126; Tipping 2009, 213; 2010, 16 – 18), but this makes it even more remarkable that Jupiter in the Punica neglects to make the connection.  In fact, Scipio has not figured in the narrative at all when the reader arrives at Jupiter’s prophecy of Domitian.

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wit and humour, the gist of the message he sends to Domitian in book 3 may be summarised as follows: Italicus to Germanicus.¹⁷ Keep up your interest in poetry. But if you are truly serious about achieving immortality, you might need to turn to poetry full-time.

The passage on Domitian is structured in such a way that it moves from his public life to his activities as a poet, to his immortality.¹⁸ In this way his progress is shaped into an imitation of Silius’ own biography. The Roman epic tradition does, most conspicuously in the close of Ovid’s Metamorphoses, provide a precedent for the author to play on the implied parallel between the deification of an emperor and the immortality claimed by poets. The passage in book 3, far from historicising the Punica in the context of Flavian Rome, can be read as working in the opposite way, with Silius co-opting Domitian into his own world of poetic tradition, seeking cheekily to divert him from the political to the poetic path to fame. Even if one were to allow the existence of a symbolic code that reads Scipio as a harbinger of Domitianic rule, to take this as a guide to the purpose of the poem is to inflate massively the significance of Scipio in the action and thereby marginalise most of the epic. Scipio is not like Aeneas, who is a presence through every book of the Aeneid. The episodes in which Scipio is involved make up only 14.5 % of the poem (1,784 lines). In the first twelve books of the Punica, equivalent to most people’s idea of an epic-length poem, Scipio appears in episodes that account for only 48 lines. In other words, in a body of text equivalent in length to the Aeneid, it is an unbalanced interpretation that privileges one particular character who is absent from the reader’s notice for all but 48 lines. Of course, it is in the later four books (13, 15, 16 and 17) that Scipio comes into his own as the conqueror of Hannibal, so he happens to be the individual cele-

 ‘Italicus’ surely trumps ‘Germanicus’ in the prestige-name stakes; the humour forestalls any offence that might be taken by Domitian.  Suetonius (Dom. 2.2) records Domitian’s early attention to poetry, but claims it was feigned (simulavit … poeticae studium), and states further (20.1) that he skimped on the study of history and poetry. Jones 1992, 198, reads Domitian’s “interest in libraries and passion for literary contests, his knowledge of Homer and Virgil as well as his fondness for epigrammatic expression” as indicating that the pleasure he took in literature during the period prior to his assuming the role of princeps was genuine. See the discussion in Coleman 1986.

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brated in the conclusion. But it exaggerates his prominence to retroject it back into the first two thirds of the epic.¹⁹ If it is a distortion to privilege the limited portions of the epic that involve Scipio in the interpretation of the whole, it is even more of a distortion to take the isolated passage of 35 lines on the Flavians as a basis for imposing on the whole poem a Flavian reading. This represents all of 0.27% of the text. Yet the historicist approach is wholly dependent on treating these lines as uniquely illustrative of the poet’s purpose, as opposed to the 12,162 lines²⁰ that studiously redirect the reader’s mind away from the political circumstances of the late first century, back to the time of the Second Punic War. The text of the Punica offers relatively little support for critical attempts to historicise it as a product or reflection of Domitian’s Rome.²¹ Attempts to do so seem to me to be driven less by indications in the poem or in the external contemporary evidence of Pliny than by modern academic ideology, which is in thrall to historicism as the only approved source of meaning.²² Eliot’s image of the poet writing while virtually sequestered in a room with Homer, Virgil and Dante is not only seriously out of fashion, but seems almost unimaginable to our cynical 21st-century alertness to the determining conditions of political and economic power. If so, we, I fear, are the losers. There is a place, and an important one, for recognising in literary studies the intrusion of historical pressures on the writer. Yet, the degree to which individual works are determined by those pressures differs from artist to artist. Not all are equally prone. Silius Italicus is the least likely candidate for a reading grounded on the dynasty that happened to be in power in Rome when he finally published his epic. The case of the Punica illustrates particularly well the limitations of historicism, since the lifestyle of the poet and the extreme paucity of contemporary references in the text of his poem leave proponents of that method struggling desperately, to my mind, to manufacture connections on which to base their case, and disproportionately emphasising a few parts of the poem over the rest. To im Fabius and Marcellus between them account for a slightly larger number of lines than Scipio (Fabius 1041; Marcellus 868; total 1909).  Excluding also the five lines at the end of book 14.  Historicising the Punica as a reflection of Domitianic political culture is a hallmark of almost all current scholarship on the poem. It was explicitly stated as a primary aim by Marks 2005a, 209 – 211. Tipping 2009, 200 – 203; 2010 also follows closely this approach. See also Bernstein 2008.  A key condition for the historicist approach to Roman literature is wholly absent in the case of Silius, namely the subordination of the poet to the economic pressure to satisfy the demands of patronage. Silius was not only financially independent, but he was himself a patron of other poets, most notably of Martial (on which see Nauta 2002, 148 – 150).

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pugn the classification of the poem as ‘Flavian’ is by no means to relegate the poem to irrelevance or damn it as escapism. In fact, I would suggest that the conception of the Punica was very much something that emerged out of the intellectual and literary environment of Neronian Rome, and that the poem comments on the debates of that time as well as the entire epic tradition. Literature has its own history and evolutionary development distinct from the periodisation by emperor into which Roman political history is conventionally divided. Silius, as Pliny notes, did not go to Rome to attend the inauguration of the next emperor. Having seen eleven emperors come and go, he is likely to have been less enthused by the arrival of a twelfth than some of his less experienced contemporaries. The main detrimental effects on Silius Italicus studies of a too exclusive adherence to the ‘Flavian poet’ approach are typical of historicist interpretation in general. The very word ‘Flavian’ itself, of course, means we start off with a term that collapses into one the separate issues of date and political allegiance. As is typically the consequence of historicist methodologies, such an approach can make the poem less meaningful, more irrelevant and less likely to be read. It is not so much an opening up of historical meaning as a denial of the work’s transhistorical significance and value. It implies a minimalist conception of the poet’s projected readership, limiting it, in effect, to his contemporaries, if not to a small circle of contemporaries or, in the extreme case, to the emperor himself.²³ Yet Silius Italicus, whose poem shows him to be a reader of epic no less than a writer, places himself within an ongoing tradition in which the new ‘individual talent’ (to use Eliot’s phrase) anticipates becoming part of the tradition and being read by future generations. Designating Silius a ‘Flavian’ arguably misleads scholars into associating him too closely with poets of a different generation like Statius and Valerius Flaccus, with whom he had relatively little in common, and dissociating him from the literary generation to which he more naturally belonged. It elevates the immediate political referentiality of the poem, so far as it exists, and in the process occludes other categories of meaning, including more enduring moral and literary themes. It leads to an assumption that the primary purpose of the poem must be political. It radically changes the relation the modern scholar has to the poem. We are encouraged to approach it as out-

 As in the concluding sentences of Marks 2005a, 288: “A more plausible explanation, it seems to me, is that he composed the epic precisely in order that it be read with reference to and maybe by Domitian himself … The Punica, in short, was as much an epic for Domitian’s Rome as it was an epic about the Second Punic War. So much so that when Domitian died, it lost its ideal reader, its didactic purpose, and its raison d’être.”

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siders, as historians, viewing it from a distance as a historical artefact of an alien time, rather than viewing it as if we are the poem’s addressee, invited directly to respond to the poetry. We are denied Eliot’s sense of the presentness of past poetry. We have to read it as ‘Flavian’, not current. It is there to be scanned for its ‘Flavian’ implications, not read to be enjoyed. The ascription of a political or imperial or ideological rationale to the Punica then encourages a misapprehension of the poem’s tone: it is taken to be far more uniformly serious than it is. The further effect is to segregate and provincialise our own time from direct engagement with past literary traditions. Lastly, it turns literary study into a contingent and secondary sub-discipline dependent on political history. But the study of Roman political history itself provides no solid foundation, since it is itself plagued by shifts of fashion, by subjectivity, competing methodologies, the uneven application of scholarly rigour and a range of political and ideological agendas. It does not help us much in trying to understand the Punica if we feel obliged to interpret it in the context of Domitian’s reign when historians cannot make up their minds whether Domitian was a bloodthirsty tyrant or an enlightened ruler, systematically denigrated by all our historical and biographical sources.²⁴ Martial’s references to Silius are also often adduced in support of a late date for the composition of the Punica, desperate evidence at best since they relate to Silius’ activity as an already established literary figure, a patron of other poets and host of recitationes rather than as an incipient epicist. That book 4 of Martial was published in 88 CE does not indicate that Silius, who is mentioned in poem 14, had commenced his work by this time, but that he was already well established as a writer of epic, able to be described as an ornament to the Muses (Castalidum decus sororum, 1) and to be compared with Virgil (Maroni, 14). In fact, if we were to take seriously the literal sense of lines three to five, where Martial describes the content of the Punica in terms of the triumph of Africanus (4.14.3 – 5), we would conclude that Silius had previously completed book 17:

 Syme 1958, 43, accounted Domitian “worse than Nero” and the Flavian dynasty “degenerate and intolerable”. More recently, after rejecting ancient testimony as having been universally contaminated by bias, Southern 1997 treats Domitian extremely sympathetically as a misunderstood “tragic” albeit “tyrannical” figure. Jones 1992 is equally suspicious of the sources but less ready to gloss over Domitian’s autocratic abuses of power: “In many ways Domitian remains an enigma” (198). Others, like Mellor 2003, 83 – 84, continue to credit the traditional picture of an embittered and suspicious emperor who encouraged informers and whose last years are not inaccurately described as a “reign of terror”.

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ingenti premis ore perfidosque astus Hannibalis levisque Poenos magnis cedere cogis Africanis. With mighty tongue you crush Hannibal’s cunning treachery and compel the Carthaginians to surrender to the greatness of the Africani.

It is particularly poem 7.63, published around 92 CE (though possibly earlier), that has been scrutinised for hints about how far advanced the Punica might have been by that time, though the estimates put forward by scholars on this (flimsy) basis have resulted in no agreement or consistency.²⁵ Perpetui numquam moritura volumina Sili qui legis et Latia carmina digna toga, Pierios tantum vati placuisse recessus credis et Aoniae Bacchica serta comae? sacra cothurnati non attigit ante Maronis implevit magni quam Ciceronis opus: hunc miratur adhuc centum gravis hasta virorum, hunc loquitur grato plurimus ore cliens. postquam bis senis ingentem fascibus annum rexerat asserto qui sacer orbe fuit, emeritos Musis et Phoebo tradidit annos proque suo celebrat nunc Helicona foro.

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You who read immortal Silius’ imperishable books of poetry befitting the Roman toga, do you think Pierian retreats and Bacchic garlands for his Aonian hair have been his only interests? He did not embark on the rites of sublime Maro before he matched the work of illustrious Cicero. The weighty spear of the Centumvirs still admires him and many a client speaks of him with gratitude. After ruling with twelve fasces the celebrated year made sacred by the liberation of the world, he assigned his veteran years to Apollo and the Muses and now abides in Helicon in place of his forum.

If we take the temporal clause in the last two couplets literally (postquam … tradidit …), we must conclude that it was shortly after Silius’ consulship (in 68 CE) that he transferred his efforts to the writing of poetry. It is stretching the meaning of postquam too far to postulate an intervening delay of 8 – 10 years or even lon-

 For details see Augoustakis 2009a, 7.

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ger. The other temporal clause in the third couplet (non attigit ante … quam), if taken literally, seems to assert a strict separation between Silius’ earlier career as an orator and his subsequent career as a poet. The combined effect of these clauses is to indicate that he gave up appearing in the Centumviral Court after 68 CE and publicly dated the commencement of his second career as a poet from that same time. Martial’s words, though, cannot be pressed too hard in support of either this or any other attempt to assign a precise chronology to the progress of Silius’ epic in relation to his term of legal and political service. The epigram does make one thing very clear. It is addressed to a reader of the Punica (qui legis, 2), not a specific reader but anyone who might happen to be reading it. Silius’ epic or parts of it are obviously readily available. There is no suggestion that it is published only in part or as a draft. It consists of multiple ‘books’ (volumina, 1). Martial’s epigram is based on an assumption that the reader will be unaware of Silius’ prominence earlier in his life as an orator and an assumption that Silius’ current public profile rests entirely upon his role as author of the Punica. This implies that his withdrawal from appearing in the courts was very early; so long ago that Martial has to inform readers of the Punica, who cannot otherwise be expected to know about it. Anxiety is felt by those seeking to define Silius as a ‘Flavian author’ over the lack of definite information about the date at which he gave up residing in Rome.²⁶ This anxiety is itself based on an unwarranted supposition: that there was a neat break between Silius’ public career and his activity as a poet. In keeping with the false but widespread assumption that literary vigour is correlative with youth, the classification of the Punica as ‘Flavian’ tends to endorse the stereotyped view of the poem as a sort of ‘retirement project’ of an elderly man, turning in his 60s and 70s to poetry, after an earlier life wholly pre-occupied with practical and political affairs. Not only is this conception of the author contradicted by the internal vitality of the poem, but it also fails to credit the engagement of the poet with the major literary debates of pre-Flavian Rome. Nor does even Pliny’s craftily disingenuous portrait of the poet indicate the sort of person whose interest in epic took the form of a sudden conversion in old age.²⁷ Such is Silius’ density of intertextual reference that it implies a whole lifetime of reading Latin poetry, if not also writing it.

 Augoustakis 2009a, 7: “A crucial question concerning the composition of the Punica is the date of Silius’ withdrawal from the hustle and bustle of public affairs and his subsequent dedication to his poem on the Second Punic War.” See also Fröhlich 2000, 9 – 18, for the history of speculation on this issue.  Even Martial’s address at 7.63 to readers of the Punica, which on the surface might be taken to suggest Silius began writing poetry after his career in the courts, his consulship and the civil

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The alternative hypothesis seems much more likely, that the Punica, far from being a product of Silius’ retirement, was conceived and composed in whole or in part over a much longer period of time, and that writing poetry was an activity that did not replace Silius’ public career in Rome but coincided with it. It was, it seems to me, the activity of writing epic, even more than the completion of the poem itself that mattered. The order of events in Pliny’s account suggests that Silius’ retirement to Campania came after not only the writing of the poem, but also after a process of readings and revisions (Ep. 3.7.5 – 6): scribebat carmina maiore cura quam ingenio, non numquam iudicia hominum recitationibus experiebatur. novissime ita suadentibus annis ab urbe secessit, seque in Campania tenuit … He was in his writing of poetry fastidious rather than inspired and frequently used recitations to submit his verse to the criticism of others. Very recently, because of his advanced age, he withdrew from Rome and took up residence in Campania …

To designate Silius Italicus a ‘Flavian poet’ is to obscure what is most remarkable about him as even Pliny recognised, namely his survival and success across different imperial dynasties, unstable imperial policies and unpredictable imperial personalities. Few Romans could claim the kind of record Silius achieved in the second half of the first century: to have gained the confidence of Nero sufficiently to be appointed consul in the year the Julio-Claudian dynasty perished, to have held the respect of both the supporters of Vitellius and of Vespasian so as to be asked to participate in the negotiations for Vitellius’ abdication in 69 CE,²⁸ to have won endorsement by Vespasian for the position of governor of Asia, to have retained for his family the goodwill of Domitian under whose rule Silius’ son became consul in 94 CE and to be treated sympathetically by Trajan from whose inauguration Silius excused himself on the grounds of ill-health. It requires only a modicum of historical empathy to resist reading this curriculum vitae in judgemental terms, as the result of complicity with oppressive regimes, of successive compromises with tyrants. Silius was certainly a ‘survivor’ in a period when many of his class fell victim to repression. That in itself, given his potential vulnerability to imperial displeasure and, given his wealth, vulnerability

war of 69, defines his earlier career in specifically literary terms as inspired by Cicero. In other words, his life according to Martial exhibits not a break between his public and poetic careers but a literary continuity, there being merely a change of modality from Ciceronian rhetoric to Virgilian epic.  Tacitus, Hist. 3.65.

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to prosecution by delatores, is remarkable. This is, I suggest, part of the subtext of Pliny’s epistle. The all too real political significance of the Punica is marginalised if it is read as a late work written by a retired elder statesman. Silius’ construction of himself as a poet, as a writer of a very long national and historical epic requiring continual expansion and revision was constitutive of his political identity, part of what protected him and his family and allowed him to present himself as a neutral and valued political associate. Implicit in Pliny’s letter is the suggestion of a close connection between Silius’ poetry and his freedom from suspicion or envy (Ep. 3.7.4): fuit inter principes civitatis sine potentia, sine invidia (‘he was accepted among the leaders of the state without exercising power or incurring hostility’). Epics take a long time to write. Silius made his last. He turned writing epic into a lifestyle, an act of religious homage to Virgil,²⁹ a mechanism for independence. Pliny’s famous criticism of the poem as more fastidious than inspired (maiore cura quam ingenio, Ep. 3.7.5) pointedly draws attention to the excessive time spent by the author in composing and revising. It is, in the end, more a political criticism than a literary one.

 Martial 7.63.5 depicts Silius’ writing of epic as sacra (‘rites’) in honour of Virgil (Maronis).

John Penwill

Imperial encomia in Flavian epic Passages purporting to compliment or eulogise the Flavian dynasts are found in all four of the surviving epics that were produced under their rule. I say ‘purporting’ because scholarship over the past thirty years, particularly with respect to Statius, has focused on aspects of these texts which suggest that the author is inviting a reading considerably different from what appears on the surface.¹ As Fred Ahl points out, this is the age of Quintilian and figured discourse, in which the skill of the orator (and by extension, poet) is to say one thing but imply another (Quint. Inst. 9.2.65 – 66):² huic [sc. ἐμφάσει] vel confinis vel eadem est, qua nunc utimur plurimum. iam enim ad id genus, quod et frequentissimum est et exspectari maxime credo, veniendum est, in quo per quandam suspicionem quod non dicimus accipi volumus, non utique contrarium, ut in εἰρωνείᾳ, sed aliud latens et auditori quasi inveniendum … eius triplex usus est: unus si dicere palam parum tutum est … Either akin or identical to this [sc. emphasis] is [a figure] which these days we employ extensively. For now I must come to a type [of figure] which I believe to be both very common and to a very large degree anticipated, in which through [exciting] some suspicion we aim at having what we do not say understood – not of course the opposite, as in irony, but something hidden and there as it were for the listener to discover … There are three circumstances in which it is used: the first is if it is not safe enough to speak openly …

Here I would draw attention to three points: first, Quintilian’s assertion that this figure is now extensively employed and indeed anticipated (exspectari); second, that it is the hearer’s (or in the case of poetry, reader’s) task to unearth this concealed meaning; and third, that the first of the three circumstances in which it is appropriate to employ it is when it is not safe to speak openly. ἔμφασις is a figure that defines the age, and it is with this in mind that we need to approach the encomiastic passages of the Flavian epicists. My discussion is based on three principles. The first is that these passages should be viewed as integral parts of the works in which they occur, and not as a kind of separable preface in the manner of Shakespeare’s dedications to the Earl of Southampton: in other words, they require contextualisation. The second is that they also need to be read with an eye to the intertextualities involved.

 See Ahl 1984a, passim; 1984b, 78 – 102.  Detailed discussion at e. g. Ahl 1984a, 187– 197; 1984b, 82– 85; Bartsch 1994, 67– 71, 93 – 96; Nauta 2002, 416 – 419; Fearnley 2003, 613 – 616.

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And the third is that while these poets are, to cite Philip Hardie’s well-known title, the epic successors of Virgil,³ they are also in a very real sense the epic successors of Lucan, and the evocation of Lucan that we find in the works of each is self-conscious, deliberate and significant.⁴ In the spirit if not the words of Statius’ Silvae 2.7, Lucan’s body may lie mouldering in the grave but his soul goes marching on.⁵ This last point is particularly relevant in the case of Valerius Flaccus’ “Argonautica”. ⁶ Consider the ending. It is universally supposed that the Argonautica is an unfinished poem; however, intertextual considerations would suggest that it has the ending that Valerius had planned for it all along (8.463b–467):⁷ maestus at ille [sc. Iason] minis et mota Colchidos ira haeret, et hinc praesens pudor, hinc decreta suorum dura premunt. utcumque tamen mulcere gementem temptat et ipse gemens et † tempera dictis † ‘mene aliquid meruisse putas? me talia velle?’

465

463b habet L : om. V mota Ehlers : noto L 466 gemens et dictis temperat iras M2 But the gloom-filled Jason is stopped in his tracks by the Colchian woman’s threats and surging anger; on the one side shame aroused by the one confronting him, on the other his companions’ harsh demands both press in on him. Nevertheless he tries in whatever way he can amid his own grief to calm her distress and say something to assuage her : ‘Do you think I have deserved something? that this is the sort of thing I want?’

The ending in fact is deliberately Lucanic. Jason is hemmed in by hostile forces on Peuce in the Danube delta just as Caesar is on the mole linking Pharos with Alexandria at the Canopic mouth of the Nile (Luc. 10.535 – 539):

 P. Hardie 1993.  The significance of Lucan for a reading of Silius Italicus and Statius is seen differently by Bessone in this volume.  For a stimulating discussion of this poem and its implications see Malamud 1995.  Cf. Zissos 2004b, 35, who rightly states that “the relationship between the Bellum Civile and the Argonautica merits far more critical attention than it has received to date”. Such attention permeates the most recent monograph on Valerius Flaccus, Stover 2012.  For detailed argument in support of this proposition see Penwill 2011. The ending of the Argonautica is extensively discussed at Hershkowitz 1998b, 1– 34, and at Monaghan 2002, 150 – 190. Hershkowitz notes the parallel with Lucan (3 – 4), but does not go on to draw what seems to me the obvious conclusion, viz. that Valerius’ ending constitutes a deliberate intertextual allusion. Monaghan argues that the ending represents a deliberate refusal on Valerius’ part to allow Medea to cross the threshold into fratincide and the tragic future that awaits her. To my mind, though, the focus is on Jason rather than Medea.

Imperial encomia in Flavian epic

dum parat in vacuas Martem transferre carinas, dux Latius tota subitus formidine belli cingitur; hinc densae praetexunt litora classes. hinc tergo insultant pedites. via nulla salutis, non fuga, non virtus; vix spes quoque mortis honestae.

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535

As he is preparing to take the fighting up to the enemy ships, the Latin commander [sc. Caesar] is suddenly surrounded by war in all its terror. On the one side a thick mass of ships is lining the water’s edge, and on the other infantry are leaping at his rear. There is no avenue of rescue, not in flight, not in heroic action; scarcely even the hope of an honourable death.

Neither has anywhere to go: Caesar hemmed in with no hope of escape, Jason caught in a geographical, strategic and moral impasse. And there are also distinct verbal echoes: hinc … hinc (Val. Fl. 8.464 ~ Luc. 10.537– 538) and Valerius’ premunt (8.465) evokes Lucan’s insultant (10.538). Valerius’ reader on coming to an abrupt closure at the end of a book significantly shorter than the rest (as is the case with Lucan’s book 10) cannot fail to be struck by a sense of déjà vu as yet another poem abandons its protagonist at a critical moment.⁸ This is not the only way in which Valerius has Lucanised the Argonaut story. If we go back to book 6, we find that he has superimposed a bellum civile on the Apollonian narrative in the war between Aeetes and his brother Perses.⁹ By having the Minyae arrive as this war is erupting and by having Jason agree to Aeetes’ offer (5.538 – 541) that he will give Jason the Golden Fleece if the Minyae fight on his side, Valerius embroils the whole expedition in bella plus quam civilia (or what another poet will call fraternae acies).¹⁰ Lucan in fact all but takes over the story, and it is only the intervention of Jupiter in his speech to Juno and Minerva at 5.673 ff. that allows the quest narrative to resume. And in book 1 the tensions between Pelias and his brother Aeson virtually frame the book: it is the fact that Jason is Aeson’s son, not that he turns up in Iolcus with only one sandal, that leads Pelias to send him out on the expedition, and the book closes with a Lucanic intrafamilial atrocity as Pelias’ troops slaughter Aeson and his family – once again the stuff of civil war.¹¹

 Nesselrath 1998 postulates that Valerius planned to end with the death of Absyrtus, the last obstacle standing between Jason and his successful completion of the mission (349). This makes a nice Virgilian ending (the death of Turnus likewise being the removal of a final obstacle and equally morally questionable); but if we look to Lucan as the intertext, there is no need to speculate about missing bits at all. The end is t h e end.  Cf. Boyle in Boyle / Sullivan 1991, 273 – 275; Zissos 2004b, 25; Stover 2012, 113 and 148 – 150.  Stat. Theb. 1.1, itself echoing Lucan’s cognatas … acies (1.4).  For intrafamilial violence as the hallmark of civil war, itself an aspect of the overall socer / gener conflict which culminates in the violent death of the latter by forces ‘loyal’ to the former,

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So let us go right back to the beginning, to the programmatic statement and the encomium that almost immediately follows (Val. Fl. 1.1– 5, 7– 23): prima deum magnis canimus freta pervia natis fatidicamque ratem, Scythici quae Phasidis oras ausa sequi mediosque inter iuga concita cursus rumpere flammifero tandem consedit Olympo. Phoebe, mone, … …, tuque o pelagi cui maior aperti fama, Caledonius postquam tua carbasa vexit Oceanus Phrygios prius indignatus Iulos, eripe me populis et habenti nubila terrae, sancte pater, veterumque fave veneranda canenti facta virum: versam proles tua pandit Idumen, namque potest, Solymo nigrantem pulvere fratrem spargentemque faces et in omni turre furentem. ille tibi cultusque deum delubraque genti instituet, cum iam, genitor, lucebis ab omni parte poli, neque erit Tyriae Cynosura carinae certior aut Grais Helice servanda magistris, seu tu signa dabis seu te duce Graecia mittet et Sidon Nilusque rates. nunc nostra serenus orsa iuves, haec ut Latias vox impleat urbes. Haemoniam primis Pelias frenabat ab annis, iam gravis et longus populis metus …

5 7

10

15

20

11 sancte pater ad 13 init. tr. Samuelsson 12 pandet Gronovius, fortasse recte 13 namque potes LV : ad 11 init. tr. Samuelsson : namque potest X, edd. 19 seu … seu LV : si … sed Baehrens : alii alia Seas first traversed by great sons of gods we sing, and the oracular ship, which after daring to make for the shores of Scythian Phasis and to force its way between the rocks moving against it finally settled on Olympus. Phoebus, advise … and you, o you, whose fame is greater for opening up the sea, now that the Caledonian Ocean, which earlier disdained the Phrygian Iuli, has borne your sails, snatch me away from those who people the cloud-enveloped earth, holy father, and look benignly on one who sings the venerable deeds of men of ancient time. Your offspring is making known Idume’s overthrow (yes, he can) and his brother black with Jerusalem’s dust throwing fire everywhere and raging on every tower. For you he will establish divine rituals and shrines to your family, when you, his father, will already be shining from every part of the sky: then neither will the Little Bear be a surer fixed point for a Tyrian ship nor the Great Bear more relied on by Greek steersmen, whether you will be furnishing signs / giving signals or whether with you your-

see e. g. Luc. 2.148 – 151 and 7.626 – 630. On the contemporary relevance of Aeson’s death see McGuire 1997, 189 – 197; Zissos 2009, 357– 358.

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self as guide / leader Greece, Sidon and Egypt will send forth their ships. Now may your serene self aid my undertaking, so that this voice may fill the cities of Latium. Haemonia had been under Pelias’ control from his earliest years; now he was an oppressive and long-standing source of fear to his people …

The first four lines look innocent enough; the poem will be about seas and a ship. But when we come to them as second readers we might be a bit puzzled, because we know perfectly well that this is only a very small part of what the poem contains (not to mention the narrative that it does n o t contain, the Argo’s catasterism). No mention of civil conflict – and yet Lucan is definitely there, lurking in the plural canimus, very rarely used in an initial declaration of intent; “its use … probably constitutes a nod to Lucan” observes Andrew Zissos ad loc.,¹² but to my mind it is a signpost rather than a nod, occurring as it does in the same metrical sedes in line 1 as Lucan’s in his line 2 (iusque datum sceleri canimus, ‘and legality conferred on crime we sing’).¹³ From here we proceed via a peremptory request for Phoebus’ guidance to the invocation to Vespasian. The text is not in the happiest state (I have given that of Ehlers, with some changes in punctuation), but the gist is fairly clear: Vespasian shares with Argo the achievement of opening up new seas and ultimate catasterism,¹⁴ and the poet sees in him the inspiration for (or at least facilitator of) his song. As commentators note, this is fairly standard stuff and goes back ultimately to the proem to Georgics 1.¹⁵ But for a Flavian poet and reader, this is inevitably refracted through Lucan’s clear allusion to the same passage in his encomium on Nero at Bellum civile 1.33 – 66.¹⁶ There too we have future catasterism as Nero is urged to choose a spot in the sky where everyone can see him clearly; there too we have Phoebus displaced by a praesens numen: tu satis ad vires Romana in carmina dandas (1.66). Phoebus may give some advice to his priest, but it is Vespasian who will lift him out of this dull sublunary world and give him the power to

 Zissos 2008, 74.  Boyle in Boyle / Sullivan 1991, 272; Zissos 2004b, 35 – 36; Bartolomé 2009b, 66.  Cf. Stover 2012, 65 – 66. As will be apparent, I do not agree with Stover’s positive reading of this passage.  So Kleywegt 2005, 4; Zissos 2008, 90; Stover 2012, 69. For an extensive discussion of its allusions to the Roman panegyric tradition see Lefèvre 1971, 47– 60.  On Lucan’s encomium of Nero see Penwill 2010, 211– 221, with further bibliography at 211 n. 2. Zissos 2008, 90, notes the allusion to Lucan but does not draw what seems to me the obvious inference. Stover 2012, 70 – 76, argues that Valerius is setting up a contrast between his presentation of Vespasian as pater and Lucan’s of Nero as dominus; to my mind the intertext shows Valerius in his Lucanic epic allowing Lucan to do the talking while himself appearing to say something different.

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fill Latian cities with his voice. In Lucan’s case, Nero’s inspiration produced a work that filled Latian cities with uncomfortable truths about Caesar and Caesarism. In setting up this Lucanic intertext, Valerius suggests to his readers that if they look carefully they may find something of the kind in the Argonautica also. In fact civil war, while nowhere explicitly mentioned, permeates this encomium. The seemingly gratuitous reference to the ‘P h r y g i a n Iuli’ in line 10¹⁷ together with the (highly misleading) representation of Vespasian, Titus and Domitian as a united and mutually supportive family engaged in a program of making gods of themselves reflects the fact that following the overthrow of the last descendant of Aeneas by Galba in 68 CE a new set of dynasts has emerged to reap the benefit and claim superiority (maior … | fama, 1.7– 8) over the family which initiated the ‘Roman revolution’. We should note, however, that the sole ground adduced by Valerius to justify the claim to superiority over the ‘Iuli’ is Vespasian’s opening up of a previously unknown sea, thus linking it (via the voyage of the Argonauts) to a long tradition of presenting seafaring as emblematic of humankind’s fall from the Golden Age and so of the pursuit of wealth and power of which civil war is the ultimate manifestation.¹⁸ Flavian image-making is reflected in the prominence given to Iudaea capta, with a hint that it is Domitian who has the capacity to ‘make this known’. What is left out here is that the epic Domitian was alleged to have written was not on the Judaean War, but on the Capitoline War (Martial 5.5.7– 8), the war waged in the city of Rome itself and one in which he had played a prominent role (or so he would later claim);¹⁹ Jerusalem may have burned, but so did the temple of Jupiter, which gives an added frisson to line 14, spargentemque faces et in omni turre furentem, which ‘brother’ are we r e a l l y talking about? But the clearest case of civil war allusion comes in the conceit of Vespasian’s catasterism, where Vespasian as star-sign will guide ships – specifically ships from Greece, Sidon and Nile – from east to west. Embedded here is a reminder of Vespasian’s route to power: first hailed as emperor by his troops in Alexandria, the day (1 July) thereafter marked as his accession date (Tac. Hist. 2.79 –  On the pejorative aspects of ‘Phrygian’ cf. Stover 2012, 64– 65, with Zissos 2008, 84.  See esp. Sen. Med. 301– 379, where the pioneering voyage of Argo, seen as the work of a man audax nimium, ‘all too bold’, will at some future time lead to the opening up of the entire world. On the negative connotations of seafaring in Roman literature as informing the proem of Valerius’ epic see M. Davis 1989, passim; P. Hardie 1993, 83.  On the nature and content of this supposed magnum opus see Penwill 2000, 64– 72. Everyone extols the egregious literary wonder that this poem constitutes (see examples cited by Lefèvre 1971, 32– 38) – but there is no evidence that anyone had ever s e e n it. Likewise with this supposed work lauding Titus’ successes in Judaea; we have heard he can write (namque potest), but will it ever appear?

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80), he then proceeded to Berytus for a tactical conference (2.81) (this is reflected in ‘Nile’ and ‘Sidon’); the reference to Greece recalls Mucianus’ decision (2.83) to assemble the fleet at Byzantium with a view to sailing round Greece and mounting a blockade of the Adriatic. The seu … seu clauses of lines 19 – 21, which have so bothered editors, thus become true alternatives: either Vespasian is giving signals (signa dabis) to his supporters and subordinates (particularly, but not exclusively, Mucianus) or is himself leading (te duce). This is the subtext that lies beneath the overt reading of signa as ‘star-signs’ and te duce as ‘with you as guide’, with reference to Vespasian’s post mortem catasterism, where he will not only outshine but replace Helice and Cynosura. The irony to which Valerius’ formulation directs us is that despite the future tenses this is not a future event.²⁰ As an added consideration we might note the influence of siderum motus, ‘movements of the stars’ (Tac. Hist. 2.78), on Vespasian’s decision to make his bid for power, and his subsequent reliance on the advice of his astrologer Seleucus. It would seem that Vespasian was always a star-man. As is the Argo. As mentioned earlier, Argo shares with Vespasian success in opening up new seas and an ultimate catasterism. But in fact this fatidica rates has a pretty undistinguished role in Valerius’ version of the story. It has but one speech, delivered to Jason in a dream, and that can hardly be said to be prophetic. All it says in fact is that it would not even be here if it had not been promised a place in heaven, so let’s get on with it: stop worrying about the perils of sea and sky, just trust me (iam nunc mitte metus, fidens superisque mihique, 1.307). But at the first crisis, the storm whipped up by Boreas and the other winds at 1.608 ff., which threatens to obliterate ship and crew right at the outset, Argo does nothing; it is Neptune, in deference to Minerva and Juno, who intervenes to save the day. And here we have a significant link back to the encomium’s emphasis on opening up the seas as Neptune remarks veniant Phariae Tyriaeque carinae | permissumque putent, ‘let ships come from Pharos and Tyre and consider it permitted to do so’ (1.644– 645). In other words, allowing Argo to succeed permits passage for those ships from Alexandria and Phoenicia which under a previous regime never got past Actium.²¹ These seas are the gateway to Rome.

 It is thus not so much “a propagandistic image of east and west unified under Roman hegemony” (Zissos 2008, 89 – 90) as a stark reminder of how this ‘unification’ was achieved. Nor is this in any way inconsistent with the proposition that “Vespasian … was still alive at the time of the dedication’s composition” (Stover 2012, 16). Vespasian’s future, like Argo’s, is outside the boundaries of the poem; what Valerius is doing with these ‘conventional’ tropes of future divinity is inviting the reader to consider ways in which they encode past actions.  M. Davis 1989, 64, recognises the importance of Neptune’s pronouncement generally, but does not give it a specific civil war reference.

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Nor is the fatidica rates heard from again until it intervenes in a brief one-liner at 5.65 – 66 to veto the Apollonian choice of replacement helmsman, Ancaeus,²² in favour of Erginus, the very one whose sudden pronouncement in book 8 leads Jason to the dead end on Peuce. Wasn’t this prophetic ship aware that once the Symplegades had been breached they would by the will of Jupiter (imperio … Iouis) be open forever (4.708 – 710)?²³ Can we really trust those whose sole motivation is the desire for stardom? And in particular, can we trust them to choose a successor? A final point. Immediately following his invocation to Vespasian, Valerius begins his story by plunging the reader into Lucanic territory:²⁴ Haemoniam, Thessaly, is the first word of the narrative proper (1.22). T h i s is the vox that is to fill Latian cities (1.21).²⁵ Moreover, this Haemonia is ruled by a long-standing tyrant who harbours a typically tyrannical suspicion of those who display qualities that might make them candidates for the top job (super ipsius ingens | instat fama viri virtusque haut laeta tyranno, ‘in addition he felt threatened by the man’s enormous reputation and the excellence that tyrants hate’, 1.29 – 30).²⁶ The irony here is that the story which Vespasian is being asked to inspire is one which was only made possible by Pelias’ paranoia; the ‘only begetter’ of the quest for the Golden Fleece is Pelias himself, who sends Jason off to Colchis in the hope that the quest will prove fatal. We may note too that Jason’s response

 Ap. Rhod. Arg. 2.894– 898. Here Ancaeus is the crew’s choice; Valerius underscores his rewriting of the story by having Argo herself choosing Tiphys’ successor. The ship is said to be prompted by fate (fato … monenti, 5.65), by which the poet signals that both Jason and the poem are irrevocably bound to / for that closing impasse.  Argo’s return via the Bosporus is a route recognised in the tradition; see Sen. Med. 454– 456. It invites the question why she did not intervene when Erginus insists on his ‘sudden’ (subito, 8.177) change of direction to the Danube. See previous note. Nesselrath 1998, 351– 354, acknowledges the difficulties raised by this change and concludes that once Jason had overcome Absyrtus and the Colchians Valerius would have abandoned the Apollonian Danube route and sent him home directly (353). But the truth is that Valerius was not going to send him anywhere …  For Lucan, Haemonia, conventionally if not geographically the site of both Pharsalus and Philippi, is Rome’s graveyard, containing the relics of more Romans than Rome itself (Luc. 7.855 – 859). It is also the land from which flashed forth the seeds of war (Luc. 6.395), one of which was the Argonautic expedition (6.400 – 401); cf. P. Davis 2010, 6 – 7. To commence with this word is a deliberately ominous choice; to juxtapose it to the notion of Vespasian as Muse, itself as we have seen an echo of Lucan, simply reinforces the point.  For vox meaning ‘word’ see OLD s.v. 10a.  Cf. Hershkowitz 1998b, 106. The situation has a clear resonance with that between Domitian and Agricola as Tacitus represents it (e. g. Tac. Agr. 41– 42). On tyrants in the Argonautica see esp. Zissos 2009, 357– 362, with further bibliography there cited.

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is not to take advantage of Pelias’ unpopularity by starting a civil war, but to accept the task imposed upon him and the hope of heroic glory it entails (1.71– 78): heu quid agat? populumne levem veterique tyranno infensum atque olim miserantes Aesona patres advocet an socia Iunone et Pallade fretus armisona speret magis et freta iussa capessat, siqua operis tanti domito consurgere ponto fama queat. tu sola animos mentemque peruris, Gloria, te viridem videt immunemque senectae Phasidis in ripa stantem iuvenesque vocantem.

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Ah, what should he do? Should he call upon the mob, hostile to the aged tyrant but unreliable, and the senators’ long-standing sympathy towards Aeson, or should he fix his hopes on the support of Juno and armoured Pallas and take on the seas to which he is ordered, in case some fame might come his way for so great a task, the taming of the ocean? You alone fire up hearts and minds, Glory, you it is he sees fresh and ever ageless standing on the shore of Phasis and summoning the young.

Zissos sees in the first three lines of this passage a reflection of the political faultlines of Flavian Rome (despotic ruler, alienated but impotent senate, indifferent plebs);²⁷ there may indeed be some truth in this, but surely the significant factor is that Jason does not do what Vespasian in Tacitus’ account actually d i d do: take advantage of Vitellius’ unpopularity to make a bid for power himself (Hist. 2.73 ff.).²⁸ Thus by astute use of language, contextualisation and allusion to Lucan, Valerius enables the reader to discern a meaning in his encomium very different from what at first sight it appears to be. Let us now look at Statius. The encomia of the Thebaid and Achilleid, like that of the Argonautica, occur early in the first book immediately after (or in the Thebaid’s case in the middle of) the poem’s programmatic statement (Stat. Theb. 1.1– 3, 16 – 34): fraternas acies alternaque regna profanis decertata odiis sontesque evolvere Thebas,

 Zissos 2003, 671– 672; 2008, 123; 2009, 354– 357.  The passage in fact shows Jason rejecting bella plus quam civilia in starting a civil war against his uncle in favour of a Virgilian pursuit of gloria (cf. Zissos 2008, 126, although I would maintain that the pursuit of gloria / fama is all-too-present in the Aeneid, not “relegated … to a position of secondary importance”). For a positive reading of this passage and its hope of a new world-order see also Stover 2012, 46 – 61. But the hope is not sustained. The end of the poem shows Jason transformed into a Lucanic figure, warring against his father- and brother-in-law, hemmed in like Caesar – but we know that in both cases each will find a way out and impose his particular brand of evil on his homeland.

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Pierius menti calor incidit. … limes mihi carminis esto Oedipodae confusa domus, quando Itala nondum signa nec Arctoos ausim spirare triumphos bisque iugo Rhenum, bis adactum legibus Histrum et coniurato deiectos vertice Dacos aut defensa prius vix pubescentibus annis bella Iovis. tuque, o Latiae decus addite famae quem nova maturi subeuntem exorsa parentis aeternum sibi Roma cupit (licet artior omnis limes agat stellas et te plaga lucida caeli, Pleiadum Boreaeque et hiulci fulminis expers, sollicitet, licet ignipedum frenator equorum ipse tuis alte radiantem crinibus arcum imprimat aut magni cedat tibi Iuppiter aequa parte poli), maneas hominum contentus habenis, undarum terraeque potens, et sidera dones. tempus erit, cum Pierio tua fortior oestro facta canam: nunc tendo chelyn satis arma referre Aonia et geminis sceptrum exitiale tyrannis …

3 16

20

25

30

22 tuque ω P2 : teque P Wars between brothers, alternate rule contested in unholy hatred, guilty Thebes: these Pierian fire impels my mind to unfold. … Let the limit of my song be the dysfunctional house of Oedipus, since I would not yet dare aspire to Italian standards, those northern triumphs, the Rhine twice yoked, the Danube twice brought under our laws and the Dacians flung down from their hill-top conspiracy, or the wars for Jupiter waged earlier by one scarce out of puberty. And you, newly added glory to Latian renown, whom Rome craves to possess for ever now you have come to complete what your aged father started – though a tighter boundary draw aside all the stars and the bright region of the sky that knows not the Pleiades, Boreas or the tearing thunderbolt try to seduce you, though he who controls the fire-footed horses himself press on your hair his loftily shining arc or Jupiter acknowledge your supremacy by granting you an equal part of the great sky – may you, ruler of sea and land, remain content with the reins of human government and make stars of others. Time will come when strengthened yet further by Pierian frenzy I shall sing your deeds: enough now that I tune my lyre to recount Aonian arms and twin tyrants to whom a sceptre proved fatal …

Here again Lucan is clearly evoked;²⁹ the opening phrase fraternas acies not only conjures up bella plus quam civilia but also echoes Lucan’s cognatasque acies (Luc. 1.4), and the first two lines are redolent with images of criminality and sacrilege that evoke Lucan’s first seven (profanis | … odiis, sontesque … Thebas; cf.  Cf. Hill 1989, 101; Markus 2003, 454– 455; Ganiban 2007, 45.

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iusque datum sceleri, rupto foedere, in commune nefas [Luc. 1.2, 4, 6]).³⁰ As a number of critics have noted, Statius’ Thebes is a kind of distillation of Lucan’s Roman empire,³¹ the contest between Caesar and Pompey reflected in that between Eteocles and Polynices, where the issue is nuda potestas, not wealth, not possessions, but domination pure and simple (Theb. 1.150).³² And there are Lucanesque motifs in the encomium itself: the list of Domitian’s military exploits corresponds to the list of civil war battles at Luc. 1.38 – 43, and the possibilities for Domitian’s future heavenly existence are envisaged in the same categories that we find in those for Nero at Luc. 1.45 – 52: the other stars will make way for him, the most attractive area of the sky is his to take, Phoebus will grant him the brilliant traverse of the sun and Jupiter will yield precedence to the extent of handing over half of heaven’s vault. And at the end Statius reverts to the Ovidian motif of praying that all this will be far in the future, while at the same time maintaining the Lucanic conceit that the time of the emperor’s departure from earth will be chosen by him, not, as in Ovid, by the gods (Met. 15.861– 870). The legitimacy of claiming a parallel between Lucan’s list of civil war battles and Statius’ list of Domitian’s victories may perhaps be questioned, and so this particular intertext requires closer scrutiny. The theme of the earlier part of Lucan’s encomium is that while all these battles were in themselves criminal acts (scelera ista nefasque, 1.37), the fact that their occurrence was necessary in order to bring about the reign of Nero cancels out their criminality. That particular angle at first sight seems absent from Statius’ encomium, even though it could just as readily be argued that the moral disasters of 69 CE were likewise necessary precursors to the accession of Domitian. Indeed at Silvae 5.3.195 – 197 Statius follows Lucan in equating civil war (and in particular the strife in Rome itself) with the battle between gods and giants, where victory for the gods secured their domination thereafter. Statius senior wrote a poem about it; so allegedly did Domitian.³³ In fact, as we read the Thebaid’s encomium, we find a reference to that incident there also (1.21– 22): defensa prius vix pubescentibus annis | bella Iovis. We note that its place in the list completely violates chronological order; the campaigns against Chatti and Dacians that led Domitian

 On the intertextuality with Lucan in this prologue and its implications, see now Bartolomé 2009a, 34– 40.  On Thebes as analogue of Rome see Ahl 1986, 2812– 2816; Braund 2006, passim.  Cf. Dominik 1989, 76 – 82.  Silv. 5.3.199 – 204. Statius senior’s next project was a poem on the eruption of Vesuvius, where it is suggested that the same Jupiter (pater, 204) who gave the nod of approval to the earlier poem was to be depicted (pater, 207) as ripping the summit off the mountain and hurling it to the earth. Was this Jupiter expressing his r e a l feelings about the burning of his temple?

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north to Rhine and Danube occurred in the early to mid 80s after Domitian had become emperor, whereas this last incident occurred in 69. That anomaly itself throws it into prominence. We also note that it is introduced not with another et but with aut. Two alternative packages are being offered as the subject of the song that Statius will not be attempting: e i t h e r the northern campaigns o r the Capitoline War. We now need to contextualise. The encomium is in fact embedded in a programmatic introduction that canvasses possible starting points for the Theban narrative.³⁴ Rather than go right back to the beginning, the poet opts for confining it to the house of Oedipus. Why? Because, he says, I would not at this stage venture (or ‘dare’) to sing either Domitian’s northern campaigns or the Capitoline War. There are clear ironies here. One is that, as we will discover, this is a poet perfectly capable of narrating heroic action on the battlefield, particularly in the second half of the poem, so that the suggestion he would not be capable of employing these talents in writing about Domitian’s campaigns, foreign or civil, simply does not ring true. Moreover (and this pertains to the Achilleid’s encomium also), we know that Statius had in fact composed at least two poems extolling Domitian’s military achievements, the De bello Germanico, dated by Hardie to “early in Domitian’s reign”,³⁵ and the works on “German wars and Dacian battles” (modo Germanas acies modo Daca … | proelia), for which he won a prize at the Alban Festival. If Kytzler is right in arguing that the encomium was composed late in the Thebaid’s development,³⁶ then these would already be in existence. On the face of it Statius appears to suggest that these works lack the inspiration needed to match the extraordinary nature of the emperor’s achievements; for that one would need the Pierius oestrus of line 32 rather than merely the Pierius calor that is said to inspire the Theban story at line 3. But the hyperbole suggests an alternative reading: that to turn what were essentially minor military manoeuvres³⁷ or a disgraceful civil war episode³⁸ into a magnificent exploit would require a truly frenzied – indeed

 For an excellent discussion of the structure of the Thebaid’s opening see Markus 2003, 443 – 448.  A. Hardie 2003, 140 – 141.  Kytzler 1960, 352– 353.  For negative assessments of Domitian’s military ‘achievements’ see Tac. Agr. 39.1; cf. Germ. 37.6; Plin. Pan. 16.3; Dio 67.4.1; 67.7.1– 4.  facinus … luctuosissimum foedissimumque (‘crime most grievous and shameful’, Tac. Hist. 3.72, with much more in the same vein). Cf. Penwill 2000, 68 – 69.

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Lucanic – imagination.³⁹ There is also intratextual allusion here. At 10.829 – 831 Statius will again pray for higher than normal inspiration (note esp. 830, maior ab Aoniis poscenda amentia lucis, ‘a greater madness must be demanded from the Aonian groves’) – this to enable him to narrate the death of Capaneus, destroyed by a thunderbolt as he climbs the walls of Thebes to mount an assault on the heavens. This is the kind of writing imperial panegyric requires, turning its subject into a larger-than-life figure who defies the gods.⁴⁰ A logical problem also arises, in that the poet has already announced in the first two lines that his subject matter will be Thebes, and one would expect the reason for legendary Thebes and not contemporary Rome would be announced straight away rather than after 12 lines of speculation about where he should start this story that by the way is not going to be about Domitian. It is only after he has finally decided on passing over earlier generations and starting with Oedipodae confusa domus that he offers the reason why he will not write about the emperor. In fact the way it is phrased suggests that it is precisely because he does not feel sufficient confidence to tell of Domitian’s achievements that he has settled on starting with Oedipus – a monarch who had two sons to whom he bequeathed a power-sharing arrangement, and whose failure to adhere to it led to all the miseries listed in the lines following the encomium (1.33 – 40). Suetonius (Dom. 2.3) records the resentment felt by Domitian towards Titus after the latter’s accession, accusing his brother of cheating him of his rightful share of power;⁴¹ but I do not in fact think that is what Statius is alluding to here. Rather, the decision to start with Oedipus and his sons means that the Thebaid becomes, as John Henderson suggests, a narrative of Thebes’ ‘year of four emperors’ (Eteocles, Polynices, Creon, Theseus), of civil strife whose atrocities clearly recall those of 69 CE.⁴² The parallels of course are not exact – the timeframe of the Thebaid is three years rather than one, and there is no specific allusion to any one of the players in the power-struggle that enveloped Rome during that tumultuous year – but the poem was never intended as allegory in that sense. Rather it recasts and mythologises Rome’s recent experience. Domitian’s role is that of reader; addressed as tu in the second part of the encomium (the preceding list of achievements is not specifically linked to his name) he is pres-

 At Silv. 2.7.3 oestrus is the madness that goads attendance at Lucan’s birthday celebration: t h a t is the madness to which Statius would succumb if he were to sing the Capitoline War. No wonder he rejects it as too dangerous (Silv. 4.4.99 – 100; cf. nn. 44– 46 below). Cf. Malamud 1995, 172– 175; Hershkowitz 1998a, 63.  Cf. Sil. 3.623 – 624, discussed pp. 18 – 19 below.  Dominik 1989, 84.  Henderson 1991, 34; 1993, 165 – 167. Cf. Ahl 1986, 2813 – 2814, 2819.

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ented with Lucan’s heavenly outcomes not as future events but as temptations, and urged to keep his feet firmly on the ground. Likewise at the end of the poem, where this time the Thebaid itself is being addressed, he is again presented as reader (iam te magnanimus dignatur noscere Caesar, | Itala iam studio discit memoratque iuventus, ‘already great-hearted⁴³ Caesar deems you worth investigating; already the youth of Italy zealously learns and recites you’, 12.814– 815). In the previous book the authorial voice prays that kings alone will retell the catastrophic outcome of the rivalry between Eteocles and Polynices, because it is a story that pertains particularly to them (11.576 – 579): vosque malis hominum, Stygiae, iam parcite, divae: omnibus in terris scelus hoc omnique sub aevo viderit una dies, monstrumque infame futuris excidat, et soli memorent haec proelia reges. And you, Stygian goddesses, now show mercy to humankind’s evils; in all lands and for all time let one day only have seen this crime, let future ages be spared [such] infamous atrocity, let kings alone recite these battles.

Later in book 11 the same voice laments the inability of Creon to learn from history (11.654– 658):⁴⁴ scandit fatale tyrannis flebilis Aoniae solium: pro blanda potestas et sceptri malesuadus amor! numquamne priorum haerebunt documenta novis? iuvat ecce nefasto stare loco regimenque manu tractare cruentum!

655

He [Creon] climbs the fatal throne of pitiable Aonia: ah how power beguiles! ah how love of rule misleads! Will the examples of those of old never be retained by those who come after? See, he is overjoyed to stand in that accursed place and with his hand exert bloodstained control.

 Braund 1996, 18, argues that, by applying the epithet magnanimus to Domitian, Statius is aligning him with Theseus, who had been given the same epithet a few lines earlier (12.795); thus suggesting that he, like Theseus, is a ‘good king / emperor’. Even if this is in fact true of Theseus (contrast e. g. Ahl 1986, 2896; Dietrich 1999, 43 – 45), this seems a clear case of cucullus non facit monachum; the epithet does not of itself make Domitian a ‘good king’ (any more than it does Capaneus, of whom it is used at 9.547 and 11.1 – on a possible alignment of Domitian with Capaneus, see above); as I will argue, this depends on the extent to which he is willing and able to learn from the Thebaid, not the power he wields. The epithet is clearly open to ironic as well as laudatory interpretation; see Dominik 1989, 91– 92.  Cf. Dominik 1989, 83; Markus 2003, 461– 463; Ganiban 2007, 199.

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By incorporating those Lucanic elements in his encomium, Statius is hinting that another set of priorum documenta lies beneath the Theban narrative, one that goes to the heart of Caesar and Caesarism, the presentation of which is a task far more important than serving up a celebration of frontier victories as he has in the past. If all Domitian sees in this encomium is simple panegyric, then his reading of the Thebaid will be as superficial as Augustus’ was of the Aeneid. 12.814– 815 show how confident Statius is that this will in fact be the case: the Itala iuventus are learning it by heart – t h e y are the ones reciting it (memoratque, 12.815) – while all Domitian does is acknowledge its existence. Now to the Achilleid, where, as befits a much shorter poem, the encomium is also much shorter – indeed, almost perfunctory (1.14– 19): at tu, quem longe primum stupet Itala virtus Graiaque, cui geminae florent vatumque ducumque certatim laurus – olim dolet altera vinci –, da veniam ac trepidum patere hoc sudare parumper pulvere. te longo necdum fidente paratu molimur magnusque tibi praeludit Achilles.

15

But you, at whose place far out in front the flower of Italy and Greece stand dumb with amazement and in whom the twin laurels of poet and general vie in flourishing – long has one of them felt the pain of defeat –, grant your indulgence and permit me, nervous as I am, to sweat for a little while in this dust. It’s you I’m working hard at – so long in preparation and still diffident about it – and Achilles, great as he is, is just a prelude to Yourself.

Nor is it as embedded as was the Thebaid’s; there, the encomium both begins and ends halfway through a hexameter line, both signalling and ensuring its non-separability;⁴⁵ here, however, it comprises six hexameter lines which could readily be lifted out without any damage to the surrounds. This certainly gives it the air of an afterthought, a note inserted to beg the emperor’s forgiveness: ‘I’m sorry, I know I promised to write that epic celebrating your achievements, I know I took 12 years on the Thebaid – hell, I’m so nervous about asking (trepidum) – but could we PLEASE just put it off until I’ve done Achilles – I know I said a few lines back that I was going to fill in all the gaps that Homer left  Contrast Markus 2003, 444– 448, who argues (following Kytzler 1960) that the Thebaid’s encomium is in fact separable, in that the first half of 1.17 (Oedipodae confusa domus) can be linked to the second half of 1.33 (satis arma referre) to make a perfectly respectable hexameter line. This, Markus claims, made it possible either to include or omit it in recitation, depending on the nature of the audience. Its positioning in the w r i t t e n (as opposed to oral) text, however, certainly gives it an aura of embeddedness; here in the Achilleid Statius does away even with that.

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which means something about ten times as long as the Iliad,⁴⁶ but I promise it won’t take long (parumper) – and truly, I still need that bit more practice before I get on to my real life’s work – this will really set me up …’ It is the archetypical procrastinator’s pose: there’s always something that has to be done before you can start on the work that r e a l l y matters. But here, taken in conjunction with the encomium of the Thebaid, it suggests once again the impossibility of the task.⁴⁷ If examined closely, however, this encomium proves as disingenuous as the others we have been looking at. Once again we need to consider it in both its immediate and its wider context. The opening quem clause alludes to Domitian’s status as patron of the arts, in particular through its reference to Itala uirtus | Graiaque to his establishment of the Capitoline Games, inaugurated in 86, which included competition in poetry both Greek and Latin;⁴⁸ it then goes on in the cui-clause to allude to Domitian’s own sometime reputation as a poet, a theme prominent among Roman writers in the 90s.⁴⁹ But compared with e. g. Quintilian’s effusions on the same subject,⁵⁰ what Statius has to say is quite jejune, indeed almost insultingly so. In fact, to call this an encomium at all is stretching the point, given that the encomiastic part only occupies three lines and that even these are open to alternative and less flattering interpretation: Domitian’s effect is to strike the flower of Italy and Greece dumb with amazement (hardly an auspicious opening to a poetry competition where at least some entries were required to be composed and delivered extempore);⁵¹ and more seriously, unlike the earlier, genuine Germanicus⁵² this one seems incapable of multi-tasking. Achilles on the other hand will be shown as fully skilled in the  In direct contrast to the Thebaid’s proem, which canvasses a series of topics to be excluded, the Achilleid’s promises e v e r y t h i n g . This is a lifetime’s work that can leave no room for anything else. The career-path identified by Hinds 1998, 97 n. 89 (‘Thebaid-Achilleid-Domitianic epic’) is here rendered utterly unachievable.  Cf. Silv. 4.4.93 – 100, where the same Apollo to whom Statius prays for inspiration at Ach. 1.8 – 11 is said to be urging him away from Achilles to ‘the yet mightier arms of the Ausonian leader’ (arma … Ausonii maiora ducis), a task from which fear repels him (cf. n. 39 above). This little piece of hyperbole adumbrates the motif of analogy between Achilles and Domitian that the Achilleid will explore.  Coleman 1986, 3097– 3100; White 1998, passim; A. Hardie 2003, 126 – 134. See also introduction p. 3.  See Penwill 2000, 63 – 68.  Quint. Inst. 10.1.91– 92; cf. 4 pr. 2– 6.  On extempore recitation at the Capitoline Games see White 1998, 88 – 89; A. Hardie 2003, 133 – 134.  Tiberius’ adopted son who combined a career at the top with the composition of poetical works in several genres. See Fantham 1996, 137– 138, 149.

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art of song at 1.188 – 194, and as Iliad 9.186 – 191 shows (not to mention Silvae 4.4.35 – 36), it was a skill that he never lost even after nine years of excelling on the battlefield. Further, the fact that this alleged skill of Domitian’s has long suffered the pain of defeat at the hands of its rival (olim dolet altera vinci) immediately puts a question mark over longe primum: in what exactly could he have been so ‘far out in front’ as to cause such stupefaction among the contestants? And then that final line: magnusque tibi praeludit Achilles, ‘Achilles, great though he is, is just a prelude to Yourself’.⁵³ The problem with the translation is that the English ‘prelude’ has largely lost the ludic aspect of the Latin verb praeludo. In its immediate context it would certainly appear to mean that the Achilleid is a bit of foreplay before we get on to the real thing. But the other possible reading is that Achilles (Statius’ own way of referring to this poem at e. g. Silv. 4.7.24) is playing games with you. I have argued elsewhere, following the lead of Margit Benker, that the portrayal of the young Achilles in this poem reflects aspects of Domitian’s early career, in a way that is hardly flattering to the emperor.⁵⁴ And that is where the poet leaves us; the ending of the Achilleid brings us back via Achilles’ reminiscences to the point at which we started, its protagonist trapped in an endless loop of adolescence. This Achilles will never go to Troy. At Silv. 4.7.21– 24 Statius puts the fact that the Achilleid has got stuck at the first turning post down to lack of inspiration caused by Vibius Maximus’ absence in Dalmatia, but this too is disingenuous; the fact is that it was never going to make that turn. And so we end up with another Lucanic ending in which the protagonist has nowhere to go; mother may know the rest, but she isn’t telling. Failing to fulfil the promise of a monumental epic is part of the game, its function to invite us to focus on and contemplate what is actually there. It is the last in the series of challenging moves that demands a rereading of the poem, a rereading that clearly must start with prologue and encomium – indeed, with the poem’s first lines (Stat. Ach. 1.1– 3): magnanimum Aeaciden formidatamque Tonanti progeniem et patrio vetitam succedere caelo, diva, refer. Great-hearted Aeacides, offspring feared by the Thunderer and forbidden succession to his father’s heaven, goddess, recount.

 For a more positive view of this line and the parallel Statius sets up between Domitian and Achilles see Aricò 1986, 2926 – 2931; cf. also Dilke 1954, 81; 1963.  Benker 1987; cf. Penwill 2000, 69 – 71 with 79 n. 29.

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The first word, magnanimum, ‘great-hearted’, adjective of epic heroes,⁵⁵ was, we may now recall, employed by Statius in the epilogue to the Thebaid (12.814– 815) to denote Caesar, which establishes a clear link between the two at the outset. We then get to the other two elements of the story the Muse is ordered to recount: offspring feared by Jupiter and forbidden succession to his father’s heaven (patrio vetitam succedere caelo). This is at first sight puzzling given that the whole point of marrying Thetis off to Peleus was to p r e v e n t Jupiter from being Achilles’ father and so avert his fear of being supplanted. But if we link Achilles to Domitian as we now realise the opening epithet invites us to do, the phrase takes on a whole new aspect: just as this Achilles will never get to Troy, so Domitian will never get to heaven. In the Thebaid’s encomium, as we saw, Domitian was urged to resist those Lucanic heavenly temptations and remain on earth; now the door is being shut in his face. His father won’t let him in.⁵⁶ Now to Silius.⁵⁷ Here too context and intertext are important. The encomium on the Flavians is the final part of a longer prophecy of Jupiter delivered in response to fears expressed by Venus as Hannibal is poised at the summit of the Alps ready to invade Italy (3.594– 629): ‘… exin se Curibus virtus caelestis ad astra efferet, et sacris augebit nomen Iulis bellatrix gens bacifero nutrita Sabino. hinc pater ignotam denabit vincere Thylen inque Caledonios primus trahet agmina lucos, compescet ripis Rhenum, reget impiger Afros palmiferamque senex bello domitabit Idymen. nec Stygis ille lacus viduataque lumine regna, sed superum sedem nostrosque tenebit honores. tum iuvenis magno praecellens robore mentis excipiet patriam molem celsusque feretur aequatum imperio tollens caput. hic fera gentis bella Palaestinae primo delebit in aevo. at tu transcendes, Germanice, facta tuorum, iam puer auricomo praeformidate Batavo. nec te terruerint Tarpei culminis ignes; sacrilegas inter flammas servabere terris, nam te longa manent nostri consortia mundi.

595

600

605

610

 Dilke 1954, 79. Parkes 2008, 382 n. 9, observes the use of this “grand compound epithet”, but like Dilke does not mention its allusion to the Thebaid’s close.  And so the first words of the proem have already undermined the assertion of Domitianic primacy that Hinds 1998, 97, observes in 1.18 – 19. Cf. n. 43 above.  This section draws in part on Penwill 2010, 221– 229.

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huic laxos arcus olim Gangetica pubes summittet vacuasque ostendent Bactra pharetras. hic et ab Arctoo currus aget axe per urbem, ducet et Eoos Baccho cedente triumphos. idem indignantem tramittere Dardana signa Sarmaticis victor compescet sedibus Histrum. quin et Romuleos superabit voce nepotes quis erit eloquio partum decus. huic sua Musae sacra ferent, meliorque lyra, cui substitit Hebrus et venit Rhodope, Phoebo miranda loquetur. ille etiam, qua prisca, vides, stat regia nobis, aurea Tarpeia ponet Capitolia rupe et iunget nostro templorum culmina caelo. tunc, o nate deum divosque dature, beatas imperio terras patrio rege. tarda senectam hospitia excipient caeli, solioque Quirinus concedet, mediumque parens fraterque locabunt; siderei iuxta radiabunt tempora nati.’

615

620

625

597 denabit Delz : donabit mss [Jupiter is speaking] ‘… Next godlike virtue from Cures will lift itself to the stars; a warmongering race nourished on the Sabine olive-bearer, it will boost the sacred Julian name. From here the father will sail out to conquer unknown Thule, and will be first to lead his columns into Caledonian groves; he will control the Rhine with levees; he will govern Africa energetically; and in his old age he will subdue palm-bearing Idume in war. Not for him the waters of Styx or the kingdom deprived of light: he will occupy a place among the gods and possess our positions of honour. Then his youngster, excelling in mighty strength of intellect, will take over his father’s huge task; he will be borne on high, raising a head equal to his power. In his earliest years shall this one crush the fierce wars waged by the Palestinian people. But you, Germanicus, will surpass the deeds of your relatives, dreaded already in your boyhood by the golden-haired Batavian. Nor shall the fires of the Tarpeian peak daunt you; amidst unholy flames you will be saved for the world, for a long partnership with me in our world awaits you. One day the warriors of the Ganges will unstring their bows and present them to him, to him also will the Bactrians display empty quivers. From the Arctic axis he will drive his chariot through the city, and with Bacchus yielding to him will celebrate triumphs over the East. This same one will close off the Danube, fretting at being crossed by Dardanian standards, from Sarmatian territory. Moreover with his voice he will surpass those descendants of Romulus who have won glory through eloquence. To him the Muses will offer their hallows and Phoebus will marvel at his utterance, as he will surpass in song him for whom the Hebrus stood still and Rhodope moved. You see where my ancient palace stands? Well, he will build there on the Tarpeian cliff a golden Capitol, and will make the pinnacles of the temple reach our place in the sky. Then, O son and maker of gods, rule an earth happy under your fatherly command. Heaven’s hospitality will welcome you late in your old age, Quirinus will withdraw from

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his throne, and your father and brother will place you between them; and next to you will radiate the forehead of your star-spangled son.’

As many critics have noted, this whole conversation is obviously designed to resonate with the corresponding one between these same two divinities in Aeneid 1,⁵⁸ even to the extent of being almost exactly the same length. The culminating point for the Aeneid’s Jupiter is the rise of the Julian family; for the Punica’s it is the rise of the Flavian, with particular focus on Domitian, who gets more than double the number of lines given to Vespasian and Titus. Neither of the latter two is named: Vespasian is identified as pater and Titus as iuvenis, whereas Domitian is given his warlord title Germanicus. On initial reading this gives the impression of unambiguous panegyric, in which the exploits of each are summarised and divinity promised to all three. It had already happened for Vespasian and Titus; the new Capitoline triad now eagerly awaits its third member, who will be given pride of place in the centre – a place we might note that he never achieved while they were all still on earth. The Virgilian intertext is obvious, and deliberately so – though not for the reason we might initially think. This is not Silius paying homage at Virgil’s tomb.⁵⁹ It is not that we are being invited to see Domitian as the culminating point of Roman history in the way that Virgil’s Jupiter represents Augustus; rather it is the fact of Virgilian allusion itself that we should be carrying in our minds. In the Aeneid, Jupiter’s prophecy is but the first in a series of three ideological passages focusing on Augustus, the other two being Anchises’ parade of future Romans in book 6 and the description of Aeneas’ shield at the end of book 8. Silius will have a shield and a visit to the underworld too, but they are very different. Had Silius followed the Virgilian precedent with respect to the shield, it would have been given to Scipio, no doubt made by Vulcan on the instructions of Scipio’s father Jupiter and containing scenes illustrating and celebrating the Flavians’ rise to power. This we do not get. By the time we reach the end of the poem we will realise that we already had the only shield we are going to get in the Punica back in book 2: it is the product of human rather than divine craftsmanship, it is given to Hannibal, and the scenes depicted are Carthaginian, not Roman.⁶⁰ It is as if Homer’s great shield had been given to Hector or Virgil’s to Turnus; it is in fact the antithesis of the Virgilian paradigm.⁶¹

 Cf. e. g. Spaltenstein 1986, 246; Giroldini 2005, 170 – 173; Klaassen 2005, 185 – 197.  Cf. Plin. Ep. 3.7.8, from a letter that has generated significant misreading of the Punica.  See the ekphrasis at Sil. 2.406 – 450.  Pomeroy 2000, 156 – 158, with further bibliography at 165 n. 37. Cf. also von Albrecht 1964, 173 – 175.

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Then there is the underworld scene in book 13, where Scipio goes down to meet his recently dead (earthly) father. Primed by the prophecy, we will no doubt be expecting a re-run of Aeneid 6, and echoes of the Aeneid in the build-up reinforce those expectations.⁶² So we await a vision of the future that will correspond to Anchises’ parade of future Romans. We wait and we wait: finally after 450 lines we arrive at the vision of souls yet to be born, drinking the waters of Lethe as they do in the Aeneid. It is short; there are four of them; and Domitian is nowhere to be seen. The four are Marius, Sulla, Pompey and Caesar, all notorious civil warriors. The end of the vision is bleak indeed (13.864 – 869): ‘… quantas moles, cum sede reclusa hac tandem erumpent, terraque marique movebunt! heu miseri, quotiens toto pugnabitur orbe! nec leviora lues quam victus crimina, victor.’ tum iuvenis lacrimans: ‘restare haec ordine duro lamentor rebus Latiis. …’

865

[The Sibyl is speaking] ‘… What upheavals will they create by land and sea when finally this place is opened up and they burst forth! Ah wretched ones, how often will there be war over the whole world! And you, conqueror, will pay for no less serious crimes than the conquered.’ Then the young man, weeping, replied: ‘I grieve that in the harsh unfolding of things this is what lies ahead for the Roman state. … ’

The future turns out not to be a Virgilian vision of greatness and the coming of the promised one (tibi quem promitti saepius audis, | Augustus Caesar, ‘the one you so often hear is promised to you, Augustus Caesar’, Aen. 6.791– 792), but a Lucanic one of worldwide violence and civil war.⁶³ Scipio weeps at the harsh reality here revealed. We may well join him. Once more, and far more pointedly, Silius has departed from his Virgilian paradigm. As with the shield, not only are Domitian and the future glories of his reign conspicuously absent, but they have been replaced by something even more sinister. The vision of a Lucanic future invites us to go beyond Marius, Sulla, Caesar and Pompey to the Flavians themselves, whose march to power involved not just fighting in the streets of Rome but the burning of Jupiter’s temple on the Capitol, an event that would be etched on the memory of Silius and his readers and is alluded to with appropriate Domitianic spin at 3.609 – 610. Civil war thus will succeed in doing what Hannibal signally failed to do; indeed, what Jupiter prevents Hannibal from doing, as he hurls his thunderbolt at the

 Cf. Klaassen 2009, 113 – 126.  On the Lucanic parallel and its implications cf. Reitz 1982, 127– 129; Ahl / Davis / Pomeroy 1986, 2552; Tipping 2009, 198.

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invader who threatened to drive him from his Tarpeian height (see 12.516 – 517, 622– 626). And we might now find ourselves emboldened to seek out a Lucanic subtext in Jupiter’s prophecy itself. Consider first the way the Flavians are introduced at lines 3.594– 596. This bellatrix gens, already possessed of caelestis virtus, will make its way unaided to the stars; what is more, it will enlarge the name of the sacred (i. e. deified) Julians by appropriating to itself the title of Caesar, the name that looms so large in the Bellum civile. And the language used of Vespasian at 601– 602 suggests not mere deification but supplanting. Just as in Lucan Jupiter is replaced by the Caesars (see esp. Luc. 7.445 – 459), so here he will yield to Vespasian: superum sedem nostrosque tenebit honores, ‘he [Vespasian] will occupy the place of the gods and our positions of honour will he possess’. The stage is set for a new Gigantomachy; like piled-up mountains, Domitian’s new temple will reach to the sky (iunget nostro templorum culmina caelo, 623); what I earlier termed the new Capitoline triad is poised to take over. As Lucan said, bella pares superis facient civilia divos, ‘civil wars will produce divinities equal to the gods’ (Luc. 7.457) – but as Lucan also said, in reality they are nothing but shadows (7.459). The absence of follow-up to the Virgilian prophecy and its replacement by the vision of a Lucanic future invite this rereading of what at first might seem an innocuous and uncomplicated piece of panegyric.⁶⁴ The opening and closing lines of the poem themselves present an important context for the encomium (1.1– 3, 7– 8; 17.651– 654): ordior arma, quibus caelo se gloria tollit Aeneadum patiturque ferox Oenotria iura Carthago. … quaesitumque diu, qua tandem poneret arce terrarum Fortuna caput.

3 7

I begin a tale of arms, by which the glory of the Aeneadae rises to heaven and fierce Carthage is subject to Oenotrian law. … and it was long in question on what citadel Fortune would locate the capital of the world.

 One further argument that could be adduced in support of this reading of Sil. 3.594– 629 is the fact that it is there at all. Silius was the only one of the extant Flavian epicists to survive into the reigns of Nerva and Trajan, and if this were nothing but the “éloge obligatoire” that Spaltenstein terms it, it is to say the least surprising that it survived the damnatio memoriae that followed Domitian’s assassination. Martial after all was quick to withdraw the already published first edition of his tenth book to edit out the poems praising Domitian (Mart. 10.2.1– 4), and for Silius likewise to recall his epic and replace this passage with one foretelling the coming of Nerva and Trajan would have been easy enough. That Silius chose not to do this could of course represent perverse stubbornness on his part (see n. 75 below), but it seems more likely to be due to the fact that he regarded it as an integral part of his poem’s design and the message it is intended to convey.

Imperial encomia in Flavian epic

salve, invicte parens, non concessure Quirino laudibus ac meritis, non concessure Camillo. nec vero, cum te memorat de stirpe deorum, prolem Tarpei, mentitur Roma, Tonantis.

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651

Hail, unconquered father [sc. Scipio], never to yield to Quirinus in glory or services, nor to Camillus. And assuredly when she speaks of you as descended from the gods, as the offspring of the Tarpeian Thunderer, Rome does not lie.

The opening declares that this is to be the story of a war fought, like Lucan’s Civil War and Domitian’s Capitoline War, over world domination. But there is a fundamental difference between Scipio and the civil warriors who confront him in the underworld. For Scipio the war is a fight about Rome’s survival and place in the world;⁶⁵ for the civil warriors it is about gaining the proceeds of that fight, possession of Rome and her empire. Despite Duff’s attempt to obscure the fact,⁶⁶ the verbs in the first two lines are in the present tense; it is thanks to Scipio and the temperament of Romans at that time that Rome n o w enjoys her position of supremacy, that Carthage n o w is a Roman city in which Vespasian was able to serve with distinction as provincial governor (3.599). The genuine achievement of Scipio, foreshadowed here and given its final ovation in the narrative of his triumph with which the poem closes, stands in stark contrast to the inflated catalogue of the alleged achievements of Domitian, whose assumption of the title Germanicus (which now acquires more than a tinge of irony)⁶⁷  From his acceptance of his lot in life at 13.546 – 547 through his choice of Virtue over Pleasure (15.18 – 128) to his triumphant return to Rome after settling affairs at Carthage with which the poem ends, Scipio consistently puts patria and fides above self. T h i s is how sons of gods are expected to behave. His lack of personal ambition is shown in the phrase securus sceptri, ‘uninterested in royal power’, at 17.627 (for this meaning of securus with the genitive see OLD s.v. 4b). Marks 2005a, 113 – 206 and passim, argues that Scipio is marked for kingship from the first moment we meet him (the eagle omen at the Ticinus, 4.115 – 119) and that by the end of the poem he has fully achieved it; to my mind kingship is precisely what Scipio is n o t seeking (note esp. 16.278 – 285). Nor can I agree with the comment of Ahl / Davis / Pomeroy 1986, 2556, that Scipio’s triumph was “a victory that accommodated a great hero’s thirst for glory rather than the most essential needs of the state” or with Tipping 2009, 217, who sees in Scipio “[a] forerunner for dangerous individualism in Rome”. Cf. Spaltenstein 1996, 484.  Duff 1934, 3.  Both Silius (3.608) and Martial (2.2.4) suggest that Domitian qualified for this accolade while still a boy (puer). At Dom. 2.1 Suetonius records a youthful expedition by Domitian ‘against Gaul and the Germanies’ undertaken solely as an attempt to emulate his brother; the undignified outcome of this was that Domitian was recalled, reprimanded and ordered to live with his father to keep him out of trouble. Whatever the merits of Domitian’s campaign against the Chatti in 84 (the official origin of the title), Silius’ linking of it to this piece of youthful indiscretion only serves to diminish it (while of course at the same time appearing to flatter).

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stands likewise in stark contrast to the award to Scipio of the title Africanus (17.626).⁶⁸ And as far as claims to divinity are concerned, the final couplet with its unusual wording throws out the challenge: when Rome ascribes divine parentage to t h i s man she does n o t lie – the implication of course being that in other instances she does. As something of a footnote to this issue I turn finally to the other passage of the Punica which is claimed to be an expression of ‘genuine’ support for Domitian. This comes at the end of book 14 (14.684– 688): felices populi, si, quondam ut bella solebant, nunc quoque inexhaustas pax nostra relinqueret urbes! at, ni cura viri, qui nunc dedit otia mundo, effrenum arceret populandi cuncta furorem, nudassent avidae terrasque fretumque rapinae.

685

Happy would peoples be if, as our wars once used to do, so now our peace would leave cities undespoiled! But if the man who has now given the world leisure were not concerning himself to curb unbridled passion for plundering all things, greedy brigandage would have stripped bare both land and sea.

The first thing one has to say is that as panegyric this is pretty tame stuff, and hardly bears pairing with book 3’s prophecy in the way Fantham does.⁶⁹ The person designated as vir in line 686 is unnamed, and there is barely enough detail in this brief passage to enable us to identify him.⁷⁰ What gives rise to it is the claim that after the fall of Syracuse Marcellus imposed a ban on looting and destruction (see esp. 14.673 – 674 sic parcere victis | pro praeda fuit, ‘sparing the conquered took the place of looting’, as if the victorious Romans had suddenly remembered the Virgilian precept parcere subiectis).⁷¹ Silius then offers this authorial comment, which plays on the conceit that in wartime Rome showed restraint, but the pax Romana that is now in place has given free rein to the rapacity of local officials – or would have if this unnamed vir had not made it his

 Contrast Bernstein 2009, 388 – 389, who sees them as comparable. For a more balanced view cf. Tipping 2009, 201– 203, 213, with further bibliography cited at 213 n. 82.  Fantham 1996, 169.  It might be Nerva; it might even be Trajan, with reference to the prosecution of Marius Priscus for extortion in January 100, which would make it just chronologically possible for Silius to have attached these lines to the end of book 14 before his death (on Trajan as ‘giver of otium’ cf. Mart. 12.5.3). But in view of his attested attempts to control the excesses of provincial governors (see below), Domitian is the most likely candidate, and I have followed communis opinio in this assumption.  Ahl / Davis / Pomeroy 1986, 2538.

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business to intervene.⁷² The usual interpretation is that it refers to measures Domitian put in place to exercise control over city magistrates and provincial governors recorded at Suet. Dom. 8.2.⁷³ That seems reasonable enough. But once again the key to an alternative reading lies in the intertext. Line 686 with its striking use of otia seems clearly to allude to Virgil Ecl. 1.6, where Tityrus says o Meliboee, deus nobis haec otia fecit (‘O Meliboeus, a god has made this leisure for us’). In the case of an emperor who notoriously insisted on being designated dominus et deus,⁷⁴ to substitute vir for Virgil’s deus is a telling point indeed – particularly given the intimations of divinity in the panegyric of book 3 and the fact that in line 686 dei would fit the metre equally well.⁷⁵ Further, comparison with Livy’s account of the fall of Syracuse shows that the claim Silius makes about Marcellus’ restraint in order to cue in this ostensibly flattering reference to Domitian is actually false; despite the noble reflections recorded at Liv. 25.24.11– 15 Marcellus in fact did hand the city over to his troops to be sacked, the only property protected being that belonging to those who had been on the Roman side (Liv. 25.31.8 – 11).⁷⁶ The picture Silius paints of the defeated Syracusans and victorious Romans virtually dancing in the streets together immediately prior to this passage (14.679 – 683) is a total distortion of the historical record; as such, it serves to make the extrapolation to the present appear yet more contrived and artificial. As authorial comment designed to compliment, it pales into insignificance beside the apostrophe to Scipio at the end of book 17 and certainly fails – and I would say intentionally fails – to counterbalance Domitian’s total absence from the underworld scene in the immediately preceding book 13.

 McGuire 1997, 81– 82, argues that the praise in this passage is “faint”, and undercut by the first two lines that suggest that “peace … under Domitian … is even more destructive than wars used to be”. In fact, as we shall see, it is no praise at all.  Spaltenstein 1990, 338; Jones 1996, 72– 73.  Suet. Dom. 13.2; cf. Mart. 5.5.2– 3; 5.8.1; 7.2.1, 6; 7.5.3, 5; 7.34.8; 8.2.6; 8.82.2– 3. For a full list of Martial’s use of these titles see Martin 1986, 204 nn. 26 and 27. For further discussion with bibliography see Jones 1996, 109 – 110.  Silius thus goes further than Martial, who only rejects the dominus et deus appellation when it is not only safe, but also politically correct to do so: Mart. 10.72. We might note too that while Martial is careful to maintain at least a veneer of saying what Trajan wants to hear (though there is a subtext here also – see Fearnley 2003, 626 – 628), Silius – at least in the latter part of his life – is less concerned about giving offence: his failure to attend Trajan’s entry into Rome as emperor (Plin. Ep. 3.7.6 – 7) contrasts markedly with Martial’s expressed eager anticipation of this same event (10.6, 7).  Contrast Fucecchi 2009, 238, who views the ending of book 14 as wholly positive towards Marcellus.

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To conclude. The Year of Four Emperors clearly had a profound effect on poets of the Flavian period, all of whom lived through it. It determined both their choice of subject matter and the way in which they handled it. All were aware that the Flavian dynasts had achieved their position of pre-eminence as a consequence of Vespasian’s opportunistic exploitation of the chaos of 69 CE; all were aware too that these were the new gods and patrons to whom they were expected to pay homage as the Augustan poets had done for the Julians. All, however, were poets of sufficient integrity not to succumb to producing unequivocal expressions of flattery. As poets, they were locating themselves in a tradition that now included Lucan on top of Ovid and Virgil, and the example of all three showed both the possibilities and the dangers of writing against the grain of contemporary political correctness. While eschewing the defiance of Tacitus’ Maternus or the younger Helvidius, they nevertheless appropriated the technique of Quintilianic emphasis to the extent that they were able to encode their own reservations about Caesar and Caesarism in those very passages where deference to the emperor seemed on the surface to be paramount. What I have tried to do is to explore ways in which this aliud latens, this ‘hidden something else’, is rendered decipherable by the reader, who thus gets what s/he has been programmed to anticipate.

Daniela Galli

Recusatio in Flavian epic poetry Valerius Flaccus’ Argonautica (1.7 – 21) and Statius’ Thebaid (1.17 – 33)

1. Introduction Recusatio ¹ is a stylistic device through which the poet refuses to devote himself to a lofty genre of poetry like tragedy or epic (according to Aristotle’s classification of literary genres affirming their excellence), preferring humbler ones, like lyric or elegy, as they are more suitable to himself. Recusatio was inaugurated – as far as we know – by Callimachus in the prologue to his Aitia,² where he declares to have received from Apollo the warning to avoid a long poem in epic hexameters in favour of cultivating a soft style of poetry: this Callimachean passage fixed the contrast between genus grande (indicating epic themes) and genus tenue (indicating lyrics) as the basic trait in the literary use of recusatio.

 On recusatio in general see D’Anna 1997, 737– 739.  Callim. Aet. fr. 1.1– 6, 19 – 24 Pf.: …]ι μοι Τελχῖνες ἐπιτρύζουσιν ἀοιδῇ, | νήιδες οἳ Μούσης οὐκ ἐγένοντο φίλοι, | εἵνεκεν οὐχ ἓν ἄεισμα διηνεκὲς ἢ βασιλ[η | …]ας ἐν πολλαῖς ἤνυσα χιλιάσιν | ἢ …]. ους ἥρωας, ἔπος δ’ ἐπὶ τυτθὸν ἑλ[ίσσω | παῖς ἅτε, τῶν δ’ ἐτέων ἡ δεκὰς οὐκ ὀλίγη. | … ‘… | μηδ’ ἀπ’ ἐμεῦ διφᾶτε μέγα ψοφέουσαν ἀοιδήν | τίκτεσθαι· βροντᾶν οὐκ ἐμόν, ἀλλὰ Διός.’ | καὶ γὰρ ὅτε πρώτιστον ἐμοῖς ἐπὶ δέλτον ἔθηκα | γούνασιν, Ἀ[πό]λλων εἶπεν ὅ μοι Λύκιος· | …] … ἀοιδέ, τὸ μὲν θύος ὅττι πάχιστον | θρέψαι, τὴ]ν Μοῦσαν δ’ ὠγαθὲ λεπταλέην· | … – ‘(I know that) the Telchines, who are ignorant and no friends of the Muse, grumble at my poetry, because I did not accomplish one continuous poem of many thousands of lines on … kings or … heroes, but like a child I roll forth a short tale, though the decades of my years are not few. … ‘…, nor look to me for a song loudly resounding. It is not mine to thunder; that belongs to Zeus.’ For when I first placed a tablet on my knees, Lycian Apollo said to me: ‘… poet, feed the victim to be as fat as possible but, my friend, keep the Muse slender. …’ ’ [trans. C.A. Trypanis 1958]. See Nisbet / Hubbard 1970 on Horace, Carm. 1.6.1– 12, pp. 81– 82: “In a series of memorable metaphors Callimachus rejects the main road for the by-path, the donkey’s bray for the cicada’s chirp, the trite and over-fluent for the original and highly-worked.” At the beginning of the Aitia, therefore, Callimachus declares that he rejects kings and heroes as a subject for his poetry: see Nisbet / Hubbard 1978 on Horace, Carm. 2.12.1– 12, pp. 179 – 180: “In his famous prototype Callimachus had written a manifesto against the pretentious matter and inflated manner of neo-epic, and had named kings and heroes as unsuitable subjects”.

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This stylistic device was then introduced into Latin literature by Lucilius,³ and it was not unknown to the poetae novi,⁴ but its use grew in importance under the Augustan principate: recusatio becomes a familiar device in Augustan poetry, by which poets defend their own poetic vocation against Augustus’ cultural policy aimed at rediscovering epic.⁵ Recusatio in Augustan poetry becomes excusatio: the poet excuses himself for not being able to write epic, justifying in such a way the preference accorded to less weighty genres like lyrics or elegy.⁶ In post-Augustan literature recusatio is not confined to lyric or elegy, but recurs in many other literary genres: Nauta,⁷ in his study on recusatio in Flavian poetry, offers an overview of the most significant instances of recusatio in Flavian literature, from epic to Statius’ Silvae and Martial’s epigrams. In particular, the case of Flavian epic seems interesting and, in my opinion, deserves to be studied further. In the Flavian age recusatio becomes a feature of epic as well, with a surprising novel twist: the opposition between epic and lyric / elegy fixed as the basic trait of recusatio since Callimachus is now replaced by a hierarchy of subjects within epic itself, deeds of the Flavian dynasty versus the Greek mythological tradition.⁸ Recusatio acquires a crucial importance at the beginning of Flavian epic poems: in the proem, in the very opening of the poem, when silence is broken, Flavian epic poets have recourse to the literary device of recusatio to justify their preference for a mythological Greek subject instead of a contemporary history as a topic for their works.

 See book 26, fr. 620, 621 M. = 713, 714 W.: hunc laborem sumas, laudem qui tibi ac fructum ferat: | percrepa pugnam Popili, facta Corneli cane. – ‘You must undertake a labour that may bring praise and profit for you.’ ‘Make a loud noise about Popilius’ battle, and sing the exploits of Cornelius.’ [trans. E.H. Warmington 1938]. See also Puelma Piwonka 1949, 153 ff.  Cf. Nisbet / Hubbard 1970 on Horace, Carm. 1.6, p. 82: “Callimachus’s ideals were imported to Rome by Parthenius and the neoterics (cf. Catullus 95 on Cinna’s Zmyrna). Virgil translated and transmuted the splendid lines from the Aitia (ecl. 6.3 ff.): cum canerem reges et proelia, Cynthius aurem | vellit et admonuit: ‘pastorem, Tityre, pingues | pascere oportet oves, deductum dicere carmen’.”  La Penna 1963, 113 – 135, esp. 115: “Augusto voleva una cultura che servisse più decisamente la restaurazione morale, religiosa, politica e che fosse meno legata all’intimità individuale: quindi poemi epici o epico-storici, rinascita del teatro”.  For recusatio in Augustan poetry see Reitzenstein 1908, 84; Wehrli 1944, 69 – 76; Rimmel 1960, 162 ff.; Sisti 1967, 59 – 79; Cody 1976; Race 1978, 179 – 196; D’Anna 1979a, 209 – 225; 1979b, 537– 549; 1983, 121– 135; Nannini 1982, 71– 78; Aricò 1983, 67– 93.  Nauta 2006, 21– 40.  On the antinomy of historical vs. mythological epic in the Flavian period see also Heerink in this volume.

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Valerius Flaccus’ Argonautica and Statius’ Thebaid must be compared under this aspect: the proems of both these Flavian epic poems are dominated by recusatio in an interesting way. Valerius and Statius try to avoid the commemoration of the most important heroic moments of the Flavian dynasty,⁹ such as the bellum Iudaicum, led by Vespasian and concluded by Titus with the conquest of Jerusalem, or the bellum Capitolinum, in which Domitian took part: so they have recourse to the literary device of recusatio, to express their refusal of a historical epic specifically dedicated to celebrating the glories of the Flavian dynasty and to opt for the re-establishment of the mythological epic with an exclusive Greek setting. Both these poets, at the beginning of their works, admit their difficulty in positioning themselves within this framework – mythological-epic versus historical-epic poetry – and use the literary device of recusatio to justify their preference for the first option. Both Valerius and Statius succeed in harmonizing recusatio with laudatio principis so that the denial to celebrate Flavian triumphs does not seem too unwelcome for the prince: laudatio principis follows recusatio in both proems and completes it with all honours due to the emperor. Valerius’ use of the literary device of recusatio is skilful and effective, while in Statius’ Thebaid this literary trick results in more articulated speech: Statius’ attempt to justify his choice in poetry is not able to disguise entirely the suspicion of denial. This also reveals a more complicated attitude of this poet towards imperial power and its control over literary activity.

2. Valerius Flaccus In the proem of his Argonautica (1.1– 21), after having invoked Apollo’s guidance, Valerius Flaccus asks Vespasian for the protection of this poem (1.10 – 11): eripe me populis et habenti nubila terrae | sancte pater – ‘do thou, holy sire, raise me above the nations and the cloud-wrapped earth’¹⁰. Valerius begs Vespasian to provide help to his literary efforts and asks him for support while he is singing the deeds of ancient heroes (1.11– 12): veterumque fave veneranda canenti | facta virum – ‘and be favourable unto me as I hymn the wondrous deeds of old time heroes’. In the following verses Valerius explains that Vespasian’s son, Domitian, is destined to glorify his brother Titus for his capture and destruction of Jerusalem (1.12– 13): versam proles tua pandit Idumen, | namque potest, … – ‘Thy son shall

 Scott 1936; Bardon 1962; 1968, 304 ff.; Brugnoli 1964a.  Text: W.-W. Ehlers 1980; translation: J.H. Mozley.

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tell of the overthrow of Idume – for well he can –’. Valerius here subtly apologizes for preferring veterum … | facta virum as a topic for his poem to celebrating Titus for having conquered Jerusalem in 70 CE and recurs, quite surprisingly, to the literary device of recusatio to justify the choice of a mythological subject for his poem rather than a historical one. In contrast to Augustan poetry, in Valerius’ poem recusatio is motivated not by the preference accorded to a literary genre different from epic, but by the choice of the topic itself: the mythological account of the Argonautic expedition in remote Colchis instead of celebrating Titus’ military glories. Valerius explicitly declares to leave the task of spreading the glory of his brother Titus to Domitian: the poet adopts from recusatio, as it already appeared in Horatian poetry, the conventional device of indicating another poet who will be able to treat the rejected topic.¹¹ In such a way Valerius also delegates to Domitian the role of supreme poet, suggesting that the greatness of Titus’ military deeds deserve the highest praise and a more appropriate poet. Domitian is the poet¹² who, better than Valerius, will be able to deliver an encomium of his triumphant brother: too great are Titus’ deeds to be praised by Valerius, because only a relative of future gods, like Domitian, is up to that task. Namque potest ¹³  The suggestion of a more suitable writer who will be able, better than the poet himself, to treat the rejected topic is a conventional motif of recusatio in Horatian poetry. In Carmen 1.6 Horace, for instance, politely declines to write about Agrippa, because he cannot handle epic themes due to his own preference for lyric, and he recommends Varius instead, who will be able to praise Agrippa’s military and naval victories (Hor. Carm. 1.6.1– 9): scriberis Vario fortis et hostium | victor Maeonii carminis alite, | quam rem cumque ferox navibus aut equis | miles te duce gesserit. | nos, Agrippa, neque haec dicere nec gravem | Pelidae stomachum cedere nescii | nec cursus duplicis per mare Ulixei | nec saevam Pelopis domum | conamur, tenues grandia, … – ‘Varius, a bird of Maeonian song, will write of you as a brave man who has conquered our enemies, recording all the feats that your fierce troops have performed on shipboard or horseback under your command. I do not attempt to recount such things, Agrippa, any more than the deadly rancour of Peleus’ son who was incapable of giving way, or the wily Ulysses and his journey over the sea, or the inhuman house of Pelops; such themes are too grand for one of slender powers.’ [trans. N. Rudd 2004]. In Carmen 2.12 Horace explains that Maecenas would be more appropriate than himself to glorify Augustus’ triumphs because of his noble ancestors (Hor. Carm. 2.12.9 – 12): tuque pedestribus | dices historiis proelia Caesaris, | Maecenas, melius ductaque per vias | regum colla minacium. – ‘You, Maecenas, will better describe in the prose of history the battles of Caesar and the necks of menacing kings dragged through the streets.’ [trans. N. Rudd 2004] (cf. Nisbet / Hubbard 1978 ad loc.).  For Domitian’s poetic abilities see Coleman 1986.  Namque potes is the reading of the manuscripts maintained by Getty (1936), Courtney (1970), Liberman (1997) and Kleywegt (2005), but namque potest is palaeographically defendable: methodologically, the Virgilian reminiscence (Virg. Aen. 6.365 – 366: eripe me his, invicte, malis: aut tu mihi terram | inice (namque potes) – ‘… snatch me from these woes, unconquered one!

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(1.13) is a most tactful choice on behalf of Valerius, an extremely skilful expression: with these words Valerius skilfully remarks that only Domitian can do it adequately. Despite his refusal to celebrate the conquest of Jerusalem, Valerius, according to a scheme already used by Augustan poets,¹⁴ inserts a panegyric for Titus, reserving a brief aristeia for him: the son of Vespasian is depicted while setting fire to all the towers in Jerusalem, still dirty with the dust of the fight. Therefore Valerius, even if declaring himself unable to praise the Judaic deeds of Titus, briefly celebrates the conqueror of Jerusalem, showing remarkable skills in encomiastic panegyric. With his skilful use of recusatio in the proem, Valerius reaches three objectives: 1. confirming his choice of a mythological-epic poem, while leaving the historical epic to the care of Domitian, who will make history and who is also skilful as a poet; thus he demonstrates that he is far from showing a disrespect of historical epic poetry. 2. raising further the glory of the Flavian dynasty, saying that only an emperor, like Domitian, can properly praise Titus’ military deeds.

Either cast earth on me, for that you can, …’ [trans. H. Rushton Fairclough / G.P. Goold 1999) is not a sufficient reason to prove the reading namque potes, which could be influenced by the Virgilian verse or could derive mechanically from the haplography potes(t) Solymo, if not from a combination of the two. Namque potest seems also preferable with respect to the preceding tua proles.  Sometimes Augustan poets suggest indirect compliments to the illustrious man who will not be the subject of their poetry, so that the denial does not seem too impolite. In Carmen 4.2, for instance, Horace explains that the choice of lyric, with its soft style, prevents him from celebrating Augustus’ triumph over the fierce Sigambri in epic hexameters: so it will not be himself, but Iullus Antonius who will praise Augustus’ deeds. Horace’s procedure sounds quite ironic since Iullus Antonius is absolutely unknown, but, in order to let the prince understand that his attitude is not marked by indifference to his successes, the poet inserts a brief but significant panegyric on Augustus, saying that, on earth, there is nobody better and greater than him (Hor. Carm. 4.2.33 – 40): concines maiore poeta plectro | Caesarem, quandoque trahet feroces | per sacrum clivum merita decorus | fronde Sygambros; | quo nihil maius meliusve terris | fata donavere bonique divi | nec dabunt, quamvis redeant in aurum | tempora priscum. – ‘You, a poet of larger quill, will celebrate Caesar when, decorated with a well-earned wreath of bay, he drags the fierce Sygambri up the Sacred Hill. The Fates and the gods in their goodness have given nothing greater or better than him to the world, nor will they do so even if the ages return to their original gold.’ [trans. N. Rudd 2004].

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taking the opportunity to praise Domitian as well as Vespasian and Titus in the proem. While Virgil in the Georgics,¹⁵ Valerius’ model for the celebration of the prince, had to compare himself with just one divus, Valerius in his proem had to deal with three imperial figures (Vespasian, Titus, Domitian), one of whom was alive (Vespasian) and the other two discordant and restless, aiming at surpassing each other. The certainty of the dynastic succession embodied in Titus and Domitian could itself be a problem since they were in more or less open conflict. Therefore, Valerius’ position was particularly delicate because in his proem he had to praise three imperial figures, present ones as well as future ones: extreme caution was required to opportunely award honours by the poetic word.¹⁶ With his skilful move of delegating the task of celebrating Titus’ deeds to Domitian, Valerius cleverly manages to praise all three imperial figures in his proem.

Considering the insertion of the brief aristeia for Titus and the role of poet assigned to Domitian in a phrase combining exaltation and exclusion, it is difficult to believe that Valerius wrote these verses of the proem during Domitian’s reign,¹⁷ and the hypothesis that the proem was dedicated to Vespasian while he was alive (between 70 – 80 CE) is more acceptable and likely.¹⁸

3. Statius Recusatio is also used at the beginning of his Thebaid by Statius. Early on in the poem (1.15 – 17) Statius declares, with a sort of Hellenistic delimitation, that he is

 Virg. G. 1.24– 26: tuque adeo, quem mox quae sint habitura deorum | concilia, incertum est, urbisne invisere, Caesar, | terrarumque velis curam, … – ‘And you above all, Caesar, whom we know not what company of the gods shall claim ere long; whether thou choose to watch over cities and care for our lands, …’ [trans. H. Rushton Fairclough / G.P. Goold 1999]. See also Ussani jr. 1955, 83 ff.; Paratore 1976.  Caviglia 1999, 8 – 11.  Syme (1929, 129 – 137) believes that Valerius began the proem in 71– 72 CE and then resumed it in the fourth or fifth year of Domitian’s reign. Getty (1936, 53 – 61) is convinced that Valerius began the Argonautica after Vespasian’s death and invoked Vespasian in the proem in order to avoid the choice between Titus and Domitian. Scott (1934) thinks that Valerius worked on the second part of the poem in the years 89 – 92 CE. For an overview on the issue of the proem’s date see Galli 2007, 30 – 33.  Brugnoli (1964b) remarks that the phrasing of the first verses of Valerius’ Argonautica would be unthinkable under the principate of Domitian, since Valerius makes no reference at all to the De bello Iudaico (see also Tandoi 1992, 755 – 770).

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going to limit¹⁹ himself to treating the events of Oedipus’ family: atque adeo iam nunc gemitus et prospera Cadmi | praeteriisse sinam: limes mihi carminis esto | Oedipodae confusa domus – ‘No; already shall I let the sorrows and happy days of Cadmus be bygones. Let the limit of my lay be the troubled house of Oedipus.’²⁰ In this way, excluding deliberately part of the huge repertory belonging to the Theban saga and opting for a more circumscribed theme, Statius clarifies his refusal of a comprehensive poem covering an entire mythical tradition. By such a choice of topic for his poem, Statius also demonstrates that he is far from official expectations. Choosing Oedipodae confusa domus and its fall in the fratricidal war, Statius behaves differently from Valerius Flaccus, who opted for a theme, like the Argonautic myth, that could be considered organic to the regime (it was in harmony with the foreign policy of the Roman emperors since Claudius, geared towards exploring and conquering remote lands²¹): writing a poem about two brothers killing each other in pursuit of power in the years dominated by the more or less manifest contrast between Titus and Domitian, with all the possibilities of bringing it up-to-date, appears at least incautious on Statius’ part and could be read as a clear gesture of opposition. The refusal of a comprehensive poem asserted in the proem and the definition of a limit for the topic of his work are linked by Statius to the admission of incapacity for a more demanding poem. At 1.17– 18 Statius introduces his regret for not yet being able to devote his pen to Domitian’s victories: quando Itala nondum | signa nec Arctoos a u s i m spirare triumphos – ‘For not yet do I d a r e breathe forth Italian standards and northern triumphs’. The poet declares himself unable (nec … ausim) to be the singer of imperial deeds, and he apologizes for preferring the mythological account of the events concerning Oedipus’ family. Statius also emphasises that he received the impulse to sing of that precise subject from the Muses,²² thereby denying the responsibility for the choice. Statius’ education, based, according to his own account, on the study of Greek poets²³ can also explain his difficulties in facing the panegyrical culture²⁴ and his choice of a topic from the Theban saga for his poem.  For further observations on limes carminis cf. Vessey 1986, 2971– 2973.  Text: Klotz / Klinnert 1973; translation: D.R. Shackleton Bailey 2003.  Tandoi 1992a.  Cf. Rosati 2002, 251: “Thanks to the Muse, and to her useful function of a protective screen, Statius will be able to avoid beginning the work which power desired to impose upon him.”  See Traglia / Aricò 1980, 15 – 16: “Stazio stesso fu discepolo del padre; ed è lui che ci informa sulla natura di questa scuola, in cui si leggevano e si commentavano Omero, Esiodo, Epicarmi (?), Pindaro, Ibico, Alcmane, Sofrone, Corinna, Stesicoro e Saffo, ma anche Callimaco e Licofrone: con una significativa attenzione, quindi, per autori, oltre che (prevalentemente) classici, anche alessandrini”; also Traglia 1965.

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Statius uses the literary device of recusatio as an excuse for having limited the topic of his epic to the mythological tradition instead of choosing a historical subject. As the Augustan poets opted for less weighty genres like lyric or elegy instead of epic, so Statius admits his lack of strength²⁵ for the historical-panegyrical epic and, with bold innovation, he applies this motif to the opposition between genus grande and genus tenue, the basic contrast of recusatio since Callimachus. However, he is forced to set up a hierarchy in epic poetry: Statius’ recusatio focuses on limiting the topic of the epic poem to a sort of minor theme, while the wider field would be that of the prince’s deeds. Since in the previous proposition Statius set the limit for the topic of his poem, in the following one an explanation of the reasons why the topic of his poem is so defined would be expected; instead, the argument here takes a different turn, and praise for Domitian is introduced unexpectedly. Beginning, through the causal proposition with quando, a wide-ranging exaltation of Domitian, in which the poet declares himself unable to adequately praise the prince’s deeds, Statius makes an unexpected move: in this way he tries to cleverly combine recusatio with laudatio principis. However, recusatio and praise for Domitian appear in conflict in Statius’ proem and the separation of the two types of speech becomes evident at the point that should determine their connection, that is in the causal proposition introduced by quando. ²⁶ The section devoted to the laudatio principis (1.17– 33) is divided by Statius into two parts: the first one (1.17– 22) hints at external triumphs, the second one (1.22– 23) at an internal one. Domitian’s external triumphs are evoked briefly, with a series of coordinated phrases going from the general to the particular. Verses 1.19 – 20²⁷ contain direct references to the triumphs achieved by Domitian over the Chatti in 83 – 84 CE and over the Dacians in 89 CE. A deliberate solemnity is evident in this couple of verses to give prominence to Domitian’s glory: note the apo koinou construction of adactum, the variation iugo / legibus, the anaphora bis … bis and finally the homoioteleuton that in verse 19 underlines,  This problematic attitude towards panegyrical utterances is perceived more acutely in another work by Statius, the Silvae, incorporating praise and criticism for Domitian and his court circle. Newlands (2002) maintains that the collection is highly subversive and subtly expresses Statius’ concerns about the autocratic tendencies of the Roman upper class.  For the theme of the poet unskilled in the literary genre of elegy see, for instance, Prop. 2.1.39 – 46.  Caviglia 1972, 142– 143.  Stat. Theb. 1.17– 20: quando Itala nondum | signa nec Arctoos ausim spirare triumphos | bisque iugo Rhenum, bis adactum legibus Histrum | et coniurato deiectos vertice Dacos … – ‘For not yet do I dare breathe forth Italian standards and northern triumphs – Rhine twice subjugated, Hister twice brought under obedience, Dacians hurled down from their leagued mountain, …’.

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as a conclusion of the two hemistichs, the triumphal echo of the victories over two great rivers Rhenum … Histrum. Having brought the series of the external triumphs to an end, Statius reminds us of Domitian’s defence of the Capitol during the civil war in 69 CE, when Vitellius’ supporters attacked and set fire to the Capitoline fortress in which the Flavian forces, led by Vespasian’s brother, had barricaded themselves: even if the historiographical tradition²⁸ renders the part taken by Domitian in the bellum Capitolinum somewhat ridiculous, the poet here celebrates the prince, though he was just eighteen, as defensor Iovis, not without a tip of irony. At 1.24– 31 the poet explains that Domitian must be happy to dominate on earth and sea, as opposed to heaven, and he addresses the prince, imploring him to become a god as late as possible.²⁹ Statius inserts the prince’s exaltation as a divinity in parenthetical form in comparison with the motif serus in caelum redeas (cf. Hor. Carm. 1.2.45): thereby the exaltation becomes less organically connected with the corpus of the proem. In Statius’ proem Domitian appears like an intruder, an obliged and unwelcome guest: he is not the dedicatee of the poem and Statius, in this respect behaving differently from Valerius Flaccus, gives neither the role of inspirer nor guidance to him. Kytzler³⁰ considered this part of the proem devoted to laudes Domitiani as a self-interpolation by Statius: according to him, Statius could have inserted the part from quando in 1.17 to chelyn in 1.33 at a later time, perhaps on the occasion of a public recital of the Thebaid in front of the prince, probably for the Certamen Capitolinum in 90 CE.³¹ The absolute unity of the proem was instead supported by Schetter:³² according to him, the proem of the Thebaid stands in perfect equi-

 Tac. Hist. 3.74; Suet. Dom. 1; Cass. Dio 65.17.  Cf. Rosati 2008, 188: “The topical encomiastic motif serus in caelum redeas (‘don’t rush back to the sky’, 1.22 ff) is presented here in an unusual form: the exhortation addressed by the poet to the future god, which in the encomiastic tradition is an invitation to delay his ascent to the sky, and to prolong the benefit of his presence on earth for the advantage of his subjects, runs the risk of assuming a completely different meaning in the mythical framework created by the Ovidian allusion (Met. 2.392). Exhorting the aspiring ‘new Sun’ to remain content with the governance of mankind means inviting him to be moderate and to give up his divine claims.”  Kytzler 1960.  At the Certamen Capitolinum Statius was defeated. The dating of this event is uncertain: alternatives are restricted to 90 and 94 CE, since the certamina, introduced by Domitian in 86 CE, recurred every four years (see, for instance, Suet. Dom. 4). Vollmer (1898) opts for 90 CE, while most scholars regard the later date as more likely, such as Legras (1907, 343), Frère (1944, XVIII), Schanz / Hosius (1935, 532).  Schetter 1962.

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librium with a rigorously balanced structure. It is now deemed unlikely³³ that Statius added 1.17– 33 at a later date, but it is a valid observation that the laudes Domitiani could be removed from Statius’ proem without affecting the coherence of the entire passage: such a peculiarity in the structure is not the effect of any mechanical intervention on Statius’ part in his proem, but evidence of something different and more complicated, the sign of an uneasiness that Statius with all his technical ability was not able to remove. Such contradiction at the basis of any declaration of choice that tries to affirm its own autonomy, but at the same time wants to avoid open refusal, breaks up the compactness of an argument, even one wisely built like that of Statius. Finally, recusatio in the proem of the Thebaid is confirmed and completed by a promise for the future. Statius addresses Domitian and promises that there will be a time in the future for the poetical celebration of his deeds (1.32– 34): tempus erit, cum Pierio tua fortior oestro | facta canam: nunc tendo chelyn. satis arma referre | Aonia et geminis sceptrum exitiale tyrannis | … – ‘A time will come when stronger in Pierian frenzy I shall sing your deeds. For now I but tune my lyre; enough to recount Aonian arms, sceptre fatal to tyrants twain, …’.³⁴ When his poetic inspiration will be stronger and more adequate to praising the greatness of Domitian’s triumphs, Statius will make an attempt to handle them as a topic for a poem, so that the Thebaid, like the Achilleid, seems a prelude to a more important work: at this stage – Statius remarks – it is better to treat arma … | Aonia et geminis sceptrum exitiale tyrannis. This promise for an indeterminate future sounds, however, like a deferment sine die by Statius: this postponement, used as a pretext, even if it seems to be a good device, is not effective enough

 Cf. Markus 2003, 445 – 446.  This passage seems an imitation of Virgil, Georgics 3.46 – 48 (mox tamen ardentis accingar dicere pugnas | Caesaris et nomen fama tot ferre per annos | Tithoni prima quot abest ab origine Caesar – ‘Yet anon I will gird me to sing Caesar’s fiery fights, and bear his name in story through as many years as Caesar is distant from the far-off birth of Tithonus.’ [trans. H. Rushton Fairclough / G.P. Goold 1999]), but perhaps also of Propertius 2.10.25 – 26 (nondum etiam Ascraeos norunt mea carmina fontes, | sed modo Permessi flumine lavit Amor. – ‘Not as yet are my verses acquainted with the springs of Ascra; Love has dipped them only in Permessus’ stream.’) and 3.9.45 – 48 (haec urant pueros, haec urant scripta puellas | meque deum clament et mihi sacra ferant! | te duce vel Iovis arma canam caeloque minantem | Coeum et Phlegraeis Eurymedonta iugis; | … – ‘Let these verses of mine inflame boys and girls; let them acclaim me as a god and offer me worship. If you lead the way, I shall sing even of the arms of Jove, and Coeus and Eurymedon threatening heaven from the hills of Phlegra; …’ [trans. G.P. Goold 1990]). Statius here combines the recusationes through which Propertius expresses his intention to stay within the boundaries of the topic typical of the elegiac genre with the Virgilian model from the Georgics as regards the promise to celebrate Caesar’s deeds in the future.

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to completely disguise the resolute firmness of a refusal. In Statius’ proem recusatio appears no different from a denial: Statius claims to be an epic poet, but he does not want to be Domitian’s epic poet. He is the Flavian epic poet who returns to recusatio in a more articulated manner to defend his choice in poetry, and this is probably evidence of Statius’ difficulties with complying with imperial ideology. The impression provoked by Statius’ Thebaid at official level, determined also by the lack of a dedication to Domitian, was not without consequences for the relationship between Statius and the emperor: the repulsa Capitolina probably have to be inserted in a period of disapproval of Statius by the imperial court, following upon the publication of the Thebaid.

Bruce Gibson

Praise in Flavian epic* Introduction Three of the four Flavian epic poems that survive all begin with short passages of imperial panegyric in their opening lines. Thus Valerius seeks inspiration for his poem on the Argonauts not only from Apollo, but also from Vespasian, and celebrates the achievements of Vespasian and his family (Arg. 1.7– 21). Statius’ Thebaid (Theb. 1.17– 33) includes a passage where Statius explains that he is not yet equal to the task of lauding Domitian’s achievements (which are nevertheless listed in summary fashion), while the Achilleid similarly presents itself as a preliminary to the much more ambitious task of future praise of Domitian (Ach. 1.14– 19). The exception is Silius’ Punica, but though its proem does not include any contemporary praise, elements of imperial panegyric are nevertheless found elsewhere, as when Silius, in a shift to the present from his historical subject matter of the Second Punic War, describes Jupiter anticipating the future glories of the Flavians in a speech to Venus (Pun. 3.594– 621).¹ The centrality of praise (and blame, its opposite) in Roman culture should not be underestimated, and is reflected in such different forms as funerary inscriptions, the actiones gratiarum (‘expressions of thanks’) in which new consuls honoured the emperor on taking office (Pliny’s Panegyricus is the only example to have survived from the early empire), and the poems of the Silvae of Statius, which see him regularly praise his friends, and even the emperor, within the more informal setting of ‘occasional poetry’.² Rather than examining examples of contemporary imperial panegyric in Flavian epic, however, this paper will examine praise and its representation within the narratives of the poems. The discussion will not confine itself to entire speeches, but will also consider laudatory elements within longer passages; it is worth remembering that another Fla-

* I am indebted to Marco Fucecchi, Gesine Manuwald and Catherine Ware for their invaluable comments on an earlier draft of this chapter.  On the relation of epic and panegyric, see now the excellent discussion of Ware 2012, 19 – 31; on imperial panegyric in the Flavian epicists see Penwill in this volume. On the use of recusatio by Valerius and Statius in their proems see Galli in this volume; see also Nauta 2006; B. Gibson 2006b. On Jupiter’s speech in Pun. 3.594– 621 see e. g. Tipping 2010, 45 – 46. On Silius’ praise of the vir who keeps in check plundering in the provinces (Pun. 14.684– 688) see below.  On the epideictic culture that lies behind Statius’ Silvae see A. Hardie 1983; on the contemporary contexts of Pliny’s praise of Trajan in the Panegyricus see B. Gibson 2011.

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vian writer, Quintilian (Inst. 3.7.2), noted that praise and blame could find a place in a whole range of contexts in Roman life, which points to the versatility of epideictic discourse. Praise in classical epic goes as far back as the Homeric poems, with examples such as the tactful speech of Antilochus after the running-race in Iliad 23.³ Antilochus has come third, behind Ajax the son of Oileus in second place and Odysseus in first: he comments on the powers of the older generation, complimenting Odysseus, but then honours Achilles, the holder of the games, by remarking that it would be hard for anyone to compete with Odysseus save Achilles, who thereupon increases his prize (Il. 23.785 – 796). A further Homeric example, in a different vein, is the speech made by Odysseus to Nausicaa in Od. 6.149 – 185. Though the speech certainly has a persuasive dimension, as the aim is to secure Nausicaa’s help, Odysseus also praises Nausicaa for her beauty. In Latin hexameter poetry, praise has a place long before the time of the Flavians. The remains of Ennius’ Annals offer examples such as collective praise in memory of Romulus (Ann. 105 – 109 Sk.)⁴ or the famous passage on Fabius Maximus Cunctator (Ann. 363 – 365 Sk.), which would be echoed by Virgil in the Aeneid (Aen. 6.845 – 846). There is also an important testimony in Cicero (Pro Archia 22), where Cicero comments that Ennius’ praises of Scipio Africanus and others of the period were the reason for his being granted Roman citizenship. Virgil’s Aeneid is an interesting parallel for Silius as it does not present imperial panegyric in the proem, but supplies it elsewhere, as in the praise of Augustus Caesar in Aeneid 6 (6.791– 805), in the speech of Jupiter in book 1 (1.286 – 290) and in the account of Augustus at Actium in the description of the shield of Aeneas (8.678 – 681; 8.714– 728).⁵ But the Aeneid also includes speeches of praise, such as Aeneas’ address to Dido on first meeting her in book 1 (Aen. 1.595 – 610): Aeneas honours Dido for having shown pity on the Trojans, explains that he could never pay her adequate thanks, wishes her every divine favour, compliments her parents and the era of her birth, before indicating that she will never cease to be praised by him. Ovid’s Metamorphoses, too, is a work with little direct treatment of the emperor: in spite of Ovid’s later claim to Augustus that the poem was full

 Dominik 1994b, 149, considers eulogistic speeches to be rare in epic, but this view perhaps underestimates the extent of laudatory passages that form part of longer utterances. Within Statius, he regards Hercules’ address to Minerva at Theb. 8.502– 516 as the only laudation in the epic (ibid., 150 – 151).  On this passage see Skutsch 1985, 255 – 260, who assigns the fragment to book 1 of the Annales.  On Virgil and panegyric see now Ware 2012, 27– 28.

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of his praises (Trist. 2.63 – 66; 2.557– 562), the epic only really engages with Augustus directly in the first and last books.⁶ The Metarmorphoses do, however, include examples of praise within the narrative, such as the celebration by the Athenians of the safety and achievements of Theseus (Met. 7.433 – 450) or Achaemenides’ expression of gratitude for Aeneas’ having saved him from Polyphemus (Met. 14.167– 176). Lucan is an important forebear of the Flavian epicists in terms of the role of praise, however paradoxical such a claim may seem in the case of a poet more usually associated with invective. Clearly Lucan’s proem, with its address to Nero, is similar in some respects to Statius’ opening address to Domitian in the Thebaid. ⁷ But Lucan is also important for his representations of insincere praise, which anticipate some of what we find in his Flavian successors. Thus Lucan describes reactions to Julius Caesar which point to the potential for praise to be insincere. When Caesar arrives in Egypt, he is handed the head of the dead Pompey at 9.1010 – 1013. The Egyptian messenger then gives a speech hailing his victory and reporting the death of his rival (9.1014– 1032), as he seeks to gain credit for Egyptian loyalty to Caesar. The wider context for this scene is Caesar’s rejection of the head, whose insincerity is signalled explicitly by Lucan (e. g. 9.1038: lacrimas non sponte cadentes, ‘tears that do not fall of their own accord’; 9.1063: adquiritque fidem simulati fronte doloris, ‘and he makes himself more convincing with an expression of feigned grief’). However, the Egyptian messenger’s speech too can hardly be described as sincere, since we know that Pothinus, the author of Pompey’s death, would have preferred Caesar’s death instead, had events turned out otherwise (9.522). Ptolemy, too, it is implied, is an example of a monarch who is manipulated by the insincere praise of his servants (9.536 – 538). This kind of representation of insincere praise is also hinted at in more Roman contexts within the poem. Thus, as the matrons of Rome make sacrifice in a desperate attempt to propitiate the gods, one of the women points out that they will only be free to lament for the fate of Rome before Caesar gains power, as afterwards their only choice will be to be rejoice in his victory (2.40 – 42). The depiction of praise in Flavian epic includes various strands, which this paper will cover. In the first instance, we shall note how the epicists can draw on common techniques for praise from elsewhere. The second section will discuss how Flavian epic highlights praise as an important dimension, before examining how epic itself enacts praise. We shall then consider the inclusion within Flavian  See further B. Gibson 1999, 19 – 21.  On Lucan’s proem, and the wider debate over sincerity in similar texts, see Dewar 1994, writing in response to Ahl 1984a and others who have looked for subversive readings, and the important recent contribution of Nelis 2011.

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epic of elements that can also be found in other panegyrical discourse, such as persuasion and advice, and the place of self-praise. The conclusion will then consider a passage from Statius that hints at the possibility of insincere panegyric, in a way which perhaps problematizes the role of praise elsewhere within epic poetry.

Techniques of praise If we look at some of the detail of praise in the epicists, epic can be seen to draw on common techniques and modes of praise that might be found in texts in other genres. I begin with an example of hymnic discourse from Silius Italicus (Pun. 7.78 – 85), addressed by the women of Rome to Juno as they seek to avert her displeasure:⁸ ‘huc ades, o regina deum, gens casta precamur et ferimus, digno quaecumque est nomine, turba Ausonidum pulchrumque et, acu et subtemine fulvo quod nostrae nevere manus, venerabile donum. ac dum decrescit matrum metus, hoc tibi, diva, interea velamen erit. si pellere nostris Marmaricam terris nubem dabis, omnis in auro pressa tibi varia fulgebit gemma corona.’

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‘Be present in this place, o queen of the gods, we, a chaste people, entreat you and we, a crowd of Italian women, whoever has a worthy name, bring you a beautiful and majestic gift, which our hands have woven with needle and golden thread. And while our women’s fear reduces, this meanwhile will be a covering for you, goddess. If you will grant us to drive out the African cloud from our land, every gem that is pressed in gold will shine forth on your glinting crown.’

These lines conveniently illustrate how rhetorical techniques on the small scale, such as the kletic summons in the first line (huc ades, o regina deum, 7.78), and the offer of future offerings if the goddess will only show them favour by overwhelming the Carthaginians, can be used within epic poetry. Examples of the exploitations of hymn form can be found in all of the three Flavian epicists.⁹ Though this chapter is otherwise concerned with the representation of praise amongst mortals (and therefore will not directly examine addresses to the em On this passage see further Littlewood 2011, 64– 67.  Compare e. g. Val. Fl. Arg. 1.667– 680 (Jason’s invocation of the divinities of the sea and Neptune); Stat. Theb. 1.696 – 720 (Adrastus’ hymn to Apollo), and see further B. Gibson 2013 on the use of hymn form in Statius.

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peror that are cast in hymnic form), this example shows how the exploitation of detailed rhetorical techniques can occur in epic praise. If we turn to the mortal sphere, Flavian epicists demonstrate an ability to exploit the conventions of praise discourse even on the small scale. A short example occurs at Val. Fl. Arg. 2.485 – 492, where Laomedon’s daughter, who is facing death at the hands of a monster, turns to praise Hercules, who is at hand to rescue her: she expresses a wish for the gods to return with support for the Trojans, before addressing Hercules in kletic fashion (tuque | ille ades auguriis promisse et sorte deorum, ‘and you, that one who was promised by auguries and the fate of the gods, be present’, 2.485 – 486), where the use of a formula which might be used of a god not only anticipates Hercules’ eventual status, but pointedly flatters Hercules (who is as yet a mortal), and perhaps renders him more likely to render assistance. Hesione then remarks that Hercules is able to save Troy (and her), since she has never seen such an impressive chest or shoulders since she saw Neptune or Apollo (2.490 – 492); here too, comparison with the gods is a means of exalting (and persuading) Hercules, her listener. A longer example is the passage where Silius brings Fabius Cunctator back into his narrative in book 6. After the narrator describes the Roman people entrusting power to Fabius in accordance with Jupiter’s wish (Pun. 6.609 – 612), Jupiter has a short speech in which he declares that Fabius will not be surpassed, before rounding off with Fabius’ equal talents for war and peace, expressed in terms of the common metonymies of the camp and the toga (par ingenium castrisque togaeque, ‘an equal talent for the camp and for the toga’, Pun. 6.617); for this panegyrical pairing of the toga and symbols for military life as a sign of the versatility of a man’s achievements, compare Ov. Pont. 2.1.61– 62: iuvenum belloque togaque | maxime, ‘greatest of young men in war and in peace [the toga]’.¹⁰ There then follows a passage of narrative (Pun. 6.619 – 626) describing Fabius’ particular military talents, including that of being able to protect his own men, before a passage featuring more conventional praise topoi of lineage, covering the Fabian family’s descent from Hercules (Pun. 6.627– 636). The section is then rounded off with a brief reference to the three hundred Fabii who perished fighting the people of Veii at Cremera, before Silius remarks on how Fabius surpassed them, whilst equalling Hannibal (Pun. 6.637– 640),¹¹ in a paradoxical tribute to the epic’s protagonist, and the ultimate Roman enemy, Hannibal. In this

 For this standard rhetorical division of accomplishments in peace and in war see e. g. Men. Rhet. 372.25 – 32 Sp.  The tale of the Fabii at Cremera that is briefly alluded to here prepares for the more extensive account of their exploits given to Hannibal by Cilnius at Pun. 7.34– 68, on which see Littlewood 2011, 50 – 61.

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short passage we see the shrewd exploitation of various techniques: the form of epic permits Silius to vary his treatment of Fabius, using praise uttered by Jupiter alongside praise given in the narrator’s voice, and giving the conventional theme of an individual surpassing his ancestors a sting in the tail when the narrator suddenly undercuts the trope by indicating that Fabius, however he might have surpassed his ancestors, could only be equal to Hannibal: the sudden intrusion of the apostrophe of Hannibal at Pun. 6.640, tantus tunc, Poene, fuisti, ‘so powerful were you then, Carthaginian’, adds to the effectiveness of this passage (compare the way in which the character Minucius also breaks off to address the Carthaginian – in the singular – at Pun. 7.744– 745, see below) in which the tropes of praise have magnified Fabius, whilst ominously giving a sense of the greatness of Hannibal as well.

Epic and praise The idea of epic as somehow conferring praise goes back to Homer. Examples such as Achilles’ singing of the κλέα ἀνδρῶν, ‘the famous deeds of men’ (Il. 9.189), or Helen’s observation on the harsh fate that has been imposed by Zeus, ‘so that we may hereafter be sung of by future men’ (Il. 6.357– 358), are well known. But the notion of the poet personally conferring praise in his works is one which develops (the Iliad and the Odyssey begin after all with a request to the Muse to sing), and can be seen for instance in the personalized form of Virgil’s opening announcement of his subject, arms and the man, with ‘I sing’ (cano, Aen. 1.1). Rarer, however, are explicit indications of praise on the part of the narrator.¹² One instance in Virgil which has something of an afterlife in Flavian epic is the address to Nisus and Euryalus at Aen. 9.446 – 449, where the poet promises the dead Trojans fame, conditional on the survival of his own poetry, though even here the poet draws back from explicitly casting his work in terms of praise. The address to Nisus and Euryalus is directly used by Statius, in his corresponding address to Hopleus and Dymas in Theb. 10.445 – 448,¹³ where the poet promises his heroes that, even though Statius’ poem comes from an inferior lyre (Theb. 10.446), they too will survive and perhaps not be spurned as compan-

 In part this may be seen in the light of the prevailing tendency for epic narrators not to offer direct comment even to censure – Homer is clearly a powerful example, with the direct criticism of Achilles for the ‘shameless deeds’ of his mutilation of Hector’s corpse being a very rare exception (Iliad 22.395).  On this passage see e. g. Hinds 1998, 92.

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ions by Nisus and Euryalus. The poetics of Statius’ claim to be writing inferiore lyra, ‘on a lesser lyre’, have been expertly scrutinized by a range of scholars, and need not detain us here, but the Statian lines are none the less striking for their tone of praise and glorification in a poem whose dominant moral tone is one of censure and regret for the wickedness it depicts. A further example that combines laudation with censure occurs at Theb. 3.99 – 113, where Statius offers direct praise for Maeon for his resistance to the despotic Eteocles.¹⁴ Once again, the tone is strikingly personal, with Statius referring to his inability to find words to match Maeon’s achievements against tyranny (Theb. 3.99 – 104): tu tamen egregius fati mentisque nec umquam (sic dignum est) passure situm, qui comminus ausus vadere contemptum reges, quaque ampla veniret libertas, sancire viam: quo carmine dignam, quo satis ore tuis famam virtutibus addam, augur amate deis?

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But you, who are outstanding in your fate and in your spirit, and nor (as is right) will you ever suffer oblivion, who dared to go head-to-head in despising kings, and to consecrate a path by which abundant liberty might come: with what song, with what words might I sufficiently add worthy fame to your virtues, seer who is beloved by the gods?

These lines refer to the poet’s difficulties in finding words to speak of Maeon, using a similar trope of poetic inability to that which had been used at the opening of the epic to describe Statius’ need not to take on the lofty task of writing on Domitian (Theb. 1.32– 33). The parallel is all the more striking, since the immediate context of these lines praising Maeon is Maeon’s own address to Eteocles, a speech that is however one of blame, not praise (Theb. 2.59 – 87). It is certainly a bold move for Statius to present his own praise of Maeon, with its broad critique of kings (reges), immediately after an aggressive critique of Eteocles’ tyrannical rule, all the more so as imperial panegyric, rather than blame, is a mode which Statius is willing to use elsewhere. Valerius’ take on the same Virgilian intertext likewise has the poet speaking in the first person singular (Arg. 2.242– 246):¹⁵ sed tibi nunc quae digna tuis ingentibus ausis orsa feram, decus et patriae laus una ruentis, Hypsipyle? non ulla meo te carmine dictam

 On Maeon’s death see McGuire 1997, 199 – 205.  On this passage see e. g. Hershkowitz 1998b, 136 – 137; Clare 2004, 136 – 137.

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abstulerint, durent Latiis modo saecula fastis Iliacique lares tantique palatia regni.

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But now what words can I bring worthy of your deeds of great daring, Hypsipyle, you who are the glory and single honour of your country as it falls? No ages shall erase you, spoken of in my song, providing the ages continue in the Latin calendar, and the Trojan homes, and the palace of so great a realm.

Here the poet’s role is again brought out more emphatically than in Virgil, who had referred to his songs (mea carmina) as playing a part: here Valerius actually uses a verb in the first person singular (feram). Praise for Hypsipyle is not something which comes, as if indirectly, from the songs, but it originates with the poet himself: this directness is underlined by the apostrophe of Hypsipyle as decus et patriae laus una ruentis (2.243). Only after making this point does Valerius go on to provide a modified version of the Virgilian passage. The quasi-personal element of Valerius’ praise for Hypsipyle is ironically brought out by the manner in which Statius’ Hypsipyle will eclipse her Valerian counterpart, occluding the confident prediction of her survival in Valerius’ poem.¹⁶ The notion of an epic poet as one who is personally involved in praise of the subject matter is one that brings the Flavian poets closer to the wider culture of personal praise that one finds in the Silvae of Statius. Valerius’ trope of how he might find suitable words to speak of Hypsipyle might on the surface seem to draw on epic topoi of poetic inability.¹⁷ But in fact such language also calls to mind the use of the form in personal praise of individuals in non-epic contexts (even if such passages themselves draw on the resonance and splendour of epic), where the speaker has a more obviously personal tone:¹⁸ thus, the Silvae of Statius provide examples such as Statius’ claim that he could never hope to convey the splendours of attending dinner in Domitian’s palace (Silv. 4.2.5 – 10), or his statement that an attempt by him to enumerate all the duties of Abascantus, Domitian’s ab epistulis, would surpass the reports of Mercury, Iris and Fama when she relates Domitian’s own victories (Silv. 5.1.101– 107). Hypsipyle thus becomes an object of praise for Valerius on a quasi-personal level. This combination of the pose of the epic narrator with quasi-personal praise is also illustrated in Silius Italicus.¹⁹ The catalogue of Roman forces in book 8  B. Gibson 2004, 165 – 166.  See further Hinds 1998, 34– 47. Note that Lucretius’ praise of Epicurus at the beginning of DRN 5 opens with a statement that no mortal could match the task of singing Epicurus’ praises (5.1– 6).  For inexpressibility in panegyric more widely see e. g. Woodman 1977, 138, 235– 236.  Silius’ introduction of the poet (and warrior) Ennius at Pun. 12.387– 392 offers another variation on the inexpressibility theme: Silius declares himself unable to sing of the general

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offers a couple of useful illustrations. At Pun. 8.404, Silius mentions Tullus’ leadership of a contingent, before going on to praise the future Cicero. Though Silius’ admiration for Cicero is attested in Martial (11.48), this passage is not personal praise because of what we know about the historical Silius. Rather, the laudation takes on a personal note because the narrator exploits the temporal divergence between the time of Cannae and his own time, when Cicero had already lived and died, something which lay in the future at the time of Cannae. A similar passage is Pun. 8.551– 561, where the youthful Scipio Africanus is listed in the catalogue:²⁰ ipse inter medios venturae ingentia laudis signa dabat: vibrare sudem, tramittere saltu muralis fossas, undosum frangere nando indutus thoraca vadum: spectacula tanta ante acies virtutis erant. saepe alite planta ilia perfossum et campi per aperta volantem ipse pedes praevertit equum, saepe arduus idem castrorum spatium et saxo tramisit et hasta. Martia frons facilesque comae nec pone retroque caesaries brevior. flagrabant lumina miti aspectu, gratusque inerat visentibus horror.

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He himself in the midst of them gave huge signs of the praise that was to come: he would brandish a stake, cross the ditch by the walls with a leap, part the shadowy waters as he swam wearing a breast-plate: such great displays of heroism were evident in front of the battle-lines. Often with winged feet he would overtake the horse whose flanks are pierced [by the spurs] as it flies through the open fields, often, standing tall, he would exceed the bounds of the camp [in hurling] rock and spear. His countenance was warlike, and his hair flowed free, and nor was the hair on his head too short from behind. His eyes shone with a gentle look, and there was a pleasing sense of fear for those who were looking at him.

Once again the narrator has a sense of Scipio’s future from the vantage point of the past; there is likewise an explicit focus on praise, as the poet comments on the signs of future praise, venturae … laudis (8.551). Young men about to go to war are of course a feature of epic more widely, but this passage also has material in common with the kind of personal praise of young men that one finds in Statius’ Silvae. The praise of Scipio here is comparable to Statius’ treatment of Crispinus in Silv. 5.2: both texts leave the author with the problem of how to

slaughter taking place in the fighting on Sardinia, but then asks the Muse to allow him to honour Ennius: et meritum vati sacremus honorem (12.392). On the Ennius episode see e. g. Manuwald 2007, 74– 82, and Dorfbauer 2008.  On this passage see further Tipping 2010, 150 – 151.

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praise young men who have not yet had significant achievements in their own right. The emphasis on Scipio’s appearance here can be set alongside the account of Crispinus at his exercises in Silv. 5.2.111– 117: par vigor et membris, promptaeque ad fortia vires sufficiunt animo atque ingentia iussa sequuntur. ipse ego te nuper Tiberino in litore vidi qua Tyrrhena vadis Laurentibus aestuat unda, tendentem cursus vexantemque ilia nuda calce ferocis equi, vultu dextraque minacem: siqua fides dictis, stupui Martemque²¹ putavi.

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There is also equal vigour in your limbs, and your strength, ready for brave action, matches your mind and obeys its great commands. I myself have recently seen you on the bank of the Tiber, where the Tyrrhenian surge eddies in the Laurentine shallows, pressing on your way and goading the flanks of your fierce horse with bare heels, making threats with your face and right hand: if there is any credence to my words, I was amazed and thought that you were Mars.

Both descriptions have an erotic dimension to them, which, while understated, is nevertheless there, and brought out all the more in Statius by the two epic similes that follow, which compare Crispinus to Ascanius from the Aeneid and Parthenopaeus from the poet’s own Thebaid (Silv. 5.2.118 – 124).²² Elsewhere, Silius provides even longer passages of what is effectively the narrator’s praise for his subjects. We have already mentioned the lengthy praise of Fabius when he is brought back into the narrative at Pun. 6.609; Silius follows this up at the start of book 7 with another passage of direct praise for Fabius Cunctator (Pun. 7.1– 19), who is lauded as the sole person who was able to keep in check the Punic threat. The passage also evokes the language of celestial knowledge and ascent, as Fabius is praised for having a mind that is more than human (Pun. 7.5), and then, in a powerful apostrophe at the end of this section, asked to rise to the heavens. The language here calls to mind texts such as the ‘Somnium Scipionis’ in Cicero’s De re publica 6 and Lucretius’ praise of Epicurus.²³ Note the use of a remote conditional in praising Scipio in lines 7.9 – 11,  Martemque is Markland’s attractive conjecture for the rather colourless reading of M, armatumque. For comparisons with Mars cf. e. g. Sil. Pun. 17.645 – 654, discussed below, and see further Stocks 2009, 155.  On the figure of the puer in Statius see Sanna 2008; for suggestive discussion of how to approach the chronologically uncertain relationship between Silius and Statius see Lovatt 2009.  Sil. Pun. 7.1 trepidis Fabius spes unica rebus: cf. Cic. Rep. 6.12 tu eris unus in quo nitatur civitatis salus; Pun. 7.5 – 6 sed mens humana maior non tela nec enses | nec fortes spectabat equos: cf. Lucr. 3.15 divina mente (of Epicurus). After sed mens humana maior, the next line’s nec …

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which again conveys a sense of the narrator’s subsequent temporal perspective on events: ac ni sacra seni vis impressumque fuisset sistere Fortunam cunctando adversa foventem, ultima Dardanii transisset nominis aetas.

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And if there had not been divine strength in the old man, and if it had not been his resolve to stop Fortune through delay when she was favouring an adverse outcome, the final age of the Dardanian name would have passed away.

As Cowan has noted, the use of the counterfactual here emphasizes the importance of Fabius as the one man who was able to avert a disastrous turn in Roman history.²⁴ But counterfactuals also have a place in passages of more direct panegyric: compare, for instance, Ovid’s comments on the abiding disgrace of Rome’s defeat at the hands of the Parthians that was only averted by Augustus (Fast. 5.587– 588): isque pudor mansisset adhuc, nisi fortibus armis Caesaris Ausoniae protegerentur opes. And that disgrace would still have endured, if the power of Italy was not protected by the brave arms of Caesar.

Closer to Silius’ time, we can also note a powerful example early on in Pliny’s Panegyricus (5.6): cogi porro non poteras nisi periculo patriae et nutatione rei publicae; obstinatum enim tibi non suscipere imperium, nisi servandum fuisset. Indeed you could not have been compelled except through some danger to our country and by the precarious condition of the state; for you had resolved firmly that you would not assume the imperial power, unless it had needed to be saved.

spectabat may play on the expectation that what is coming is a philosophical exhortation not to descend from celestial contemplation to earthly matters (cf. Cic. Rep. 6.20: haec caelestia semper spectato, illa humana contemnito), but Fabius’ focus turns out to be Hannibal (Pun. 7.6 – 8). Pun. 7.19 et emerito sacrum caput insere caelo might loosely recall the promise to Scipio Aemilianus of celestial visions in Cic. Rep. 6.15 – 23; on Silius and Cicero’s De re publica see further Heck 1970; Ripoll 2000c, 164– 173. Note also that summe ducum, Silius’ address to Fabius (Pun. 7.16), is twice attested in honorific addresses to Domitian (on both occasions with reference to the emperor’s lenient treatment of the father of Claudius Etruscus): Mart. 6.83.2; Stat. Silv. 3.3.155.  Cowan 2009, 338 – 339; cf. Littlewood 2011, 40 – 42.

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Here Pliny’s counterfactual expresses the idea that Trajan could not have been compelled to take on the burdens of empire, had not the state’s peril made it essential for him to do so.²⁵ And Silius exploits this technique of direct praise at the end of book 14 when he contrasts Marcellus’ kindness towards the captured city of Syracuse with current Roman depredations in the world, before noting the benefits of the vir who has been able to hold such wickedness in check (Pun. 14.684– 688):²⁶ felices populi, si, quondam ut bella solebant, nunc quoque inexhaustas pax nostra relinqueret urbes! at, ni cura viri qui nunc dedit otia mundo effrenum arceret populandi cuncta furorem, nudassent avidae terrasque fretumque rapinae.

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O happy peoples, if, just as war used to do, now our Roman peace would also leave the cities undrained. But, if the vigilance of the man who now has given leisure to the world did not ward off the unchecked madness for devastation, eager plundering would have stripped bare the land and sea.

An even more emphatic example of praise offered by the narrator occurs in Silius’ lines on Scipio at the end of book 17, in Scipio’s triumph at the conclusion of the war (Pun. 17.645 – 654): ipse astans curru atque auro decoratus et ostro Martia praebebat spectanda Quiritibus ora, qualis odoratis descendens Liber ab Indis egit pampineos frenata tigride currus; aut cum Phlegraeis, confecta mole Gigantum, incessit campis tangens Tirynthius astra. salve, invicte parens, non concessure Quirino laudibus ac meritis non concessure Camillo: nec vero, cum te memorat de stirpe deorum, prolem Tarpei mentitur Roma Tonantis.

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He himself, standing in the chariot and adorned with gold and purple, showed a face like that of Mars for the citizens to see, just as Bacchus, coming down from the scented Indians, drove vine-garlanded chariots drawn by bridled tigers; or, when the Tirynthian one marched along in the fields of Phlegra, touching the stars, after he had finished off the

 For other counterfactual praise in Pliny compare e. g. Pan. 47.4: magno quidem animo parens tuus hanc ante vos principes arcem publicarum aedium nomine inscripserat; frustra tamen, nisi adoptasset qui habitare ut in publicis posset; 88.6: nec videri potest optimus, nisi qui est optimis omnibus in sua cuiusque laude praestantior.  For an overview of the scholarly debate on how to interpret the politics of the end of Silius’ Punica 14 see Dominik 2009, 430 – 431.

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mass of the Giants. Hail, unconquered parent, who will not come second to Romulus in praise nor to Camillus in deserving achievements: and truly, Rome does not lie in saying that you are the offspring of the Tarpeian Thunderer, when she recalls that you are of the lineage of the gods.

Though the significance of this closing passage has been debated,²⁷ we can observe how the epic, even though it had avoided direct engagement with imperial panegyric at its outset, ends with a reminder of praise (laudibus, 17.652, fulfilling the promise of venturae … laudis at 8.551) as the meed of heroic achievements. The evocation of glory at once evokes the epic tradition that goes back to Homer, and the premium set on praise in Rome: the decision to end with Scipio’s triumph not only recalls the chronologically latest moment of Roman history in Virgil’s Aeneid, the triumph of Augustus in the shield in book 8, but also the fact that a triumph such as that achieved by Scipio was now the sole preserve of the imperial family. Above all, the closing emphasis on laudes is a reminder of the idea that the epic poet dispenses praise. Woodman’s suggestion, that there may be a reference to Silius’ poem in Tacitus’ contrast between the dangers of writing of recent history, and writing of the Punic Wars, where it does not matter who one praises (neque refert cuiusquam Punicas Romanasne acies laetius extuleris, Ann. 4.33), is therefore a tempting one.²⁸ Explicit praise spoken by characters within the narrative is represented in various ways within the epics. Funerary speeches are an obvious example, especially in the light of the high cultural value placed on funerary orations, illustrated by Pliny’s account of Verginius Rufus’ exceptional good fortune in having Cornelius Tacitus to praise him, laudator eloquentissimus (Ep. 2.1.6). Epic poets present such utterances in a number of different contexts. At the start of Valerius’ Argonautica 5, the Argonauts lose in quick succession first Idmon and then Tiphys, which leads to Jason paying tribute especially to Tiphys in his speech at 5.37– 54: in the course of the speech, Jason praises his smooth command of the Argo’s helm. In Statius, a good example occurs at Theb. 9.49 – 72, where Polynices laments the loss of Tydeus (at the end of the previous book). Part of Polynices’ speech is concerned with what he himself has lost (e. g. 9.54– 55)²⁹, but in the succeeding lines Polynices honours Tydeus’ journey to Thebes (9.65 – 66),  Contrast e. g. the positive reading offered by Marks 2005a, 89, 168, 104, 219, 224– 225, with Tipping 2010, 186 – 192, who emphasizes the links with Alexander-panegyric, but also notes the influence of intertextuality with Lucan in “the undermined closure of the Punica” (191).  Woodman 2009, 37.  As Dewar 1991, 68 ad loc., notes, the textual status of Theb. 9.53 quando alius misero ac melior mihi frater ademptus is debated and not resolved by the possible echo of Catull. 101.6 heu, miser indigne frater adempte mihi.

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whilst also praising the appearance of Tydeus in death. Other examples are more complex because of their context: thus Silius reports Hannibal’s commemoration of the dead Paulus at Cannae, with Hannibal remarking on the Roman’s greatness in death (Pun. 10.521: quantus, Paule, iaces!), and requesting that he too might die such a death as that of Paulus; there is similarly a closing address from Hannibal at the funeral granted to Paulus (Pun. 10.572– 574). Such passages represent in epic form material which finds a counterpart not only in our knowledge of Roman funerary practice, but also in poetic practice; thus, the Silvae of Statius illustrate a range of praise in response to death, as when Statius writes of the death of the father of Claudius Etruscus in Silv. 3.1. But Flavian epicists also represent praise of characters who are alive. Thus Statius in Thebaid 7 represents Eteocles honouring the Theban allies who have come to defend the city against the Argives (Theb. 7.375 – 390): the speech has a persuasive dimension, in that it is designed to encourage the Theban allies to remain loyal, but there is nevertheless much praise for their loyalty in resisting the treachery of Polynices against his country. Similarly, Silius Italicus affords a useful example with the speech assigned to Minucius, the defeated magister equitum who has been rescued by his rival Fabius, at Pun. 7.737– 745, in which Minucius hails Fabius as a ‘saintly father’ (sancte … genitor, 737),³⁰ before using the technique of an apparent complaint, as he flatteringly reproaches Fabius for permitting him to command the forces which can only be led by Fabius.³¹ He then explains that the patria and the city’s walls are in fact to be found within a single breast, that of Fabius, before paradoxically warning the Carthaginians in an apostrophe that they will have to wage war with Fabius alone (Pun. 7.744– 745). We are perhaps not so far off the kind of language that might be used in political panegyric, with the presentation of Fabius as a parent here. Panegyric can of course be combined with persuasion or even advice. The speech that the Argive women address to Theseus in the final book of Statius’ Thebaid provides an excellent example.³² At Theb. 12.545 – 586, Evadne, the wife of the dead Capaneus, makes an appeal to Theseus, seeking his intervention to secure the burial of the Argive dead at Thebes. In this speech, Evadne, speaking on behalf of the Argive women, uses the techniques of hymn in her address

 On the language of fathers here and elsewhere in the Punica see e. g. Tipping 2010, 125, 129, 187, who also notes the overlap with imperial titulature.  Tipping 2010, 129 – 130, has a different emphasis, seeing a more questioning note in Minucius’ speech.  On Theseus in the Thebaid see now Bessone 2008 and Bessone in this volume, and Fucecchi in this volume.

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to Theseus,³³ applying to a mortal language that would characteristically be used in addressing the gods, but we can also note how her praise of Theseus’ achievements has a protreptic aim, as Evadne seeks to persuade the Athenian king to assist the women of Thebes. Persuasion and also advice are even more evident in the speech made by the Roman orator Corvinus at Pun. 5.82 – 100. The context is the run-up to Silius’ account of the battle of Lake Trasimene, where the impetuousness of the Roman consul Flaminius in joining battle with Hannibal will lead to Roman defeat and his own death. Corvinus’ speech is explicitly cast as having an element of advice, and is therefore protreptic,³⁴ but the speech also includes a moment of praise of Flaminius, who is said to be outstanding in war (Pun. 5.92).

Self-praise Epic poetry from the time of Homer offers many examples of heroic boasting, where heroes participate in a wider discourse of praise that surrounds their own achievements. The presence of self-praise within some Flavian poetry may however be felt as something distinct, given the wider context of imperial self-fashioning and advertisement, and the broader culture of self-promotion in elite society under the empire.³⁵ Something of this is seen in the speech addressed by Creon to Theseus in the final battle of the Thebaid (Stat. Theb. 12.761– 766):³⁶ ‘non cum peltiferis’ ait ‘haec tibi pugna puellis, virgineas ne crede manus: hic cruda virorum proelia, nos magnum qui Tydea quique furentem Hippomedonta neci Capaneaque misimus umbris pectora. quae bellum praeceps amentia suasit, improbe? nonne vides, quos ulciscare, iacentes?’

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‘This battle of yours’, he said, ‘is not with girls who carry the light shield [pelta], do not believe [that you are fighting] bands of maidens: here are the raw battles of men, we who have sent great Tydeus and raging Hippomedon to their deaths, and the heart of Ca-

 See further B. Gibson 2013.  Braund 1998 offers a classic treatment of panegyric and protreptic.  For recent work on the presentation of the emperor see e. g. Noreña 2011; Seelentag 2011; on self-praise in elite society see e. g. R. Gibson 2003; Mayer 2003. See further Fields 2008, on the theorizing of self-praise in Plutarch’s De se ipso laudando and Aelius Aristides.  Dominik 1994b, 151– 153, gives as an example of a ‘vaunt’ only the speech of Eunaeus at Theb. 7.663 – 668.

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paneus to the shades. What madness has urged on headlong war, wicked one? Do you not see them lying dead, those whom you would avenge?’

On the surface this speech from Creon, in which he warns Theseus of the achievements of the Thebans (and, by implication, himself), appears to be entirely consonant with the Homeric tradition of heroic boasting. However, Creon can also be seen as an example of an arrogant monarch, especially for his appropriation (through use of the ambiguous first person plural) of achievements against the Argives such as the deaths of Tydeus, Hippomedon and Capaneus – for which he is not responsible. In miniature this illustrates the boastfulness of a king in claiming personal credit where none is due. Here we can compare the manner in which emperors are sometimes said to have assumed for themselves credit for military success, even if such credit was not fully deserved: compare e. g. Tacitus’ complaint about Domitian’s spurious triumph over Germany (Agr. 39.1), or Suetonius’ account of Caligula’s wholly fabricated military campaign against the Germans which ended in a triumph (Calig. 43 – 47). Self-praise is also shown as something dangerous in Silius’ epic, where a number of heroes are liable to praise their own achievements. The sequel to Corvinus’ speech of advice to Flaminius before Lake Trasimene (see above) is in fact a speech from Flaminius himself pointing to his own achievements in Rome’s war against the Gauls that had taken place in the period prior to the outbreak of the Second Punic War (Pun. 5.107– 129). The speech lists the consul’s own achievements, but has little in the way of reasoned response to the protreptic aspects of Corvinus’ speech. In the sequel, even in the realization of Roman defeat, Flaminius continues to speak of his own greatness as he dies, speaking of how he will provide an exemplary death, even if he is deserted by his troops (Pun. 5.633 – 643). Hannibal too is a leader who is represented in the poem as susceptible to self-praise. In book 7, he refers to the increase in his own glory arising from the death of Flaminius, before boasting that he will ensure that Fabius is never again seen in arms (Pun. 7.111– 115). This boast is unfulfilled, as book 7 will end with Fabius successfully rescuing his magister equitum, Minucius, from defeat. Indeed Fabius himself is represented as possessing greater wisdom, as he is aware of the need to avoid self-praise, as is shown in his speech at Pun. 7.219 – 252, where he calms the Roman forces who are over-impetuously seeking to engage the Carthaginians in battle. Having reassured his army as to the state of Carthaginian weakness, Fabius comments that although there is more he could say relating to his own glory, it is, however, better not to (Pun. 7.245 – 249):

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iam copia quanto artior et nullo Tyriis certamine quantum detritum est famae! quin inter cetera nostra haud laude afuerit, modo qui – sed parcere dictis sit melius.

245

How much smaller are their supplies now, and how much has been worn away from the fame of the Tyrians without any conflict! Indeed amidst other matters he will not have been lacking from my glory, that man who – but let it be better to hold off from those words.

The implication of the aposiopesis here has been debated, with uncertainty as to whether the sentence is to be imagined as continuing with a reference to Fabius succeeding against Hannibal, or else to Minucius being prevented from causing further difficulties on the Roman side,³⁷ but the basic point remains that Fabius recognizes that self-praise can be unwelcome, and even dangerous amidst the hazards and chance events of war, and therefore prefers to avoid it. This is a lesson which is lost on Varro, the consul who survived Cannae, who is shown rashly describing how he will lead Hannibal in chains through the city with Fabius looking on (Hannibalem Fabio ducam spectante per urbem, 8.277), an outcome which will be ironically reversed as Varro will indeed be seen by the city and by Fabius on his return from Cannae, but in defeat and not in victory: it will moreover be Fabius who acts so as to ensure that the Roman people do not take vengeance on Varro for his failure (Pun. 10.605 – 629).

Conclusion: praise and insincerity We have already seen how Lucan raises the issue of insincere praise in his epic, a theme which recurs in Flavian epic as well. In book 2 of Valerius Flaccus’ Argonautica, the Argonauts land in the region of Troy, after their stay on the isle of Lemnos. Hercules and Telamon explore and encounter Laomedon’s daughter, Hesione, who is being offered to a sea-monster to appease Neptune’s anger against the Trojan king. After she has explained her situation (see above), Hercules kills the sea-monster, before seeking out Laomedon, the king of Troy. When Laomedon sees Hercules, he celebrates the hero who has rescued his daughter, beginning with praise for Hercules’ ancestry and qualities (2.557–

 Duff 1934, 1.354 n. a, raises both possibilities; cf. Littlewood 2011, 119 – 120, who sees the passage as referring to Hannibal.

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566), whilst reluctantly welcoming Hercules into Troy. The poet however hints at insincerity in his introduction to the speech (2.555 – 556): illum torva tuens atque acri lubricus astu rex subit et patrio fatur male laetus amore.

555

Looking at him harshly and slippery with his sharp cunning the king comes up and speaks, evilly happy with a father’s love.

This example of insincerity points to the possibility for praise not to be genuine. To close, I turn now to a much more resonant example of questionable praise, which also reflects back more generally on the nature of panegyric. The passage in question occurs at the beginning of book 11 of Statius’ Thebaid, in the immediate aftermath of Capaneus’ ascent of the heights of Thebes and his challenge to the authority of Jupiter.³⁸ Though Capaneus is brought low by Jupiter at the end of book 10, the narrative leading up to his death has recounted anxiety on the part of the gods when faced by his mortal assault (see e. g. Theb. 10.907: ingemuit dictis superum dolor, ‘the pain of the gods groaned at these words’, and 10.918 – 920, where Statius describes the gods as being uncertain as to the efficacy of Jupiter’s thunderbolt). Jupiter himself has commented with scorn on Capaneus’ attack in Theb. 10.909 – 910, referring to his own previous victory against the Giants and asking what hope there can be for mortals attempting to challenge him.³⁹ Book 10 then ends with Capaneus’ death. At the start of book 11, Statius describes the aftermath (Theb. 11.1– 11): postquam magnanimus furias virtutis iniquae consumpsit Capaneus expiravitque receptum fulmen, et ad terras longe comitata cadentem signavit muros ultricis semita flammae, componit dextra victor concussa plagarum Iuppiter et vultu caelumque diemque reducit. gratantur superi, Phlegrae ceu fessus anhelet proelia et Encelado fumantem impresserit Aetnen. ille iacet lacerae complexus fragmina turris, torvus adhuc visu memorandaque facta relinquens gentibus atque ipsi non inlaudata Tonanti.

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After great-hearted Capaneus spent the rage of his unequal heroism, and breathed out the thunderbolt that he had received within him, and the path of the avenging flame that ac-

 On this passage, see Hill 1996, 49 – 50, who argues that the episode is part of a wider pattern in the poem which underlines the ineffectual weakness of the supreme god.  Fucecchi, in this volume, usefully discusses Jupiter’s exploitation of Capaneus’ attack (p. 115): ‘Jupiter does not fail to seize the opportunity to score a huge propaganda success’.

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companied him on his long fall to earth scorched the walls, Jupiter calms with his right hand the stricken tracts of heaven and with his expression brings back heaven and daylight. The gods congratulate him, as if he were panting the battles of Phlegra in exhaustion and had set smoking Etna over Enceladus. He [Capaneus] lies clasping the fragments of the shattered tower, still grim of mien and leaving behind to the nations his deeds to be remembered, and not without praise from the Thunderer himself.

The key passage here is the praise of the gods for Jupiter in killing a mortal in 11.7– 8. As Hill remarks, this is a moment where the rest of the gods behave like ‘toadying courtiers’, with their congratulations echoing Jupiter’s own reference to his triumph over the gods at Theb. 10.909 – 920, but there is more at stake in this passage.⁴⁰ The passage is remarkable as it provides a reversal of a far more familiar panegyric trope, where the achievements of an emperor in vanquishing his enemies can be compared to Jupiter’s successes over the giants.⁴¹ This is after all language that Statius himself had evoked in praising Domitian at the opening of the poem, when he mentions the bella Iovis, the wars of Jupiter (Theb. 1.22; cf. Silv. 1.1.79), in referring to Domitian’s part in the fighting on the Capitol between supporters of Vespasian and those of Vitellius. The difficulty that is raised by the passage dealing with Jupiter in book 11 is that the comparison works the wrong way round: Jupiter’s victory over a man is compared – in what is virtually a self-evidently absurd exaggeration – to his own victory against the giants. The comparison points to the potential for praise to be exaggerated and even insincere. The same gods whose earlier reaction to Capaneus had been a mixture of bluster and fear now laud what should really be seen as an entirely predictable victory for Jupiter as if it is something exceptional, when what is really extraordinary is Capaneus’ heroic defeat, which wins admiration from Jupiter himself (Theb. 11.11).⁴² The almost paradoxical comparison between Jupiter’s lesser victory over Capaneus and his victory against the giants, with its creaking inconsistency and paradox, might be felt to point to the fragility of the more familiar comparison between an emperor and the supreme god as well. This was a comparison which Statius in fact hints at later on in the poem, when in book 12 he compares Theseus (who is campaigning against the Thebans) to Jupiter in a simile (Theb. 12.650 – 655), likening him to Jupiter stirring up storms and thunder and lightning. If one has a long view of Jupiter in the poem, such comparisons between mortal rulers and Jupiter – especially after

 Hill 1996, 50.  For parallels see further B. Gibson 2006a, 343 – 344 on Silv. 5.3.196 – 198, and see also P. Hardie 1986, 85 – 156; Ware 2012, 129 – 141.  On Capaneus and his achievement in fighting Jupiter see further Leigh 2006.

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the weak comparison made by the gods themselves in relation to Jupiter at the beginning of book 11 – have the potential to collapse.

Federica Bessone

Critical interactions Constructing heroic models and imperial ideology in Flavian epic

0. Critical interactions ‘Flavian Epic Interactions’ suggests the further idea of interactions between criticism of Flavian epic; this theme prompted me to reflect on the two poems that offer themselves, most clearly, as a discourse on power and provoke heated debate, even in a political sense: the Thebaid and the Punica. Statius and Silius Italicus invite a comparison, not only between their texts, but between the history of their reception and the critical instruments used to analyse them: poetic and ideological interrelations between the two works highlight shared interpretative and methodological issues, and examining the parallelisms between the two critical histories can be a spur to new synergies – or maybe discourage them. There is a risk, in fact, that the interactions of criticism may also become ‘critical interactions’, namely, induce complications and collateral effects, increasing the difficulties: but we must run this risk, I think; in philology, complications, like conjectures, rather than being unwelcome, can be healthy – or at least diagnostic. I am conscious, then, that supporting a tendentious reading of Statius with a tendentious reading of Silius may redouble the frailties of the critical discourse and offer to the upholders of an opposite view doubly strong arguments to overturn it: but for that very reason, I believe, it is worth making the attempt, to test in a double laboratory our analytical instruments and to observe in parallel their weaknesses and efficacy. What I propose today is just a start in this direction.

1. Interacting endings: Punica and Thebaid, Scipio and Theseus I will begin at the end.¹ The ending of a poem can be the starting point for its interpretation (as we know from criticism of Virgil); and a single character can

 For a fuller treatment of issues concerning the Thebaid see Bessone 2011.

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bear in himself the weight of a whole epic. The recent history of studies on the Thebaid rests on the oscillating critical fortune of Theseus, and for the Punica too divergent political readings are based on opposing interpretations of Scipio’s figure. The two heroes of the concluding book, or books, of the two poems arouse a parallel opposition between optimists, pessimists and pluralists, which in turn mirrors the divisions among critics of the Aeneid. Our critical constructions of the two protagonists imply a judgement on the overall structure of the epic, which is constructed around these key figures and culminates in them. A judgement or, perhaps inevitably, a prejudice: sometimes analysis of the character tends to fragment into an observation of details, oriented in different directions, which loses sight, or deliberately overlooks, the coherence of the whole; or, instead, an excessively uniform overall view focuses on the same epic language that however, towards the end of the poem, changes its meaning. In short, close-up shots decompose the image and do not allow its position in the whole to be recognised, while a panoramic view does not perceive significant variations – a mature sight needs multifocal lenses, and perhaps our critical discourse must essay a compromise between vedutism and cubism. But let us examine the works in order. At first sight, nothing looks so distant from the Punica as the epic design of the Thebaid. Not only Greek myth as opposed to Roman history, but, on one side, a broken epic, that inverts its course between book 11 and 12, on the other side a single narrative and providential arch closing in ring-composition; on the one hand the scandal of fraternae acies, on the other the arma by which the gloria Aeneadum reaches the sky; here a Jupiter who punishes and then disappears, there a Jupiter who puts to the test, then awards a prize; here a god who provokes the fratricidal duel, but does not want to watch it, there a god who stages for himself, as well as for the readers, the spectacle of the war; a destructive and futile war, opposed to a morally edifying war. Indeed, two narratives that are so different resemble one another in the end. The rise of Scipio in Punica 15 – 17 and the appearance of Theseus, as a deus ex machina, in Thebaid 12 have something in common: there is an affinity between the Bildungsroman of Rome’s commander – from young predestined hero to saviour of the country – and the Blitzkrieg of the Athenian ruler, which puts an end to the crisis of Thebes. A leader who emerges from the internal debate of the Roman state, after the defeat at Cannae, and an external superhero called to the rescue by the wives of the defeated Argives. From the proem onwards, the Punica points to Scipio as the climax of the recovery against Hannibal; in the Thebaid, on the contrary, Theseus’ intervention is never announced, before a

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semi-hidden hint in book 9.² The soteriological expectation aroused by Silius’ Jupiter, in the prophecy of book 3, contrasts with the surprise appearance of a σωτήρ, anticipated by the mythical tradition, but never by the king of the gods. And yet, narrative and aesthetic choices so distant from each other do not imply per se a radical opposition in ideology: they are, perhaps, alternative poetic strategies towards a partly shared end.

2. Imperial ending(s): Punica A Iove principium: epic cannot do without the supreme god; and Flavian epic cannot do without Virgil. In the Aeneid, the telos of the narrative is announced in the proem and, shortly after, in Jupiter’s prophecy to Venus: a unitary design connects myth to present and culminates in Augustus as the end of history. Postponing the Virgilian scene until after the Saguntine ‘prologue’, Silius updates it to the Flavian age: his Jupiter proceeds from the encomium of Scipio, almost without mediation, to the encomium of Vespasian, Titus and (above all) Domitian; the new dynasty appears as a prolongation, and an overcoming, of the dynasty initiated by Augustus, which is just recorded and immediately put into the shade (Sil. Pun. 3.593 – 596: ‘hinc, Cytherea, tuis longo regnabitur aevo. | exin se Curibus virtus caelestis ad astra | efferet, et sacris augebit nomen Iulis | bellatrix gens bacifero nutrita Sabino.’ – ‘Thereafter thy descendants, Cytherea, shall reign for ages. Later still, godlike excellence shall come from Cures and soar to heaven; and a warrior family, reared on the berry that grows in the Sabine land, shall increase the fame of the deified Julii.’ [trans. Duff 1934]). The Punica continues the Aeneid in more than one sense: Hannibal’s war fulfils the curse of Dido; the Flavians complete the work of Augustus; and a poem on Republican history turns, by a paradox, into a properly imperial epic, a truly post-Augustan and post-Virgilian one. This transformation is brought about by the characterization of Scipio: Silius’ triumphal ending, towards which the structure of the poem tends from the beginning, reacts to the shock at the tragic ending of the Aeneid. As Philip Hardie has shown, Silius combines the (non‐)duel and the final victory with the triumph of Augustus in Virgil’s book 8 and with the imperial encomium in book 6 – almost the same combination of Virgilian elements that we find in  Sil. Pun. 1.14– 15: reseravit Dardanus arces | ductor Agenoreas – ‘a Roman general stormed the citadel of Carthage’; Stat. Theb. 9.517– 519: ‘certe tumulos supremaque victis | busta dabas: ubi Cecropiae post proelia flammae, | Theseos ignis ubi est?’ – ‘Surely you used to grant tombs and final pyres to the vanquished. Where are Cecropian flames after battles, where Theseus’ fire?’

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the Thebaid. ³ In the epilogue of the Punica Scipio is greeted as the true son of Jupiter, through the formulae of the hymn to Hercules in Aeneid 8, after being compared to Bacchus, to Hercules vanquisher of the Giants, to Romulus and Camillus, fathers of the country: a triumphal encomium that bears the features of an imperial encomium (Sil. Pun. 17.645 – 654):⁴ ipse adstans curru atque auro decoratus et ostro Martia praebebat spectanda Quiritibus ora, qualis odoratis descendens Liber ab Indis egit pampineos frenata tigride currus, aut cum Phlegraeis confecta mole Gigantum incessit campis tangens Tirynthius astra. salve, invicte parens, non concessure Quirino laudibus ac meritis, non concessure Camillo. nec vero, cum te memorat de stirpe deorum, prolem Tarpei, mentitur Roma, Tonantis.

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Scipio himself, erect in his chariot and splendid in purple and gold, gave to the citizens the spectacle of his martial countenance. So looked Bacchus, when he drove his car, wreathed with vine-leaves and drawn by tigers, down from the incense-breathing land of the Indians; and so looked Hercules, when he had slain the huge Giants and marched along the plains of Phlegra, with his head reaching the stars. Hail to thee, father and undefeated general, not inferior in glory to Quirinus, and not inferior to Camillus in thy services! Rome tells no lie, when she gives thee a divine origin and calls thee the son of the Thunder-god who dwells on the Capitol. (trans. Duff 1934)

The voice of the narrator repeats here, at the end, the greeting that the god Mars addressed to the young hero in book 4 (4.475 – 476: ‘macte, o macte indole sacra | vera Iovis proles’), a greeting that was modelled in turn on Apollo’s greeting to Ascanius, destined for heaven, in Aeneid 9 (Virg. Aen. 9.641: ‘macte nova virtute, puer’ – ‘A blessing, boy, on your young valour!’); and this final reworking is marked once more by an echo of the hymn of the Salii in Virgil (Virg. Aen. 8.293 – 301: ‘invicte, … | … | salve, vera Iovis proles, …’ – ‘You, unconquered one, … Hail, true seed of Jove, …’ [trans. H. Rushton Fairclough / G.P. Goold 2000]). In Silius, the encomium of the charismatic Republican leader is as near as possible to an encomium of an emperor; the hero, proclaimed son of Jupiter by legend (a legend favoured by himself, according to historians) and proved such by his deeds, is raised in the triumph to divine stature; only an emperor

 Hardie 1993, 60; 1997b, 158 – 159.  Cf. Hardie 1993, 39: “Scipio’s equality (for which one might read the Roman emperor’s equality) with gods and heroes”; Ripoll 1998a, 130 and n. 190.

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like Domitian can still overcome him, through the hyperboles of encomiastic poetry: like the apostrophe of the Sibyl in Statius, Silvae 4.3.139 ‘salve, dux hominum et parens deorum’ (‘Hail, leader of men and parent of gods’ [trans. Shackleton Bailey 2003]), where the princeps even usurps the formulae of Jupiter’s universal power. The celebratory modes of this epic ending (almost closer to the Georgics than to the Aeneid)⁵ are emblematic; through its greatest protagonist, Silius’ poem constructs itself as a link between Republic and Empire. Far from Lucan, the hymnological σφραγίς of the Punica gives to this epic on Republican history the form of a truly ‘imperial’ epic. Or at least this is my reading and that of others before me: it is obvious that this Scipio is that of Fucecchi and Marks.⁶ Yet it is precisely on this final panegyric that critics of the Punica have divided opinions: and it is here that issues of method come into play. Recently, Ben Tipping has proposed reading these verses in the light of Lucan’s criticism of imperial divinization, a result of the civil wars:⁷ “Read through the filter of Lucan’s pre-written sequel … such deification becomes contaminated with its role as marker for the emergence of more or less ‘superhuman’ individuals who will ultimately destroy that Republic.”⁸ We may wonder, however, through which filter it is more appropriate to read this passage: the model of the Pharsalia or that of imperial encomiastic poetry? Lucan’s anti-Aeneid or the celebratory passages in Virgil? The presence of a model in a certain group of verses is not in itself sufficient – the verbal or virtual presence, or maybe a fancied one –, and I believe that we must look at the same time at the overall structure of the poem, at the narrative strategy, at the role of these  The triumphal image at the end of the Georgics (4.560 – 562: Caesar dum magnus ad altum | fulminat Euphraten bello victorque volentis | per populos dat iura viamque adfectat Olympo – ‘…, while great Caesar thundered in war by deep Euphrates and gave a victor’s laws unto willing nations, and essayed the path to Heaven.’ [trans. H. Rushton Fairclough 1967]) is the same as Scipio’s image at Sil. Pun. 17.618 – 619 (hic finis bello. reserantur protinus arces | Aesonio iam sponte duci. – ‘Thus the war ended. At once and willingly the citizens opened their gates to Scipio.’ [trans. Duff 1934]); cf. Hardie 1997b, 158.  Fucecchi 1993; Marks 2005a; 2005b.  Luc. 7.454– 459: mortalia nulli | sunt curata deo. cladis tamen huius habemus | vindictam quantam terris dare numina fas est. | bella pares superis facient civilia divos | fulminibus manes radiisque ornabit et astris | inque deum templis iurabit Roma per umbras. – ‘Man’s destiny has never been watched over by any god. Yet for this disaster we have revenge, so far as gods may give satisfaction to mortals: civil war shall make dead Caesars the peers of gods above; and Rome shall deck out dead men with thunderbolts and haloes and constellations, and in the temples of the gods shall swear by ghosts.’ (trans. Duff 1928).  Tipping 2007, 241; 2010, 192. The ‘inversion’ of Luc. 8.871– 872 at Sil. Pun. 17.653 – 654, moreover, is dismissed as “provocatively superficial” (2009, 216; 2010, 190).

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and other verses in the construction of the character and of the story. What relevance do we want to attribute to isolated allusive suggestions, provoking but disrupting, that cannot be integrated into an articulated discourse? Are we looking for atomized intertextuality or a broader intertextual dialogue and interdiscursivity in a cultural context?

3. Uses and abuses of Lucan in criticism It is first of all in the f o r m s of epic, and in their transformation, that we must look for the ideas of power and their evolution: and the form of the Punica, as a whole and in the details, seems to me, at the same time, an acknowledgement and a surpassing of Lucan – the same, I think, may be said about the Thebaid. The consciousness of the civil wars – the Republican, but also the imperial ones – constantly resurfaces in the Silian narrative of a glorious past; but there is not, in the Punica, the protest of the Pharsalia, there is not the praise of libertas, there is not a condemnation of the imperial system. There is not, above all, the sense of an irreparable rupture in the history of Rome, which is the hallmark of Lucan.⁹ On the contrary, there is the explicit, insistent and coherent indication of c o n t i n u i t y between Republic and Empire: an ideal and idealized continuity, which also becomes an artistic principle, the style that gives form to the poem.¹⁰ The epic design of the Punica is a return to the κλέα ἀνδρῶν: the poem opens with the glory of the sons of Aeneas (1.1– 2: gloria … | Aeneadum), to close with the glory of Scipio; and proceeds from the deeds of many men, viros (1.4– 5: quantosque ad bella crearit | et quot Roma viros – ‘and to tell of all those heroes whom Rome brought forth for the strife’), to the action of a single man for the community – ‘the one for the many’.¹¹ The model of Lucan, avoided in the proem, but present until the last verse of the Punica,¹² is the constant object of a poetic reuse, and of an ideological reversal; in Silius’ historical epic the Republican nostalgia of the senator and consul – if it is there – is never seen to prevail over his loyalism as a collaborator with the emperors in real life. The structure of the narrative, with the defeat at Cannae at its centre, recalls the structure of the Bellum civile, which has its ideological centre in the disaster

 See also Marks 2010.  For a different reading of the evocation of Lucan in the Flavian epic poets see Penwill in this volume.  Hardie 1993, 3 – 10.  Hardie 1997b, 158 – 162; Marks 2005a, 273 – 276; 2008, 84– 85; 2010; Tipping 2007, 239 – 241; 2009, 215 – 216; 2010, 189 – 192.

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of Pharsalus:¹³ but here the defeat is staged as a prologue to victory and conceived as a condition for it. In an analogous way, the Thebaid stages the fratricidal duel as a climax of horror – ‘a myth to be forgotten’ –, and in this it repeats the refusal of Lucan to narrate the horror of Pharsalus; but in book 12 Statius inverts the course and turns his Lucanian epic of nefas into an epic of the victor.

4. Reading Hannibal through the Pharsalia Pessimistic and subversive criticism (I simplify for synthesis) rejoices in a paradox: Hannibal is as necessary to Rome’s greatness as are Fabius, Paulus and Marcellus.¹⁴ And yet to say on this basis, as Ahl / Davis / Pomeroy do, that “Hannibal represents what is best for Rome, and the young Scipio what is worst” is a major leap in thought. That violence tends to efface the differences between enemies is a lesson of tragedy, well known from the ending of the Aeneid; but Silius does everything to ensure that the two leaders, equal in valour, appear until the end as opposed in ethics, as is anticipated in the synkrisis of book 9 (Sil. Pun. 9.436 – 437: Marte viri dextraque pares, sed cetera ductor | anteibat Latius, melior pietate fideque – ‘in prowess they were well matched; but otherwise the Roman was superior – in sense of duty and of honour’).¹⁵ The close of the poem only enhances this exemplary contrast – also through the filter of Lucan. Hannibal’s exit from the stage, defeated and in flight like Pompey, at the same time re-proposes the Titanic traits that, throughout the poem, have aligned him with the Caesar of the Pharsalia (Sil. Pun. 17.605 – 617): iamque propinquabant hostes tumuloque subibant, cum secum Poenus: ‘caelum licet omne soluta in caput hoc compage ruat terraeque dehiscant, non ullo Cannas abolebis, Iuppiter, aevo, decedesque prius regnis, quam nomina gentes aut facta Hannibalis sileant. nec deinde relinquo securam te, Roma, mei¹⁶, patriaeque superstes

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 Ahl / Davis / Pomeroy 1986, 2507– 2508; Tipping 2004, 363 – 365 and n. 69, with bibliography.  Cf. Ahl / Davis / Pomeroy 1986, 2510, on the bitter conclusion of book 10, Sil. Pun. 10.657– 658: haec tum Roma fuit. post te cui vertere mores | si stabat fatis, potius, Carthago, maneres. – ‘Such was Rome in those days; and, if it was fated that the Roman character should change when Carthage fell, would that Carthage were still standing!’  Cf. Sil. Pun. 9.434– 435; then 17.399 – 405.  Cf. Sil. Pun. 12.689 – 690: sic agitare fremens obsessos otia iamque | securam Hannibalis Romam violentior instat. – ‘he attacked with increased violence, indignant that Rome cared so little for Hannibal and that the besieged citizens should thus take their ease.’

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ad spes armorum vivam tibi. † nam modo pugna praecellis, resident hostes †¹⁷ mihi satque superque, ut me Dardaniae matres atque Itala tellus, dum vivam, exspectent nec pacem pectore norint.’ sic rapitur paucis fugientum mixtus et altos inde petit retro montes tutasque latebras.

615

And now the enemy came up close to the hill where he sat, and he said in his heart: ‘Though the earth yawn asunder, though all the framework of heaven break up and fall upon my head, never shalt thou, Jupiter, wipe out the memory of Cannae, but thou shalt step down from thy throne ere the world forgets the name or achievements of Hannibal. Nor do I leave Rome without dread of me: I shall survive my country and live on in the hope of warring against Rome. She wins this battle, but that is all; her foes are lying low. Enough, and more than enough for me, if Roman mothers and the people of Italy dread my coming while I live, and never know peace of mind.’ Then he joined a band of fugitives and hurried away, seeking a sure hiding-place among the high mountains in his rear. (trans. Duff 1934)

It is known that this monologue by Hannibal recalls Caesar’s words during the storm in Lucan (Luc. 5.668 – 671):¹⁸ ‘… mihi funere nullo est opus, o superi: lacerum retinete cadaver fluctibus in mediis, desint mihi busta rogusque, dum metuar semper terraque exspecter ab omni.’

670

‘… I ask no burial of the gods: let them leave my mutilated corpse amid the waves; I can dispense with grave and funeral pyre, provided I am feared for ever and my appearance is dreaded by every land.’ (trans. Duff 1928)

To remain feared is the wish that links the two ‘enemies’ of Rome; Caesar expresses that wish echoing the tyrannical slogan of Accius’ Atreus: oderint dum metuant (Acc. Atreus, fr. 203 R.3);¹⁹ Silius attributes to Hannibal a less demonic variant of the motif in comparison with Lucan: he turns the dum into a temporal expression and flattens the paradox. Caesar is ready to die unburied p r o v i d e d t h a t he is feared and wishes to be awaited and feared as long as he will be b e l i e v e d to be alive: this is an extension of his tyrannical will beyond death; in a more subdued tone, Hannibal, resigned to surviving the defeat of his country,

 I reproduce here the text of Delz 1987, who prints cruces and reports conjectures in the apparatus. Devallet, in Martin / Devallet 1992, accepts the transmitted text.  Cf. Ahl / Davis / Pomeroy 1986, 2514– 2515; the parallel was already noticed by von Albrecht 1964, 54 n. 24.  As observed by Narducci 2002, 257.

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wishes at least to be awaited with fear in Rome a s l o n g a s he shall b e alive (‘mihi satque superque …’). But this is not the only echo of Lucan here. These verses move in a decrescendo. Before resigning himself to survival, Hannibal has prophesied his survival b e y o n d death, through fame (17.608 – 610). This is a Titanic version of an epic topos: here the character himself proclaims his own immortality, and he does it by challenging the king of the gods.²⁰ The eternity of fame is expressed in comparison with no other power than that of Jupiter: it is the latest metaphorical assault on the sky of the Punic Giant.²¹ These words are also a response, I think, to the promise of eternal fame that, in the Bellum civile, the narrator addresses to his villainous hero (Luc. 9.980 – 986): o sacer et magnus vatum labor, omnia fato eripis et populis donas mortalibus aevum. invidia sacrae, Caesar, ne tangere famae; nam, si quid Latiis fas est promittere Musis, quantum Zmyrnaei durabunt vatis honores, venturi me teque legent; Pharsalia nostra vivet, et a nullo tenebris damnabimur aevo.

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How mighty, how sacred is the poet’s task! He snatches all things from destruction and gives to mortal men immortality. Be not jealous, Caesar, of those whom fame has consecrated; for, if it is permissible for the Latin Muses to promise aught, then, as long as the fame of Smyrna’s bard endures, posterity shall read my verse and your deeds; our Pharsalia shall live on, and no age will ever doom us to oblivion. (trans. Duff 1928)

Hannibal is not only a resistant reader of the Punica, who challenges Jupiter’s providential plan; he is also a self-conscious character, to whom Silius delegates the statement of the hero’s future fame. Like Lucan, Silius recalls, through Hannibal’s words, Virgil’s promise of glory to Nisus and Euryalus²² and, with it, that to Lausus. ²³ In addition, he

 Cf. Tipping 2010, 69 – 70 on the metaliterary aspect, with reference to Ov. Met. 15 and Hor. Carm. 3.30.  Cf. Fucecchi 1990a, 164– 165; 1990b, 41– 42.  Virg. Aen. 9.446 – 449: fortunati ambo! si quid mea carmina possunt, | nulla dies umquam memori vos eximet aevo, | dum domus Aeneae Capitoli immobile saxum | accolet imperiumque pater Romanus habebit. – ‘Happy pair! If my poetry has any power, no day shall ever blot you from the memory of time, so long as the house of Aeneas dwells on the Capitol’s unshaken rock, and the Father of Rome holds sovereign sway!’ (trans. H. Rushton Fairclough / G.P. Goold 2000); cf. Sil. Pun. 17.608: ‘non ullo Cannas abolebis, Iuppiter, aevo’ –‘never shalt thou, Jupiter, wipe out the memory of Cannae’.

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may also recall the epilogue of the Metamorphoses,²⁴ if not even that of the Thebaid. ²⁵ In the absence of an explicit acknowledgement of literary glory, Hannibal can appeal, nevertheless, to his fame among posterity (gentes); and, even as he shifts his speech from the life of his ‘name’ to that of his body, his words vivam and dum vivam, echoing Ovid and Lucan, still sound like a prophecy of poetic survival. And yet, Silius’ distance from the model in Lucan is revealing: Hannibal’s is nothing but an arrogant self-promotion. The Flavian poet avoids the problematic implications of the gesture of Lucan, who, with the authority of the epic narrator, provokingly assures Caesar, and his own poem with him, of the same fame obtained by Homer and Achilles together. The perverse poetics of the Pharsalia, with its disturbing celebration of a villainous hero, are thus neutralised; and there remains space, instead, for the more traditional function of epic, the granting of immortal fame to κλέα ἀνδρῶν: a function that the narrator of the Punica performs, shortly afterwards, by proclaiming Scipio’s eternal glory (17.625): mansuri compos decoris per saecula rector (‘Scipio had gained glory to last for ages’).

 Virg. Aen. 10.791– 793: hic mortis durae casum tuaque optima facta, | si qua fidem tanto est operi latura vetustas, | non equidem nec te, iuvenis memorande, silebo – ‘and here the fate of cruel death and your most glorious deeds (if at all antiquity can win belief in such prowess) I will not leave unsung, nor you yourself, young man, so worthy to be sung!’; cf. Sil. Pun. 17.609 – 610: ‘decedesque prius regnis quam nomina gentes | aut facta Hannibalis sileant’ – ‘but thou shalt step down from thy throne ere the world forgets the name or achievements of Hannibal’.  See Hardie 1997b, 161. – Ov. Met. 15.871– 879: iamque opus exegi, quod nec Iovis ira nec ignis | nec poterit ferrum nec edax abolere vetustas. | cum volet, illa dies, quae nil nisi corporis huius | ius habet, incerti spatium mihi finiat aevi; | parte tamen meliore mei super alta perennis | astra ferar, nomenque erit indelebile nostrum; | quaque patet domitis Romana potentia terris | ore legar populi, perque omnia saecula fama, | si quid habent veri vatum praesagia, vivam – ‘And now my work is done, which neither the wrath of Jove, nor fire, nor sword, nor the gnawing tooth of time shall ever be able to undo. When it will, let that day come which has no power save over this mortal frame, and end the span of my uncertain years. Still in my better part I shall be borne immortal far beyond the lofty stars and I shall have an undying name. Wherever Rome’s power extends over the conquered world, I shall have mention on men’s lips, and, if the prophecies of bards have any truth, through all the ages shall I live in fame.’ (trans. F.J. Miller / G.P. Goold 1984); cf. Sil. Pun. 17.608 – 615: ‘non … abolebis, Iuppiter, … | … nomina … | … | … vivam … | … | dum vivam’.  Stat. Theb. 12.810: dominoque legere superstes; 12.816: vive, precor; cf. Sil. Pun. 17.611– 612: ‘patriaeque superstes | … vivam’.

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5. Exemplary contrasts: Scipio and Hannibal, Theseus and Creon This construction of the two antagonists by opposition is intentional. The dualism of the Aeneid, which is toned down in Virgil’s problematic ending, is instead stressed here, as at the end of the Thebaid. Scipio and Hannibal, Theseus and Creon, encounter each other, or try to, on the battlefield, like Aeneas and Turnus, but above all are set against each other as opposing paradigms in an exemplary contrast: a superbus, or a tyrant, opposing an ideal leader and ruler. There is no time here to compare the respective conduct of the two leaders, in battle or in the duel: the revenge on the Carthaginians, responsible for the war, and the punishment of the Theban tyrant; nor is there time to comment on the evident allusive relationship between the two and between each of them and Aeneas; nor to comment, for instance, on the controversial simile comparing both heroes with Mars (carefully modified, it seems to me, compared to that applied to Turnus by Virgil).²⁶ In Silius and Statius, battle is followed by triumph, at Rome or on the battlefield: it is here, above all, that imperial ideology contributes to shaping the epic narrative, and it is upon this that I propose to focus.

6. Triumphal ending: Punica Let us go back to the final, triumphal verses of the Punica: other elements lend themselves to contrasting readings; many motifs of the poem return here. Inside the Punica, the ending realizes to the letter the promise made to Scipio by Virtus, whom the hero has preferred to Voluptas in book 15, in a reworking of the story of Hercules at the crossroads: as a reward, the hero is now numbered among the deified benefactors.²⁷ But here also Jupiter’s prophecy fulfils itself, and the

 On Stat. Theb. 12.730 – 796 and Sil. Pun. 17.465 – 521; 17.618 – 619 cf. Bessone 2011, 182, 187– 188, 190 – 191 and n. 4.  Sil. Pun. 15.77– 83: ‘at quis aetherii servatur seminis ortus, | caeli porta patet. referam quid cuncta domantem | Amphitryoniaden? quid, cui, post Seras et Indos | captivo Liber cum signa referret ab Euro, | Caucaseae currum duxere per oppida tigres? | quid suspiratos magno in discrimine nautis | Ledaeos referam fratres vestrumque Quirinum?’ – ‘On the other hand the gate of heaven stands open to those who have preserved the divine element born with them. Need I speak of Amphitryon’s son who destroyed all monsters? or of Liber, whose chariot was drawn through the cities by Caucasian tigers when he came back in triumph from the conquered East, after subduing the Chinese and the Indians? or of Quirinus, the hero of Rome, or the Brethren

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image of Scipio who does not yield to Quirinus (17.651– 652: non concessure Quirino | laudibus ac meritis) mirrors the image of Domitian to whom Quirinus, in Jupiter’s anticipation to Venus, gives way in the sky (3.627– 628: ‘solioque Quirinus | concedet’). And there is more: in the context of the triumph, Silius exalts Scipio’s Martia … ora (17.646: Martia praebebat spectanda Quiritibus ora), but he has already given a paradoxical portrait of him, in which the martial features of his face are mixed with mildness, in accordance with the demands of the encomium of the princeps and the motifs of imperial ideology (8.559 – 561: Martia frons facilesque comae nec pone retroque | caesaries brevior; flagrabant lumina miti | adspectu gratusque inerat visentibus horror – ‘He had a martial brow and flowing hair; nor was the hair at the back of his head shorter. His eyes burned bright, but their regard was mild; and those who looked upon him were at once awed and pleased.’).²⁸ The ring-composition, then, gives a strong sense of closure, but not everybody is willing to accept its effect. So again Tipping: “The Punica ends with a triumph, and as Fowler observes, triumph is strongly closural. The Punica’s interaction … with the De bello civili serves, however, to deny its audience the sense of an ending … the very presence of multiple intertextuality here contributes to a sense that the Punica and its shape-shifting Scipio Africanus Maior remain ‘open’.”²⁹ No closure is ever complete, in poetry; but the f o r m of this epilogue, I believe, is designed to neutralize the problematic issues that the future of Scipio and of Rome have in store, as readers of the Punica know and the narrator has reminded us more than once. Without provoking debate on securus sceptri (17.627), let us take another disputed point: the comparison with Camillus (17.652). One way of reading it is to recognise that it aligns Scipio with Fabius and so reconciles Africanus with the Cunctator as if to settle the quarrel of book 16: the success of Rome’s political turn thus appears ratified, the turn that has substituted the old elite with a new one and has brought victory.³⁰ Doubtless, the comparison with the conqueror of Veii, and then of the Gauls, also hints at the exile that is awaiting Scipio and at his final downfall; but precisely this celebratory final comparison with a father of the country who was exiled and then rehabilitated may sound like a compensation, like the revenge of poetry on history. And this implicit reference to the future cannot be separated

whom Leda bore, to whom sailors cry in their sore distress?’ (trans. Duff 1934). On this internal echo cf. Billerbeck 1986b, 347– 348.  See Fucecchi 1993.  Tipping 2007, 239; cf. 2009, 217– 218.  Fucecchi 1993, 48.

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from the explicit judgement that, in the Nekyia, the authoritative voice of the Sibyl has already pronounced on the exile of Scipio: a shameful injustice by the country towards its hero (13.514– 515: ‘pudet urbis iniquae, | quod post haec decus hoc patriaque domoque carebit’ – ‘Shame on the unjust citizens, who will deprive of home and country a hero who has done such things!’).

7. Exemplary constructions, incriminating details: Scipio and Theseus So, Scipio as a paradigm of the princeps: this is the critical construction of Fucecchi and Marks, contrasting with that of Ahl / Davis / Pomeroy and of McGuire, and now questioned by Tipping. Coming from studies on the Thebaid, its ending and its protagonist, I find the same opposing views with regard to the Punica, partly represented by the same names in the same venues: parallel courses and re-courses of criticism. When reading the Punica and Scipio, I find affinities with Fucecchi and Marks, but an essential stimulus in the work of Tipping – just as I found stimuli in everything that subversive criticism of the Thebaid observes with regard to Theseus. The parallel reading of the two poems is an invitation to verify in parallel the critical points of our interpretative constructions. I observe similarities in the method by which pessimistic criticism in both cases seems to deconstruct the load-bearing structures of poetic architecture, on the basis of flaws or presumed inconsistencies in points of detail – there is no agreement on the hierarchy of building components. Incriminating details are sought for in the portrait of the two protagonists – who, however, are designed by the narrator in stylized forms, contrasted with a negative figure, proposed as exemplary. If those details are not found in the text, they are supposed to be in the intertext: in the poetic models – by a ‘delatory’ use of allusion – or in the tradition about the two heroes. What is not always granted to the poets is the right to tendentiousness, which is instead exercised by critics. First of all in the construction of character: Scipio belongs to history, Theseus to myth; both are controversial heroes, great and disputed, exalted or execrated. Manipulating history may be more difficult than transforming myth – but Silius’ selection of the historical material resembles Statius’ choices within the mythical tradition. With regard to the debate in the Senate between Fabius and Scipio, for instance, Fucecchi has shown that, in the Punica, the removal of polemical motifs and of all conflict “eliminates every shade of suspicion around the σωτήρ, the hero protected by the

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gods”.³¹ Therefore (Fucecchi concludes), Silius “moves skilfully” inside the legendary tradition regarding Africanus, begun with the historians contemporary to Polybius: “Always carefully avoiding details that are less suitable to his celebratory intent”, he “accurately blends several features of the character (heroism, charisma, Roman ethics, relationship with the gods), referring to motifs of imperial ideology and propaganda” and making the hero “an archetype of the optimus princeps”. In a similar way, as I have tried to show elsewhere,³² Statius constructs in the Thebaid an ideal profile of Theseus, by a careful selection of features: a poetic reconstruction that surpasses the neoteric-elegiac tradition, restores the epic status of the hero and, by rethinking the idealizing tradition of Attic tragedy and epitaphs, turns the king of Athens into an ideal ruler, in terms of Roman imperial ideology. Statius’ version is a partisan version of myth, which responds to a poetic and political choice. In an analogous way, Silius gives epic form to a political reading of history: a conciliatory reading that reconciles the best of the Republican tradition with an ideal version of imperial power. In both the Punica and the Thebaid there is, for sure, no lack of awareness of a crisis, increased by the recent civil wars (more acute in Statius and nurtured by tragedy), and, with it, a sense of a threat also hanging over the present; in Silius, the leitmotif of decline seems to extend from Republican to imperial history, as the problematic praise of Domitian at the end of book 14 shows.³³ But what emerges, in very different ways, in both poems is a confidence in, or an aim for, recovery, even if faced with the experience of recurrent crises: in terms of poetic forms, the re-proposition of ideal models for imperial society. It is a plan of reconstruction and an indication of the values on which to reconstruct: for Silius, the traditional values of virtus and fides, of solidarity and concordia, which brought Rome to victory in the Second Punic War; for Statius, the ideal of Roman imperial clementia, which is traced back to the Greek root of philanthropia, as it will be done later in the Second Sophistic. The very structure of the two poems, so to speak, includes and rejects Lucan. Cannae is ‘the tomb of Hesperia’ (Sil. Pun. 1.50 – 51: ‘dum Cannas, tumulum Hesperiae … | … cernam’), as Pharsalus is ‘the funeral of the world’ (Luc. 7.617: in funere mundi): but in the Punica the theological scandal of the Pharsalia (Luc. 1.128; 7.445 – 455) is replaced with the teleology of the Aeneid. In the Thebaid the duel between Oedipus’ sons is an absolute nefas, in view of which Ju-

 Id. ibid.  Bessone 2011, 128 – 199.  Sil. Pun. 14.684– 688.

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piter withdraws; but Theseus, as a substitute for Jupiter, replaces divine providence with clemency – and, with the ara Clementiae, Statius reconstructs the imperial ideal that Lucan had destroyed. The Bellum civile is an upsetting of the cosmos (Luc. 1.80: foedera mundi; 2.2– 3: legesque et foedera rerum | praescia monstrifero vertit natura tumultu – ‘and Nature, conscious of the future, reversed the laws and ordinances of life, and, while the hurly-burly bred monsters, proclaimed civil war’): but the Second Punic War inaugurates a world order, and the war of Theseus reinstates the laws that tie the universe together (Stat. Theb. 12.642: terrarum leges et mundi foedera – ‘the laws of earth and the world’s covenants’). In the Punica, as in the Thebaid, the enemy is an enemy of civilization, who relishes, like Caesar, the spectacle of the corpses: but in these epics Hannibal and Creon are the defeated, not the winners. Until the very end, Statius puts at the centre of his poem the problematic aspect of war: from the taboo of the fratricidal war to the institution of the bellum iustum. But the tragedy of war as a means of justice is what the Flavian poet learns from a (partly) patriotic tragedy of Euripides – the Supplices, the “Encomium of the Athenians” –, and this is his response to the “tragic contradiction” of the Aeneid. ³⁴

8. Imperial ending(s): Thebaid A little space remains and perhaps enough for discussing a few verses that, at the end of the Thebaid, show crucial motifs in condensed form (Stat. Theb. 12.782– 788): accedunt utrimque pio vexilla tumultu permiscentque manus; medio iam foedera bello, iamque hospes Theseus; orant succedere muris dignarique domos. nec tecta hostilia victor aspernatus init; gaudent matresque nurusque Ogygiae, qualis thyrso bellante subactus mollia laudabat iam marcidus orgia Ganges.

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From both sides the standards meet in friendly confusion; they grasp hands. In the midst of battle comes a treaty; now Theseus is a guest. They beg him to come inside their walls and honour their homes. Not rebuffing them, the victor enters enemy dwellings. Ogygian mothers and brides rejoice, even as Ganges, subdued by the battling wand, praised unwarlike revels, already in liquor. (trans. Shackleton Bailey 2003)

 Conte 20072, 125 – 142 (chapter IV).

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Everything here is paradoxical and exemplary. Statius stages not only a spontaneous subjugation, a frequent motif in imperialistic celebration, but also a fraternization of the troops on the battlefield. And, even more, the exultation of the defeated – this is panegyric put into narrative form. In Tristia 2, Augustus’ clementia turns the triumph into common rejoicing of victors and vanquished (Ov. Trist. 2.48 – 50: … parsque simul templis utraque dona tulit; | utque tuus gaudet miles, quod vicerit hostem, | sic victum cur se gaudeat, hostis habet – ‘…; both sides together made their gifts to the temples; and as thy soldiery rejoice to have vanquished the enemy, so the enemy has reason to rejoice at his defeat.’ [trans. A.L. Wheeler 1924]). In the Thebaid, war turns into peace the very instant that the tyrant is killed; and the women of Thebes exult. Statius illustrates their joy with the image of the drunken Ganges, who endorses the rites of Bacchus (Theb. 12.786 – 788). The triumph of Augustus on Aeneas’ shield is the model for the subjugated river (Virg. Aen. 8.726: Euphrates ibat iam mollior undis – ‘Euphrates moved now with humbler waves’).³⁵ But to that Statius adds the enthusiasm for the victor (laudabat), as in the Ovid passage, and thus alludes at the same time to two poetic texts involved in the construction of Augustan ideology. The premise of this hyperbole is a concept dear to imperial propaganda: if the victor is clement, his victory is profitable to the defeated;³⁶ poetry turns the ‘profit’ into exultation. Silius too reverts to themes of Augustan propaganda with a view to the present, and he too elaborates the motif of the rejoicing defeated as he narrates the episode of Marcellus at Syracuse, an exemplum of clemency that is compared with Domitian’s conduct in peace (Sil. Pun. 14.665 – 688). Here too, the clemency of the victor brings about the common joy of victors and defeated (Sil. Pun. 14.679 – 680): ast reliquum vulgus resoluta in gaudia mente | certarunt victi victoribus (‘But the people generally gave themselves up to rejoicing; and the vanquished were as happy as the victors.’); and the perspective on the present becomes explicit in the praise of the good government of provinces by Domitian, which closes the book emphatically (Sil. Pun. 14.684– 688). Another and greater model of clemency, at the end of the Punica, comes when Scipio sees conquered Carthage spontaneously opening before him (Sil. Pun. 17.618 – 619): hic finis bello, reserantur protinus arces | Ausonio iam sponte duci (‘Thus the war ended. At once and willingly the citizens opened their gates to Scipio.’).

 Hardie 1997b, 153 – 154.  Cf. Bessone 2011 (which I follow closely in this paragraph), 180 – 182.

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But there is more in the Thebaid. ³⁷ From being an enemy, Theseus turns into a ‘guest’: iamque hospes Theseus (Stat. Theb. 12.784). The definition of that (literary) role is an echo of the Hecale and surpasses the malus hospes of Catullus 64 (64.175 – 176). Callimachus is integrated into a new epic design, which reconciles heroic values with a pacifist ideal and both of them with imperial ideology: Theseus’ heroism is the commitment of a ruler to war for the purpose of peace. The civilizing hero is here restored to his full epic dimension, but, as in the Hecale, he makes human and civil values prevail. The Callimachean representation of a Theseus well disposed towards the humble and grateful for a simple reception is given a new epic perspective by Statius, but one anticipated by the Aeneid. The ideal of philanthropia as human solidarity, which inspires the Hecale, agrees with the ethical-political ideal of the beneficent ruler: philanthropia as the foundation of kingship.³⁸ The Thebaid joins together different traditions of Athenian hospitality, from Attic tragedy to the Callimachean epyllion. Here Theseus gives and accepts hospitality, supports the suppliants in Athens and, at Thebes, agrees to be received as a guest by the defeated (whom he himself has freed from the tyrant), with the exemplary modesty of a hero and a powerful man towards the inferior. The gesture of the victor who accepts hospitality in the houses even of the defeated enemies (Stat. Theb. 12.784– 786) represents a Roman political ideal. As in the Punica, the construction of the exemplary hero – and ruler – is modelled on Hercules. Theseus is traditionally a double and an aemulus of Hercules. The supplication addressed to him at the ara Clementiae evokes that heroic paradigm (Stat. Theb. 12.584). An indefatigable hero, a civilizer and an enemy of tyrants, a benefactor who is grateful for modest hospitality: a partly shared profile similarly predisposes Hercules and, in his footsteps, Theseus to become an ethical-political symbol and an imperial paradigm. Callimachus put in parallel the Theseus of the Hecale and Hercules as the guest of Molorchus, the protagonist of the episode framed in the Victoria Berenices in Aitia 3: a double version of the motif of humble hospitality, offered to a hero or a god in disguise. In Aeneid 8 Virgil integrates Callimachus into a new poetic design: myth and aetiology now join Roman imperial ideology. Here Hercules, the conqueror of Cacus, receives hospitality in the humble royal dwelling of Evander some time before Aeneas gets there, as a hospes of the Arcadian king in his turn, and is invited, ‘great’ but under a ‘cramped’ roof, to emulate the modesty of his predecessor, despising wealth.

 See Bessone 2011, 156 – 163.  Cf. Adam 1970, 35 – 39; Sidebottom 2006, 120 – 121, 136, 151.

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The Augustan poet transforms poverty, represented with comic-realistic traits in the Callimachean episodes, into the myth of the humble origins, from which the empire of Rome developed. Reverting to a script by Callimachus, the Aeneid proposes an imperial ethical-political ideal, which is at the heart of Augustus’ archaizing moralism: the frugality of archaic Rome, reinterpreted in the light of Stoic philosophy. This is the famous passage that closes the ‘archaeological tour’ (Virg. Aen. 8.359 – 368): talibus inter se dictis ad tecta subibant pauperis Euandri passimque armenta videbant Romanoque foro et lautis mugire Carinis. ut ventum ad sedes: ‘haec’ inquit ‘limina victor Alcides subiit, haec illum regia cepit; aude, hospes, contemnere opes et te quoque dignum finge deo rebusque veni non asper egenis.’ dixit, et angusti supter fastigia tecti ingentem Aenean duxit stratisque locavit effultum foliis et pelle Libystidis ursae.

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So talking to each other, they came to the house of humble Evander, and saw cattle all about, lowing in the Roman Forum and in the fashionable Carinae. When they reached his dwelling, he cries: ‘These portals victorious Alcides stooped to enter; this mansion had room for him. Have the courage, my guest, to scorn riches; make yourself, too, worthy of deity, and come not disdainful of our poverty.’ He spoke, and beneath the roof of his lowly dwelling led towering Aeneas, and set him on a couch of strewn leaves and the skin of a Libyan bear. (trans. H. Rushton Fairclough / G.P. Goold 2000)

The paradigm of Hercules, proposed to Aeneas as a model to emulate (and to the readers of the Aeneid as an Augustus-like figure), casts its shadow also over the Thebaid, as a foil for the figure of Theseus (Stat. Theb. 12.784– 786): iamque hospes Theseus. orant succedere muris dignarique domos. nec tecta hostilia victor aspernatus init. …; now Theseus is a guest. They beg him to come inside their walls and honour their homes. Not rebuffing them, the victor enters enemy dwellings. (trans. Shackleton Bailey 2003)

Victor and hospes: the heroic paradigm comes to the Thebaid from the parallel stories of Theseus and Hercules in Callimachus, mediated by the representation of Hercules and Aeneas in Virgil. Statius develops the dialogue with Callimachus – with the Hecale and the Victoria Berenices, put in parallel – by going beyond Virgil: he delights in a poetics of paradox, elaborates on imperial ideology and

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concentrates the narrative on the qualities of the ruler, rather than on the collective ethics of a people. Here Theseus is a hospes precisely of the hostes: by a paradox, the victor receives hospitality and is acclaimed by the defeated as a saviour. The emphasis is now on the condescension of a great man – dignari … nec … | aspernatus – and on the benevolence of the supreme power toward the subjected. The ideal represented is not a common ethical imperative, but, in a more exclusive way, the ethics of a ruler: it is the civilitas of the emperor, affable to his subjects, accessible for inferiors, that expresses itself in the gestures of Theseus.³⁹ ‘Victor’ and ‘guest’. A pair of words condenses a Hellenistic-Roman literary tradition and re-launches an ideological proposal valid for the Flavian age. It is the ideal of the beneficent powerful man that is embodied in a mythical hero and in an emblematic image. For the ruler who passes through the city or enters in triumph, the contact with the crowd is a programmed ‘unforeseen event’, codified by imperial ceremonial; the panegyrics exalt it as a distinctive feature of a civilis emperor, ready to accept the acclamation and hospitality of the people.⁴⁰ Agreeing to be received as a guest in private houses, even as a victor and among the divine honours of the triumph, is an extraordinary attitude, which is paradigmatic in the portrait of the emperor. By portraying that behaviour, exceptional and exemplary at the same time, in a context of triumph – even of exultation of the enemies –, Statius hyperbolically extols the epic protagonist as the hero of an imperial panegyric. Let me conclude. I have tried an experiment in a double laboratory. Silius’ and Statius’ protagonists, at the end of the Punica and Thebaid, have been analysed in parallel, through the opposing methods of the subversive and ‘imperial’ readings. From my point of view, looking at the opposite views in Flavian studies, it is difficult to believe the same critical fiction twice: that an epic poem constructed to culminate with an ‘imperial’ hero could be – in two instances – an epic against the empire.

 See Wallace-Hadrill 1982.  Cf. e. g. Claud. Paneg. VI cons. Hon. 55 – 64.

Marco Fucecchi

Looking for the Giants Mythological imagery and discourse on power in Flavian epic

Introduction The myth of ancestral struggles for power waged by Jupiter and the Olympian gods against collective or individual assaults by monstrous earthborn rebels has a central place in the imagery of Latin high poetry. Since the age of Augustus, in particular, it has become synonymous with the greatness of the epic and lyric sublime: quite a feat to accomplish, which many poets explicitly avoided. Among the most important ‘exceptions’ are some episodes in Virgil’s Aeneid,¹ the narrative in the second half of Horace’s fourth Roman Ode (Carm. 3.4.37– 80) as well as brief references, like that included by Ovid in Tristia 2 (333 – 334). Such examples illustrate various ways of using the Gigantomachy and other cosmic battles² as metaphors of the cruel war that gave birth to the principate. The enemies of Octavian, i. e. the enemies of Rome, are depicted as ‘belated Titans’, just like the Gauls defeated by the Hellenistic kings in battles that owe their fame to Callimachus’ Hymn to Delos and the frieze of the Great Altar of Zeus at Pergamon. In Latin epic of the first century CE the increasing presence of echoes from primeval hyperbolic wars denotes full awareness of the universal dimension reached by Rome. By exploring the beginnings of myth and history, the Flavian poems aim to establish themselves as new ‘archetypes’ and try to outdo the Augustan classics. Gigantomachy, as well as Titanomachy and Typhonomachy, may function as paradigms of conflicts between brothers and kindred peoples in the heroic cycles, and they also fit the historical and quasi-legendary war between Rome and Carthage, represented as the struggle between cosmic forces and the disruptive violence of dissolution and chaos.

 The diffused presence of the ‘Gigantomachy theme’ throughout the Aeneid has been illustrated by Hardie (1986, 85 – 156), a seminal work, which focuses in particular on narrative sections from book 8: the shield of Aeneas and Hercules’ fight with Cacus.  I follow Hardie 1986 in using ‘Gigantomachy’ as a comprehensive term referring to the whole series of these battles: in fact, in mythical chronology the Giants’ assault on Jupiter’s heaven comes after the Titanomachy and Typhonomachy, which belong to the pre-Olympian era.

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In the poems of Valerius Flaccus, Statius and Silius Italicus the canonical topography of the mythical battles (Phlegra – the Greek as well as the Campanian site –, Pallene, Etna) is often evoked, together with the names of the protagonists (Encelados, Porphyrio, Mimas and the most famous of all of Jupiter’s enemies, Typhon / Typhoeus). At first glance, these references resemble tangential digressions originating from extravagant interests in religion, philosophy and natural sciences. However, it would be simplistic to label them as purely ornamental, without following the ‘Gigantomachic current’, which often rises to the narrative surface. Flavian epic organically integrates universal themes like the hard-won victory of order and civilization, but it also constantly invites the reader to think about the possibility of ‘relapse’ and to fear the danger of a catastrophic step backwards: chaos is an everlasting threat, which also looms over the present.

Valerius’ Argonautica: investiture and reversal The unfinished Flavian Argonautica shows how deeply the nightmare of war (civil war, in particular) can transform the set-up into something that is rather unfamiliar to the traditional kind of heroic performances established by the Homeric poems. Valerius Flaccus does not limit himself to expanding sketches of war narrative taken from his Alexandrian model, such as the tragic nocturnal battle waged by the Argonauts against the Doliones. Rather, he adds further material, possibly but not necessarily relying upon previous accounts. At the end of book 1, immediately after the Argo’s departure, king Pelias pretends to avenge the supposed abduction of his son Acastus and takes the opportunity to exterminate Jason’s whole family (1.700 – 850): his father Aeson (Pelias’ brother), his mother Alcimede and his little brother. Afterwards, in Colchis, the fraternal strife between Aeetes and Perses provides the poet with an ideal occasion to insert a long section of war narrative in ancient epic fashion (book 6). In such an innovative context, the ‘Gigantomachy theme’ is also given further attention: it is mentioned in strategic places and seems to play a programmatic role. At the Argo’s departure, when inviting the Greek heroes to look for eternal glory through labor, Jupiter reminds them that he gained his own primacy by defeating Titans and Giants (1.563 – 565: me primum regia mundo | Iapeti post bella trucis Phlegraeque labores | imposuit – ‘it was only after the battle with fierce Iapetus and the toils of Phlegra that Olympus’ palace set me over the universe’ [trans. Mozley 1934]). Such a symbolic investiture receives indirect confirmation a little later. When sailing in front of the three ‘legs’ of the Chalcidic peninsula, near Pallene, the crew of the Argo gaze upon an exemplary image from the past

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i. e. the ‘monumental remains’ of the terrible enemies struck there by Jupiter (2.16 – 18: metus ecce deum damnataque bello | Pallene circumque vident immania monstra | terrigenum caelo quondam adversata Gigantum, | … – ‘Lo! here the terror of the gods, Pallene, their fated battle-ground: all about they saw the monstrous forms of Earth’s children, that once made war on heaven, the Giants, …’). Mother Earth reabsorbed them all,³ and now, as mountains, they still keep their hostile appearance towards heaven: a very Roman touch.⁴ While Jupiter continues to strike them down with bolts of lightning and rain, only Typhoeus / Typhon, the greatest of them all, is missing, because he is buried under Mt Etna (2.22– 24: quatit ipse hiemes et torquet ab alto | fulmina crebra pater, scopulis sed maximus illis | horror abest, Sicula pressus tellure Typhoeus. – ‘with his own hand their father wields his storms and hurls bolt after bolt from on high; but not among those rocks is the chiefest dread; Typhoeus lies crushed beneath Sicilian soil.’). In fact, the ‘pious’ Jason feared that the opening of the seas could cause Neptune’s anger and therefore reassured him that he was not a Giant (1.198 – 199).⁵ Jupiter’s ‘blessing’ of the mission, in turn, forces the god of the sea, together with other dissidents like Sun and Mars, to accept the situation: the Olympian king, Juno and Minerva are on the same side this time. Consequently, the unfortunate opponents of the Argonauts – the more cruel as well as the apparently less guilty – end up having to take on the role of Giants and have to suffer defeat. The Doliones, whose king has incautiously offended Cybele, are quite naturally compared to mythical rebels. The unknown Phlegyas, armed with a big fire torch, resembles a new Typhon, but he also has to succumb to a greater enemy like Hercules (3.124– 137).⁶ The king himself, Cyzicus, before being killed by his

 Arg. 2.19 – 20: …, | quos scopulis trabibusque parens miserata iugisque | induit et versos exstruxit in aethera montes. – ‘…, whom in compassion their mother clothed with rocks, trees, crags, and piled up to heaven new-shaped as mountains.’ See Poortvliet 1991, 36 – 37 ad loc.  Arg. 2.21– 22: quisque suas in rupe minas pugnamque metusque | servat adhuc; … – ‘And still in stone each threatens, battles or cowers; …’. The classic antecedent, which immediately comes to mind, is the description of Pistoia’s battlefield at the end of Sallust’s Bellum Catilinae (Sall. Cat. 61.1– 4).  Arg. 1.198 – 199: … nec nunc mihi iungere montes | mens tamen aut summo deposcere fulmen Olympo. – ‘…, nor after all is it my will to pile mountain on mountain, or to call down lightning from Olympus’ summit.’; see Zissos 2008 ad loc.  See, in particular, the character’s introduction (3.124– 125: ecce gravem nodis pinguique bitumine quassans | lampada turbata Phlegyas decurrit ab urbe. – ‘Lo! Phlegyas, brandishing a torch all knotted and heavy with thick pitch, comes running from the troubled city; …’) as well as the simile that follows (3.130 – 132: quantus ubi immenso prospexit ab aethere Typhon | igne simul

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guest Jason, is compared to Coeus the Titan, who is vainly trying to escape from his destiny.⁷ Even more so, a brutal and bloody tyrant such as Amycus, the Bebrycian king, may remind us of a saevus … gigas (4.200).⁸ In fact, while in Apollonius’ epic he is compared to an earthborn Giant or a son of Typhoeus,⁹ in the Latin Argonautica the term of reference for him, in a physical as well as moral sense, is Typhoeus himself. Amycus’ arrogance towards Pollux finds its counterpart in the curious unprecedented image of the monster who expects to deal with Jupiter, but – malgré lui – has to face Bacchus and Pallas (4.232– 238).¹⁰ This is also a way of highlighting the fact that Amycus does simply look like the most dangerous enemy of the Olympians, and that it is Pollux, not Jupiter, who will kill him. The series of ‘would-be Giants’ ends in Colchis, where – before a new kind of earthborn warriors arise from the ground – Gigantomachy and Typhonomachy offer comparative terms for the noisy march of Perses’ exotic and ‘monstrous’ troops (6.168 – 170). Apart from all these mediated references, what can be said about the ancestral monsters themselves? In fact, when they abruptly appear in the narrative as surprising ‘guest stars’, they are no longer the same either. In the second part of book 4, the Harpies – when fleeing from the two Boreads – call their father, Tyventisque rubens, quem Iuppiter alte | crine tenet. – ‘…; huge as Typho when he glares from the measureless sky, red with fire and tempest, while Jove on high grips him by the hair; …’).  Arg. 3.224– 228: fundo veluti cum Coeus in imo | vincla Iovis fractoque trahens adamante catenas | Saturnum Tityumque vocat spemque aetheris amens | concipit, ast illum fluviis et nocte remensa | Eumenidum canis et sparsae iuba reppulit Hydrae. – ‘As when Coeus in the lowest pit bursts the adamantine bonds and trailing Jove’s fettering chains invokes Saturn and Tityus, and in his madness conceives a hope of scaling heaven, yet though he repass the rivers and the gloom the hound of the Furies and the sprawling Hydra’s crest repel him.’  Korn 1989 and Murgatroyd 2009 ad loc.  Ap. Rhod. Arg. 2.38 – 40: ἀλλ’ ὁ μὲν ἢ ὀλοοῖο Τυφωέος, ἠὲ καὶ αὐτῆς | Γαίης εἶναι ἔικτο πέλωρ τέκος, οἷα πάροιθεν | χωομένη Διὶ τίκτεν· … – ‘The one seemed to be a monstrous son of baleful Typhoeus or of Earth herself, such as she brought forth aforetime, in her wrath against Zeus; …’ (trans. R.C. Seaton 1912).  Arg. 4.232– 238: illum Amycus nec fronte trucem nec mole tremendum, | vixdum etiam primae spargentem signa iuventae, | ore renidenti lustrans obit et fremit ausum | sanguineosque rotat furiis ardentibus orbes. | non aliter iam regna poli, iam capta Typhoeus | astra ferens Bacchum ante acies primamque deorum | Pallada et oppositos doluit sibi virginis angues. – ‘But Amycus with smiling look surveys a foe neither fierce of brow nor terrible in bulk, scarce as yet showing signs of earliest manhood; he rages at his boldness, and in blazing fury rolls his bloodshot eyes. Not otherwise did Typhoeus, boasting that already the kingdom of the sky and already the stars were won, feel aggrieved that Bacchus in the van and Pallas, foremost of the gods, and a maiden’s snakes confronted him.’ In particular, for the comparison in 4.236 – 238, see Murgatroyd 2009, 135– 136.

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phon / Typhoeus, for help (4.514).¹¹ The former deadly enemy of the gods raises his stentorian voice from the darkness of Hell to protect his daughters.¹² Just like Prometheus, who will soon be released from chains (5.156 ff.), Typhon seems to have understood the lesson of the past and changed his attitude: far from striving again for rebellion against the Olympian power, he reveals himself as being perfectly integrated into Jupiter’s reign, to the point of becoming a mouthpiece of the once-hated king of heaven. Typhon’s words show a father’s rejoicing over the important role that his creatures play as official emissaries of the king, ministers of his anger like its privileged instruments, the lightning and the aegis. Now that some of his old personal enemies are finally appeased or even transformed into devoted servants via mechanisms of social promotion, Jupiter has to face an apparently less problematic situation. By showing his own success, he stimulates competition for glory and raises a new generation of heroes: the archetypes of a new generation of kings, who will share the responsibilities of world government with him. The Flavian Argonautica leaves more room than Apollonius for great archaic feats that remind us of cosmic battles: Hercules, who plays a key role in the Gigantomachy, saves Hesione from the sea monster; then, after leaving the Argo, he breaks Prometheus’ chains and kills the big eagle. Pollux, another illegitimate son of Jupiter, releases the world from Amycus, a ‘would-be Giant’. Very soon, in a world freed from old-fashioned monsters, human heroes like Jason will be called to deal with other kinds of supernatural danger.

 As father of the Harpies, Typhon takes the place normally attributed to Thaumas, at least from Hes. Theog. 265 – 266 (see also Hyg. Fab. 14). According to Hyginus, the ancient rival of Zeus was also the father of other monsters: the Hydra and Cerberus (Fab. 30), the Sphynx (67), Scylla (125), the Gorgon (151).  Arg. 4.519 – 526: ‘iam satis huc pepulisse deas. cur tenditis ultra | in famulas saevire Iovis, quas fulmina quamquam | aegidaque ille gerens magnas sibi legit in iras? | nunc quoque Agenoreis idem decedere tectis | imperat: agnoscunt monitus iussaeque recedunt. | mox tamen et vobis similis fuga, cum premet arcus | letifer. Harpyiae numquam nova pabula quaerent | donec erunt divum meritae mortalibus irae.’ – ‘ “It is enough to have chased the goddesses so far; why strive ye farther in rage against the ministers of Jove, whom, though he wield the thunderbolt and the aegis, he has chosen to work his mighty wrath? Now also hath that same Jove commanded them to depart from the dwellings of Agenor’s son; they hearken to his prompting, and withdraw upon his word. Yet anon will ye also in like manner flee, when the fatal bow shall bring doom upon you. Never shall the Harpies lack fresh sustinence, so long as mortals shall merit the anger of the gods.” ’ See Murgatroyd 2009, 253 – 255 ad loc.

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A more direct approach: Statius, Silius and the war as Gigantomachy In Valerius’ poem, the imagery of antediluvian battles between Olympian gods and monstrous rebels does not represent a mere ornament or a delight in variety in digressions. Rather, this topic is integrated with other issues, which align the text with the cultural tradition of Roman epic poetry. In particular, I mean the celebration of labor, which finds its archetypal example in Jupiter’s triumph. The Flavian poem also invites us to consider the strategies adopted by the supreme god in order to exercise his power. While ruling with authoritarian firmness, Jupiter is also careful not to increase tensions. Demigods and human heroes are chosen as executors of his plans and, progressively charged with higher responsibilities, they will end up sharing the world’s government. Nonetheless, the Argonautic world is not the Homeric one, and warlike heroism cannot become the primary way of obtaining glory, not even in Valerius’ ‘belated version’ of the myth. By evoking the consequences of irrational fury, the ‘Gigantomachy theme’ already contributes to alerting the reader to the general madness of war (especially of civil war) and indirectly denies the capacity of war to provide a solution to the plot. If the Flavian Argonautica makes an effort to incorporate extravagant topics like the Gigantomachy, even more so is the function of the cosmic battle expected to be evident in war-centred epics, such as Statius’ Thebaid and Silius’ Punica. The black heroes of these stories may look like virtual ‘descendants’ from the race of earthborn warriors defeated by Jupiter in the first book of Ovid’s Metamorphoses (1.151– 162) or even a more recent generation of the impious e sanguine nati who came after them (1.162). Silius’ Hannibal is the only untameable enemy of Rome and Jupiter: he aims to embody a new historical version of the Giant rebel. Typhoeus himself is said to recognize, from the underworld, the sounds of a cosmic battle (e. g. Pun. 12.659 – 660: mersusque profundis | agnovit tenebris caelestia bella Typhoeus – ‘and Typhoeus, hidden in deep darkness, recognized the sound of war in heaven’ [trans. Duff 1934]). Even worse could be said of a champion of impiety such as Statius’ Capaneus. On the battlefield, this ‘supergiant’, standing out from a savage group of rebels, gets the chance to challenge Jupiter’s authority. After the death of other Giant-like warriors such as Tydeus and Hippomedon, Capaneus is still there, undaunted and enraged more than ever: none of the gods sides with him, and he is the last of the Argive leaders to abandon the foolish purpose of subverting Fate. Dealing with an attack that endangers the stability of Olympian power, the council of the gods overcomes egotistic divisions and recovers

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unity of intent. Forced to leave his place as an apparently detached spectator, Jupiter successfully repels the threats: he resumes his ancient fighting role and once again becomes an active protagonist of the epic agon.

The politics of Jupiter and its dangers in the Thebaid At the end of Thebaid 10, when the lightning bolt strikes Capaneus still railing against heaven, it is the awakening from a nightmare, the reassuring proof that Jupiter’s weapons are still effective.¹³ Until that time, the king of the gods does not seem to be particularly worried, unlike the other Olympians who can hardly restrain their restless anger (Stat. Theb. 10.907: ingemuit dictis superum dolor – ‘At his words the High Ones grieved and groaned.’ [trans. Shackleton Bailey 2003]). For a while Jupiter replies to the Giant’s offending challenge even with ironic disdain (10.907– 908: ipse furentem | risit – ‘Himself laughed at the madman’). According to a tradition attested by Nonnus, Zeus faced Typhoeus’ boastful threats with the same attitude (Nonnus, D. 2.356: … Κρονίδης δ’ ἐγέλασσεν ἀκούων – ‘Cronides heard and laughed aloud’; 2.563 – 565: … Κρονίδης δ’ ἐρέθιζε γελάσσας, | τοῖον ἔπος προχέων φιλοπαίγμονος ἀνθερεῶνος· | ‘καλὸν ἀοσσητῆρα γέρων Κρόνος εὗρε, Τυφωεῦ’ – ‘Cronides laughed aloud and taunted him like this in a flood of words from his mocking throst: “a fine ally has old Cronos found in you, Typhoeus” ’ [trans. W.H.D. Rouse]). In the scene of the Thebaid, however, Jupiter’s laugh accentuates the difference, rather than the affinity, between the struggles of the past and the one at present (Theb. 10.909 – 910: ‘quaenam spes hominum tumidae post proelia Phlegrae? | tune etiam feriendus?’ – ‘ “What hope”, says he, “do men have after the battles of presumptious Phlegra? Must I strike you down too?” ’). Furthermore, Jupiter’s self-confidence should remind us that Capaneus’ objective effectiveness as ‘imitator’ of the Giants has been exposed from the outset to the more insidious form of demystification: that of intertextuality. In book 3, when he angrily complained about Amphiaraus’ reticence and Adrastus’ hesitation in giving

 10.927– 931: talia dicentem toto Iove fulmen adactum | corripuit: primae fugere in nubila cristae, | et clipei niger umbo cadit, iamque omnia lucent | membra viri. cedunt acies, et terror utrimque, | quo ruat, ardenti feriat quas corpore turmas. – ‘As he spoke thus, the thunderbolt seized him, flung with all that was Jupiter. First his plumes fled into the clouds and the blackened boss of his shield falls; now all his limbs are aglow. The lines fall back; on either side is terror, where will he plunge, what squadrons strike with his burning body?’

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the war signal (Theb. 3.607– 618; 3.648 ff.), the reader is invited to remember the inconsiderate verbal attack which Idas, the Alexandrian ‘Don Quijote’ (and future victim of Jupiter’s lightning bolt),¹⁴ directed to Idmon and Jason before the departure of the Argo in Apollonius’ book 1 (1.463 – 471; 1.487– 491).¹⁵ To sum up: Capaneus, who also bears on his helmet the image of a Giant stretching out his body towards heaven (Theb. 10.175 – 176), does resemble Typhoeus, but in actual fact he is not. Jupiter knows this, but he feigns to wait till the other gods, almost irritated by his excessive tolerance and worried about the situation, incite him to hit the target. Among them, there is Juno herself, who – in the first council of the gods – criticised the decision to punish Argos together with Thebes (1.259). The impression that Jupiter aims at obtaining general consensus, in order to consolidate his own power, is immediately confirmed at the beginning of book 11. After the lightning bolt, the sky clears up and Jupiter receives the courtly homage of the other divinities, who congratulate him as if he has defeated the Giants once again (11.7– 8: gratantur superi, Phlegrae ceu fessus anhelet | proelia et Encelado fumantem impresserit Aetnen. – ‘The High Ones congratulate him as though he were wearily panting the battles of Phlegra and had piled Aetna on smoking Enceladus.’). After initially belittling the effective quality of his opponent, Jupiter now seems rather interested in exalting Capaneus’ feat, whose memorability is finally recognized (11.10 – 11: … memorandaque facta relinquens | gentibus atque ipsi non inlaudata Tonanti. – ‘… leaving to the nations memorable deeds not unpraised of the Thunderer himself.’). Thus Capaneus’ aristeia might represent the climactic moment of a strategy orchestrated by power itself. In fact, Jupiter would already have struck this ‘would-be Giant’ in book 5, when the impious leader killed the dragon of the spring of Langia, but then preferred to delay his punishment and reserve sharper blows for him (5.585 – 586: ni minor ira deo gravioraque tela mereri | servatus Capaneus – ‘but that the god’s wrath is not great enough and Capaneus is spared to deserve a heavier missile’).¹⁶ So afterwards, when the Giant reaches the top of  E.g. Theoc. Id. 22.211.  Fucecchi 2007, 25 – 30, esp. 28 – 29.  Capaneus’ paradoxical ambition to embody the role of the (divinely sanctioned) avenger, a peculiar sort of ‘Giant-slayer’, by killing an earth-born monster (5.506: terrigena … serpens), becomes a further act of impiety (this time unwillingly), an indirect challenge to the Olympians’ power: indeed, as said by the Inachian countrymen, the snake of Langia’s source is sacred to Jupiter (5.511– 512: Inachio sanctum dixere Tonanti | agricolae). Something similar happens in Silius’ Punica 5. The Roman general Flaminius boasts of his earlier victory against the Gauls, by depicting them as the earth-born enemies of Jupiter Tarpeius (5.107– 113); at the same time, however, he proves himself to be a blasphemer: he is confident about his own virtue only and does not take into account prodigies and other signs coming from the gods (5.118 – 120: sat

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Thebes’ walls and points towards heaven, Jupiter does not fail to seize the opportunity to score a huge propaganda success, which may remind us of his own technique in legitimating a posteriori Lycaon’s punishment before the council of the gods in Ovid’s Metamorphoses 1.¹⁷ From the outset, this ‘imperial’ Jupiter reveals himself to be a shrewd connoisseur of the arts of government. In the council of book 1, when declaring his willingness to inflict another purifying massacre upon mankind, more selective indeed, but not less exemplary than the Ovidian deluge, the Olympian king knows full well that he is going to generate hostility in the assembly. In particular, it is Juno who reacts bitterly when her husband names her beloved Argos together with Thebes as the next victims of his vengeance (Theb. 1.250 – 282). Therefore, with subtle diplomacy, Jupiter mentions the prerogatives of his brothers with whom he ‘shares the reign over the whole universe’,¹⁸ and succeeds in dividing the front of potential dissent by taking advantage of the weaknesses and conceit of the other gods. In this epic, it is not a matter of fostering the enterprise of a heroic team; on the contrary, Jupiter aims at provoking the attack of new Giants (the Argive kings) against Thebes, the city that violates the laws of nature and virtues like pity and justice. The supreme god does not really expect to sustain a further assault on his own reign and rather prepares to take advantage of the inevitable reactions that the war will incite among the gods.

magnus in hostem | augur adest ensis, pulchrumque et milite dignum | auspicium Latio, … – ‘The sword is a sufficient soothsayer against the foe, and the work of an armed right hand is a glorious omen worthy of a Roman soldier.’).  Cf. Met. 1.163 – 167; 1.196 – 198; 1.209 – 241, with the gods’ reaction at 1.199 – 200 and 1.243 – 244. The way Jupiter manages to keep control of the situation during Capaneus’ attack may also be read as the narrative development of a Virgilian nuance, which already stimulated debate among the ancient readers of the Aeneid. In the last section of book 10 the Etruscan leader Mezentius is said to move towards his final aristeia ‘acting on Jupiter’s orders’ (Virg. Aen. 10.689: Iovis … monitis). As regards the sense of monita, Servius (ad loc.) remarks that we should not take the term at face value: Jupiter only aims at raising Mezentius’ warlike fury in order to push the impious tyrant (though indirectly: non aperte) towards his own death (La Penna 1980, 26: “l’empietà di Mezenzio, il suo fiero e feroce spirito di indipendenza non solo non possono mutare il destino, ma rientrano senza volerlo, nel suo disegno”; Harrison 1991, 236 ad loc.: “Jupiter controls the battle, stimulating Mezentius to advance just as he has allowed Turnus’ withdrawal … pushing him towards death for his impiety”; see also Thome 1979, 51– 52 on the presence of tragic irony). On Jupiter’s victory over Capaneus (a man, not a real Giant or Titan) as example of “questionable praise” see also Gibson in this volume.  Respectively, Neptune (Theb. 1.222– 223) and Hades (1.290 – 292).

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Mars is Jupiter’s conventional instrument: his action will propagate discord among both gods and men.¹⁹ Thus the king of heaven seems to hold the reins of the situation perfectly. His plan is an example of Machtpolitik, which aims to prevent individual or collective efforts eventually made by other gods in order to contest, if not challenge, his supreme authority. In Statius’ Thebaid, however, a ‘superior level’ in the organization of the plot does also exist, which risks encompassing Jupiter’s plan itself. While apparently working as auxiliary forces, Hades and his assistants (like Tisiphone) actually play a very insidious role. In fact, the master of darkness still aims to take spectacular revenge on his own brother, but this time he will change his strategy of attack. After only mentioning the possibility of arousing the brutal violence of the Giants, Hades will stimulate and exploit the destructive force generated by human passions. Oedipus’ rage against Eteocles and Polynices and the hunger for power, which incites them to eternal reciprocal hatred, will provide the most fertile ground for the internecine strife. Such a monstrous nefas gives Hades the opportunity to mobilise the forces of darkness and carry out an even more dangerous threat to Olympian power and world order. When, at 8.41 ff., Amphiaraus arrives in the underworld alive, Hades immediately fears an attack from Jupiter, and announces that the Giants, the Titans and even Kronos / Saturnus are already freed from their chains (8.42– 44: ‘habeo iam quassa Gigantum | vincula et aetherium cupidos exire sub axem | Titanas miserumque patrem’ – ‘ “Already I have the chains of the Giants shaken and the Titans eager to leave for the ethereal sky, and our unhappy father.” ’).²⁰ Apparently a new cosmic war is about to follow. However, despite his proclamation, Hades too is playing with myth and dissimulating: in fact, the old Titans and Giants will not be employed in this attack. Rather, the two major Furies – Tisiphone and Megaera – will arrange the duel between the brothers / sons of Oedipus: the worst nefas ever committed, a terrifying spectacle that Jupiter

 Theb. 3.229 – 236: ‘talis mihi, nate, per Argos, | talis abi, sic ense madens, hac nubilus ira. | exturbent resides frenos et cuncta perosi | te cupiant, tibi praecipites animasque manusque | devoveant; rape cunctantes et foedera turba, | cui dedimus; tibi fas ipsos incendere bello | caelicolas pacemque meam. iam semina pugnae | ipse dedi: …’ – ‘ “My son, in such sort and no other, I pray you, get you forth through Argos. Let your sword drip so, your wrath so lour. Let them drive out sluggish restraints and, hating all things, crave you, dedicate lives and hands to you headlong. Sweep them on if they falter. Confound treaties. To you we have given it, to you ’tis lawful to set the very hosts of heaven aflame with war, and my peace withal. I myself have already sown the seeds of battle. …” ’  Kronos / Saturnus played a role in the Gigantomachy according to Nonnus, D. 1.383; 2.337 ff.; 2.573 – 574.

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urges the gods not to watch.²¹ The king of the gods almost abandons his place of control and abdicates (Theb. 11.134– 135: sic pater omnipotens visusque nocentibus arvis | abstulit et dulci terrae caruere sereno. – ‘Thus the almighty Father, and took his eyes from the guilty fields; and the lands lacked the clear sky they love.’). Perhaps, it is not exactly the same as when Typhoeus caused the whole council of gods to flee to Egypt.²² For a while, however, we wonder whether the forces of darkness will succeed in seizing power over the world. Tisiphone has just revealed her presence when Jupiter strikes Capaneus. So, we are told that – while the Olympian king mocked the foolish bravery of the Argive leader – the Fury, on her part, was mocking the lightning bolt (11.90 – 91: ‘…, ego mixta viri furialibus armis | bella deum et magnas ridebam fulminis iras.’ – ‘ “…, I mingled with the warrior’s mad arms and laughed at wars of gods and the mighty wrath of the thunderbolt.” ’). A little later, Hades’ thundering from below gives the signal of the incipient subversion of the cosmos (11.410 – 411: ter nigris avidus regnator ab oris | intonuit … – ‘Thrice from the realms of darkness thundered their greedy ruler, …’). The traditional warlike gods (Mars, Bellona, Minerva) have to take flight, together with abstract personifications like Virtus and Pietas (11.412 ff.; 11.482 ff.): soon Hell will be on earth. To sum up: if at the end of book 10, Jupiter re-enacts the ‘Gigantomachy theme’, at the outset of the following book he will immediately exploit its usefulness in terms of ‘propaganda’. The gods congratulate him, as they did after the battle of Phlegra, but the defeated Argive leaders are not real Giants, not even Capaneus, as his wife Evadne will say afterwards, when addressing Theseus.²³ However, in the remainder of books 11 and 12, the topic drifts in the background, though it continues to work in a more subtle way: relying upon other monstrous ‘Giants’ and champions of the nefas (the two sons of Oedipus and Creon), Hades and his Furies try to invade the world above.

 Theb. 11.119 ff., esp. 11.126 – 127: auferte oculos! absentibus ausint | ista deis lateantque Iovem; … (‘ “Avert your eyes! Let them dare such things in the gods’ absence and hide from Jove.” ’); on the whole episode see Bessone 2006. Compare also Sen. HF 600 – 604, where Hercules says that only Euristaeus and Juno should have to see the monster Cerberus (quisquis ex alto aspicit | terrena, facie pollui metuens nova, | aciem reflectat oraque in caelum erigat | portenta fugiens. hoc nefas cernant duo, | qui advexit et quae iussit. – ‘Whoever from on high looks down on things of earth, and would not be defiled by a strange, new sight, let him turn away his gaze, lift his eyes to heaven, and shun the portent. Let only two look on this monster – him who brought and her who ordered it.’ [trans. J.F. Miller 1917]).  Ov. Met. 5.318 – 331.  Stat. Theb. 12.553 – 554.

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Theseus and Scipio: human heroic allies of the gods against the new Giants The final act of the piece has a great human protagonist who manages to save the situation: Theseus, the king of Athens.²⁴ When leaving for Thebes with his army, this ‘hero of clemency’ is compared to Jupiter, the still absent authority who needs to be replaced.²⁵ In fact, it is precisely the role of avenger and guardian of the cosmic order, normally played by Jupiter against the Giants’ beastly fury, that Theseus will enact. In the same way as when Jupiter faced Typhoeus (as well as his last pretentious challenger, Capaneus),²⁶ Theseus will mock the impious and vain threats of his opponent, Creon, a descendant of the mythical Spartoi and literally an earthborn (Stat. Theb. 12.768 – 769: risit vocesque manumque | horridus Aegides, … – ‘The grim son of Aegeus laughed at voice and hand alike, …’; see above). By killing the new tyrant of Thebes – who, after Menoeceus’ self-sacrifice, completely lost his mind and wore the terrible mask of cruel blind power – Theseus restores terrarum leges and mundi foedera (12.642). His victory, which contributes to reaffirm the system of moral rules based on humanitas, may also represent, in a broader sense, a victory of cosmos over chaos. For this reason, we could say, Theseus’ heroic and ethical leadership is a surrogate for divine intervention. His enterprise matches the decisive help, which – according to a well-established tradition – Hercules gave the Olympian gods against the Giants and Typhoeus.²⁷ Theseus’ triumph, at the end of Statius’ epic, has often been compared to that of Scipio, another son of Jupiter (like Hercules and Bacchus), at the end of Silius’ Punica. In this case too, the human heroic closure provides a climactic counterpoint to warlike intervention by the supreme god, whose successful de See Bessone in this volume and also Bessone 2011.  Stat. Theb. 12.649 ff.: …, et emissa praeceps iter incohat hasta: | qualis Hyperboreos ubi nubilus institit axes | Iuppiter et prima tremefecit sidera bruma, | rumpitur Aeolia et longam indignata quietem | tollit hiems animos ventosaque sibilat Arctos; | … – ‘…, and hurling his spear begins the rapid route. So when Jupiter takes his stand in cloud upon the Hyperborean pole and shakes the stars with the start of winter, Aeolia is fracture and Storm, chafing at long idleness, plucks up courage and the blustering Bear whistles: …’. In the war against Creon, Theseus and his army stand as the champions of universal laws and rules (12.642).  See Theb. 10.907– 908, quoted above.  It is Hercules who, according to the best-known tradition, helps the gods to defeat the Giants at Phlegra: Hes. fr. 43a.63 – 65 M.-W.; Pind. Nem. 1.67 ff.; Ps.-Apollod. 1.6.34– 38; cf. Hor. Carm. 2.12.6 ff. Other texts, like the first and the last couple of books in Nonnus’ Dionysiaca, rather highlight the role of Dionysos or Kadmos. On the duel between Theseus and Creon in the final book of the Thebaid see also Gibson in this volume.

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fence of the Capitoline hill in Silius’ Punica 12 does represent the logical (though necessarily partial) analogue to Capaneus’ punishment in Statius.²⁸ From the outset, Hannibal, the only proper ‘Giant’ of the Punica, is urged on by a strong compulsive desire to dethrone Jupiter and burn the Capitol, symbol of Roman power and residence of the gods. The great victory at Cannae seems the best prelude to the fulfilment of his dreams. On the contrary, it is precisely the ‘beginning of the end’ for the Carthaginian leader: negative omens and divine warnings immediately summon him to give up the hope of attacking Rome (Pun. 10.358 ff.). Nonetheless, Hannibal desperately attempts to subvert the order of fate. When he approaches the walls of Rome, tempests of rain and lightning bolts prevent him from launching the assault. In fact, it is Jupiter who is fighting against him, but without striking too hard (12.622 ff.). Hannibal cannot see his opponent, but keeps fighting all the same (12.614– 615: instat tempestas oculis hostique propinquo | Roma latet. – ‘The enemy were blinded by the storm, and Rome, though close beside him, was hidden from their eyes.’). At this point, even Hannibal’s protective goddess has definitively changed her mind. From the outset Juno plays the role of a warlike antagonist of fate, involved in a sort of ‘maternal relationship’ with the champion who has taken on her spirit of revenge (1.38): a curious synthesis of epic hero, mythological monster and mythomaniac rebel. Until the battle of Cannae at least, Juno’s attitude may remind us of Gaia, the archetypal mother who inspired the subversive attempts made by Kronos, the Giants and Typhoeus. But when Hannibal challenges the seat of divine (and Roman) power, she spontaneously abandons the Titania bella and manifests her solidarity towards Jupiter or, better still, seems to regain her ‘Olympic’ identity.²⁹ The only difference with the Juno of Statius, who shows a similar attitude before Capaneus’ punishment (Stat. Theb. 10.912: …, | nec iam audet fatis turbata obsistere coniunx. – ‘…, nor does his cowed consort dare longer to obstruct the Fates.’, cf. Pun. 12.701: turbata), is that the goddess of the Punica will be preoccupied with preserving Hannibal’s life until the end.

 In fact, contrary to the tragic epilogue of Thebaid 10, Jupiter’s defence of Rome in Silius’ Punica 12 still cannot culminate with the death of the Carthaginian ‘Giant’, who deserves to suffer other defeats and taste the sadness of flight and exile.  Pun. 12.701– 704: … ac turbata per auras | devolat et prensa iuvenis Saturnia dextra | ‘quo ruis, o vecors, maioraque bella capessis | mortali quam ferre datum?’ (‘Full of anxiety she flew down from heaven and took Hannibal by the right hand: “Madman, whither are you rushing? Are you intent on a warfare that is beyond the power of mortal man?” ’) and 719 ff., esp. 725: cede deis tandem et Titania desine bella. – ‘ “Yield at last to Heaven, and fight no more against it like the Giants.” ’

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The Punica emphasizes the personal involvement of Juno who, more than her Virgilian self, sometimes resembles another character of the Aeneid: Queen Amata (e. g. Virg. Aen. 12.599: turbata). However, the goddess never dares to face Jupiter’s anger directly and shows that she is still well aware of her limits, as in the remote past (e. g. Hom. Il. 1.560 ff.). Silius could have taken into account other ancient examples of aborted subversive efforts made by Juno against her husband’s power. For example, in the Homeric Hymn to Apollo (300 ff.; 351 ff.), Hera generates Typhoeus / Typhon through parthenogenesis, and then incites him to oust Zeus from power.³⁰ Rather similarly, according to Hyginus (Fab. 150), she stirs up the Typhonomachy or Gigantomachy.³¹ But the most useful account comes from scholion b on Homer’s Iliad 2.783: angry about the death of the Giants, Gaia slanders Zeus in front of Hera; in anger, Hera receives from Kronos two eggs smeared with his semen and buries them underground: Typhoeus soon springs from them; however, before the monster attacks, Hera warns Zeus about the danger so that he can strike the enemy with the lightning bolt. In this incident too, after creating the conditions to subvert the cosmic order, the goddess abandons her original idea of venting her wrath to the utmost extreme and comes to her husband’s aid against his enemies. She never intended to put the Olympian power at risk but prove to herself that she could do so.

Concluding comments Gigantomachy permeates the Aeneid as one of its most relevant thematic patterns and features the eternal struggle between cosmos and chaos. However, as the images adorning Aeneas’ shield already announce from their mythical viewpoint, this struggle will end in Virgil’s time thanks to Augustus’ victory. A century later, Flavian epic too tends to incorporate in its ideological structure the echo of theomachies and primeval battles for supremacy between Olympian gods and monstrous earthborn rebels. In Valerius’ Argonautica the Gigan-

 See also Stesich. Fr. 62 Page.  Cf. Lact. Plac. ad Stat. Theb. 2.4; and Hyg. Fab. 152, where Typhon is born from Tartarus and Tartara! One could also think of Seneca’s Hercules furens, where Juno takes personal charge of the persecution of Hercules, with the help of the hellish forces: the goddess stirs up the hero’s rage against heaven in order to make the Giants’ slayer a potential Giant, an enemy of Jupiter (Sen. HF 89 – 90: i nunc, superbe, caelitum sedes pete, | humana temne; 957– 959: immune caelum est, dignus Alcide labor. | in alta mundi spatia sublimis ferar, | petatur aether: astra promittit pater …).

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tomachic imagery occasionally emerges to remind us of a time when Olympian power was not yet firmly established. Jupiter’s ancient labor provides an ideal background to the enterprise of Jason and his crew, who have to deal with various sorts of ‘Giants’ throughout their adventures. On the contrary, in the case of war-centred poems like those of Statius and Silius, the influence of the ‘Gigantomachy theme’ is more structural and creates peculiar kinds of narrative subplots. Good and evil find other places within the course of myth and history to re-enact their dramatic fight and the reader who manages to reach the end of Thebaid and Punica is left with the impression of a lucky escape from a nightmare. However, the final victory of cosmos over chaos is not necessarily to be interpreted as a definitive one: the promising future does not exclude the risk of relapse. The forces of evil could return to threaten human (i. e. Roman) society, whose health apparently relies upon the moral duties and the charismatic qualities of its leaders: in this sense both the epic poems caution us to be always on guard. Intimately connected with this risk of relapse is the problem of wielding political power, of ruling over the world. Jupiter’s autocracy does not appear as absolute and fully legitimate as in earlier epics. The outline of a human charismatic authority, respectively embodied by Theseus or Scipio, which has a substantial share in the victory of cosmos and its later stability, does emerge. Thus, the restored order is no longer the same; indeed, it is improved. The world will benefit from the presence of new auctores of peace and prosperity, who deserve a place beside Jupiter as his ‘earthly ministers’. From the mythical or historical past, these heroes foreshadow contemporary leaders, with particular reference to the emperors of the Flavian dynasty, who are called to renew the grandeur of the empire. Like the new poets, the new kings too will enact their ambitions of primacy over predecessors. The Flavian emperors are expected to integrate the inheritance of the Roman glorious past (mos maiorum and the constellation of virtues) with confidence in future growth and further ‘expansion’ of the imperial society (in political as well as economic and cultural respects). Jupiter and the other gods will be granted magnificent honours, and they will show gratitude for that. But the road is long and difficult: at the outset of their dynasty, the Flavians will have to counter the attack of new ‘Giants’. In 69 CE, the adolescent Domitian manages to survive the burning of the Capitol, and this event nourishes poetic inspiration: that of Statius’ father among others (Stat. Silv. 5.3.195 ff.) and that of Domitian himself as a poet (Mart. 5.5.7– 8). Then, as emperor, he will rebuild Jupiter’s Capitoline temple (82 CE), the residence of the god who fought by his side: thus Rome, the earth, will have been effectively connected to heaven (Pun. 3.622– 624: ille etiam, qua prisca, vides, stat regia nobis, | aurea Tarpeia ponet Capitolia rupe |

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et iunget nostro templorum culmina caelo. – ‘He shall also erect a golden Capitol on the Tarpeian rock, where, as thou seest, my ancient palace now stands, and raise the summit of the temple to reach our abode in the sky.’). The encomiastic poetry of Alexandria compares the Ptolemaic kings to semidivine heroes like Herakles and Dionysos, who ‘collaborate’ with the Olympian gods against Titans and Giants. In particular, Ptolemy II Philadelphos is announced by the celebratory voice of Apollo among others.³² Echoes of such a propaganda strategy may be found in Flavian poetry. While in Statius’ Silvae feats and merits of Domitian are praised by ‘secondary’ figures (river gods, the Sibyl, a venerable archaic outsider like Janus), Silius’ Punica even leaves room for a brief panegyric delivered by Jupiter himself. The voice of the god announces the role of new charismatic leaders like Scipio, who will lead Rome to victory. But it is only when looking towards the more distant future that Jupiter directly addresses the greatest leader who will share with him the power over the world: the last emperor of the Flavian dynasty, Domitian.

 See e. g. Callim. Hymn. Del. 165 – 195.

Part II Flavian Epic Themes and Techniques

Philip Hardie

Flavian epic and the sublime The tumidities and excesses of post-Virgilian epic were long the object of negative critical attention. The recent rehabilitation of Neronian and Flavian epic has gone some way towards a re-evaluation of what previously were seen as tired and decadent lapses from a classicizing aesthetic. Yet this is truer of Lucan than of Flavian epic. In the Bellum civile narrative and stylistic excess is accepted as matching the grandiosity and titanism of the Roman imperial machine and its spectacular collapse, and extremes of emotion are properly called forth by the violence and horror of Roman civil war. But when it comes to Valerius Flaccus, Statius and Silius Italicus, critical interest has tended to sidestep the matter of excess in subject matter and style, and focussed on issues of ideology and history, intertextuality, genre and sexual politics. Furthermore, when critics do address the sky-reaching, the gigantism, and the emotional extremism of Roman epic, one term has been surprisingly underused, with some notable exceptions, to which I shall come: the ‘sublime’. I myself am guilty of this: in my 1986 book Virgil’s Aeneid: Cosmos and Imperium I had a lot to say about Gigantomachy and hyperbole, but I used the word ‘sublime’ only occasionally and fleetingly. This despite the fact that Richard Heinze long ago put the sublime at the very centre of Virgil’s aesthetic in the Aeneid: “Virgil’s highest aim was to arouse a sense of the sublime [‘das Gefühl der Erhabenheit’] in his audience; this defines and limits every other aspect of the poem. Even the ἐκπληκτικόν [‘astonishing’] is only allowed if it is also ὑψηλόν [‘sublime’].”¹ I did refer briefly to this claim of Heinze (Hardie 1986, 242– 243), but was perhaps diverted from a more radical engagement with the idea of the sublime by my concern to recuperate Virgilian hyperbole, castigated by Housman and others, within the category of the decorous: “My ultimate aim is to show how Virgilian hyperbole may be, in Quintilian’s phrase, a ‘decens veri superiectio’ [‘fitting exaggeration of the truth’].”² I thus closed myself to the sublime as an overwhelming, unmeasured aesthetic experience. A short but important article by Doreen Innes, and one that influenced my own thinking in the early 1980s, on ‘Gigantomachy and natural philosophy’, explained the curiously frequent allusion to these subjects in the Augustan recusatio with reference to a contrast be-

 Heinze 1993, 383 (377– 384: “The sublime”); see Hardie 2009, 67– 68, referring to signs of a renewed interest in the Virgilian sublime, on the part of Gildenhard 2004; Syed 2005; Conte 2007.  Hardie 1986, 244.

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tween the self-professed humility of the elegists and the ‘traditionally sublime themes’ in the rhetoricians, among whom is included, but not accorded especial prominence, Ps.-Longinus.³ Recently Gian Biagio Conte, who has done more than any Latinist to put the sublime on the map of Latin literary history, particularly in his work on Lucretius and Petronius, has identified an important source of the sublime in Virgil in the syntactical structuring of his language, and in particular in his use of enallage.⁴ I myself have returned to the subject of the sublime, and this time head-on, in my 2009 Lucretian Receptions, in which I explore the reflexes of the Lucretian sublime in Horace and Virgil. In some ways the present paper is an extension of my concerns in the 2009 book. Turning to the Neronian sublime, it is indeed surprising that the sublime has not featured more prominently in discussions of Lucan’s Bellum civile. ⁵ This has now been substantially remedied in an excellent 2010 Cambridge dissertation by Henry Day on The Aesthetics of the Sublime in Latin Literature of the Neronian Renaissance. Day draws on theories of the sublime from Ps.-Longinus to the twentieth century, and develops a political reading of the sublime, as he shows that the experience of the sublime may be associated both with a liberating power or enablement, and with the terror and boundlessness of tyranny and violent aggression. Day constructs an opposition between a Caesarian sublime, a sublime associated with an unstoppable drive to tyranny, and the Pompeian sublime, the recuperation in defeat, on the other side of the traumatic rupture between Republic and Principate, of the greatness that was Pompey, the greatness that was Republican Rome. In Day’s reading the aesthetics of the sublime intersect with the politics of post-Virgilian epic: there is an obvious connection with the fractured or bi-focal readings of Lucanian politics and engagement by Jamie Masters and Matthew Leigh.⁶ There is a longer history of the political sublime: David Norbrook in his discussion of republican writing in seventeenth-century England identifies a republican accent in a fashion for the sublime that draws on both Lucan and Ps.-Longinus. For Norbrook the sublime is the key signature of Lucan’s anti-monarchical poetics, in opposition to Virgil’s ‘imperial monumentality’,⁷ an opposition that clearly calls out for deconstruction. Patrick Cheney, in his 2009 Marlowe’s Republican Authorship, draws on Day’s work on Lucan as well as on Norbrook, and argues that Christopher Marlowe is committed to a

 Innes 1979.  Conte 2007.  But note the short paragraph on Lucan’s “historical / political sublime” (i. e. cosmic imagery of historical events) in Schrijvers 2006, 101.  Masters 1992; Leigh 1997.  Norbrook 1999, 32.

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republican poetics of the sublime, in which the key text is Marlowe’s translation of book 1 of Lucan.⁸ If the sublime has been relatively under-utilized as a critical concept in readings of Lucan, the same is not so true for the younger Seneca. Key passages in the Dialogues and Epistles have been compared with statements in Ps.-Longinus, and a strong strain of the sublime has been explicitly identified in the overreaching heroes and antiheroes of Senecan tragedy.⁹ Alessandro Schiesaro develops a sustained analogy between the sublime poet as delineated by Ps.-Longinus (and by Serenus in Seneca, De tranquillitate 1.15) and the figure of Atreus in the Thyestes. Schiesaro states that “All sublime, grandiose poetry is nefas, is inevitably implicated in transgressive actions, since it abandons self-composure in a heady atmosphere of semi-prophetic creation.”¹⁰ In the case of Atreus, transgressive poetics again slides into the transgressive will to power of the tyrant, and once again the question of the politics of the sublime raises its head. Very recently Gregory Hutchinson has drawn attention to the younger Pliny’s performance of the sublime in the Panegyricus, a speech whose strategy of praise is developed through a contrast between the false sublime of the monstrous and terrifying Domitian and the true sublime of Trajan, who in restoring liberty to the Roman people and in practising moderation and humility in his dealings with his subjects attains a real greatness and elevation which Domitian failed to achieve. Hutchinson speaks of “the paradoxical sublime which Trajan embodies, a sublime based on his denial of the sublime”.¹¹ Hutchinson also makes the link with Ps.-Longinus’ report (Subl. 44) of the philosopher who argued that democracy and freedom are necessary conditions for sublimity. The contrast between two kinds of sublimity, associated respectively with tyranny and freedom, may be set beside Henry Day’s contrast of a Caesarian and a Pompeian sublime in Lucan, with a reversal of the Lucanian narrative of tyranny’s suppression of the sublimity of the free republic. If Hutchinson is right in placing sublimity at the centre of the aesthetics and ideology of the Panegyricus, we might ask how far Pliny is continuing, and correcting, a Domitianic interest in the politics of the sublime, traces of which we might be justified in searching for in the Flavian epics.

 Cheney 2009.  Michel 1969; Littlewood 2004, 121– 127 on Ps.-Longinus and Seneca; Schiesaro 2003, General Index s.v. ‘sublime’; Staley 2010, 42– 47: “Sublime poet” (taking issue with Schiesaro); Williams 2006, 124– 146, applying Conte’s analysis of Lucretius’ deflation of the natural sublime to Seneca; Gunderson forthcoming.  Schiesaro 2003, 5.  Hutchinson 2011, 132.

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I turn now to the two recent contributions (known to me) that do place the sublime at the centre of discussion of Flavian epic. Matthew Leigh, in an essay that acknowledges its debt to important pages by Fernand Delarue in his book on Statius, sees that same slippage between character and poet which Schiesaro diagnoses in Seneca’s Atreus, in the figure of Capaneus in Statius’ Thebaid. Capaneus’ inspired furor and audacia, his literally sublime ambition to climb up to the heavens, and his great fall, translate easily into a figure for the aspiration and risk-taking of the sublime poet.¹² As Leigh points out, the identification of character or action in the text with the author is a Longinian trick, part of a wider ‘pattern of transference’ that also works to create identifications between writer and reader, and writer and critic. Ps.-Longinus describes the transfer of sublimity from the textual object to the reader’s subjectivity thus, Subl. 7.2 ‘under the action of true sublimity, our mind is exalted as if by nature and, taking on some kind of noble impulse, is filled with joy and pride as if it had itself created what it has just heard’.¹³ That passage is cited by Gian Biagio Conte as he sets up his model of the mythomaniac narrator for a reading of the character of Encolpius in Petronius.¹⁴ The second major recent contribution to the topic of the sublime in Flavian epic is Piet Schrijvers’ essay on ‘Silius Italicus and the Roman sublime’. Schrijvers discusses Silius’ frequent evocation of a ‘natural sublime’, a sublime of the natural world, that finds close parallels in Ps.-Longinus, in association with the subject matter of Roman history, and especially with the ‘titanismo’ of Hannibal.¹⁵ In the rest of this paper I will make some remarks on the following topics: the intertextual sources of the sublime in Flavian epic; the connection between the sublime and freedom; and the relative importance of the sublime as an artistic goal in the three Flavian epicists, and in particular the question as to whether Valerius Flaccus is the odd man out in this respect. The sublime in post-Virgilian Roman epic is always a post-Virgilian effect, indebted to the general Virgilian investment in the effects and experience of the  Leigh 2006, esp. 225 – 235: “Sublime poet, sublime hero”, drawing extensively on Delarue 2000, esp. 83 – 85 on the furor of Capaneus. Leigh draws out the way in which the character Capaneus acts out the sublime pretensions of the poet.  Subl. 7.2: φύσει γάρ πως ὑπὸ τἀληθοῦς ὕψους ἐπαίρεταί τε ἡμῶν ἡ ψυχὴ καὶ γαῦρόν τι ἀνάστημα λαμβάνουσα πληροῦται χαρᾶς καὶ μεγαλαυχίας, ὡς αὐτὴ γεννήσασα ὅπερ ἤκουσεν. (trans. D. Russell).  Conte 1996, 7– 8.  Schrijvers 2006, referring to Fucecchi 1990b (31 on Silius’ Hannibal and Statius’ Capaneus). Schrijvers notes the lack of reference to Roman context and texts in Russell 1964, in contrast to Bühler 1964 and Mazzucchi 1992.

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sublime, and to a series of set-piece exercises in the sublime that begins with the terror, followed by the mastery, of the cosmic storm that begins the main narrative of the Aeneid. It is well known that Statius’ Capaneus is modelled on Virgil’s Mezentius, whose titanism raises him to a certain level of sublimity, although not to the heights and horror of two other Virgilian characters to whom Mezentius is also related, Polyphemus and Cacus. That gap between Capaneus and his main Virgilian model, Mezentius, is the space in which Statius asserts a certain freedom in developing his own sublime impetus. Virgil’s Hercules and Cacus episode draws on a Homeric passage given star billing by Ps.-Longinus, albeit with some reservations relating to its possible blasphemy, Hades’ fear in Iliad 20 that Poseidon’s shaking of the earth will burst open the underworld.¹⁶ One possibility for going beyond the Virgilian sublime is to go back in literary history to the Homeric source itself. Statius and Silius do this in writing up a Homeric episode that is not imitated by Virgil, Achilles’ battle with the Scamander. In the account of the battle between Hippomedon and the river Ismenos in Thebaid 9 both characters are given the epithet arduus (9.91, 418),¹⁷ one of those adjectives, like sublimis itself, that often flags passages of the sublime. In his furious grief at the death of his grandson Crenaeus, the river builds himself up into the most hyperbolical of epic rivers, that allusively also challenges the storm in Aeneid 1, as Ismenos’ swollen waves present the image of a storm at sea, 9.459 – 460 hinc atque hinc tumidi fluctus animosaque surgit | tempestas instar pelagi, ‘from this side and that the swollen waves and the bold tempest rise like the sea …’.¹⁸ Thus a sublime Virgilian model is made new through renewed contact with the Homeric source, the Oceanic Homer.¹⁹ Another way of going beyond Virgil is to come forward in time to authors later than Virgil. The massive influence of Lucan on all three Flavian epicists is a major source of the sublime: one example of many, the self-immolation of the inhabitants of Saguntum at the end of Silius’ Punica 2, a scene of Fury-inspired violence indebted to the action of Allecto in Aeneid 7, and related to episodes in both Statius and Valerius, which receives the injection of a new hyper-

 Ps.-Longinus, Subl. 9.5 – 6: see Gildenhard 2004, 34– 38: “The aesthetics of the sublime”; Hardie 2009, 171– 172.  Dewar 1991 on 9.482 turbidus (of the river Ismenos) points out that this is also the first adjective used to describe Hippomedon, at 1.44.  Theb. 9.509 – 510 echoes Aeneas’ words at Aen. 1.97– 98; at 9.519 – 521 Jupiter calms the waves at Juno’s request with a nod, like Neptune in Aen. 1.  This is the second take on the Virgilian storm in the Thebaid, the first being the storm on land, not sea, in book 1. Cf. also Scipio’s battle with the river Trebia at Pun. 4.638 ff.

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bole of horror through examples of a Lucanian ‘perverted piety’ as relatives kill their nearest and dearest in a glorious mass suicide.²⁰ The Senecan sublime is particularly important for Statius.²¹ Fernand Delarue suggests that biological as well as literary paternity may be in play here, drawing out the hints in Statius’ lament for his father (Silv. 5.3) that his father was a practitioner in the sublime, in his poem on the civil war and his projected poem on Vesuvius. Delarue speculates that Papinius père may have been close to the Annaei and to a hypothetical ‘Académie néronienne’.²² Less fully explored is the continuing presence of Lucretius as a source of the Flavian sublime. This may be understood as another aspect of the continuation of the Virgilian sublime; in my book on Lucretian Receptions I argued that the De rerum natura was a major source for the achievement of, or aspiration to, the sublime in both Virgil and Horace, building in part on Jim Porter’s demonstration that Lucretius is a yet more important figure in the history of the sublime than has been recognised. Porter stresses the role played by the void and vacuity in the reader’s experience of the Lucretian sublime, the sublime of the gap.²³ Statius literalizes the Lucretian mental flight through the inane (another word that frequently signals ‘sublime’) in Amphiaraus’ hurtling descent to the underworld as the earth opens up beneath his chariot. The multiple explanations, in Epicurean / Lucretian mode, given by the narrator for this disruption in nature (7.809 – 817) bring the mythological event at least partly within the bounds of naturalphilosophical didactic, the genre of the De rerum natura. ²⁴ In the account of the aftershocks of Amphiaraus’ descent at the beginning of book 8 the experience of this astounding event is repeatedly focalized through characters in the text, firstly through the eyes of the manes, who react with horror, another word that frequently marks the sublime,²⁵ at the sight of something they have never seen before, a live body in the underworld, 8.4– 5 horror habet cunctos, Stygiis mirantur in oris | tela et equos corpusque novum; and secondly through Pluto, who experiences unaccustomed fear at the sudden appearance of the stars above (not entirely unaccustomed, since this is the fear that the Homeric Aidoneus  See Hardie 1993, 81– 83.  See Venini 1965; Criado 2000, 19 – 139; Delarue 2000, 141– 176.  Delarue 2000, 22– 33.  Porter 2003; 2007.  See Hardie 2009, 260 – 261; Sen. Q Nat. 6.4– 26 (on earthquakes) is also an important intertext.  Programmatically in the Lucretian divina voluptas | … atque horror (DRN 3.28 – 29). On horror see Estèves 2006 (summarizing a 2005 Paris IV thesis), arguing that horror marks an experience radically different from terror, pavor, formido, one characterized by excess and transgression, and closely linked to the experiences of civil war.

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feels lest Poseidon should break open the ground above him in the theomachy in Iliad 20.61– 65, a passage whose relevance for the discourse of the sublime we have already seen). Thirdly, Amphiaraus remembers his own horror-struck experience of his descent in answer to Pluto’s threatening words at 8.84– 85 ‘at tibi quos’, inquit, ‘manes, qui limite praeceps | non licito per inane ruis?’, ‘But for you’, he cries, ‘what doom in death, who rush through the void headlong on your unlawful track?’ Note especially Amphiaraus’ words at 8.107– 110 subito me turbine mundi | – h o r r e t adhuc animus – mediis e milibus hausit | nox tua. quae mihi mens, dum per cava viscera terrae | vado diu pendens et in aere volvor operto?, ‘ In a sudden convulsion of the world (I feel the horror still) your night swallowed me from the midst of thousands. What were my thoughts as I passed through the hollow entrails of the earth long suspended, rolling in the shrouded air?’ Lastly, an eye-witness in the world above, Palaemon, is still reeling from his glance into the abyss, 8.136 – 137 steterat nam forte cadenti | proximus inspectoque miser pallebat hiatu, ‘for by chance he had stood next to the falling seer, and the wretch was pale from the sight of the chasm.’ This is the Lucretian sublime wielded to inspire terror, the horror side of the sublime. Amphiaraus’ successor as expeditionary prophet, Thiodamas, attempts to mobilize the sublime of voluptas, the experience of the sublime from the sapientum templa serena – or, in the Kantian analysis, the sublime reader’s or viewer’s intra-subjective sense of an expansion of the powers of his or her own spirits after an initial moment of terror or inhibition in the face of the sublime object. This Thiodamas does in his hymn to Tellus (8.303 – 338), a hymn that is modelled on Lucretius’ opening hymn to Venus. Thiodamas prays that the solid earth should not sink beneath our feet, and he replaces Amphiaraus’ terror-stricken plunge in his chariot through the void with the sublime vision of the earth suspended between the circling chariots of the sun and moon, 8.309 – 312 firmum atque immobile mundi | robur inoccidui, te velox machina caeli | aere pendentem vacuo, te currus uterque | circuit, ‘firm and stable strength of a world that has no setting, the swift fabric of the sky and both its chariots encompass you as you hang in empty air’ (cf. Amphiaraus’ words at 8.109 – 110: dum per cava viscera terrae | vado diu pendens). Lucretius diverts the kind of terror-tinged experience of the sublime that leads to false belief in the gods to a properly Epicurean sublime vision of the atoms and void. In order to prepare the reader for the amazing truth that there is infinite space outside our world, Lucretius conducts a thought experiment in which he imagines a first-time experience of the marvellous (mirabile) sight of the heavens with the stars, sun and moon, which we now through familiarity take for granted, DRN 2.1023 – 1047, 1038 – 1039 quam tibi iam nemo, fessus satiate videndi, | suspicere in caeli dignatur lucida templa!, ‘Yet, you know, how

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little, wearied as all are to satiety with seeing, any one now cares to look up into heaven’s glittering quarters!’ Valerius Flaccus infuses something of this into evocations of the first-time experience of the first ship. The thoroughly Virgilian storm in the first book of the Argonautica is even more terrifying for the inexperienced Argonauts, because this is how they think that the sea always is, 1.625 – 626 non hiemem missosque putant consurgere ventos | ignari, sed tale fretum, ‘in their ignorance they think not that this is a storm and that the winds are rising on command, but that such is the nature of the sea’. Perhaps even more arresting is the description of the Argonauts’ first night at sea, in the sublime terror of an anti-storm,²⁶ 2.41– 42 ipsa quies rerum mundique silentia terrent | astraque et effusis stellatus crinibus aether, ‘The calmness itself of nature and the silence of the world terrify them, and the stars and the heavens shining with flowing comets.’ When the Argo first penetrates into the Black Sea, it is the natural world that is amazed at the spectacle, 4.711– 712 tum freta, quae longis fuerant impervia saeclis, | ad subitam stupuere ratem, ‘then the seas, which for long centuries had been impassable, were astonished at the sudden appearance of a ship’. This is an intensification of Virgil’s description of the reaction of the Tiber landscape to the sight of Aeneas’ ships journeying up-river at Aen. 8.91– 93 mirantur et undae, | miratur nemus insuetum …, a passage which itself contains Argonautic allusion.²⁷ Silius Italicus’ elevation of Roman history through the natural sublime is anticipated by Lucretius in his deflationary use of an image of the cosmic scale of the Punic Wars at DRN 3.832– 837: et velut ante acto nihil tempore sensimus aegri, ad confligendum venientibus undique Poenis, omnia cum belli trepido concussa tumultu horrida contremuere sub altis aetheris auris, in dubioque fuere utrorum ad regna cadendum omnibus humanis esset terraque marique.

835

And as in time gone by we felt no distress when the Carthaginians from all sides came together to do battle, and all things shaken by war’s troublous uproar shuddered and quaked beneath high heaven, and mortal men were in doubt which of the two peoples it should be to whose empire all must fall by sea and land alike.

 With Arg. 2.39 – 40 raptosque simul montesque locosque | ex oculis cf. Aen. 1.88 – 89 eripiunt subito nubes caelumque diemque | Teucrorum ex oculis.  With Aen. 8.107– 109 cf. Cic. Nat. D. 2.89 utque ille apud Accium pastor, qui navem numquam ante vidisset, ut procul divinum et novum vehiculum Argonautarum e monte conspexit, primo admirans et perterritus hoc modo loquitur: ‘tanta moles labitur | fremibunda ex alto ingenti sonitu et spiritu …’; see Hardie 1987, 170.

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Lucretius here very probably draws on material in Ennius’ Annals, evidence for an Ennian sublime that we catch most distinctly elsewhere in what we can reconstruct from the fragments of the Discordia episode. Livy had already cast Hannibal’s crossing of the Alps in a paradoxical version of the sublime cosmic wandering and conquest of Epicurus at the beginning of the De rerum natura, as Andrew Feldherr has shown.²⁸ This brings me to the second of my headings, the sublime and liberty. The Lucretian Epicurus is the great freedom fighter, whose sublime vision of the universe liberates mankind from the oppression of religion. The figure of Epicurus strides through Flavian epic, more often than not in the shape of characters who bring anything but enlightenment and freedom to mankind, but in whose bold and transgressive deeds the reader may vicariously, in the sublime ‘transference’ of which Ps.-Longinus speaks, feel the thrill of liberation from the constraints that normally hem in our ambitions and actions.²⁹ Leah Kronenberg has argued that Virgil’s Mezentius, the Giant-like contemptor divum, can be read as an allegorical Epicurean, in keeping with Lucretius’ positive valorization of Gigantomachy as an assault on the false gods who keep mankind in thrall. Lucan’s sublime Caesar boldly cuts down the trees in the grove at Massilia, undeterred by the fama, ‘reports’, of a terrifying numinous presence (BC 3.399 – 452), just as Epicurus was not inhibited by fama deum from undertaking his war of liberation against the gods at De rerum natura 1.62– 79.³⁰ Near the beginning of Silius’ Punica, and in programmatic manner, Hannibal rides through the thunderstorm unperturbed, a military Epicurus (1.249 – 256): celsus at in magno praecedens agmine ductor imperium praeferre suum. tum vertice nudo excipere insanos imbres caelique ruinam. spectarunt Poeni, tremuitque exterritus Astur, torquentem cum tela Iovem permixtaque nimbis fulmina et excussos ventorum flatibus ignes turbato transiret equo, nec pulvere fessum agminis ardenti labefecit Sirius astro.

250

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Mounted high he rode as leader of the long line; again he endured bare-headed the fury of the rains and the crashing of the sky. The Carthaginians looked on and the Asturians trembled for fear, when he rode his startled horse through the bolts hurled by Jupiter, the lightnings flashing amid the rain, and the fires struck forth by the blasts of the winds; he was

 Feldherr 2009.  Kronenberg 2005.  See Leigh 1999, 175 – 176.

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never wearied by the dusty march nor weakened by the fiery star of Sirius. [trans. J.D. Duff 1934, adapted]

When he crosses the Alps, Hannibal follows in the footsteps of Hercules, who had been the first to make the journey, like Lucretius following in the footsteps of first-time intellectual adventurer Epicurus, of whom Silius’ mountaineering Hercules is another avatar (Pun. 3.496 – 499): primus inexpertas adiit Tirynthius arces. scindentem nubes frangentemque ardua montis spectarunt superi longisque ab origine saeclis intemerata gradu magna vi saxa domantem. The Tirynthian hero first approached the untried mountain fastnesses. The gods above watched him as he cut his way through the clouds and broke down the mountain heights, and by his great might conquered rocks unviolated by human steps for the long ages since the beginning of the world.

primus here suggests the Lucretian Epicurus (primum Graius homo, DRN 1.66). Hercules the liberator stars in one of the most sublime episodes in Valerius Flaccus’ Argonautica, when he smashes the rocks of the towering Caucasus to free Prometheus (5.154– 176). The experience of the sublime is heightened by focalization through the marvelling (5.173 mirantur) Argonauts, who hear and see the effects of Hercules’ titanic effort as he releases the Titan Prometheus, but do not know the cause, ignari (5.171) once again. This mental obscurity is an epistemological counterpart to the ‘judicious obscurity’ that Edmund Burke, in his discussion of the sublime, regarded as having a greater impact on the imagination and emotions than an object clearly represented.³¹ Valerius models this episode substantially on the Virgilian Hercules and Cacus narrative, one of the most sublime passages in the Aeneid, and one which tells of Hercules’ liberation of the site of Rome from a fearsome monster, as Lucretius’ Epicurus frees humanity from the fearsome monster of Religion. I said that Silius’ Hannibal follows in the footsteps of Hercules as Lucretius follows in the footsteps of Epicurus. That is not the whole truth, for Hannibal selects a different route across the Alps (Pun. 3.513 – 517): erigit in collem et vestigia linquere nota Herculis edicit magni crudisque locorum ferre pedem ac proprio turmas evadere calle.

 See Hardie 2009, 193 – 199.

515

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rumpit inaccessos aditus atque ardua primus exsuperat summaque vocat de rupe cohortes. He leads the troops up into the heights and tells them to leave the familiar footsteps of great Hercules, to step on fresh ground and to make the crossing on their own path. Hannibal bursts open paths breached by no man and is the first to conquer the summits, and calls on his army from the mountain peak.³²

vestigia linquere nota is an important part of the Flavian epicists’ attempts to reinvigorate their inherited models of the sublime. Ps.-Longinus identifies intertextuality as a major source of the sublime, the afflatus that a writer receives from great writers of the past (Subl. 13.2– 14). For the Flavians, at least, the freedom associated with the sublime is in part the freedom of being able to go where their sublime predecessors have not gone, the ‘titanismo’ of the attempt to break free of the shackles of intertextuality, and in particular of Virgil. We might perhaps think of the parodic picture of the sublime poet at the end of Horace’s Ars poetica, 472– 473 certe furit ac velut ursus, | obiectos caveae valuit si frangere clatros, ‘he is certainly mad, and like a bear that has had the strength to break the bars set across its cage …’ (cf. Petronius’ Eumolpus, Sat. 115.1). Delarue, in his discussion of Statius’ Capaneus, a figure who has a lot in common with Silius’ Hannibal, rightly emphasizes the ways in which Capaneus goes beyond Virgil’s Mezentius.³³ Already in the prologue to the Thebaid the otherness of Capaneus’ sublimity is signposted by (1.45) a l i o Capaneus horrore canendus, ‘Capaneus to be sung of with a terror never felt before’, anticipating the moment in book 10 when Capaneus and Statius in a collaborative effort raise their game to new heights of sublime furor (10.827– 831): hactenus arma, tubae, ferrumque et vulnera: sed nunc comminus astrigeros Capaneus tollendus in axes. non mihi iam solito vatum de more canendum; maior ab Aoniis poscenda amentia lucis: mecum omnes audete deae!

830

Thus far of arms, trumpets, of steel and wounds. But now Capaneus must be raised aloft to fight the starry vault at close quarters. No longer may I sing in the wonted fashion of poets; I must ask for a higher lunacy from Aonia’s groves. Goddesses all, dare with me.

non solito de more, alio horrore. This will be a maius opus that is greater than Virgil’s maius opus. The shock of the new, of the other, is a potent source of sublime

 Cf. also Pun. 4.63 – 66: Hannibal outdoes Hercules in crossing the Alps with a whole army.  Delarue 2000, 83 – 85, taking issue with Vessey 1973, 71 “Capaneus reproduces Mezentius”.

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effects, and there are other examples of the motif of the alia via, so to speak, to greater heights, a diversion of the Callimachean untrodden path to an unCallimachean grandeur and sublimity. For that there is precedent in the proem to Virgil’s third Georgic, where what has become too hackneyed (3.4 omnia iam vulgata) turn out to be the subjects of Alexandrian mythological poetry, and the new path is one that seeks to take flight, in a renewal of Ennian epic, 3.8 – 9 temptanda via est, qua me quoque possim | tollere humo victorque virum volitare per ora. Alessandro Schiesaro notes the allusion to the Virgilian lines in a scene of sublime making in Seneca’s Oedipus, where Tiresias rejects as useless the usual methods of divination: 392– 394 a l i a temptanda est via; | ipse [Laius] evocandus noctis aeternae plagis, | emissus Erebo ut caedis auctorem indicet, ‘I must try another path: the king himself must be called up from the regions of perpetual night, so that, released from the underworld, he may reveal his murderer’.³⁴ We also remember Aeneid 7.312 flectere si nequeo superos, Acheronta movebo, introducing Juno’s sublime invention of the Allecto scenes in Aeneid 7 (in the footsteps of Ennius). Valerius Flaccus screws his song up to new extremes of infuriated sublimity as he announces his own maius opus at Argonautica 5.217– 221: incipe nunc cantus a l i o s , … …; non mens mihi, non haec ora satis. ventum ad Furias infandaque natae foedera et horrenda trepidam sub virgine puppem; impia monstriferis surgunt iam proelia campis.

220

Begin now another song … This inspiration, and this voice are not enough for me. My theme is now a daughter’s fury and unspeakable pact, and a ship trembling under the command of a terrifying virgin; impious battles now arise in monster-bearing fields.

Andrew Zissos observes that “Extravagant hyperbole, characteristic of much Silver literature, is comparatively infrequent in [the] Arg[onautica]”, with the qualification in a footnote that “Where [he] does resort to hyperbolic language, it is often with the sanction of Virgilian usage”.³⁵ The relative infrequency of hyperbole and effects of the sublime in Valerius may reflect the aesthetic of Apollonius of Rhodes, whose Argonautica is marked by a toning down of the Homeric sublime scale.³⁶ But it is only a relative infrequency, and in the several passages that I have adduced in this paper Valerius subscribes to the same post-Virgilian sub-

 See Schiesaro 2003, 225 – 227.  Zissos 2008, li with n. 228.  See Hunter 2009, 141– 160.

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lime as Statius and Silius. Richard Hunter takes as an example of the Apollonian turning away from a Homeric elevation the scene in which the Argonauts turn their eyes away from the epiphany of Apollo at Argonautica 2.669 ff.;³⁷ by contrast the Valerian Argonauts’ (unwitting) inability to see the sublime vision of Hercules’ freeing of Prometheus (5.154– 176) is, as I hope I have shown, one of the most sublime moments in the poem. Statius uses alius in the build-up to the sublime swallowing-up of Amphiaraus at the end of Thebaid 7, at 797– 799 bella putant trepidi bellique hunc esse fragorem | hortanturque gradus; a l i u s tremor arma virosque | mirantesque inclinat equos, ‘Fearful, they think it is battle, that this is the crash of battle, and they urge their steps; a different tremor tilts arms and men and marvelling horses’. Statius works up to a more sublime remake of the Virgilian arma virumque. Silius does something similar, but using the adjective sublimis rather than alius in the description of storm-winds that assail Hannibal’s men as they struggle over the Alps (Pun. 3.525 – 527): aut rursum immani stridens avulsa procella nudatis rapit a r m a v i r i s volvensque per orbem contorto rotat in nubes s u b l i m i a flatu.

225

Or again, the fury of the raging storm tore their arms from the men and, rolling them round and round, with hurled blast whirled them on high into the clouds.

Here, in poetological terms, the blast of the storm is the epic afflatus that carries away poet and reader, and lends sublime elevation to arma virumque. ³⁸ ‘The rhetoric of alius’, as one might call it, could be seen as a response to an anxiety about the very possibility of a true sublime in an age where everything has already been seen and heard, when literary palates are jaded. Assuming a Neronian date for the Satyricon, what are the implications for the post-Neronian writer of the Petronian diagnosis, in Gian Biagio Conte’s reading of Encolpius, that “the sublime is now a lost blessing, past and irretrievable”?³⁹ The same question could be posed from the post-Flavian perspective of Juvenal’s first satire, whose opening tirade against the inflated banalities of epic could be read as an attack on the sublime pretensions of Flavian epic. But Juvenal is not an unbiased reader, since he has a stake in claiming a new, and genuine, sublimity for

 Hunter 2009, 143 – 146.  These lines are a rewriting of Lucan 9.471– 473 galeas et scuta virorum | pilaque contorsit violento spiritus actu | intentusque tulit magni per inania caeli, where per inania perhaps hints at the motion of atoms through the Lucretian void. I discuss this passage at Hardie 2009, 131– 132.  Conte 1996, 72.

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his own brand of satire; Kupersmith’s 1972 article is a useful reminder of Juvenal as “the sublime satirist of the old classical tradition”, the Juvenal of Boileau and Dryden.⁴⁰ A contest for the title of true, or superior, sublimity is part of the history of the sublime in Roman epic, and with this in mind I shall close with what is also the last of Schrijvers’ “ten further examples of Silius amplifying his historical subject by connecting it with a sublime cosmic, natural phenomenon” (Pun. 16.33 – 37): omnia ductor magna adeo Ausonius maiori mole premebat: ut Phoebe stellas, ut fratris lumina Phoeben exsuperant montesque Atlas et flumina Nilus, ut pater Oceanus Neptunia caerula vincit.

35

The Italian general [Scipio] bore down on all the great forces of Hanno with his even greater might; as the moon outdoes the stars, as her brother’s light outdoes the moon, as Atlas outdoes all mountains, and the Nile all rivers, and father Ocean Neptune’s blue sea.

Schrijvers notes that Silius ticks off a similar list of natural sublimities to those at Ps.-Longinus 35.4, Nile, Ocean, fires of heaven and Etna. Jim Porter has noted the coincidence between the Longinian list and the list of geographical prodigies at Lucretius 6.608 – 737: the sea, Etna, and the Nile.⁴¹ Here Scipio is opposed to Hanno, himself distinguished in ars and astus belli; but one might see the clash of Titans in the Punica, Hannibal versus Scipio, in terms of a contest of the sublime, another example to set beside the opposition in Lucan of a Caesarian and a Pompeian sublime, and in Pliny’s Panegyricus of a Domitianic and a Trajanic sublime.⁴²

 Kupersmith (1972) quotes, for example, Dryden, A discourse concerning the original and progress of satire: “[Juvenal’s] thoughts are as just as those of Horace, and much more elevated. His expressions are sonorous and more noble; his verse more numerous, and his words are suitable to his thoughts, sublime and lofty”; Boileau, L’Art poétique 2.157– 160 “Juvenal élevé dans les cris de l’Ecole | Poussa jusqu’à l’excez sa mordante hyperbole. | Ses ouvrages tout plein d’affreuses veritez | Etincelent pourtant de sublimes beautez”; John Dennis, The Grounds of Criticism in Poetry, on true sublimity arising from passion and enthusiasm, with the satires of Horace and Juvenal as contrasting examples.  Porter 2007, 172– 173.  And cf. perhaps the contrast at Aen. 12.684– 703 between the uncontrolled, and sublime, downward rush of the boulder to which Turnus is compared, and the towering, and fixed, mountains to which Aeneas is compared.

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Distat opus nostrum, sed fontibus exit ab isdem Declamation and Flavian epic* Flavian epic and Roman declamation? Though scholars have now begun to examine the interconnections between epic and prose genres, the pairing might still seem unexpected.¹ The conceptual connections between the two genres, however, run deeper than at first glance they appear to do. Each genre creates a fully rhetoricized world in lieu of one tied to a referential reality. The GrecoRoman poetic tradition provides the rhetorical coordinates for the world of Flavian epic, as a generic ‘Sophistopolis’ does for the typical characters of declamation.² Flavian epic characters, situations and speeches are most productively read in terms of their responses to poetic tradition. Thus Valerius Flaccus’ Medea self-consciously enters into dialogue with her prior epic and tragic namesakes, as well as with Catullus’ Ariadne, Virgil’s Dido, the Ovidian Heroides and (doubtless) other heroines in dozens of texts no longer extant; so too the voyage of Valerius’ Argo replays every prior literary voyage.³ The Argonauts’ sea is a rhetorical one first and foremost, with a storm that arrives on cue to let the poet drown his predecessors’ efforts and aspire toward the epic sublime.⁴ For the declaimer, the task is to present traditional arguments (loci communes) in a new and startling way, or to invent a new way out of the logical puzzles created by scenarios ever more fantastic.⁵ Though his characters may draw more sparingly upon mythical narrative, they are as self-conscious as Flavian epic characters. They know perfectly well what characters in their situation are expected to say and how to manipulate their rhetorical personae. ⁶

* I would like to offer sincerest thanks to Helen Lovatt and Gesine Manuwald for inviting me to participate in the UCL conference and to contribute to this volume. Thanks also to Neil Coffee, Craig Gibson, and Heather Gruber for many helpful comments and suggestions.  See Lovatt 2010 on Flavian epic, Rossi 2004 on Virgil, and more generally Dominik 1992.  See Russell 1983, 21– 39, on Sophistopolis. For ‘rhetorical coordinates’ see Lanham 1976.  See Hershkowitz 1998b.  For epic sea-storms in the declamatory workshop, see Sen. Suas. 1.15 (discussed below). For the epic sublime, see Schrijvers 2006, and Hardie in this volume.  See Hömke 2007.  E.g. [Quint.] DMin. 286.8: nihil est gratius impositam severitatem personae detrahi. do vitiis veniam, habes patrem lenem, mitem, sceleribus ignosco: redde rationem cur nunc tu occideris fratrem. – ‘Nothing goes down better than when the label of strictness is removed from a

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In this chapter, I put epic and declamation together in order to ask how declamatory training may have guided both the Flavian poets’ composition and readerly expectations. I plead my case largely through observing consonances of theme and treatment, rather than by pointing to the ‘smoking gun’ of an intertextual echo. (In particular, I nowhere attempt to suggest in the discussion of any particular episode that declamatory literature took precedence over models found elsewhere in the poetic tradition.) The lists of loci similes that enable students of intertextuality to demonstrate the involvement of a Flavian poet with the smallest details of prior poetic tradition cannot be assembled here. I submit, nevertheless, that enough evidence exists to make attention to the declamatory tradition profitable.

Nescit quod bene cessit relinquere: rhetorical education and Roman epic Rhetorical education for elite young men in the early Roman Imperial period began with the progymnasmata. This standard sequence of preliminary exercises commenced with simple tasks such as elaborating a fable (μῦθος) or a maxim (χρεία), and concluded with more advanced challenges such as description (ἔκφρασις) or a speech in the character of a mythological or historical figure (προσωποποιία, ἠθοποιία).⁷ Rhetorical training culminated in the controversia, where students pretended to prosecute and defend clients in an imaginary courtroom, and the suasoria, in which they delivered advice to a famous historical individual at the moment of an important decision.⁸ ἠθοποιία derived from Roman epic enjoyed a longue durée in classrooms from late antiquity through the Renaissance, and has been well studied.⁹ This paper’s discussion accordingly focuses primarily upon the controversiae. Though often involving speeches on bizarre topics and situations, such as the oracles demanding virgin sacrifice famously derided by Petronius (Sat. 1.3), the controversia was nevertheless a form of practical training. Students practiced the skills of public persuasion that they would

persona. I pardon your vices, you have a gentle, lenient father. I forgive your crimes. Tell me now why you killed your brother.’ (trans. Shackleton Bailey 2006).  See Gibson 2008 and Kennedy 2003.  Surveys of rhetorical education in the Roman world include Bonner 1977; Morgan 1998; Cribiore 2007; Bloomer 2011.  See Woods 2002; Ziolkowski 2009.

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call upon constantly throughout their careers.¹⁰ Declamation was both the telos of the rhetorical curriculum and a well-known epideictic form that many elite Roman men, including several emperors, practiced through their adult lives.¹¹ Previous scholarship has examined the effects of declamatory training upon the composition of Ovid’s Metamorphoses, Lucan’s Bellum civile, and Seneca’s tragedies.¹² While we lack an Elder Seneca for the late first century who might tell us how the Flavian poets themselves performed in school, the testimonia of near-contemporaries demonstrate the overlap between rhetorical training and epic composition. Quintilian’s curriculum of authors to be studied by the perfect orator includes the major epic poets of the first century (Inst. 10.1.85 – 92). Tacitus’ Maternus argues that poets often enjoy superior fame to orators (Dial. 12.5 – 6), and his Aper expects the modern orator to display the poeticus decor of Virgil and Lucan (Dial. 20.5). Martial praises Silius as cultivator both of Virgil and Cicero (11.48), whilst Florus inquires in an essay ‘Was Virgil an Orator or a Poet?’ (Vergilius Orator an Poeta). Later readers became used to employing elements of epic narrative in progymnasmatic and declamatory training. Augustine ruefully recalls his ethopoetic exercises based on Virgil’s Aeneid, and Servius complains about rhetors who ‘deformed’ themes from Virgil in making them material for declamatory exercises.¹³ It is therefore a reasonable assumption that some declamatory training was a basic part of cultural competence for a significant proportion of the contemporary audiences of Flavian epic. We should employ such competence ourselves, then, when reading Flavian epic.

 On Greek and Roman declamation see Bonner 1949; Russell 1983; Gunderson 2003; Stroh 2003; Heath 2004.  E.g. Sen. Controv. 2.4.12; Quint. Inst. 10.5.11– 20; Gell. NA 9.15; SHA Hadr. 16.5.  For Ovid’s declamatory training cf. Sen. Controv. 2.2.8; 3.7.1; 7.1.27 etc.; see Berti 2007, 290 – 308. Ovid observes the similarity of his work with the eloquium of the orator Salanus (distat opus nostrum, sed fontibus exit ab isdem, Pont. 2.5.65). For Lucan and Roman declamation see Bonner 1966; for Senecan tragedy see Casamento 2002.  August. Conf. 1.13.20 – 21; Serv. ad Virg. Aen. 10.18: o pater o hominvm et Titianus et Calvus, qui themata omnia de Vergilio elicuerunt et deformarunt ad dicendi usum, in exemplo controversiarum has duas posuerunt adlocutiones, … – ‘O father O men’s Both Titianus and Calvus, who took all the themes out of Virgil and deformed them for rhetorical use, set out these two addresses as examples for controversiae, …’. Sulpicius Victor, RLM 342.30 – 31 Halm, uses Diomedes’ deliberations on whether to support the Latins (Virg. Aen. 11.252– 293) as an example of a conjectural question. Cf. Geymonat 1984.

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Ethical choices and trampled parents W.M. Bloomer has described the family in declamation as “an argument magnet, drawing all topics back to itself”.¹⁴ Families consumed by internal conflict generate the favourite scenarios of the controversiae: episodes of feuding, incest, kin-murder and disowning are the typical causes that drag family members into the declamatory courtroom. Though its principals are ordinary people rather than members of a royal family, the genre’s typical plots constantly recall the Theban myth. The Younger Seneca’s tragedies Phoenissae and Thyestes have been the typical sites for generating comparison between the tragedian and his father, the collector of declamatory reminiscences.¹⁵ Statius lacks the family connection to a declaimer father (his father apparently confined himself to expounding higher literature),¹⁶ but nevertheless employs similar themes in the Thebaid. In one of Seneca’s best-known controversiae, a father tries to stop his son, already a hero in three combats, from participating a fourth time in battle. Porcius Latro, the star declaimer and teacher of Ovid, performs the father’s case as follows, according to Seneca (Controv. 1.8.15): Latro vehementer egit a parte patris, et adiecit: abdicato quoque non permittam exire, iniciam manus, tenebo, novissime a n t e l i m e n exeuntis cadaver hoc sternam: ut ad hostem pervenias, patrem c a l c a . Latro pleaded forcefully on the father’s side, adding: ‘Even when I have disinherited him, I shall not let him to go out to fight, I shall lay my hands on him, hold him, and at the last let my dead body fall on the threshold as he goes. To get to the enemy you must trample over your father.’ (trans. Winterbottom 1974)

In the penultimate book of Statius’s Thebaid, Jocasta attempts to prevent her sons Eteocles and Polynices from engaging in the duel that will claim both of their lives. Like the declamatory father in the Senecan passage, she dares her son Eteocles to kill her first before he kills his brother (Stat. Theb. 11.339 – 342): ‘… stabo ipso i n l i m i n e portae auspicium infelix scelerumque immanis imago. haec tibi canities, haec sunt c a l c a n d a , nefande, ubera, perque uterum sonipes hic matris agendus. …’

 Bloomer 2007, 304.  See Berti 2007, 311– 325; Casamento 2002, 71– 92.  See McNelis 2002.

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‘… I shall stand in the very threshold of the gate, an unlucky omen, a frightful image of crimes. These my white hairs, these breasts, wicked man, you must trample, this horse you must drive through your mother’s womb. …’ (trans. Shackleton Bailey 2003)

Both passages feature a series of threats made in the future tense and the lexical items limen and calcare. As such, this might appear to be one of the few places in Flavian epic where we could conceivably trace the incorporation of the specific wording of a declamation. Yet in the absence of further evidence, I am inclined to doubt such a possibility.¹⁷ The theme of the declamation is a beloved one, and the specific image of the trampled parent continues on into Jerome’s Letters. ¹⁸ The controversia explores a favourite question treated in both declamation and in ethical philosophy: ‘whether a father ought to be obeyed always and in all his commands’.¹⁹ We should immediately notice several differences between Statius’ Eteocles and Latro’s declamatory vir fortis. Eteocles’ mother performs the supplication, as his father currently wants him dead. Women can speak directly in epic, whilst male advocates speak on behalf of women in Roman declamation and thus present women’s words only indirectly.²⁰ The vir fortis intends to engage in virtuous combat in defence of the state; by contrast, Jocasta attempts to block Eteocles from participating in the fratricidal duel that the epic has repeatedly marked as the worst instance of human depravity. The choice in Thebaid 11 is between good and evil courses of action, while, as often in declamation, the vir fortis of Sen. Controv. 1.8 is asked to make a choice between competing goods. For a Flavian epic scenario much closer in theme to the Senecan controversia, we may turn instead to Silius’ banquet in Capua. The city rebels from Rome after Cannae and welcomes the Carthaginian troops; the magistrate Pacuvius invites Hannibal as his personal guest. Though Pacuvius is a traitor, his (unnamed) son is a virtuous young man who respects Capua’s treaty with the Romans. As the Carthaginians feast, the son reveals to his father that he plans to assassinate Hannibal. Pacuvius tells his son that he must kill him first before he can attempt such an offence to hospitality (Sil. Pun. 11.356 – 360):²¹

 Venini 1970 ad loc. does not note a Senecan parallel. For discussion of the passage, see Augoustakis 2010, 65 – 66.  Hieron. Ep. 14.2: licet in limine pater iaceat, per calcatum perge patrem – ‘Let the father lie on the threshold, go ahead over the trampled father.’; see Winterbottom 1980, 70.  Gell. NA 2.7.1: quaeri solitum est in philosophorum disceptationibus, an semper inque omnibus iussis patri parendum sit. See Lentano 1998, 79 – 103.  See van Mal-Maeder 2007, 97– 107.  See Bettenworth 2004, 375 – 393; Bernstein 2008, 145 – 150.

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‘… namque haec tibi ferrum, si Poenum invasisse paras, per viscera ferrum nostra est ducendum. tardam ne sperne senectam opponam membra atque ensem extorquere negatum morte mea eripiam.’

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‘For, if you purpose to attack Hannibal, through my heart you must drive your weapon. Despise not my age and weakness. I shall throw my body in the way, and my death shall snatch from your hand the sword which you refused to surrender at my entreaty.’ (trans. Duff 1934)

The son yields to his father Pacuvius’ demand and loses the gloria of killing Hannibal. He thereby contrasts with Valerius’ Acastus, who defies his grieving father and runs away to sea with the Argonauts; and also with Statius’ Achilles, who eventually breaks free of Thetis’ attempts to conceal him from the Trojan War. In contrast to declamation, where the jury never delivers its verdict on the conflict between son and father, diegetic genres such as epic and novel provide the narrative sequel.²² Though the specific wording of Latro’s declamation may not have directly influenced a passage of Flavian epic, the conflict between the son eager to fight and the parent eager to restrain him appears in each of the poems. Declamation thereby provides one of the conceptual resources for a typical Flavian epic scenario.

Allegorical figures and feuding brothers Brothers find numerous occasions for fatal feuds in Roman declamation. Their inability to share either their father’s inheritance or the same woman leads inevitably to attempts to kill one other. Whereas the declamatory narratives of fratricide take place in a supposedly ‘realistic’ setting, the mythical narratives of struggle over the thrones of Atreus and Oedipus provide a literary frame.²³ Both epic and declamation reveal what happens when pietas and blood kinship, supposedly the strong forces uniting the family as a virtuous and harmonious unit, become nullified. Pseudo-Quintilian, Minor Declamation 321 shows us a man accused of murdering his brother attempting to pin the blame on his brother’s doctor friend (321.7):

 See van Mal-Maeder 2007, 115 – 145.  See Casamento 2002, 71– 86; Brescia / Lentano 2009, 13 – 67.

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fratrem suum potuit aliquis occidere? non obstitit tacita Natura, non sanguinis vis? non sceleribus manus suas obiecit quaecumque est illa, quae certe creditur esse, Pietas? fratrem occisuro non succurrit communis uterus, non eadem causa vitae, non una primordia … Could anyone kill his brother? Did not silent Nature, the force of blood, stand in the way? Did not Piety, whoever she is, who is certainly believed to exist, put out her hands to block the crimes? A man is about to kill his brother – will not the womb they had in common come to his mind, the same life-origin, the beginnings in one … (trans. Shackleton Bailey 2006)

The allegorical figures that attempt to prevent fraternal conflict in Statius’ Thebaid perform as characters in this passage of declamation. The declaimer argues first that Natura and Pietas would have stopped him from committing violence against his brother. For the space of a sentence, the declaimer anthropomorphizes Pietas, imagining her to be a figure who blocks family members from committing violence with her hands. The anthropomorphized figure of Pietas attempts to do the same immediately before the fratricidal duel of Statius, Thebaid 11.²⁴ As she watches the preparations for the duel from Heaven, she complains to Natura about her ineffectiveness and irrelevance in the eyes of human beings (Stat. Theb. 11.465 – 467): ‘quid me’, ait, ‘ut saevis animantum ac saepe deorum obstaturam animis, princeps Natura, creabas? nil iam ego per populos, nusquam reverentia nostri. …’

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‘Why did you create me, primal Nature,’ she says, ‘to oppose the fierce passions of living beings and often of gods? I am nothing now among the nations, nowhere is any reverence for me. …’ (trans. Shackleton Bailey 2006)

Where the declaimer makes Natura one of the two figures who oppose violence (non obstitit tacita natura), Statius’ Pietas regards herself as the sole opponent (obstaturam). The declaimer feels the need to assert that Pietas does indeed exist (quae certe creditur esse); Statius’ Pietas complains that the world has forgotten her (nil iam ego …). As he emerges from seclusion to mourn the death of his sons, Oedipus provides the complementary apostrophe to Natura: ‘Oh, you conquer a wretched father, Nature! You conquer!’ (vincis io miserum, vincis, Natura, parentem!, Theb. 11.607). Both genres turn abstractions into “exterior entities” or “actants” in the text.²⁵

 See Franchet d’Espèrey 1996; 1999, 261– 277; Ganiban 2007, 152– 175.  See Feeney 1991, 378 – 381; Franchet d’Espèrey 1999, 266 – 277.

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Other points of correspondence between Minor Declamation 321 and Statius’ Thebaid may be quickly observed. In the latter part of the passage quoted above, the declaimer shifts his frame of reference from personified virtues to physical similarities. He appeals to his common origin with his brother from the body of the same mother (communis uterus … eadem causa vitae … una primordia). Statius represents Jocasta, mother of the feuding princes, in similar terms. When gaining entrance to the Argive camp in order to supplicate Polynices, Jo·casta refers to herself as ‘the impious mother of the war’ (impia belli | mater, Theb. 7.483 – 484), and when the fratricidal duel can no longer be forestalled, the narrator refers to ‘the massive war from a single womb’ (unius ingens | bellum uteri, Theb. 11.407– 408). The defendant in Minor Declamation 321 stands accused of poisoning his brother, not attempting, as in Statius’ Thebaid, to kill him in single combat. That theme appears in the series of declamations that turn on the notion that there is only one prize to be awarded to a war hero (vir fortis). If there is more than one claimant for the prize, then they must fight, even if (or, in the declamatory world obsessed with intrafamilial conflict, especially b e c a u s e ) they are related. Thus the prize can be fought over between father and son, or, as in Statius’ Thebaid, between brother and brother; it plays the same narrative role as the throne in the Theban myth.²⁶ The third-century rhetorician Apsines of Gadara offers the possibility of an honourable exit from the undesirable outcome of fratricidal combat.²⁷ The Minor Declamations are thought to have been composed by a teacher in the school of Quintilian,²⁸ where the works of the most popular poet of the Flavian era must have been well known (though Quintilian does not refer to them in the Institutio oratoria). It is therefore tempting to posit a direct relationship of influence, but an honest assessment shows no compelling evidence. The linguistic parallels examined above are slight, and the topoi that the passages employ are characteristic of the Theban myth. Both Statius and the author of the Minor Declamations are drawing instead upon the same conceptual fontes.

 See Lentano 1998, 51– 77.  ‘In those problems in which we say the gods foretell something, the theorem from an honorable judgment (endoxos krisis) will be fitting; for example, “The better advisers made it sufficiently clear what should be done even before we did.” As in the following: (A law requires that) the most valorous should engage in single combat. When two brothers were engaging in single combat the sun set, and someone introduces a motion to revoke the law” (Apsines, Art of Rhetoric 1.76 [234 Hammer; 343 Spengel]; trans. Dilts / Kennedy 1997, 101).  See Winterbottom 1984, xi–xvi.

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Dispositio and the Altar of Clementia In one of the final episodes of Statius’ Thebaid, the Argive women take refuge at the Altar of Clementia in Athens. Their aim is to persuade Theseus to undertake a second assault on Thebes, this time to force Creon to permit burial of the Argive dead. As recent readers have observed, Statius makes clementia rather than Virgilian pietas the ruler’s most important virtue, though its potential to improve the actual lives of ordinary human beings in the grim world of the Thebaid is slight.²⁹ The Altar of Clementia itself was a rhetorical topos that attracted considerable attention from orators and teachers from the Hellenistic period onwards. It enabled Greek orators to elaborate narratives of an idealized fourth-century Athens. Such performances helped students learn Greek history and adults to generate the comforting fantasy of a pure Hellenic culture.³⁰ The content and arrangement of Statius’ description of the Altar of Clementia (Theb. 12.481– 518) can be closely paralleled in the prescriptions of Apsines of Gadara, a rhetorician of the 3rd century CE. Apsines instructs the orator who would describe the Altar to proceed as follows (Apsines, Art of Rhetoric 10.16 [307 Hammer; 391 Spengel]): Ἀθήνῃσι μὲν οὖν λέγοντες καὶ ἀπὸ κρίσεως καὶ ἀπὸ ἔργων γεγενημένων τὸν κοινὸν τόπον τοῦτον κατασκευάσομεν· Ἐλέου βωμός ἐστι παρ’ ὑμῖν, θεὸς εἶναι δοκεῖ παρ’ ὑμῖν ἡ κοινὴ πάντων φιλανθρωπία, ἐπὶ τούτῳ παρὰ τοῖς ἄλλοις εὐδοκιμεῖτε πᾶσι, μὴ οὖν ἀλλοιωθῆτε νῦν. καὶ παραδείγματα προοισόμεθα, τοὺς καταφυγόντας μὲν ἐπὶ τὸν βωμόν, μὴ ἀτυχήσαντας δὲ ὧν ἠξίωσαν, οἷον τοὺς Ἡρακλείδας, καὶ εἰ δή τινες ἕτεροι λέγονται τὸ ὅμοιον αὐτοῖς ποιῆσαι. Now if speaking in Athens we shall use this common topic from judgment and actions of the past: ‘There is among you an altar of Pity. The common humanity of all seems among you to be a god; for this feeling you are respected by others. Do not then change this now.’ And we shall bring in examples of those taking refuge at this altar and not failing to receive their due, the children of Heracles, for example, and any others who are said to have done what they did. (trans. Dilts / Kennedy 1997, 207).

Statius’ narrator begins his ekphrasis according to Apsines’ recommendations. He connects the altar’s location in Athens to Theseus’ present obligation to exercise his clementia. ³¹ For Apsines, the monument is a source of respect for

 See Franchet d’Espèrey 1999, 277– 296; Ganiban 2007, 207– 232; McNelis 2007, 152– 177.  See Gibson 2004.  Stat. Theb. 12.481– 482: urbe fuit media nulli concessa potentum | ara deum, mitis posuit Clementia sedem – ‘In the midst of the city was an altar made over to no deity of power; gentle Mercy made there her seat’ (trans. Shackleton Bailey 2003).

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Athens among other cities (ἐπὶ τούτῳ παρὰ τοῖς ἄλλοις εὐδοκιμεῖτε πᾶσι), and an orator should be ready to draw on mythological examples of individuals (such as the Heraclids) who successfully supplicated the Athenians. Statius’ ekphrasis develops the same progression of thought: the narrator begins with the example of the Heraclids (Theb. 12.497– 499), as recommended by Apsines, then proceeds to the cases of suppliants more relevant to his theme, such as Oedipus and Orestes,³² as examples of ‘others who are said to have done what they did’. Neither Statius nor Apsines invented the topoi relating to the altar, which appear to have originated in the Hellenistic period.³³ Given the popularity of the altar in Greek declamation, coupled with Greek declamation’s nearly exclusive focus on Greek texts,³⁴ it is all but impossible to think that Apsines would have drawn upon a Roman epic in developing his prescriptions. Greek declamation is a preserve for Hellenophile fantasies about an idealized fourth century, and so Demosthenes and Greek tragedy serve as the guides to orators who would employ this locus. ³⁵ Tragedy also provides the major rhetorical coordinates for the conclusion of Statius’ Thebaid, where the Argive women experience an Athens largely constructed by the tragedians. What a juxtaposition of the epic and declamatory passages reveals, then, is the shared use of topoi and a largely similar sense of arrangement (dispositio) relating to the depiction of the Altar of Clementia.

Spiritus and sailing the sea Valerius’ Argonauts are not on an enforced voyage like Aeneas and the Trojans. They insist repeatedly that they are not exiles (Arg. 5.479 – 489; 8.385 – 396). When they choose to sail and thereby transgress the boundaries that confined their ancestors, they do so in pursuit of gloria. ³⁶ In Seneca’s first Suasoria, ‘Alexander considers whether to cross the Ocean’ (deliberat Alexander an Ocea Stat. Theb. 12.509 – 511: mox hospita sedes | vicit et Oedipodae Furias et funus † olynthi † | texit et a misero matrem summovit Oreste. – ‘By and by the hospitable abode conquered Oedipus’ Furies and sheltered the ruin of Olynthus (?) and removed his mother from unhappy Orestes.’ (trans. Shackleton Bailey 2003). The reading Olynthi would signal a well-known series of controversiae on pity (cf. Sen. Controv. 3.8; [Quint.] DMin. 292); but the text is doubtful. See Shackleton Bailey 2003, ad loc.  Cf. Schol. ad Soph. OC 260; Callim. Aet. fr. 51 Pf.; see Pollmann 2004, 200.  E.g. Lucian, Demonax 57; Timon 42; Bis Acc. 21 etc.; Philostratus, VS 593; Libanius, Decl. 13.34, 22 passim; 23.48; Sopatros, RG 8.362.12.  See Russell 1983, 106 – 128.  See Ripoll 1998a, 196 – 213.

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num naviget), the king faces a similar choice to the Argonauts. Will he choose to sail across the Ocean, traditionally regarded as the boundary of the world? Though history in fact reveals the negative answer, Seneca nevertheless presents a series of declaimers dedicated to dissuading him.³⁷ The stakes for both sailors are the same: leaving behind the familiar, transcending the boundaries, inviting divine condemnation. Neither source forgets the problem of abandoning parents: Alexander is repeatedly adjured to remember the mother he leaves behind at home in a world as yet unpacified (Sen. Suas. 1.4; 1.8; 1.10; 1.13). Valerius shows the maddened grief and murderous rage of the bereaved Pelias after Acastus’ departure (Arg. 1.700 – 729) as well as Argonauts who require occasional therapy in order to stop thinking about the families they have left behind and continue on their voyage (Arg. 4.85 – 89; 5.548 – 563).³⁸ The Alexander suasoria was also an occasion for developing the sea-storm type scene in Latin poetry.³⁹ The Argonauts’ shocked reactions when they meet their first storm are comparable to those of Germanicus’ sailors in the Augustan poet Albinovanus Pedo, whose lines are preserved in the Alexander suasoria. Both groups express their sense of committing a violation by trespassing on a holy site: aliena quid aequora remis et sacras violamus aquas divumque quietas turbamus sedes? (Albinovanus Pedo, vv. 21– 23 Courtney) Why are we violating foreign seas and holy waters with our oars, and why are we disturbing the quiet seats of the gods? hoc erat illicitas temerare rudentibus undas quod nostri timuere patres. … linquite, terrae, spem pelagi sacrosque iterum seponite fluctus! (Arg. 1.627– 632) This was the reason why our ancestors feared to defile the forbidden waves with their sails. … Lands, abandon hope of the sea and once more leave the holy waves alone!

For the Elder Seneca (Suas. 1.15), none of the declaimers could match the spiritus of Albinovanus Pedo in developing the sea-storm topos. In a passage such as this, epic is expected to transcend declamation, as the latter genre does not regularly trade in the sublime.

 See Berti 2007, 340 – 358; Migliario 2007, 51– 83.  See Bernstein 2008, 33 – 34.  See Burck 1978; Zissos 2006b.

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‘What would he say?’ and deferred rhetorical opportunities in Flavian epic The audience members’ awareness of the declamatory curriculum means that they would likely be expected to notice when a popular theme has been deliberately deferred in Flavian epic. When Statius’ Thetis attempts to allay her son’s resentment at having to wear women’s clothes, for example, she appeals to his beloved teacher’s ignorance: ‘Are you ashamed to soften in this dress? I swear to you, dear boy, by my kindred sea, Chiron shall not know of this.’⁴⁰ According to the fourth-century rhetorical teacher Libanius, however, Chiron evidently did find out what happened to his favourite student and had something to say about it. An ethopoeia from Libanius’ Progymnasmata provides a model answer to the question: ‘What words would Chiron say hearing that Achilles was in the women’s quarters?’⁴¹ The neighbouring ethopoeiai in the same collection present other speeches that, according to Libanius, it would have been fitting for Achilles to deliver. These include his reaction to the deaths of Patroclus and Penthesilea (Libanius, Prog. 11.3, 12 – 13), the Greek reverse (Prog. 11.4), and the removal of Briseis by Agamemnon’s henchmen (Prog. 11.15). Though they postdate Statius’ epic by three centuries, the themes of these progymnasmatic exercises draw on tradition stretching back to Homer and the Epic Cycle. Both Statius and Libanius’ ethopoeiai exemplify the same motivation to ‘traverse the whole hero’ and fill out ‘the many details lacking’ in Homer’s account.⁴² They both demonstrate the same preference for representing Achilles as lover and transvestite. Statius constructs his epic’s unique decorum in part through choices to include or defer particular speeches. The contemporary audience is invited to assess what Achilles actually says in the Achilleid in terms of the possible universe of appropriate speeches that he could have given.⁴³ The parole of the Achilleid, as it were, represents a selection from the mythological langue pertaining to Achilles.

 Stat. Ach. 1.272– 274: pudet hoc mitescere cultu? | per te, care puer, cognata per aequora iuro, | nesciet hoc Chiron. (trans. Shackleton Bailey 2003).  Libanius, Prog. 11.14: τίνας ἂν εἴποι λόγους ὁ Χείρων ἀκούσας ἐν τῷ παρθενῶνι τὸν Ἀχιλλέα εἶναι; For late antique ethopoeiai, see Amato / Schamp 2005.  Stat. Ach. 1.3 – 6: quamquam acta viri multum inclita cantu | Maeonio (sed plura vacant), nos ire per omnem | – sic amor est – heroa velis … ‘The hero’s deeds, ’tis true, are much famed in Maenonian song, but more are yet to celebrate. Be it your pleasure that I (so I crave) traverse the whole hereo, …’ (trans. Shackleton Bailey 2003).  See Roussel 1991 for a comprehensive account of the ancient Achilles tradition.

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The prosangelia (‘self-denunciation’), a request to the declamatory jury for permission to commit suicide, forms the basis of a series of rhetorical exercises that help the student practice the survival skills of a hierarchical society.⁴⁴ It enables the student to practice ‘figured’ argument, where the speaker typically ‘wants the opposite of what he says, for he does not want to die, but he argues by deflection’ (ἀποθανεῖν γὰρ οὐ βούλεται, κατασκευάζει δὲ ἐκ πλαγίου).⁴⁵ Figured argument is a rhetorical strategy employed by a weaker pleader against a stronger opponent, such as a son against a father, a poor man against a rich man or Demosthenes against an unsympathetic Athenian assembly that would surrender him to a vengeful Philip.⁴⁶ Appearing to ask for death enables the declaimer to shame his opponent and generate pity in the audience. What to do, then, about a character such as Menoeceus in Statius’ Thebaid, who actually wishes to commit suicide for positive reasons? In Thebaid 10, Statius dramatizes the destructive relationship between the epic vir fortis and his virtus. Capaneus’ ‘virtus that exceeds the limit’ (virtus egressa modum, Theb. 10.834) leads him to a foolish attempt to confront the gods after he storms the walls of Thebes; Jupiter then silences his arrogant challenges with a thunderbolt.⁴⁷ Menoeceus is no contemptor divum, yet he is nevertheless duped by a personified Virtus, whom Randall Ganiban has termed an “intertextual Fury”.⁴⁸ Virtus leads Menoeceus to perform a ‘failed’ devotio that is far less effective than the direct assaults of Amphiaraus and Capaneus against the enemy lines. By preventing Menoeceus’ body from coming in contact with the Argives (Theb. 10.780 – 782), she nullifies one of the basic elements of the devotio. His father Creon then imagines his dead son grieving at the thought of the Argives burying their dead (flentemque Menoecea cernit, Theb. 12.696). This vision impels his unjustifiable decision to reject the Argive embassy requesting burial.⁴⁹ Menoeceus dies, then, unaware that his self-sacrifice brings no advantage to the

 Cf. Quint. Inst. 7.4.39: quis rationem mortis in senatu reddit; 11.1.56.  [Hermog.] Inv. 4.13. For ‘figured’ problems in Roman declamation see Desbordes 1993 and Breij 2006. Craig 2004 relates interest in figured argument to “the growth of an educational culture of declamation, with its attraction for the virtuoso possibilities of signifying what one does not say” (109).  Son vs. father: [Quint.] DM 17. Pauper vs. dives: [Quint.] DMin. 337: vult mori pauper ratione in senatu reddita. dives CD. – ‘The poor man wishes to die after giving his reasons in the senate. The rich man speaks in opposition.’ (trans. Shackleton Bailey 2006). Demosthenes vs. assembly: [Libanius] Decl. 20 (Kohl 1915, no. 299); cf. Kohl 1915, nos. 293, 296, 298 – 304, 324– 325.  For the poetics of excess in the Thebaid, see Hershkowitz 1998a, 247– 271.  See Heinrich 1999; Ganiban 2007, 136 – 144.  See Bernstein 2008, 171– 179.

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Thebans and ultimately leads to greater suffering for the Theban people at the hands of a vengeful Theseus. In Euripides’ Phoenissae, Menoeceus addresses the Chorus before committing suicide (991– 1018). His speech briefly outlines a number of declamation’s standard polarities: the opposition between father and son, rhetorical deception and plain-speaking truth, cowardice and bravery, patriotism and self-interest, freedom and enslavement. Tragic μῦθος and λόγος both provide a model for later epic and declamation. Rhetorical teachers in late antiquity used the speech of Menoeceus as inspiration for ethopoetic exercises. In the same series of ethopoeiai that include the speeches of Achilles (discussed above), Libanius provides a model answer to the question: ‘What words would Menoeceus use, desiring to sacrifice himself for his country’s victory?’⁵⁰ In Statius’ Thebaid, however, Menoeceus has no human audience to hear his final words (10.762– 773). He addresses Apollo and the gods of war (armorum superi, tuque … | … Phoebe, Theb. 10.762– 763), and the central concern of his dying speech is the providential relationship that he wishes (in vain) to institute between the city and its gods. The narrative has self-consciously deferred the occasion to present stirring sentiments on the themes of patriotism and self-sacrifice, as found in Euripides’ Phoenissae and Libanius’ Menoeceus ethopoeia. The reader of the epic’s preceding nine books, fully aware by now of the war’s venal motives and conduct, would indeed find it difficult to credit such arguments at this point. Like Coroebus in the first book of the Thebaid, all Menoeceus can do in addressing Apollo is hope for his clementia. In the standard prosangelia exercise, the declaimer is expected to address the argument rationalizing his suicide to an authoritative group, whether the typical declamatory jury or, as in some variations, the Senate. The audiences for Menoeceus’ speech in Euripides’ Phoenissae (slave women) and in Statius’ Thebaid (unresponsive gods) fit neither description. In some declamatory variations on the Menoeceus theme, however, the expected audience judges the rationale for suicide.⁵¹ Pseudo-Quintilian, Major Declamation 4 presents the example of a  Libanius, Prog. 11.22: τίνας ἂν εἴποι λόγους Μενοικεὺς ὑπὲρ νίκης τῆς πατρίδος ἑαυτὸν ἀποσφάξαι βουλόμενος; Cf. Pseudo-Nicolaus 2 (RG 1.382.9 – 383.7): τίνας ἂν εἴποι λόγους Μενοικεὺς ὑπὲρ τῆς πατρίδος ἑαυτὸν ἀναιρῶν;  Cf. Sopater, Division of Questions, RG 8.232.24– 28 (Innes / Winterbottom 1988, no. 40): πόλις νοσοῦσα ἔπεμψεν εἰς θεοὺς τὸν στρατηγόν, πυνθανομένη πῶς ἀπαλλαγείη τῆς νόσου· ἔχρησεν ὁ θεός, εἰ αὐτοῦ ἐκείνου ὁ παῖς ἀναιρεθείη· ἐπανελθὼν τοῦτο μόνον εἶπεν· ὅτι ὁ θεὸς θύειν κελεύει, ὁ παῖς μαθὼν τὸ χρησθὲν ἑαυτὸν ἀπέκτεινεν, καὶ ἐπαύσατο ὁ λοιμός, καὶ κρίνεται ὁ στρατηγὸς ἀδικίας – ‘A city suffering from a plague sent a general to the gods to learn how the plague might be ended. The god prophesied that the plague would end if the son of the general himself were sacrificed. Upon his return he said only that the god commanded sacrifice. Having

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vir fortis who requests permission to commit suicide; should he fail to do so, he will be deprived of burial. An astrologer predicted at his birth that he would become a war hero and then later kill his father. Throughout the speech, the vir fortis represents his excessive virtus as both a blessing and a curse: it enabled him to save the city, but now threatens the life of his beloved father.⁵² He attributes his heroism on the battlefield to a motive familiar to the reader of the Thebaid: the lapse into madness inspired by the Fury: ‘It wasn’t me hurling the spears, it wasn’t me projecting the blows. Wretched me! I was burning with the Furies’ torches, and it wasn’t a breastplate or steel that enclosed my breast, but the dire intertwinings of serpents.’⁵³ If he does not kill himself first, his father may become the next victim of his furious violence. The question of whether the astrologer’s prophecy will come true remains unanswered throughout the declamation, and so the reader must make his or her own decision whether the son has made the right decision or has become, like Menoeceus, yet another of fate’s willing dupes.

‘Becoming a declamation’ and the historical scenarios of Silius Italicus Given the number of extant declamation topics related to the Second Punic War, we have no reason to doubt Juvenal that Hannibal was a hoary topic for declamation.⁵⁴ ‘Go now, madman, and run along over the cruel Alps, so that you may please boys and become a declamation!’ the satirist sardonically exhorts (i, demens, et saevas curre per Alpes | ut pueris placeas et declamatio fias, Juv. Sat. 10.166 – 167). Elsewhere he pretends to solicit sympathy for the teacher who must listen to students perform ‘Hannibal at the gates’ at school (Juv. Sat. 7.160 – 164):

learned the prophecy, the son killed himself, and the plague stopped. The general is charged with wrongdoing.’ Though the declamation includes the motif of self-sacrifice on behalf of the city, it does not specify that the son is an ἀριστεύς, nor does the suicide himself present his reasons; rather his father justifies his attempt to preserve his son’s life.  Most succinctly at e. g. [Quint.] DM 4.18: quod praecipue torquet animum, fides sceleris virtus fuit. – ‘What especially tortures my soul is that my heroism created belief in my crime.’  [Quint.] DM 4.20: non tela iaciebam, non iaculabar ictus; furialibus miser facibus ardebam, et pectus istud non lorica, non ferrum, sed diri serpentium clauserant nexus.  In general: Kohl 1915, 92– 96; Bonner 1949, 22– 23.

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…, cuius mihi sexta quaque die miserum dirus caput Hannibal implet, quidquid id est de quo deliberat, an petat urbem a Cannis, an post nimbos et fulmina cautus circumagat madidas a tempestate cohortes.

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… whose terrifying Hannibal fills my wretched head every five days, whatever it is he’s considering, whether he should march on the city from Cannae, or hesitant after the clouds and lightning, whether he should lead around his troops drenched from the storm.

An extensive tradition of rhetorical exercises about the Second Punic War precedes Silius Italicus’ Punica. The Rhetorica ad Herennium uses examples from the Second Punic War to illustrate a number of different topics for debate: ‘If Hannibal, when recalled to Carthage from Italy, should deliberate whether to remain in Italy, or return home, or invade Egypt and seize Alexandria … If the Senate should deliberate whether to exempt Scipio from the law so as to permit him to become consul while under age.’⁵⁵ In Silius’ generation, Quintilian invokes the example of the choice made by the Saguntines during the Second Punic War to commit suicide rather than surrender to the Carthaginians (Inst. 3.8.23). For Quintilian, this example offers proof that if a decision is to be made, it will be between ‘the honourable’ (honestum) and ‘the useful’ (utile). Thus there is no place for ‘the necessary’ (necessarium) among the partes suadendi, because ‘where there is necessity, there is no room for deliberation’ (itaque mihi ne consilium quidem videtur ubi necessitas est, Quint. Inst. 3.8.25). The Saguntines in Silius’ Punica indeed engage in mass suicide without a deliberative process. The ‘hidden Fury’ sent by Juno controls them (agit abdita Erinys, Pun. 2.595) and hastens their end by removing the capacity for rational consideration: ‘stunned, they seek to break off life quickly and disdain the light’ (abrumpere vitam | ocius attoniti quaerunt lucemque gravantur, Pun. 2.597– 598). These episodes are only a few from the list of extant declamatory topics drawn from the Second Punic War.⁵⁶ Silius’ compositional choices in the Punica, then, may be fruitfully assessed in terms of the rhetorical as well as the historiographical tradition – if, that is, the two can be effectively distinguished. As it happens, Livy, our major Roman source for the Second Punic War, himself performed in the same rhetorical schools as Porcius Latro, Quintus Haterius, and

 Rhetorica ad Herennium 3.2: ut si Hannibal consultet, cum ex Italia Kartaginem arcessatur, an in Italia remaneat, an domum redeat, an in Aegyptum profectus occupet Alexandriam … ut si deliberet senatus, solvatne legibus Scipionem, ut eum liceat ante tempus consulem fieri (trans. Caplan 1954).  Conveniently assembled in Kohl 1915, 92– 96.

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the other star declaimers preserved in the Elder Seneca. Livy’s account of the death of Cicero (6.16 – 17, 22) appears in Suasoria 6, alongside those of other early imperial historians no longer extant such as Asinius Pollio, Aufidius Bassus and Cremutius Cordus. As Matthew Roller demonstrated in his study of the tradition surrounding the death of Cicero, such texts self-consciously blur the generic lines between historical declamation and historiography.⁵⁷ The declamatory background also informs Silius’ inclusion of particular controversiae within the Punica. Two episodes of deliberation in utramque partem frame the main action of the epic. The first occurs in the Carthaginian Senate, where Hanno and Gestar debate the appropriate response to Fabius’ embassy (Pun. 2.270 – 390); the second in the Roman Senate, where Fabius and Scipio debate whether cautious defence or bold aggression is the proper course of action at this late stage of the war (Pun. 16.600 – 700). Each speaker answers the points made by his opponent and refers his case to the authority of the patres. The episodes recall the controversiae through their responsive structure as well as through their mobilization of typical declamatory themes: the personal confrontations of youth and elder, vir fortis and cautious commander as well the conceptual oppositions of personal aspirations and public goods.

Reading poetry as rhetoric, rhetoric as poetry I have argued that contemporary audiences would have interpreted the characters, situations and rhetorical arguments of Flavian epic in light of cultural competence conferred by the declamatory training experienced by Roman male elites of the early imperial period. Both epic and declamation are species of epideictic rhetoric in which the artist’s demonstration of his poetic skill takes precedence over didactic, analytic, or ideological goals. It should come as no surprise, then, to find that both genres come in for the same sort of drubbing in periods when rhetoric is in ill favour. Critical verdicts such as ‘excessive’, ‘about nothing’, ‘in bad taste’ and ‘rhetorical’ (in the bad sense) have been applied to both.⁵⁸ These are the predictable products of an unreflective criticism that values literature primarily for its sincerity and serious purpose; for its capacities to elicit emotional response in the reader, to express its author’s deeply held convictions and to speak plainly and thoughtfully to the issues of its times. The renewal of

 See Roller 1997.  See Williams 1978 for a typical example of the traditional condemnations of Flavian epic. See Walde 2003 for the history of rhetorical readings of epic.

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interest in rhetoric has helped Latinists see more clearly now that it is missing the point to fault these genres for their failures to map to lived experience, to conform to prescriptive notions of unity and decorum or to aspire to high seriousness (in the case of Flavian epic) or moral pedagogy (in the case of declamation). At least in declamation, it does not violate generic decorum for the speakers to answer back directly, and so we find the declaimer Cassius Severus addressing the charges: ‘What isn’t superfluous in declamation, when the genre itself is superfluous?’ (in scholastica quid non supervacuum est, cum ipsa supervacua sit?, Sen. Controv. 3, pr. 12).

Antony Augoustakis

Teichoskopia and katabasis The poetics of spectatorship in Flavian epic* In Valerius Flaccus’ Argonautica and Statius’ Thebaid, Medea’s and Antigone’s teichoskopiai expose the maidens to the events of the masculine battlefield: while Medea’s gaze focuses on Jason alone, Antigone surveys the Theban allies through the eyes of her paedagogus Phorbas.¹ In this essay, I would like to re-examine the two teichoskopiai in conjunction with Silius’ omission of a teichoskopia episode and his corresponding emphasis on a similar spectatorship-type scene, the katabasis. Given that teichoskopia ultimately constitutes an investigation into the female psyche (a psyche exposed in turn to the gaze of the epic’s audience), my main objective is to address the question of how such scenes play off against the formation of the male hero during his trip to the underworld in the nekyia. I propose that, while both women’s gazes depart from the present, Medea’s gaze centres on Jason and is therefore forward, i. e. looking into the future, whereas Antigone’s is primarily retrospective, that is with a view to the past. Conversely, in his view of heroes during his katabasis, the Silian Scipio Africanus is exposed to a revelation of present, past and future in the underworld, especially with respect to women (Pomponia, his mother) and Flavian Rome (the Vestal Cornelia under Domitian). In pursuing these points of contact among the three Flavian epicists, I examine the semiotics of the teichoskopia and katabasis, that is, katabasis vs. anabasis, looking backward and forward, looking up and down. Thus the Flavian epicists present to us two different visual modes of spectatorship of heroes / heroines, one on and one off the battlefield.

* I would like to thank Gesine Manuwald for organizing the conference at UCL in June 2011 and for graciously offering to edit the proceedings. Eleni Manolaraki offered comments and suggestions on an earlier draft. A version of this paper was also presented at the Illinois Wesleyan University in January 2012.  For a comparative look at these teichoskopiai, see most recently Lovatt 2006 and 2013. As Lovatt 2013 observes, “Teichoscopy is not a purely epic phenomenon, although it is marked as an epic intervention: Antigone watches from the walls at the beginning of Euripides’ Phoenissae; Tarpeia in Propertius 4.4 falls in love with Tatius, the Etruscan commander, while she watches from the walls of Rome, and Scylla with Minos in Ovid Metamorphoses 8.”

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1. Teichoskopia in Valerius Flaccus The reception of Helen’s teichoskopia in Iliad 3 by Statius and Valerius constitutes an important example of appropriation of Greek poetry by the Flavians.² In Iliad 3, Iris assumes the form of Laodice, Priam’s daughter, to appear to Helen exhorting her to quit weaving and follow her outside: the Greeks and the Trojans have allegedly stopped fighting and now sit in silence (Hom. Il. 3.125 – 138):³ τὴν δ’ εὗρ’ ἐν μεγάρῳ· ἡ δὲ μέγαν ἱστὸν ὕφαινε δίπλακα πορφυρέην, πολέας δ’ ἐνέπασσεν ἀέθλους Τρώων θ’ ἱπποδάμων καὶ Ἀχαιῶν χαλκοχιτώνων, οὓς ἕθεν εἵνεκ’ ἔπασχον ὑπ’ Ἄρηος παλαμάων· ἀγχοῦ δ’ ἱσταμένη προσέφη πόδας ὠκέα Ἶρις· ‘δεῦρ’ ἴθι νύμφα φίλη, ἵνα θέσκελα ἔργα ἴδηαι Τρώων θ’ ἱπποδάμων καὶ Ἀχαιῶν χαλκοχιτώνων, οἱ πρὶν ἐπ’ ἀλλήλοισι φέρον πολύδακρυν Ἄρηα ἐν πεδίῳ ὀλοοῖο λιλαιόμενοι πολέμοιο· οἱ δὴ νῦν ἕαται σιγῇ, πόλεμος δὲ πέπαυται, ἀσπίσι κεκλιμένοι, παρὰ δ’ ἔγχεα μακρὰ πέπηγεν. αὐτὰρ Ἀλέξανδρος καὶ ἀρηΐφιλος Μενέλαος μακρῇς ἐγχείῃσι μαχήσονται περὶ σεῖο· τῷ δέ κε νικήσαντι φίλη κεκλήσῃ ἄκοιτις.’

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She found Helen in the hall, where she was weaving a great purple web of double fold on which she was embroidering many battles of the horse-taming Trojans and the bronze-clad Achaeans, which for her sake they had endured at the hands of Ares. And swift-footed Iris came up to her, and spoke to her, saying: ‘Come here, dear sister, so that you may see the wondrous doings of the horse-taming Trojans and the bronze-clad Achaeans. They who formerly were waging tearful war against one another on the plain, their hearts set on deadly battle, they now sit in silence, and the battle has ceased, and they lean on their shields, and beside them their long spears are fixed. But Alexander and Menelaus, dear to Ares, will fight with their long spears for you; and the one who wins, his dear wife will you be called.’

Helen is at the moment occupied with embroidering a tapestry,⁴ and the reader’s gaze is directed at its ekphrasis, namely the ἄεθλοι of both parties on the battlefield for Helen’s sake. Quickly Iris seems to refocus Helen’s intentions from weav-

 Juhnke (1972) is still an important study on the influence of Homer on the Flavian epicists.  Text and translation from Murray and Wyatt 1999.  Pantelia 2002, 26: “Her weaving in Iliad 3 tells her story within the larger frame of Homer’s story.” See also Salzman-Mitchell 2005, 121– 122, on the tapestries of Helen in Iliad 3 and Andromache’s in Iliad 22.

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ing to looking, as she invites Helen to come and see what is taking place outside the walls of Troy and therefore outside the limitations of the ekphrasis of her own tapestry. Thus Helen moves from creating a δίπλακα πορφυρέην (3.126), the product of memory and perhaps imagination, to becoming an active surveyor of the battlefield and Priam’s guide. The seeming mobility of the two people fighting on Helen’s tapestry is also transformed into the actual immobile and static numbness on the battlefield: no one is engaged in battle any more, utter silence. Immediately Helen covers herself with shining linen (3.141) and follows suit. During the teichoskopia, upon Priam’s request, Helen is obliged to identify Agamemnon and Odysseus among others and then Aias and Idomeneus, while she poignantly comments on the absence of her twin brothers, Castor and Polydeuces; after all, her expectation that she will see her husband is ultimately frustrated.⁵ Helen Lovatt correctly comments that here we have “a transgressive woman acting as narrator within the most masculine of genres”,⁶ and this is true for all subsequent epic successors who undertake to imitate or deviate from this model teichoskopia. Valerius’ reception of the Homeric archetype displays the signs of extensive reworking of a familiar motif to fit the needs of his Roman Argonautic narrative.⁷ Just like Iris, having sought Venus’ help by means of the magic cingula, Juno assumes the appearance of Chalciope, Medea’s sister, to spur the maiden on, to view the awesome spectacle from the walls of Aia (Val. Fl. Arg. 6.482 – 491):⁸ ‘ergo nec ignotis Minyas huc fluctibus’ inquit ‘advenisse, soror, nec nostro sola parenti scis socias iunxisse manus? an cetera muros turba tenet fruiturque virum caelestibus armis, tu thalamis ignava sedes, tu sola paterna fixa domo, tales quandost tibi cernere reges?’ illa nihil contra. neque enim dea passa manumque inplicat et rapidis mirantem passibus aufert. ducitur infelix ad moenia summa futuri nescia virgo mali et falsae commissa sorori, …

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 Scodel 1997, 79 – 80. And as Lovatt 2013 points out, “Helen’s representation of a female gaze in the Iliad is partial at best: she does take a peculiar perspective on the war, looking for her own connections. But she is always most important as the object of battle rather than a subject with her own concerns.”  Lovatt 2006, 59.  On the Roman character of Valerius’ poem, see Hershkowitz 1998b, passim. On the literary background of Medea’s teichoskopia, see Fucecchi 1997, 119 – 120.  The text is taken from Liberman 2002, and the translation has been modified from Mozley 1934.

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‘You alone then are ignorant, o sister’, she begins, ‘that the Minyans have arrived here, braving the unknown deep, and with our father have joined confederate bands? How can it be that the rest of the people are on the walls, delighting in the heavenly armour of the heroes, and you sit slothful here in your room and alone you are stuck at home? When will you see again such kings?’ She gave no answer, for the goddess suffered her not, but takes Medea’s hand and with swift steps leads her marvelling away. Ignorant of future ill, surrendering herself to her feigned sister, the hapless maiden is led to the summit of the walls.

As in Helen’s case, Juno / Chalciope underscores Medea’s obligation to come and see (tales quandost tibi cernere reges, 6.487 ~ ἵνα θέσκελα ἔργα ἴδηαι, 3.130) as well as the heroine’s sloth, which is markedly opposed to the crowd’s cheering on the walls of the city. Valerius does not portray Medea at work with the needle or the distaff; the adjective ignava (6.486) coupled with the participle fixa (6.487) stresses Medea’s passivity, as she becomes a tool in the goddess’ hands.⁹ In the Iliad Iris announces that the outcome of the duel will decide Helen’s future, whereas in Valerius we are aware of the predetermined outcome: Jason will become Medea’s husband, and this is partly due to the manipulations of the divine; Medea has no say. As soon as the two women reach the actual place of the teichoskopia, their immobility and numbness in front of the spectacle becomes rather evident (Val. Fl. Arg. 6.503 – 506): ast illae murorum extrema capessunt defixaeque virum lituumque fragoribus horrent, quales instanti nimborum fulgore¹⁰ maestae succedunt ramis haerentque pavore volucres.

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But they gaining the extremity of the walls listen motionless and in fear to the cries of men and the trumpets’ blaring; even as birds dismay at the oncoming flash of the storm-clouds flock to the branches and cling to them in terror.

As Helen Lovatt notes, “defixae suggests that they are completely engrossed by the spectacle and horrent might simply suggest the impact of the noise rather than actual repugnance”.¹¹ The most striking simile provides an important com-

 Cf. Fucecchi 1997, 125: “La vita all’ombra protettive della casa … è stigmatizzata come un disvalore, indice di un animo vile.”  Liberman reads fulgore (2002, 254), in preference to fulgure by Baehrens and frigore found in γ. Fucecchi defends the paronomasia between fragore and frigore in consecutive lines (1997, 137), but I believe that fulgor makes the birds seek the safety of the branches, rather than frigor.  Lovatt 2006, 68.

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parandum though: as we look at the beginning of Medea’s teichoskopia, the narrator invites us to compare Juno and Medea to birds in fear of what is in store for them because of the coming storm, thus invoking the Virgilian intertext of Orpheus’ song soothing the umbrae of the underworld in Georgic 4, as Marco Fucecchi¹² has pointed out in his commentary on the scene (Virg. G. 4.471– 474):¹³ at cantu commotae Erebi de sedibus imis umbrae ibant tenues simulacraque luce carentum, quam multa in foliis avium se milia condunt, Vesper ubi aut hibernus agit de montibus imber, … Stirred by his song, up from the lowest realms of Erebus came the insubstantial shades, the phantoms of those who lie in darkness, as many as the myriads of birds that shelter among the leaves when evening or a wintry shower drives them from the hills …

A notable difference between the two passages is the air of comfort that the shades ultimately find in Orpheus’ song, as opposed to the lack thereof in Medea’s case, as she irreparably falls in love with Jason. As Lovatt suggests, “the similarity underlines the link between the viewers of battle and the audience of song; but the differences are as marked as the similarities. The shades seek the song of Orpheus like birds seek safety from bad weather in trees; the hint is that they can find in the song of Orpheus the light and life they lack.” I would like to promote, however, a further point of contact between the two scenes in Virgil and in Valerius Flaccus: the striking comparison of the teichoskopia to a katabasis. Orpheus is down below de sedibus imis (G. 4.471), while Medea is up on the walls, murorum extrema (Arg. 6.503); both places are liminal, to be sure, as both places also provide an inappropriate setting for amor, Medea’s for Jason or Orpheus’ for Eurydice, both of which will prove destructive at the end. Valerius’ divergence from the Homeric paradigm of the teichoskopia is also striking, as we can easily observe in the lack of any deictic element during the viewing, which is indeed impressive: Medea becomes the audience or spectator of the battle itself, and there is no direction by Juno to guide her through each of the warriors, as the reader experiences during Helen’s teichoskopia. ¹⁴ As Helen Lovatt observes, “although it seems initially that [Medea] will replay Helen

 Fucecchi 1997, 137.  The text is taken from Mynors 1969, and the translation is adapted from Fairclough 1967.  Cf. Zissos 2003, 668: “Medea is gradually transformed by the goddess into a spectator of what has suddenly become, in effect, a schematised gladiatorial show, with Jason as the star performer.”

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when she is called to the walls, she does not take on Helen’s role as narrator. Instead Juno seems to be staging the whole spectacle for Medea as audience.”¹⁵ While the narrator proceeds with the list of slain men, Medea seems to lurk in the background, until we see her again at 6.575 (Val. Fl. Arg. 6.575 – 586): ecce autem muris residens Medea paternis singula dum magni lustrat certamina belli atque hos ipsa procul densa in caligine reges agnoscit quaeritque alios Iunone magistra, conspicit Aesonium longe caput ac simul acres huc oculos sensusque refert animumque faventem, nunc quo se raperet, nunc quo diversus abiret † ante † videns, quotque unus equos, quot funderet arma, urgentesque viros quam densis sisteret hastis. quaque iterum tacito sparsit vaga lumina vultu aut fratris quaerens aut pacti coniugis arma, saevus ibi miserae solusque occurrit Iason.

575

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585

But behold! Medea seated upon her father’s walls scans the separate conflicts of this mighty battle, and while she recognizes some princes in the murky haze and asks about others, at Juno’s prompting spies afar the head of Jason, and toward him she turns her eager eyes and senses and favouring mind, picturing † in advance † now where he will move next, now to what other part he would ride off, and how many steeds, how many weapons he would strike down alone, and with what hail of spears he would bring roaming warriors to a halt. And wherever again she cast her wandering glance and silent look, seeking the armour either of her brother or her betrothed spouse, there fierce Jason and he alone met her helpless gaze.

Medea’s brief inquisition on reges | agnoscit quaeritque alios (6.577– 578) is immediately blocked by Juno, who now zooms in on Jason. Thereupon Juno gives the necessary explanation of who Jason is and intensifies Jason’s accomplishments on the battlefield in a way that seals Medea’s complete engrossment with him. In the third and final instalment of the teichoskopia, Medea’s fixation is irreversible (Val. Fl. Arg. 6.657– 663):¹⁶ at regina virum (neque enim deus amovet ignem) persequitur lustrans oculisque ardentibus haeret. fit iam laeta minus praesentis imagine pugnae

 Lovatt 2013.  Fucecchi 1997, 216: “La situazione psicologica è simile a quella di figure femminili ovidiane tenacemente votate a seguire la spinta del desiderio, talora fino all’esito tragico dell’autodistruzione.”

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castigatque metus et quas alit inscia curas, respiciens an vera soror, nec credere falsos audet † atrox † vultus eademque in gaudia rursus labitur et saevae trahitur dulcedine flammae.

660

But the princess with roving gaze follows the hero (for the god quenches not the fire), upon him her burning eyes are ever fixed; and now she has less delight in the battle-scene before her, and chides her fears and the trouble cherished she knows not why, wondering if it is in truth her sister; nor † rigid † does she dare to think that countenance is false, but yields again to the same entrancing fancies and is drawn on by the sweetness of the cruel flame.

In a minute Medea puts on the goddess’ fatal necklace, and when she takes it off, her madness is confirmed. Juno’s job has been accomplished, as she leaves the hapless heroine leaning forward from the towering walls (imminet e celsis audentius inproba muris | virgo, ‘bolder and unrestrained the girl leaned forward from towering walls’, Val. Fl. Arg. 6.681– 682). As Lovatt points out, “here Medea stands out from the walls, both threat and threatened … [she] threatens her own city walls”. Undoubtedly, Juno brings about Medea’s complete infatuation with Jason, and the destructive consequences are immediately apparent in the narrative as it unfolds. Medea’s obsession turns her into a Maenad, who lacks compassion for the death of her father’s allies, as in the case of Myraces (Val. Fl. Arg. 6.717– 720): haud secus ante urbem Myraces atque ipsius ante virginis ora cadit; sed non magis illa movetur unius aegra metu quam te, Meleagre, furentem, quam Talaum videt aut pugnas miratur Acasti.

720

In just this way Myraces fell before the city and the maiden’s very eyes: yet, anxious for one alone, no more does she feel than when she beholds Talaus or your furious prowess, Meleager, or admires the fighting Acastus.

Medea is simultaneously drawn into the spectacle and distanced from the viewing. She lacks clear vision, which then translates into what Fucecchi calls the “indifferenza disumana con la connotazione demoniaca di uirgo”.¹⁷ As Lovatt has poignantly suggested, ultimately the female gaze may not be a pitying gaze at all, as Medea is “distanced from the narrator and his readers by her obsessive personal concern for Jason”.¹⁸ Medea has transgressed by coming out to the edge of the walls, almost ready to come down to the battlefield, as she pursues Jason with her fixed and fixated gaze. Even when she returns to her room at

 Fucecchi 1997, 251.  Lovatt 2006, 76.

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night, Jason’s vultus is what she has in mind, at the end of the sixth book (Val. Fl. Arg. 6.752– 760):¹⁹ nox simul astriferas profert optabilis umbras et cadit extemplo belli fragor aegraque muris digreditur longum virgo perpessa timorem. ut fera Nyctelii paulum per sacra resistunt, mox rapuere deum iamiam quodcumque paratae Thyiades, haud alio remeat Medea tumultu atque inter Graiumque acies patriasque phalangas semper inexpletis agnoscit Iasona curis armaque quique cava superest de casside vultus.

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At the same time welcome night brings on the star-heralding shadows: immediately the noise of war is lulled, and the maiden, her long day of terror over, goes heartsick from the walls. Just as the Maenads pause for a while in their wild revels of Bacchus, but soon they have drunk the frenzy, ready now for the deed, even in such tumult does Medea return, and ever amid the Grecian host and the troops of her own land does she, with passion still unsated, recognize Jason and his armour and his face that strains forward from the hollow helm.

Obviously Valerius exploits the process of looking out, looking down, as a vehicle both of female empowerment and of female fallibility. Like the shades of the underworld, Medea is for some time protected by Juno’s spells but is ultimately forsaken, just like a bird at the mercy of the storm. Viewing and recognizing can make the teichoskopia a dangerous activity, exposing the female figure to the perils of the external world, as we shall see next, as both Medea and Antigone attempt a foray into the world of masculine κλέος. Learning about the present provides Medea with ample warning concerning the future, which of course she does not / should not heed: as Juno says, Jason is bound homeward, to Greece, after the recovery of the Fleece. Bound by the chains of love, Medea can no longer move, and when it comes for her to decide her future, she will / should act accordingly.

 Here Lovatt 2013 asks a poignant question: “These lines make an emphatically un-epic ending to the book, and we have to ask why, if Valerius’ main motivation was to rehabilitate epic in the panegyrical service of the new Flavian regime, did he choose such a complex, problematic and generically unstable story to tell?”

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2. Teichoskopia in Statius’ Thebaid The viewing from the walls in the seventh book of Statius’ Thebaid (243 – 373) is inspired by Euripides’ scene in the Phoenissae (Phoen. 88 – 201) and Valerius’ portrait of Medea.²⁰ The θεράπων in Euripides points out the seven warriors to the maiden, who has come out of her chambers after a plea to Jocasta (παρθενῶνας ἐκλιπεῖν, ‘to leave the maiden quarters’, Phoen. 89). At the end of the scene, Antigone is sent back to her παρθενῶνες, having filled her eyes with the spectacle requested: ἐπεὶ πόθου | ἐς τέρψιν ἦλθες ὧν ἔχρῃζες εἰσιδεῖν (‘since you have seen what you wished to see’, Eur. Phoen. 194– 195). As Donald Mastronarde points out, the scene “illustrates the emergence from protected innocence into the harsh realities of adult life”.²¹ Statius prefaces his scene with the teichoskopia of all Theban women who rush to the walls to show their children their respective fathers in shiny armour (Stat. Theb. 7.240 – 242):²² nondum hostes contra, trepido tamen agmine matres conscendunt muros, inde arma nitentia natis et formidandos monstrant sub casside patres.

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The enemy does not yet face them, but mothers mount the walls in an anxious throng and thence show their children the shining armour and their fathers, figures of fear under their helms.

At the same time, Antigone is separated from the crowd, as the narrator focuses on the maiden in copious detail (Stat. Theb. 7.243 – 253): turre procul sola nondum concessa videri Antigone populis teneras defenditur atra veste genas; iuxtaque comes quo Laius ibat armigero; tunc virgo senem regina veretur. quae sic orsa prior: ‘spesne obstatura Pelasgis haec vexilla, pater? Pelopis descendere totas audimus gentes: dic, o precor, extera regum agmina; nam video quae noster signa Menoeceus, quae noster regat arma Creon, quam celsus aena

245

250

 Smolenaars 1994, 120 – 121.  Mastronarde 1994, 180.  For Statius, the Latin text is taken from Hill 19962, and the translation is modified from Shackleton Bailey 2003.

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Sphinge per ingentes Homoloidas exeat Haemon.’ sic rudis Antigone, senior cui talia Phorbas: … Distant on a lonely tower Antigone, whom the people are not yet allowed to see, covers her tender cheeks with a black cloth. Beside her in attendance is Laius’ onetime armour-bearer; then the royal maiden revered him, an old man. She speaks first: ‘Father, is there hope that these banners will withstand the Pelasgians? We hear that all the races of Pelops are coming against us: tell me, I pray, of the foreign kings and their troops. For I see what standards our Menoeceus commands, what arms our Creon, how tall with brazen Sphinx Haemon goes out through the great Homoloid gates.’ So in her ignorance Antigone, to whom thus old Phorbas replies: …

Antigone is ignorant (rudis in 7.253); and yet her innocent inquisition focuses on those fighters who come from outside Thebes, the extera regum | agmina (7.249 – 250).²³ Viewed against the map of the epic’s geography, Antigone’s own gaze is enabled towards the fighters, at the same time as she gains direct knowledge of the male other who will inhabit the Theban plain for the following four books of the poem. Antigone’s innocence becomes exposed to the dangers of such otherness that threatens to ruin the royal palace. As Antigone takes a first step beyond the boundaries of the girl’s inner chamber, we can gaze at her black veil of mourning, as opposed to Helen’s bright linen clothing.²⁴ While hiding under her cover, within the appropriate confines set by her gender and age (nondum concessa videri, 7.243), Antigone is nevertheless gazing directly at the male outsiders, the soldiers who have come to fight against Polynices, her beloved brother. As Helen Lovatt astutely remarks, “Antigone is hidden from the rest of the internal audience by her black cloak, and hidden, too, from us.”²⁵ By the end of the teichoskopia, the audience becomes privy to details seemingly of little importance for the narrative as it unfolds. The warriors of the catalogue themselves play a major or minor role in the forthcoming books, but it is true that in general Phorbas indulges in plenty of Alexandrian footnotes, digressions on the geography and topography of the Boeotian and Phocian towns, as well as the mythological details vividly portrayed in the erotic encounters be-

 Cf. Lovatt 2006, 61– 62: “[T]he sequence of her speech here … points to the way that ‘foreign’ and ‘native’ are blurred and complex categories in the Thebaid.” On Antigone’s o t h e r n e s s see Augoustakis 2010, 62– 85.  Smolenaars 1994, 125.  Lovatt 2006, 62– 63.

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tween men and nymphs.²⁶ Throughout the viewing from the walls, as Lovatt has pointed out, Antigone “is a fallible reader, listening to a fallible poet, neither of whom seem to have control over the poem. There is no emphasis on Antigone as viewer of actual battle … and she is offered no chance to respond to what she does see.”²⁷ I would modify this statement, however, by looking at the final depiction of Antigone in the teichoskopia, which will yield useful insights with regard to the presence of Antigone and Medea in their respective appearances (Stat. Theb. 7.354– 362): ‘… Iphitus asper agit, genitor cui nuper ademptus Naubolus Hippasides, tuus, o mitissime Lai, hospes; adhuc currus securaque lora tenebam, cum tua subter equos iacuit convulsa cruentis ictibus (o utinam nostro cum sanguine!) cervix.’ dicenti maduere genae, vultumque per omnem pallor iit, vocisque repens singultus apertum intercepit iter; refovet frigentis amicum pectus alumna senis; …

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‘… Fierce Iphitus leads them, who lately lost his father Naubolus son of Hippasus, your host, most gentle Laius. I still held the chariot and the reins with no thought of harm when your neck lay under the horses mangled by cruel blows. Would that my blood too had flowed there!’ As he spoke, his cheeks grew moist and a pallor went through all his face, a sudden sobbing interrupted the passage of his voice. Antigone, his nursling, revives the chilled ancient’s loving heart.

Charles McNelis explains the difficulty of Phorbas in recounting his former master’s death as a direct result of “the problems of linear narratives about Thebes”, and as McNelis suggests, “the straightforward progress through such a narrative is a challenge”.²⁸ Antigone’s reaction to Phorbas’ complex narrative of Laius’ death has heretofore gone relatively unnoticed.²⁹ When it comes to her grandfather, at the end of the catalogue of Theban allies, surprisingly Antigone  Smolenaars 1994, 123; Lovatt 2006, 62. McNelis (2007, 101– 119) has discussed extensively the Iliadic, Callimachean and Ovidian elements of the catalogue digression and has underscored the poetics of civil war (and therefore Lucan’s influence) in Statius’ narrative.  Lovatt 2006, 65.  McNelis 2007, 119.  Lovatt 2013 briefly comments: “The expression of poetic inability at 343 – 50 is made literal by Phorbas’ recollection of the death of Laius, which causes him to stop talking. Statius has taken the absences at the heart of the Iliadic and Euripidean catalogues, and multiplied them many times. Not only does Antigone not look at her brother, she does not even gain the opportunity to try and look for him, and her poetic guide presents a tableau of poetic failure.”

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does not respond. We see her instead react to the emotional outburst of Phorbas, whom she now consoles. The teichoskopia ends on a moving note for Phorbas, who reminisces about the events in Phocis more than sixteen years ago. In this regard, here Antigone comes closer to Medea than anywhere else in the narrative, inasmuch as they both fail to connect emotionally with the death around them, Medea concerning Myraces’ death, as we saw above, and Antigone concerning the death of someone from her own family. Phorbas exposes Antigone to her past, but finds no immediate response from the girl. Antigone remains a passive listener, who cannot absorb the details of the teichoskopia or the extent of the prophetic elements in Phorbas’ speech, as he resumes after the break (Stat. Theb. 7.362– 373): redit atque exile profatur: ‘o mihi sollicitum decus ac suprema voluptas, Antigone! seras tibi demoror improbus umbras, fors eadem scelera et caedes visurus avitas, donec te thalamis habilem integramque resignem: hoc satis, et fessum vita dimittite, Parcae. sed dum labor iners, quanti (nunc ecce reviso) transabiere duces: Clonin atque in terga comantes non ego Abantiadas, non te, saxosa Caryste, non humiles Aegas altumque Capherea dixi. et iam acies obtunsa negat, cunctique resistunt, et tuus armatis iubet ecce silentia frater.’

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He returns and weakly speaks: ‘Antigone, my anxious pride and last pleasure, all too long do I delay for your sake my belated end (perhaps to see the same crimes and ancestral deeds of blood), waiting to give you up ready for wedlock and unharmed. That is enough; and discharge me, Parcae, from the life I am weary of. But while I sink helpless, what mighty leaders (now I see them again, look!) have passed by! I said nothing of Clonis and the long-haired sons of Abas, nothing of you, rocky Carystos, nor of low-lying Aegae and lofty Caphereus. And now my dull eyes refuse and they all stay still and your brother, see, orders the army silent.’

Consider, for instance, Phorbas’ announcement that he might live to see ancestral crime and slaughter revived (scelera et caedes visurus avitas, 7.365). The familiar topos of giving out the girl to marriage as one of the last wishes of Phorbas functions as a mere reminder of the impossibility of such wish (donec te thalamis habilem integramque resignem, 7.366).³⁰ When Antigone and Ismene find them-

 Cf. Lovatt 2013: “His affection for Antigone equally foreshadows her own tragic future: she may be suitable for marriage (thalamis habilem, 366) and in one piece (integram, 366) but he will never see her married, while he is correct that he will see (visurus) a repeat of the familial nefas

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selves in the safety of their thalamos in book 8, they discover that their shelter has been permanently stained by the intrusion of war and death, when dying Atys, Ismene’s fiancé, is brought into the Theban oikos to expire.³¹ Antigone’s first teichoskopia in the seventh book is accompanied by a reappearance and repetition of the scene in the eleventh book, when, literally at the eleventh hour, Antigone intervenes to dissuade Polynices from marching against his own brother (Stat. Theb. 11.354– 364, 372– 378): at parte ex alia tacitos obstante tumultu Antigone furata gradus (nec casta retardat virginitas) volat Ogygii fastigia muri exuperare furens; senior comes haeret eunti Actor, et hic summas non duraturus ad arces. utque procul visis paulum dubitavit in armis, agnovitque (nefas!) iaculis et voce superba tecta incessentem, magno prius omnia planctu implet et ex muris ceu descensura profatur: ‘comprime tela manu paulumque hanc respice turrem, frater, et horrentes refer in mea lumina cristas! saltem ora trucesque solve genas; liceat vultus fortasse supremum noscere dilectos et ad haec lamenta videre anne fleas. illum gemitu iam supplice mater frangit et exertum dimittere dicitur ensem: tu mihi fortis adhuc, mihi, quae tua nocte dieque exilia erroresque fleo …’

355

360

372

375

From another quarter Antigone steals rapidly her silent steps through the opposing tumult (nor does her chaste virginity retard her), mad to surmount the summit of the Theban wall. Old Actor clings to her side as she goes, but he too will not have strength to reach the very top. Awhile she hesitated at sight of the arms afar and recognized (horror!) him as he assaulted the city with javelins and proud voice. First she fills all around with loud lament and speaks as though about to throw herself from the walls: ‘Brother, hold your weapons and look for a moment back towards this tower. Turn your bristling crest to my eyes. … At least relax your frowning look. Let me recognize, it may be for the last time, the face I love and see whether you weep at my lament. Him our mother already softens with her suppliant tears and he is said to be letting go his drawn sword. Are you still strong of purpose to me, to me, who bewail your exile and wanderings night and day, …’

between Laius and Oedipus, as the two team up to organise and motivate their descendents’ mutual self-destruction. His failure of narrative is also a failure of the gaze: at 372 his gaze is blunted, and the orders of Eteocles silence Phorbas’ narrative as much as his own army, but Antigone has disappeared from our view, and even her response is an absence denied the audience for their narrative pleasure (or generic expectation).”  See Augoustakis 2010, 68 – 75.

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With its emphasis on tears and the power of a lamenting female voice, Antigone’s attempt at producing a highly rhetorical suasoria succeeds, but only temporarily. As I have noted elsewhere, “Antigone’s speedy transgression (nec casta retardat virginitas) is again limited by the walls (ex muris ceu descensura) and the potentiality of the particle ceu that indicates a comparative conditional rather than actuality.”³² And as Ganiban points out, “we cannot tell whether she is pia or whether she has always been infected by the nefas of her family”.³³ In her second performance of a teichoskopia, Antigone aims at an active involvement that would save the day. She recognizes the nefas (agnovit, 11.360) and insists on the power of looking (respice, 11.363; refer in mea lumina cristas, 11.364; liceat vultus fortasse supremum | noscere dilectos, 11.373 – 374).³⁴ Helen Lovatt correctly observes that the heroine “has established an emotional connection by transgressing the boundaries of appropriate feminine behaviour, but doing so in the service of restoring morality and social or familial connections, rather than destroying them, even if this is quickly overpowered by the furies and the sight of Eteocles”.³⁵ Undoubtedly, from the scenes of teichoskopia examined thus far, we can conclude that recognizing, reading and understanding someone’s face is an important process during each scene, it is part of its educational character after all. In Antigone’s case, however, it fails to become the catalyst that would stop the fratricide. Antigone’s temporary threats to attempt to come down from the walls into the male playground of the battlefield are ultimately irrelevant and empty.³⁶

3. Katabasis The preceding examination has suggested that anabasis to the walls of the city puts to the test the limits and limitations of the respective virgines. In Silius Italicus’ Punica, however, we have no example of a teichoskopia comparable to Medea’s or Antigone’s. And yet, as I will suggest in what follows, in the poem on the Second Punic War, the reader encounters another mode of spectatorship, one that takes place in the underworld. Away from the dust of the battle, a visual experience is required in order that the hero may eventually be able to succeed on

 Augoustakis 2010, 67– 68.  Ganiban 2007, 167.  On unhealthy visual pleasure in Thebaid 11 see Bernstein 2004.  Lovatt 2013.  Cf. Lovatt 2013: “The unauthorised gaze which remains to see the final outcome of the duel is the marginal, disaffected gaze.”

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the battlefield itself. The Silian combination of katabasis and self-discovery follows in the footsteps of its Virgilian and Homeric models and ultimately relies on the empirical concept of physical vision as our primary cognitive vehicle.³⁷ Before his descent to the underworld in Punica 13, the young general Scipio is overcome by grief over the death of his father and uncle in Spain (in 212 BCE) (Sil. Pun. 13.385 – 396):³⁸ forte Dicarchea iuvenis dum sedit in urbe Scipio post belli repetens extrema penates. huc tristis lacrimas et funera acerba suorum fama tulit. duris quamquam non cedere suetus pulsato lacerat violenter pectore amictus. non comites tenuisse valent, non ullus honorum militiaeve pudor. pietas irata sinistris caelicolis furit atque odit solacia luctus. iamque dies iterumque dies absumpta querelis. versatur species ante ora oculosque parentum. ergo excire parat manis animasque suorum adloquioque virum tantos mulcere dolores.

385

390

395

It happened that young Scipio was then resting in the city of Dicaearchus. Fighting was over, and he was revisiting his home, when rumour brought him bitter tears to shed for the untimely death of his kinsmen. Though it was not his custom to yield to misfortune, he beat his breast now and rent his garments in the violence of his grief. No efforts of his friends, no regard for his high station and military command, could restrain him: his love raged against the cruelty of heaven and refused all consolation. Day followed day, and was spent by him in lamenting. The faces of his lost kinsmen were ever present before his eyes. Therefore he determined to call up the dead, the spirits of his dear ones, and to soothe his great grief by speech with them.

The news of his relatives’ death will prompt a trip to the underworld, where Scipio gazes, in the manner of Odysseus and Aeneas,³⁹ at the panorama of past and future Roman history. Jessica Dietrich has perceptively discussed the passage above and suggested that Scipio’s grief, though a cause of great scholarly discomfort,⁴⁰ should be compared to female lamentation elsewhere in the poem, especially the beating of his breast and the tearing of his clothes. For Dietrich, Scipio’s lamentation and lack of consolation before his katabasis symbolize the

 On Scipio’s trip to the underworld in Punica 13 see Reitz 1982 and most recently Marks 2005a, 133 – 147; Tipping 2010, 154– 157, 167– 174; van der Keur in this volume.  For Silius, the Teubner text by Delz 1987 has been used; the translation is modified from Duff 1934.  Tipping 2010, 154 and n. 67.  Dietrich 2005, 88 and n. 21 for references.

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hero’s sorrow concerning the various perils for Rome to follow after the end of the Punic War, “not necessarily from an advancing foreign enemy, but from powerful forces within”, just as female lament in the first part of the poem calls attention “to the menace facing Rome as Hannibal advanced into Italy”.⁴¹ Without subscribing necessarily to a pro- or anti-imperialist agenda of the Punica and consequently to a positive / optimistic or negative / pessimistic interpretation of the poem for Domitianic Rome,⁴² I would like to build on Dietrich’s association of Scipio’s grief with female sorrow, and thus approximate his (male) katabasis with the (female) teichoskopia of Medea and Antigone in the other two Flavian epicists. Like its Virgilian and Homeric paradigms, Scipio’s katabasis has a didactic dimension, fitting its particular context: namely to direct the hero’s gaze toward a few of the major protagonists in Roman history, but also the major members of Scipio’s immediate family, such as his mother, uncle and father. Among the highlights of his journey is the meeting with his mother Pomponia.⁴³ During Scipio’s pedagogical journey, the Sibyl, a female guide, urges him to look at his mother, who had died in labor: sed te maternos tempus cognoscere vultus, | cuius prima venit non tardis passibus umbra (‘But it is time for you to learn your mother’s face, whose shade comes first, not at slow pace.’, Sil. Pun. 13.613 – 614). The Sibyl’s announcement emphasizes the importance of Pomponia’s encounter with Scipio, a meeting during which the Roman mother enlightens her adolescent son on the divine identity of his father as the true son of a god, Jupiter himself. The emphasis on the infinitive cognoscere surrounded by the phrase maternos … vultus suggests that Scipio’s meeting with his mother acquires significance not only as a revelation of true parenthood through the mother, but also as a cognitive return to the maternal figure, which the hero did not have the chance to experience during his formative years.⁴⁴ In her address to her son, Pomponia stresses the difficulty imposed on her during the day of her impregnation by Jupiter. Pomponia becomes the vehicle and messenger of divine will, while maintaining her chastity and identity as univira. With all the grandeur and majesty of a Roman matrona, Scipio’s mother thereby becomes a means for Rome’s salvation. Thus Scipio finds out about his real father and is bestowed the stamp of divine parentage, a true successor to Romulus Quirinus; his katabasis is the only path to self-discovery.

 Dietrich 2005, 87.  Cf. Augoustakis 2010, 238 – 253.  On Scipio’s katabasis and his meeting with Pomponia in particular see Augoustakis 2010, 213 – 221.  See the discussion in Augoustakis 2010, 215 – 216.

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After talking to the shades of his (earthly) father and uncle, as well as to Paulus, Scipio views a series of characters in Elysium, from Homer to the lawgivers of the Twelve Tables. Then Scipio is exposed to a host of female heroines ab urbe condita, and his exposure to such an encounter confirms the connection between the past, present and future for the hero (Sil. Pun. 13.806 – 808): sed subito vultus monstrata Lavinia traxit. nam virgo admonuit tempus cognoscere manes femineos, ne cunctantem lux alma vocaret. But suddenly Lavinia was pointed out to him and attracted his gaze. For the Sibyl warned him that it is time to learn the ghosts of women; for, if he delayed, dawn might summon him to depart.

The Sibyl presents to the young general the shades of various female figures of the Roman past, reinforcing the strong cognitive valence of vision that began the second part of this paper (note cognoscere).⁴⁵ It is a must-see, before daylight draws him back to the upperworld. This catalogue of women, modelled unsurprisingly on Homer, is divided into two parts: in the first section, the Sibyl demonstrates to Scipio the virtuous heroines of Roman history (13.809 – 830), while in the second part, at Scipio’s request, the prophetess reveals the reasons behind the severe punishments of three women, well-known for their ill-conduct (13.831– 850a). The first three pairs of female figures in this catalogue re-establish order in the Roman state by means of their virtues (Lavinia, Hersilia, Carmentis, Tanaquil, Lucretia, Virginia); with Cloelia we reach the climax of this ascent to glory. This group consists of transgressive women, women who defy the norms and limitations of their gender: Lavinia joins Trojans and Latins, Hersilia joins Romans and Sabines, and so forth. Cloelia herself crosses the Tiber and is apostrophized as contemptrix … sexus (Sil. Pun. 13.828 – 830): illa est, quae Thybrim, quae fregit Lydia bella, nondum passa marem, quales optabit habere quondam Roma viros, contemptrix Cloelia sexus.

830

She is the one who crossed the Tiber, who broke the Lydian wars, not yet having experienced a man: Cloelia, a despiser of her sex. One day, Rome will pray for men like this girl.

The second part of the catalogue intensifies the integrity of the women in the first section, by elaborating on the examples of three women who were punished

 On the group of heroines in the underworld see Augoustakis 2010, 221– 229; Ahl 2010 (who maintains that the catalogue has a satirical tone).

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for their crimes: Tullia (13.833 – 838), Tarpeia (13.839 – 843) and the anonymous Vestal virgin (13.844– 850a). Tullia and Tarpeia betrayed their family and country, while the Vestal lost her virginity (Sil. Pun. 13.844 – 850): ‘… iuxta (nonne vides? neque enim leviora domantur delicta) illatrat ieiunis faucibus Orthus, armenti quondam custos immani Hiberi, et morsu petit et polluto eviscerat ungue. nec par poena tamen sceleri; sacraria Vestae polluit exuta sibi virginitate sacerdos. sed satis haec vidisse, satis.’

845

850

‘… Near her – do you not see? no pardonable crimes are punished here – Orthus, who once guarded the cattle of the Spanish monster, is barking at a victim with famished throat, biting and tearing out her inward part with his filthy claws. Yet her punishment is not equal to her crime: a priestess of Vesta, she profaned the shrine by losing her maidenhood. But enough, enough, of all these sights.’

Silius places the punishment of the Vestal Cornelia last in the list,⁴⁶ not only because of its contemporaneous relevance to the Domitianic regime, but also because of the association of Cornelia with the house of the Cornelii and Scipio himself, as his direct descendant. In addition, Cornelia is visualized ‘descending’ to the underworld because of her death: she is buried alive in a tomb, her own katabasis being the direct result of relinquishing her virginitas and vows. Scipio and his descendant are juxtaposed: for the hero, this katabasis will result in selfdiscovery and the assumption of leadership in Rome as the son of Jupiter; for the Vestal, her punishment serves as a (visual) reminder of the consequences of impiety, while her katabasis becomes a permanent stain. Of course, there is a limit to what Scipio can and should see, as the Sibyl warns him at the very end: sed satis haec vidisse, satis (13.850). His katabasis and spectatorship of past, present and future ends on a positive note: his anabasis is as joyous, as the journey’s educational purpose is successful: tum laetus socios iuvenis portumque revisit (‘and then the young man went back joyfully to his comrades in the harbour’, Sil. Pun. 13.895). I believe that despite their differences, the two type-scenes of spectatorship I have discussed in this essay afford some commonalities that merit further investigation and in greater depth, taking into account further katabaseis, which can be fruitfully examined against teichoskopiai: the death of Jason’s parents in Ar-

 On the identification with Cornelia, the Vestal punished under Domitian, see Augoustakis 2010, 225 n. 68.

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gonautica 1, the necromancy in Thebaid 4, Amphiaraus’ descent in Thebaid 8 or Hannibal’s tour of the Phlegraean fields in Punica 12. I would like to conclude, however, with summarizing the findings of this study. We have examined two different types of epic protagonists: the distraught transgressive female whose visual experiences are eventually ejected from the epic’s narrative in favour of the epic telos of celebrating κλέα ἀνδρῶν; and the strangely distraught male whose visual experiences become part of his formation as the ultimate hero in the epic. In other words, visuality keeps the transgressive female distraught, but it helps the distraught male acquire the strength necessary to fulfil his heroic mission. Circumstantial and generic divergences notwithstanding, however, both teichoskopia and katabasis epitomize vision (physical and epistemic) as an entry point to the objects as well as the abjects of the epic code.

Martin T. Dinter

Slavery in Flavian epic Epic in general is not a genre in which we expect to find frequent references to slaves or slavery. For as W. Fitzgerald in his study on Slavery and the Roman Literary Imagination (2000) has shown, we should look at genres such as Roman comedy, the Roman novel, love elegy, satire and particularly epigram plus the letters of Seneca.¹ An epic’s narrative economy and concern to lay down a heroic code usually demands focus on the major heroes with an occasional glance at minor ones and thus leaves little space to contemplate the role of slaves. The Iliad features female slaves taken as booty in war as servants and / or concubines – for instance Chryseis (Il. 1.12 – 13; 1.29 – 31; 1.111– 115), Briseis (Il. 2.688 – 689), Diomede (Il. 9.663 – 665), Iphis (Il. 9.666 – 668) and Hecamede (Il. 11.624– 627) – as men are either ransomed (so they hope) or killed on the battlefield.² The Odyssey, too, depicts mainly female slaves with the prominent exception of the swineherd Eumaios. Eumaios himself sets down the epic code for slavery when he declares that ‘Zeus, of the far-borne voice, takes away half of a man’s virtue, when the day of slavery comes upon him’ (Od. 17.322– 323 [trans. Butcher / Lang]). By definition, then, a slave is but half a man and not worthy of an epic’s attention. This helps to explain a further epic motif that features the hero’s concern that he will see wife and child enslaved. In the Iliad Hector thus sorrowfully predicts a life of bondage, weaving and water-fetching for his wife Andromache before departing for his fight with Achilles (Il. 6.454– 458), and as we will see, this fear of enslavement becomes a frequent motif in the epic tradition. Roman epic was written in a world in which slaves were omnipresent constituents. They thus feature in the mindset of their owners as well as in the metaphors they use and the concepts they apply: “Classical thought was permeated by the category of the slave.”³ In what follows I shall trace the role of slaves in Roman epic from Virgil onwards up to Silius Italicus’. Flavian epic reacts to all its epic predecessors, and the depiction of slaves and the use of imagery related to slavery are no exception. I shall thus preface my examination of Statius’, Valerius Flaccus’ and Silius Italicus’ epics with brief sections on slavery in Virgil’s Aeneid, Ovid’s Metamorpho-

 The multi-volume Handwörterbuch der antiken Sklaverei (Mainz 2006 – 2012) provides numerous entries focusing on slaves in specific authors.  See Thalmann 1998.  Fitzgerald 2000, 1.

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ses and Lucan’s Bellum civile to showcase the different representational strategies the Flavian epic poets look back to.

Mythical epic: Virgil’s Aeneid and Ovid’s Metamorphoses In the Roman epic tradition the Aeneid marginalizes slaves even further by giving them little part in the foundation myth of Rome. Virgil reduces the appearance of servants to cameos as in the case of Aeneas’ nurse Caieta (Aen. 7.1– 4) or those of the occasional servant-born bastard son who serves as cannon fodder in the melee of battle. Nisus slays three sleeping attendants during his night-raid (Aen. 9.329 – 330) rather than freeborn soldiers, which may be symptomatic of his in-between status as a not-yet fully-grown warrior who would kill masters not slaves, in daylight and not at night.⁴ Moreover, not all servants we encounter are necessarily slaves: the word servus does not appear in the Aeneid at all; it seems un-epic. The word famulus, which Virgil uses thirteen times, can, as we learn from the OLD, apply to both slaves and attendants. As we will see below, there is, however, a clear distinction between historical epic and epic set in mythical times, where there seem to be attendants (famuli / ministri) and captives / foreigners. And whilst there is no specifically mentioned slave class, the latter group is treated more or less like slaves (e. g. Andromache, on whom see below). This is exemplified by a passage in which Aeneas envisages Helen as having been restored to her throne in victorious Sparta bringing with her captured Trojan women to serve her (Aen. 2.577– 580): scilicet haec Spartam incolumis patriasque Mycenas aspiciet, partoque ibit regina triumpho? coniugiumque domumque, patris natosque videbit Iliadum turba et Phrygiis comitata ministris?

580

Is [Helen] to look unharmed at Sparta and her native Mycenae, and parade in a triumph as queen? Will she see husband and home, parents and children attended by a throng of Trojan women and Phrygian captives? (trans. T.C. Williams 1910, adapted)

 On this passage see Fowler 2000.

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As we will see, Lucan and Silius, however, with historical epics, follow a ‘modern’ style with actual slaves and allusions to slavery.⁵ One of the passages where this vocabulary simply must refer to slavery and enslavement is Andromache’s account of her fate after the fall of Troy in Aeneid 3, where the word servitium makes clear that she is Neoptolemus’ slave and that Hector’s Iliadic worry about the lowly future of his wife has become reality (Aen. 3.325 – 329): nos patria incensa diversa per aequora vectae stirpis Achilleae fastus iuvenemque superbum, s e r v i t i o enixae, tulimus: qui deinde, secutus Ledaeam Hermionen Lacedaemoniosque hymenaeos, me f a m u l o f a m u l a m que Heleno transmisit habendam.

325

I, carried far over the seas after Troy had burnt down, endured the pride of the young man of Achilles’ race [Neoptolemus], and bore him as his slave a son. When he sought out Hermione, of Leda’s line, and a nuptial-bond with Lacedaemon’s lords, I, the slave-wife, was given to Helenus, and slave was wed with slave. (trans. T.C. Williams 1910, adapted)

Virgil hammers home his point in the final line of this passage by juxtaposing famulo and famulam, demonstrating the social ramifications of the fall of Troy: both Andromache and Helenus exemplify the Trojans’ fall from grace on a personal level. The only other instance in which Virgil employs the word servitium stands in direct relation to the passage discussed above. In Aeneid 1 Jupiter prophesies that in the end the Romans (formerly known as Trojans) will enslave Argos, thereby restoring moral justice (at least in the eyes of the epic’s protagonists) (Aen. 1.283 – 285):⁶ veniet lustris labentibus aetas, cum domus Assaraci Phthiam clarasque Mycenas s e r v i t i o premet, ac victis dominabitur Argis.

285

And in the run of the years, the heirs of Ilium’s kings shall bind in chains Mycenae’s glory and Achilles’ towers, and reign over prostrate Argos. (trans. T.C. Williams 1910)

The topos of slavery and enslavement is thus already present in the Homeric epics and the Aeneid – albeit subdued. As in many cases, Virgil’s epic successors

 There is a wealth of bibliography on the history of actual (not literary) slavery: cf. Hopkins 1978; Patterson 1981; de Ste. Croix 1981; Bradley 1984; Wiedemann 1987; Garnsey 1996; Finley 1998; 1999; Dal Lago / Katsari 2008; Bradley / Cartledge 2011.  Feeney 1984.

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will pick up on this underlying thread and weave it more prominently into the fabric of their oeuvres. In addition, Virgil’s use of the word famulus often proves to be symptomatic of the role slaves / attendants played in the Roman world. Dido’s banquet features masses of attendants (Aen. 1.701– 706), the large number of whom serves to demonstrate the wealth of Carthage.⁷ What is more, Aeneas’ instructions to his household on how to evacuate from burning Troy reflect the status of slaves / attendants as part of the family (familia):⁸ he addresses first his father Anchises, then his son Iulus and wife Creusa are instructed (in that order), and then Aeneas turns to the famuli and tells them to pull themselves together (Aen. 2.707– 712). Indeed, when Dido confronts Aeneas in Aeneid 4, a scene in which we would imagine the two protagonists to be alone, her servants (famulae) are present and pick her up and place her on a couch when she faints (Aen. 4.391). Similarly old King Evander is carried into his house by his attendants when he collapses after having expressed his grief over the death of his son Pallas (Aen. 8.583 – 584). The former instance in particular exemplifies that ancient / Roman notions of privacy were different from our own, and slaves are even thought to have slept in the same room or just outside their master’s bedroom door.⁹ Ovid adds to this repertoire in that in the Metamorphoses servants sometimes also become an extension of their masters’ voices. Byblis’ maid is made to carry an ill-gotten letter to her mistress’ brother, to suffer his ill temper and then to report back to her mistress (Met. 9.568 ff.): she thus stands in for Byblis in a manner not dissimilar to that seen in Roman love elegy, where the maid frequently is employed as the lovers’ messenger.¹⁰ Similarly Midas’ servant who discovers his master’s ass ears when cutting his master’s hair fulfils a messenger function. Albeit entrusting his knowledge to a hole he dug into the ground, the reeds growing thereof take on a voice and disclose his secret to the world (Met. 11.180 – 193). Finally, one of Circe’s four handmaids even becomes the anonymous narrator (Met. 14.311 filtered through her internal audience, Mara-

 See Fitzgerald (2000, 5), who cites Petronius’ Eumolpus as saying that “without slaves he cannot recognize his own dignity” (Sat. 117). See also Patterson 1982 on slaves bolstering the honour of their master whilst being deprived of honour themselves, and Hopkins (1978, 112) stating that “slavery persisted as a method of displaying wealth in the Roman empire long after it had ceased to be a major method of producing wealth.”  Cf. Saller 1987; 1996.  Fitzgerald 2000, 4; George 1997; Wallace-Hadrill 1994, 38 – 44.  See Ovid, Amores 1.11, to cite but one example.

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ceus) of the story of Circe and Picus.¹¹ Not only does a servant narrate this episode but servants are also the episode’s main agents. Towards the end of the Metamorphoses, when we are about to move away from the age of heroes, Ovid briefly allows the attendants to take centre stage when they metamorphose and are turned into wild animals by Circe (Ovid employs comites here, cf. Met. 14.397– 415).¹² This anticipates a development in Flavian epic, which, shedding many of its predecessors’ inhibitions, will see slaves – albeit often of noble birth – take centre stage.

Historical epic: Lucan’s Bellum civile In addition to the examples we have seen above, in Lucan’s civil war epic slavery is politicised and conceptualised. The epic’s main conflict of civil war is recast as a war against political enslavement (servitium) and for Republican libertas. This is exemplified by the raft of Vulteius episode in Bellum civile 4, in which Vulteius and his men are caught by the enemy Pompeian troops on a raft and then choose to commit communal suicide under the eyes of their enemies. They are thus serving up a spectacle of virtue that Lucan hails as an exemplary escape from political enslavement and a demonstration of moral libertas (Lucan, BC 4.573 – 577):¹³ nullam maiore locuta est ore ratem totum discurrens fama per orbem. non tamen ignavae post haec exempla virorum percipient gentes, quam sit non ardua virtus s e r v i t i u m fugisse manu.

575

Never was the fame of any brave achievement spread through the world more widely. Yet even after the example set by these heroes cowardly nations will not understand how simple a feat it is to escape slavery by suicide. (trans. Joyce 1993)

The raft of Vulteius episode has been read as a mise en abyme of the entire epic, as an episode that encompasses all elements of the larger epic in which it is situated.¹⁴ On the raft brothers kill brothers and fathers sons, just as in the civil war

 On internal audiences in the Metamorphoses see Zissos 1999.  I shall pass over the remaining instances of famulus / -a in the Metamorphoses, referring to the servants of Canens as well as Iphis, as they do not add to my discussion: the former help search the forest for the missing Picus (Met. 14.418), and the latter scream at the sight of the hanged youth Iphis (Met. 14.741).  See Martindale 1984.  See Dinter 2012, ch. 4.

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the epic describes. In the same vein this episode also serves up in a nutshell in what way Lucan enriches the epic repertoire of slavery by making the threat of political and not personal enslavement of the free Roman Republic a main feature of his epic. As we will see, the Flavian epic poets combine literal slavery and conceptualised slavery in their oeuvre.

Statius’ Thebaid and Valerius Flaccus’ Argonautica In what follows I shall discuss passages from Valerius Flaccus and Statius that exemplify specific aspects of slavery in those epics before embarking on a survey of the slavery in Silius Italicus’ Punica. In Statius’ Thebaid 5 the enslaved queen Hypsipyle takes centre stage. She introduces herself as altrix (Theb. 4.728) – ‘foster mother’, ‘wet-nurse’ –, but later clarifies that, though daughter of a royal father, she is a captive who has to serve king Lycurgus: claro generata Thoante | s e r v i t i u m Hypsipyle vestri fero capta Lycurgi (Theb. 5.38 – 39, ‘I am Hypsiyple, child of famous Thoas; a captive, I bear the thraldom of your Lycurgus.’ [trans. Shackleton Bailey 2003]); the Latin, however, juxtaposes her royal name with servitium, and the reverent reaction of Adrastus, when she encounters him, makes clear that she is not your average slave (cf. diva, Theb. 4.753). Indeed, her appearance as well has not lost its royal dignity despite the fact that her hair is dishevelled and her clothing poor. Accordingly she does not look the slave part she is forced to play: quamvis et neglecta comam nec dives amictu, | regales tamen ore notae, nec mersus acerbis | exstat honos (Theb. 4.750 – 752, ‘her hair is dishevelled, her clothing poor; yet on her face are marks of royalty, her dignity shows, not sunk in her misfortune.’ [trans. Shackleton Bailey 2003]).¹⁵ Whilst she is showing the Argonauts the way to a freshwater spring, a snake creeps up and kills the royal toddler Opheltes, whom Hypsipyle was supposed to have watched, but had left behind for a moment. Great lament ensues. Nevertheless, the slave queen, who is given space to recount her fate at length, finds her two long lost sons amongst the Argonauts, and whilst one royal line is cut off with the death of the only child Opheltes, another – that of Hypsipyle – is restored. Although Hypsipyle is hardly a typical slave, her extensive story nevertheless marks a shift in paradigms and a shift of focus in Flavian epic away from

 I do not have the space to follow this up in the scope of this paper, but these lines indicate that there is a particular look to slaves, the elements of which could probably be derived from various literary descriptions of slaves.

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standard heroism and exemplary figures, such as the Virgilian Aeneas, to more individualised main and supporting characters. Flavian characters display emotion and pathos and on many accounts might even fail as heroes (such as Medea and Jason in Valerius Flaccus’ Argonautica). Bernstein has thus rightly emphasised the importance of the family unit and of personal ties in Flavian epic.¹⁶ The stories we are told in these – and Statius’ Thebaid in particular exemplifies this – are often more concerned with family matters or family strife than matters of state. Whilst Virgil in the Aeneid struggles to squeeze Aeneas’ heroic quest into the mould of a story of jealousy and marriage, this thematic complex is allowed to take centre stage in the Argonautica – following the Hellenistic model of Apollonius of Rhodes.¹⁷ Slaves provide both further narrative material, which can be spun out to provide variation in well-trodden myths, and also serve as a contrast to the fate and fortune of their masters.¹⁸ This becomes painfully clear in the figure of the slave queen Hypsipyle who re-gains two sons whilst her master Lycurgus and his wife Eurydice lose their baby son Opheltes. In addition, Hypsipyle provides a variation on a theme Statius repeatedly tackles in his Silvae: the lament for a slave boy. Silvae 2.1 and 2.6 lament the death of Glaucias, Melior’s boy-favourite, and Flavius Ursus’ favourite boy respectively, while Silvae 5.5 bewails the death of the poet’s very own hand-reared slave boy, whom he held as dear as a son. Silvae 5.5 is the very last poem in that entire collection (a poem thought to be potentially incomplete), where the grief for the lost boy makes the poet’s voice break: master(s) lamenting their slaves’ demise.¹⁹ Statius’ epic version of this motif accords with epic social structures; it depicts the slave wailing for the master’s child and blows it up to epic proportions providing the whole package of funeral games and tombstone monument.²⁰ Valerius Flaccus does not put on slaves as prominently as Statius, but uses them to motivate the murder of the men of Lemnos. Indeed both authors employ slaves in different roles in their Lemnian episode.²¹ Whilst Statius has the Lemnos episode recounted by a queen turned slave, Valerius, following Apollonius of Rhodes, introduces captive women from Thrace who were brought back from war

 Bernstein 2008; 2009.  On the ramifications of the epic literary tradition after Virgil see Hardie 1993.  The distinctions of master vs. slave are muddled further as Dido can be read as model for Hypsipyle (Gruzelier 1994 and also Nugent 1996).  On these poems see Asso 2010; Dietrich 2002; Newlands 2012 ad loc., and Gibson 2006a, 393, on the possible incompleteness of Silvae 5.5.  Cf. Aen. 11.34– 35 for servants bewailing the death of Pallas.  On this episode in particular see Vessey 1985.

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by the Lemnian warriors and were intended for serving the Lemnian women as slaves (Arg. 2.113 – 114). He deviates from his Apollonian model, however, when he uses these slave women and the anxieties surrounding enslavement as an excuse to goad the wives on to murder their husbands. For Venus employs Fama to make the Lemnian women believe that their husbands are set on marrying these slaves (Arg. 2.146 – 147), an event that would threaten the current wives with divorce and – an immensely exaggerated statement – ultimately enslavement, i. e. a slave-like existence in their own home (Arg. 2.151– 160; 2.180 – 181). The fear of this slave-like existence subsequently motivates the Lemnian women to murder their husbands. As we have seen previously, slaves in Roman epic are not usually referred to as servus / -a but rather as famulus / -a. Accordingly, the female captives the Lemnian men bring home are also introduced with this word (Arg. 2.114; 2.138).²² Schenk (2010) has outlined how the terminological development of the slave women’s status parallels the development of the plot, which envisages an upgoad of the slaves to concubines and finally even wives. At first the slaves are referred to by their origin as Thracian women: Thressas (Arg. 2.132; 2.165; 2.239) and Threissa (Arg. 2.147) or their status as captives: captae (Arg. 2.146). Later they are referenced as concubines (paelice, Arg. 2.153) and then – more respectfully – as young women (nurus, Arg. 2.160) or even new wives (nova cum coniuge, Arg. 2.183). This shows on the one hand how Venus and Fama talk the Thracian slave women up the social ladder – Fama’s aggrandizing powers manifest themselves in the imaginary social career of the Thracian women.²³ On the other hand it demonstrates, as does the fate of Statius’ Hypsipyle, that a stark reversal of fortune for a slave does not seem completely implausible for a literary audience, which might well have been primed to expect this type of events by other genres such as Roman comedy and the ancient novel. Schenk (2010) even points out that from a historical perspective it was possible since the time of Augustus to marry a female slave as long as she was freed before getting married (Gai. inst. 1.19), but that this only applied to the lower social strata. In addition, Schenk observes that according to Roman law divorced women would usually leave their former husband’s household and would certainly not remain there to work as slaves. Whilst one should be wary of reading too much contemporary social context into Valerius’ epic, it is nevertheless worth

 See Schenk 2010, and on the Lemnian episode in particular see Poortvliet 1991 on Arg. 2.112 ff.  See Hardie 2012 on the powers of Fama.

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noting that from a Roman point of view the fear of the Lemnian women must seem irrational. As we have seen in this brief survey, we find slaves confined to important but minor roles in Statius’ and Valerius’ epics. In his Punica, however, Silius Italicus elevates slavery to a key motivating force, and his discourse on slavery links into the wider issues at stake in his epic.

Silius Italicus’ Punica Silius uses two semantic groups to refer to the thematic complex of slavery: on the one hand we find the noun famula / famulus, the verb famulari and the adjective famulus. On the other we find the noun servitium, the verb servire and the adjective servilis in use, whereas, as usual, the nouns servus or serva do not appear. Silius’ epic with its Republican setting generally refers to slaves despite the fact that some of these terms may denote both servants and slaves. Let me first have a look at stories Silius inserts into his epic which feature slaves to demonstrate how versatile yet crucial the roles can be that slaves play in this epic. In Punica 1 Hasdrubal murders the Spanish king Tagus, who is avenged later with his own sword by his servant who remains nameless and is tortured in great detail (Sil. Pun. 1.165 – 181): quem postquam diro suspensum robore vidit deformem leti famulus, clam corripit ensem dilectum domino pernixque irrumpit in aulam atque immite ferit geminato vulnere pectus. at Poeni, succensa ira turbataque luctu et saevis gens laeta, ruunt tormentaque portant. non ignes candensque chalybs, non verbera passim ictibus innumeris lacerum scindentia corpus, carnificaeve manus penitusve infusa medullis pestis et in medio lucentes vulnere flammae cessavere; ferum visu dictuque, per artem saevitiae extenti, quantum tormenta iubebant, creverunt artus, atque omni sanguine rapto ossa liquefactis fumarunt fervida membris. mens intacta manet: superat ridetque dolores spectanti similis, fessosque labore ministros increpitat dominique crucem clamore reposcit.

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Then a servant [famulus], when he saw that hideous death and the body of Tagus hanging on the fatal tree [i.e. cross], stole his master’s favourite sword and rushed into the palace, where he smote that savage breast [of Hasdrubal] once and again. Carthaginians are cruel; and now, in their anger and grief, they made haste to bring the tortures. Every device was

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used – fire and white-hot steel, scourges that cut the body to ribbons with a rain of blows past counting, the hands of the torturers, the agony driven home into the marrow, the flame burning in the heart of the wound. Dreadful to see or even to relate, the limbs were expanded by the torturers’ ingenuity and grew as much as the torment required; and, when all the blood had gushed forth, the bones still smoked and burned on, after the limbs were consumed. But the man’s spirit remained unbroken; he was the master still and despised the suffering; like a mere looker-on he blamed the myrmidons of the torturer for flagging in their task and loudly demanded to be crucified like his master. (trans. Duff 1934)

This passage serves primarily to characterise Tagus as a good king whom even his servants want to avenge and to make the Carthaginians look über-cruel whilst simultaneously explaining why young Hannibal secures the army’s command at such a young age. But if we focus our attention on the famulus who commits the murder, there are several aspects that seem noteworthy. One is the obvious invisibility of a famulus who gets into the palace to kill the leader of the enemy’s army.²⁴ Not unlike servants in Robert Altman’s 2001 film Gosford Park, the famulus usually remains unnoticed in the epic – even the palace guard must have subscribed to the epic code in which masters and not the servants commit heroic deeds, and thus they let a servant with a sword near their commander. Indeed, to a certain extent that the famulus seems to be the true hero of this military conflict. Secondly, in what follows the slave is depicted as a Stoic figure who happily and calmly endures the most unpleasant torture whilst demanding that he – like master like servant – may die on the cross in the same way as his master Tagus. In this aspect this episode contributes to the ancient discourse on the moral independence of slaves and adds to the wealth of anecdotes about slaves as faithful beyond the call of duty.²⁵ This levelling of masters and servants is taken up throughout the Punica. Fluidity in status through a reversal of fortune – as witnessed above in the Thebaid and Argonautica – sets the tone for the interchangeability of dominated and dominant in the Punica, of slave and enslaved. As we will see, the trope of slavery is a cornerstone in the Punica for negotiating the relationship between the two arch-enemies, Rome and Carthage. A further gruesome slave episode that Silius inserts is the attempt of the translator slave Satricus, who was enslaved as a prisoner of war, to escape his lot and return to his wife and sons in Sulmo (Sil. Pun. 9.66 – 82):

 For the differences of Roman notions of privacy to our own see above with n. 8, and see above on the customary omnipresence of slaves.  See Fitzgerald 2000, 7, who points to Seneca, De beneficiis 3.18 – 27; see also Parker 1998.

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necnon et noctem sceleratus polluit error. Xanthippo captus Libycis tolerarat in oris servitium Satricus, mox inter praemia regi Autololum dono datus ob virtutis honorem. huic domus et gemini fuerant Sulmone relicti matris in uberibus nati, Mancinus et una nomine Rhoeteo Solimus; nam Dardana origo et Phrygio genus a proavo, qui, sceptra secutus Aeneae, claram muris fundaverat urbem ex sese dictam Solimon; celebrata colonis mox Italis, paulatim attrito nomine, Sulmo. at tum barbaricis Satricus cum rege caternis advectus, … … postquam posse datum Paeligna revisere tecta et patrium sperare Larem, ad conamina noctem advocat ac furtim castris evadit iniquis.

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That night too was stained by a terrible crime committed in error. Satricus, taken prisoner by Xanthippus, had endured slavery in the land of Libya, and had then been given to the king of the Autololes with other rewards conferred on him in recognition of his valour. This man was a native of Sulmo and left two boys there at their mother’s breast – Mancinus and one who bore the Trojan name of Solimus; for their remote ancestor was a Trojan who had followed Aeneas as his sovereign and built a famous city which he called by his own name, Solimus; but, when many Italian colonists resorted thither, the name was gradually shortened into Sulmo. And now Satricus had come with his king among the foreign invaders; … But when the chance was given him of revisiting his native town and he could hope to see his father’s house again, he summoned night to aid his enterprise and stole out of the hated camp. (trans. Duff 1934)

In this episode we find an enslaved patrician who despite his noble ancestry ends up in servitude. The fact that he has lost his identity or that his identity is in flux finds its bitter expression when he is speared down on his flight by his own son who believes him to be an enemy and does not recognize him as his father. Silius adds further to the confusion when the son first believes that he has inadvertently killed his brother, from whose dead body Solimus by chance had picked up his weapons. Indeed, the situation in this passage seems to bear resemblances to the unlikely scenarios set up for practice in the declamation schools.²⁶ This story is obviously beyond what any audience would accept as plausible, and I thus hesitate to assign it any model function beyond the basic demonstration that any citizen could theoretically end up as

 On the ramifications of the Satricus passage cf. Ariemma 2009, 247– 248, and Fucecchi 1999b. On the relationship between Flavian epic and declamation see Bernstein in this volume.

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a slave: an observation that borders on the obvious, but gains significance if considered in the wider context of slave imagery as employed by Silius. For whilst both examples discussed so far look more like situations taken from a declamation, we find slavery or enslavement frequently as a realistic threat throughout Silius’ epic, and the intention to escape enslavement fuels the epic’s narrative with energy. To complete my triad of slave vignettes, we should also consider a more reconciliatory episode in which Asilus, who had been enslaved and then set free, shows his gratitude to his former master (Sil. Pun. 14.148 – 177): mite tamen dextrae decus inter proelia tanta enituit fama. miles Tyrrhenus (Asilo nomen erat) captus quondam ad Trasimenna fluenta, servitium facile et dominantis mollia iussa expertus Beryae, patrias remearat ad oras sponte faventis eri; repetitisque impiger armis tum veteres Siculo casus Mavorte piabat. atque is, dum medios inter fera proelia miscet, illatus Beryae, cui, pacta ad regia misso Poenorum a populis sociataque bella gerenti, aerato cassis munimine clauserat ora, invadit ferro iuvenem trepideque ferentem instabilis retro gressus prosternit harena. at miser audita victoris voce trementem cunctantemque animam Stygia ceu sede reducens, cassidis a mento malefidae vincula rumpit iungebatque preces atque addere verba parabat. sed subito aspectu et noto conterritus ore Tyrrhenus ferrumque manu revocavit et ultro talia cum gemitu lacrimis effudit obortis: ‘ne, quaeso, supplex lucem dubiusque precare: fas hostem servare mihi. multo optimus ille militiae, cui postremum est primumque, tueri inter bella fidem: tu letum evadere nobis das prior et servas nondum servatus ab hoste. haud equidem dignum memet, quae tristia vidi, abnuerim dignumque iterum in peiora revolvi, si tibi per medios ignis mediosque per ensis non dederit mea dextra viam.’ sic fatur et ultro attollit vitaque exaequat munera vitae.

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So fierce was the battle, and yet a noble deed of mercy that was done there became famous. A Tuscan soldier, named Asilus, taken prisoner earlier at Lake Trasimene, had found easy service and a kind master in Beryas, his captor, and had returned to his native land with the consent and aid of his owner. Now he had gone back to active service and was making good his former mishap by fighting in Sicily. And now, while fighting in the centre of the fray, he

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came upon Beryas, who had been sent by the Carthaginians to make a treaty with the king of Syracuse and was fighting side by side with the Syracusans; but his face was concealed by the brazen helmet that he wore. Asilus attacked him with the steel, and, as he tottered feebly backwards, hurled him to the ground. Then, when he heard his conqueror’s voice, the poor wretch, recalling his life as it were from Hades in fear and trembling, tore from his chin the straps that bound his useless helmet and asked for mercy at the same time. He was about to say more, when the Tuscan, startled by the sudden sight of that familiar face, withdrew his sword and thus addressed his antagonist, ere he could speak, with sighs and tears: ‘Sue not, I pray, to me for life with doubts and entreaties. For me it is right to save my enemy. The noble warrior is he, whose first and last thought is to keep faith even in time of war. You began it and saved me from death before I saved you. I should deserve the troubles I have met, and should deserve to meet again with worse troubles, if my right hand failed to clear a path for you through fire and sword.’ With these words he raised Beryas willingly from the ground and granted a life in exchange for the life he had received. (trans. Duff 1934)

This passage would offer a third opportunity to practice one’s declamatory skills.²⁷ What is significant and slightly unusual is that, in contrast to the statement by the swineherd Eumaios that slavery takes away half a man’s virtue, which I cited at the very beginning, here an ex-slave does a deed of decus when he spares his enemy and former master from death. I can only acknowledge in passing the wider discussion about the virtue of slaves whether inherent, acquired or impossible, which also surfaces when interpreting the role of slaves in Roman comedy.²⁸ Plautus’ Captivi and Bacchides in particular discuss the question of whether one is a slave by nature or nurture, i.e. whether slaves are or are not capable of displaying virtue. Similarly to the situation in Silius I have just cited, we find that in comedy freeborn people in the role of slaves or whores are restored to their status at birth (having often formerly been completely unaware of their true nature). The passage above, however, offers – in a way complementary to the previous episode in which a son kills his father and brother – a rare scene with a happy ending. Nevertheless, from the examples I have given here, we should not assume that Silius propagates an enlightened and somewhat romanticized image of slavery, for he does not fail to mention the second Roman slave war (103 – 100 BCE) which features less benevolent slave-master relationships. On the whole, however, slaves carry a positive image in Silius’ epic. Scipio thus gives a slave as a consolation prize at the funeral games for his father to an elderly participant ‘to attend on him’ (Pun. 16.452– 456):

 Fucecchi 2009, 237, places the Asilus digression – an act of clemency – into a wider context that provides a subtext to Marcellus’ change of leadership style.  See n. 25 above.

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postremo munere Atlantem, quamvis perfracto senior subsederat axe, accitum donat ductor, miseratus et aevum et sortem casus. famulus florente iuventa huic datur, adiuncto gentilis honore galeri.

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And lastly Scipio summoned Atlas and gave him a prize also in pity for his age and ill-fortune, though the old man had fallen down when his chariot was wrecked. To him was given a beautiful youth, to attend on him, together with a skin cap of Spanish fashion. (trans. Duff 1934)

Frequently, however, we encounter the thematic complex of servitude widened and applied to entire cities or people. The city of Tyros (Tyre) is thus reduced to a slave-like existence after the flight of Dido (famulam Tyron: Pun. 1.74). The image of Saguntum’s mothers and women forced into slavery should the city be taken occurs in the speech of the Fury in the shape of Tiburna (Pun. 2.571– 574; cf. also 2.577): at nos, Sidoniis famulatum matribus actas, post belli casus vastique pericula ponti Carthago aspiciet victrix, tandemque suprema nocte obita Libyae gremio captiva iacebo. But as for us – we shall be carried off to wait on the women of Carthage; and, after the calamities of war and the dangers of the great deep, victorious Carthage will behold us; and at last, when the final darkness of death comes, I shall be laid a captive in the lap of Libya. (trans. Duff 1934)

This imagery constitutes the rhetorical culmination of Tiburna’s speech full of pathos and gives momentum to the inhabitants’ drive to mass-suicide.²⁹ It therefore is not without a whiff of irony that Hannibal employs the same argument when addressing his men to motivate them to fight just 500 verses before this passage: they should feel free to hand him over into captivity and slavery, but then they would also have to endure the eternal rule of Rome (Pun. 2.44– 53): ‘poscimur, o socii, … … nil moror, evincta lacerandum tradite dextra. nam cur, Eoi deductus origine Beli, …, servitium perferre negem? Rhoeteius immo aeternum imperet et populis saeclisque propaget regna ferox; nos iussa virum nutusque tremamus.’

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 On this episode see Vessey 1974; Asso 2003; Bernstein 2009, 390 – 395; Augoustakis 2010.

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‘Comrades, the Romans demand my surrender; … I am ready: hand me over to the torturers with fettered wrists. For why should I, though I trace my pedigree to Belus of the East, … why should I refuse to endure slavery? Nay, let the Roman rule for ever, and proudly spread his tyranny over the world for all generations: let us tremble their nod and obey their bidding.’ (trans. Duff 1934)

Hannibal is by no means the only persona in Silius’ epic employing this argumentative structure. The concept of slavery under Rome’s rule is extended to all of Carthage in Gestar’s speech before the Carthaginian senate: ceasing warfare would condemn Carthage to eternal slavery (Pun. 2.366 – 367): occumbam potius nec te, patria inclita, dedam aeternum famulam liberque Acheronta videbo. I shall choose rather to fall; I shall not hand over my glorious fatherland to eternal slavery, and I shall go down free to Acheron. (trans. Duff 1934)

Similarly Hannibal’s wife Himilce uses the same argument in her vain attempt to persuade her husband to let her join him on his campaign (an Romana iuga et famulas Carthaginis arces | perpetiar? – ‘Shall I endure the yoke of Rome, and not resent the slavery of Carthage?’, Pun. 3.138 – 139). However she also considers the other side in the warfare and optimistically imagines the Roman women captured and enslaved, an image Hannibal evokes again towards the very end of the epic (Pun. 17.191), when he reminisces about the lost opportunity to capture Rome (Pun. 3.150 – 151): dent modo se superi, Thybris tibi serviet omnis Iliacaeque nurus et dives Dardanus auri.

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If only Heaven favours us, all Tiber and the Roman women and the Dardans, rich in gold, shall be at your [Hannibal’s] feet. (trans. Duff 1934)

The idea that Hannibal is saving Carthage from the fate of slavery under Rome is carried forward by Bostar when he returns from the oracle of Jupiter (maxime Belide, patriis qui moenibus arces | servitium dextra – (Bostar to Hannibal) ‘Mighty son of Belus, whose right arm defends your native walls from slavery, …’, Pun. 3.650 – 651) and is also employed by Hannibal himself later in the epic (Pun. 11.545 – 546): iamne tibi dextras inceptaque nostra probamus? iam fas Dardanio me non servire colono?

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[Hannibal to Hanno] Do you approve now of the deeds that our hands have wrought? Am I permitted now to refuse a Roman for my master? (trans. Duff 1934)

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In this context it is significant for the failure of Hannibal’s plans that the Sibyl of Cumae prophesies a life of exile and servitude for him (Pun. 13.883 – 890): quanto levius mortalibus aegra subire s e r v i t i a atque hiemes aestusque fugamque fretumque atque famem, quam posse mori! post Itala bella Assyrio f a m u l u s regi falsusque cupiti Ausoniae motus, dubio petet aequora velo, donec, Prusiacas delatus segniter oras, a l t e r a s e r v i t i a imbelli patietur in aevo et latebram munus regni.

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How much easier men find it to bear cold and heat and hunger, bitter slavery and exile, and the perils of the sea, rather than face death! After the war in Italy he will serve a Syrian king, and, cheated of his hope to make war against Rome, he will put to sea with no certain destination, and at last drift idly to the land of Prusias, where, too old to fight any more, he will suffer a second slavery and find a hiding-place by the king’s favour. (trans. Duff 1934)

This passage is indeed littered with the language of slavery: not just once, but even twice (altera servitia) will Hannibal have to endure servitude (cf. Pun. 13.884; 13.886; 13.889).³⁰ Accordingly both Carthage and Rome repeatedly find themselves confronted with the prospect of being enslaved. After the battle of Cannae – a deafening defeat for Rome, which the Carthaginian Mago interprets as revenge for the ‘enslaving’ peace treaty Carthage entered at the end of the First Punic War – the desperate Romans arm boys and even slaves and brief them to defend the Capitol (Pun. 10.640 – 646). When acute danger threatens Rome, even the city’s senators see themselves confronted with a fate of slavery that they seek to escape (Pun. 15.587– 590): fremit amens corde sub imo ordo patrum ac magno interea meditatur amore servandi decoris, quonam se fine minanti s e r v i t i o eripiat divosque evadat iniquos.

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Thus the senators protested in utter distraction; yet they were fain to maintain their dignity, and considered any expedient by which they might escape impending slavery and the wrath of angry gods. (trans. Duff 1934)

 Not only the fates of Rome and Carthage are defined in terms of slavery: when the inhabitants of Capua feel treated like slaves by Rome, they defect to the Carthaginian side (Pun. 11.152). Nevertheless, the city’s wealth is measured in gold and its high number of slaves (Pun. 13.360), and the personification of Voluptas predicts a time when even Rome herself will serve Capua (Pun. 15.127).

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Briefly afterwards, however, Hanno is captured and ‘enslaved’, an act that symbolises the success of the Roman military campaign (Pun. 16.77): s e r v i t i o si tam faciles, cur bella refertis? [Scipio to captured Hanno, who is begging for his life] If you are so ready to be slaves, why do you make war afresh? (trans. Duff 1934)

Throughout the Punica both threat and success are shrouded in the imagery and language of slavery.

Conclusion Above and beyond the central topic of the enslavement of the two Mediterranean superpowers Rome and Carthage Silius inserts further scenes and episodes, in which slaves play a role.³¹ Slavery as a socio-economic reality, however, fades away when Silius employs slavery metaphorically to outline the consequences of the Roman-Carthaginian conflict. Both sides in these wars fear slavery above all other fates. The importance and significance of this concept in ancient thought should not be underestimated. The drive for freedom (or the desire to preserve one’s freedom) is frequently the motivating force of the epic plot. This central idea is supplemented by instances in which Silius focuses on the fate or deed of a single slave, either showcasing a slave’s faithfulness beyond the call of duty or homing in on the crass reversal of fortune that can turn masters into slaves and slaves into masters, the underlying fear of which feeds much of the epic’s plot. Silius combines traces from the epics of Virgil and Ovid and his Flavian epic contemporaries with the metaphorical use of slavery in Lucan’s civil war epic. As alien as this complex of thought might seem to modern readers of ancient epics, my brief survey has underlined the significance of slaves and slavery-related imagery in the epic genre. Far from being mere ornamentation, in Silius’ epic slavery links into the epic’s epicentre.

 Hannibal dreams of war (a dream sent by Juno) so loudly that his servants wake up (Pun. 1.66); similarly Masinissa’s servants attempt to fight the fire on his head (Pun. 16.122). Marus interprets the monster-snake in the Regulus episode as punishment for a crime against a servant of the local water nymphs (Pun. 6.288).

Cecilia Criado

The contradictions of Valerius’ and Statius’ Jupiter Power and weakness of the supreme god in the epic and tragic tradition

The malevolence of Jupiter and the hereditary transmission of guilt At least until the rise of Orphism, Greek thought had wholly rejected the Mesopotamian notion that the gods had created men as their slaves, “to bake their bread and clean out their temples”.¹ Thus, Greek mythology had shortened and substantially rewritten those Sumerian and Babylonian myths that, like the myth of the flood, documented the unmotivated desire of the gods to wipe man from the face of the Earth.² In Greek literature, deities could be benign, if treated properly, distant, indifferent or arbitrary,³ although their attitude towards men could also reach the point of open malevolence. Homeric gods, indeed, are capable of taking terrible revenge when men fail to show them due honour.⁴ Yet, contrary to Mesopotamian prototypes, the motif of a divine plan aimed at the extermination of mankind had only a marginal significance in the Greek literary tradition (Cypr. Fr. 1 B; Aesch. PV 231– 233; Pl. Symp. 190b–e; Lucian, Icar. 29 33.2– 7); and the same can be said, with a few exceptions, of Roman literature. In fact, if we put aside the uncertainty over the intentions of Apollo in a fragment of Lucilius,⁵ Ovid is the first Roman author to introduce a divinity, Jupiter, whose aim is the annihilation of mankind (Met. 1.187– 188; 1.240 – 243; 1.260 – 261). In the Metamorphoses it is only Lycaon who is guilty of having committed an act

 Kirk 1974 (1984), 7.  In the Sumerian table of Nippur (ed. Poebel 1914, 9 – 70) and also in the Akkadian Myth of Atrahasis and Poem of Gilgamesh, tablet XI.  Kirk (1974) 1984, 220, 222; Detienne / Sissa (1989) 1990, 80.  Lloyd-Jones 1971, 4.  On the possible intention of Apollo to eliminate Roman citizens through disease, see Sat. 53 M. = 7 K. (serpere uti gangrena mala atqu herpestica posset). The allusion to human evil made by Jupiter in the Metamorphoses in terms of inmedicabile corpus (1.190) could also be seen as evidence that in Lucilius Apollo’s plan was to exterminate humanity through disease (see Romano Martín 2009, 255).

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of blasphemy against the father of the gods; nevertheless, Jupiter gets the agreement of the entire Olympic pantheon to his plan that humanity should perish (1.244– 245). The specific means by which this will be accomplished is universal deluge.⁶ Unlike the other Flavian epicists, Statius explores Ovid’s problematic theodicy in the Thebaid in great depth.⁷ Obviously, divine malevolence is not absent in Silius Italicus’ Punica, and it reaches a notable intensity in books 6 and 7 of Valerius Flaccus’ Argonautica. ⁸ In the latter, the design of the supreme father is to ensure translatio imperii (1.531– 560) that will lead to the future kingdom of another people (gentesque fovebo | mox alias, 1.555 – 556). It is evident that this new empire, to succeed those of Asia and Greece, is Rome. Nevertheless, the celebratory proclamation of the Fate of the Roman Empire is not entirely exempt from polemical overtones, given that the Urbs is not explicitly mentioned.⁹ Also, while in the Aeneid the Virgilian Jupiter promises Rome that it will have an empire sine fine (1.278), the Valerian supreme god comes closer to Ovid’s perspective (see the words of Pythagoras at Met. 15.421– 452) and limits himself to predicting

 See Feldherr 2010, 137– 149.  Feeney 1991, 353.  In the Argonautica it is the evil Juno and Venus who practice a real and very Ovidian demonic possession of Medea (6.454; 6.469 – 474; 6.490 – 491; 7.172– 178; 7.254– 255; 7.276 – 281; 7.323 – 324; 7.371– 374; 7.462), who is explicitly described by the poet as innocent and pious (6.453; 7.157). Medea finally succumbs to the wiles of the goddesses and, by force, is transformed into a criminal. Valerius emphasises her tragic fall and her valiant, yet futile resistance to divine agency (6.498 – 499; 7.153 – 157; 7.200 – 209; 7.238 – 239; 7.292– 299; 7.309 – 349; 7.382– 384). See Hershkowitz 1998a, 31– 34; Schenk 1999, 382– 386; Bernstein 2008, 55 – 61. For the sense of chaos and contingency that the behaviour of the gods under Jupiter imparts on the level of human actions in Argonautica 6 and 7 see Zissos 2005, 505, 511. With respect to the Punica, the gods also exhibit an unmotivated, excessive malignancy on occasion. Before Marcellus captures Syracuse, his army falls victim to a deadly plague. The cause of this, as adduced by Silius, consists in the invidia and anger of the gods (14.583; 14.617). However, while in Livy (25.25.6 – 7) and Diodorus Siculus (26.20) the plague occurred after Marcellus had ordered the plundering of Syracuse and could thus be a sign of divine disapproval (see Stocks 2009, 160 n. 40), such a possibility cannot be the case in Punica, in that the plague takes place before the attack on Syracuse, the sacking of which Marcellus had expressly forbidden (14.670 – 675). Also, Juno’s hatred of Rome is the reason that Saguntum falls in so cruel and tragic a way (2.526 – 542). Following the orders of the goddess, Tisiphone takes possession of the minds of the Saguntines (agit abdita Erinys, 2.595) and induces them to suicide which, against their will, they effect through an execrable fratricidal confrontation (2.617– 635). See Feeney 1991, 307– 308; Hardie 1993, 81– 83; Criado 2000, 129 – 131.  Romano Martín 2009, 314, 318 – 321. See also Adamietz 1976, 22; Hershkowitz 1998b, 239; Manuwald 1999, 149 – 150; Spaltenstein 2002, 216 – 219.

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longissima … | regna (1.559 – 560; see also 2.245).¹⁰ Even so, it is clear that Valerius’ Jupiter sees Rome within the historical context of Destiny.¹¹ Neither is Jupiter’s decree malevolent in Silius Italicus’ Punica. Certainly, his purpose is to precipitate Rome’s suffering, and he alone is responsible for the military disasters of the populus Romanus. ¹² The war, however, is the means by which Jupiter can reinvigorate the dormant fighting prowess of the Romans (3.573 – 581). The divine plan is not the annihilation of the Roman people or of their supremacy (3.571– 573; 6.595 – 597; 12.639); on the contrary, it is the creation of a great Latin empire (3.588), the nature of which Jupiter foresees: it will be a future of one-man rule and, more specifically, a Flavian principate (3.593 – 629).¹³ In contrast to Valerius Flaccus and Silius Italicus, Rome is wholly absent from the plans of Jupiter in Statius’ Thebaid. Perhaps because of this, Jupiter can openly flaunt his hostile attitude to men. Although Jupiter recognises at the beginning of the narrative that the misdeeds of the Theban family arise from the past and continue in the present (Theb. 1.227– 235; 3.244– 245), his initial aim is not to punish the continuous crimes of this gens profana (1.232), but to avenge the outrage that Eteocles and Polynices have committed against their father Oedipus (1.238 – 239). For this, the god is happy to order destruction after making himself the unexpected recipient of a prayer that Oedipus had directed towards the infernal deities (1.56 – 87).¹⁴ Jupiter decrees that two houses of which he is progenitor, Argos and Thebes (1.241– 247), should perish. If it is necessary, Jupiter claims, he will himself raze Thebes to its foundations (3.248 – 249) and destroy the innocent city of Argos, whose only crime is that of having been descended from the criminal Tantalus (1.246 – 247), with a great flood (3.248 – 251). The disproportionate nature of these punishments raises doubt as to the Stoic re-establishment of cosmic order to which the god (like Ovid’s Jupiter at Met. 1.190 – 191; 1.251– 252; 1.256 – 258) resorts so as to justify his excesses (rogat hoc tellusque polusque | et pietas et laesa fides naturaque et ipsi | Eumenidum mores, ‘earth and heaven demand it, and piety and violated faith and Nature and the very morals of the Eumenides’, 7.216 – 218).¹⁵ Like Lucan,¹⁶ neither

 See Adamietz 1976, 23; Río Torres-Murciano 2010a, 143; 2010b, 1027– 1033.  Schubert 1984, 103.  Feeney 1991, 306.  Carter 2001, 28; Marks 2010, 195. See also von Albrecht 1964, 17– 18; Schubert 1984, 123 – 124; Ahl / Davis / Pomeroy 1986, 2504.  Schubert 1984, 86; Hill 2008, 133.  Translations of the Thebaid are taken from Shackleton Bailey 2003. Seneca, like Ovid (Met. 1.262– 312), introduces the motif of the flood (Q Nat. 3.27– 30). However, whereas he shares

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Statius nor Ovid envisages a new cycle to follow universal destruction, and this approach persists throughout both poems. With the same intensity that Ovid in the Metamorphoses establishes the tragic consequences of the supremacy of the gods over men,¹⁷ in the Thebaid Statius presents a series of human beings who are predestined to enter into an unequal struggle against an ineluctable Fate and against arbitrary and petulant gods. Thus, deities are the authors of evil against which men remain powerless.¹⁸ In this way, Statius renounces the interplay between divine and human realms that is found in the Aeneid, albeit in a complex form. Disregarding Virgil’s rewriting of Hellenistic philosophical mysticism and doubtless influenced strongly by his tragic thematic sources,¹⁹ the author of the Thebaid embraces the Ovidian choice.²⁰ Ovid and Statius hark back to archaic Olympian religiosity and assume, in a Homeric (and even an Aeschylean) sense, a clear distinction between the nature of gods and that of human beings; that is, the radical separation between men, doomed to suffer and die, and the immortal, beati gods.²¹ Yet both Roman poets unexpectedly encourage their audience to subject the behaviour of the father of the gods to moral judgment and, in doing so, take a rationalist perspective that is not Homeric; neither is it Aeschylean. The question of the moral judgement of the gods was, however, of great interest to Euripides.²² With respect to the Ovidian and Statian theodicy, some qualification is useful. Their approach has a strong Homeric flavour, but strictly speaking the resonances are Iliadic rather than Odyssean in nature. Indeed, it is in the Odyssey that

with the author of the Metamorphoses an emphasis on human frailty against the power of divinity, Seneca’s theological approach is radically different and is wholly respectful of the “theocentric nature of Stoic physics” (Inwood 2005, 159) and of the corrective order that Stoic orthodoxy attributed to ἐκπύρωσις (SVF I 107, 109, 510; II 596 – 632; Sen. Q Nat. 3.28.7.2– 4).  Narducci 1979, 42– 52, 152– 167.  Rosati 2001, 46.  Ten Kate 1955, 10; Schubert 1984, 102; Otis 1966/1970, 128 – 164.  Kabsch 1968, 116, suggests that Statius wanted to emphasise metapoetically his debt to the Metamorphoses in order to distinguish himself from Virgil. In this context the verbal echoes of Jupiter’s words at the beginning of both narratives are worth noting (compare Met. 1.187– 188 with Theb. 1.224– 225, and Met. 1.242– 243 with Theb. 1.245 – 246). See Criado 2000, 199.  The history of the Theban house had been the subject of the cyclic epics – Oedipodeia, Thebaid and Epigoni – and, later, of a poem by Antimachus of Colophon. Nevertheless, it was Greek tragedy (Aeschylus’ Seven against Thebes; Sophocles’ Oedipus Tyrannus, Oedipus Coloneus, Antigone; Euripides’ Phoenissae, Suppliants) and Roman tragedy (Accius’ Phoenissae; Ponticus’ lost work; Seneca’s Oedipus, Phoenissae) that established the broad outline of what would be the canonical version of the history of the unfortunate Cadmean family.  See Bianchi 1976, 59.  Cf. e. g. Eur. Bacch. 1346; Supp. 610 – 612; IT 570 – 573; HF 343 – 347; 1307– 1310; 1340 – 1346.

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the expression of a theodicy in the mouth of a god is heard for the first time in Western literature. Following the death of Aegisthus at the hands of Orestes, Zeus asserts that the son of Thyestes got his just deserts for ignoring the warnings of the gods not to kill Agamemnon and not to marry Clytemnestra. The god prefaces these reflections with an explanation of the origin of evil that man suffers (Od. 1.32– 34). His words show a very different moral climate from the fatalistic pessimism that pervades the Iliad. ²³ In the Odyssey, the divinity no longer has the power to contemplate the totality given that, as Zeus says, man possesses the capacity to act. It will be the very exercising of this freedom that leads him to endure hardship beyond what was ordained by the deity (ὑπὲρ μόρον, Od. 1.34). Human responsibility, then, has an important role in the evil that touches man. It is surprising how clearly in this passage the Odyssean Zeus, obviously in prephilosophical manner, foreshadows the expression of what will become one of the most difficult and aporetic questions of Hellenistic Greece: the problematic coexistence of freedom and universal causal Fate.²⁴ Do Statius’ characters have that same amount of freedom that Zeus recognises in the Odyssey? In my opinion, absolutely not.²⁵ In the Thebaid human beings do not benefit from such a theodicy approach. The poet opts to look back to the notion of the origin of evil as established in the Iliad ²⁶ and which Euripides, as the Flavian poet could not ignore, had already declared obsolete.²⁷ Consequently, the characters in the Thebaid are inescapably doomed to crime and to suffer

 Nevertheless, Lloyd-Jones 1971, 32, is not in favour of overestimating the Odyssean modifications of the doctrine exemplified in the Iliad.  Note the philosophical development of the statement of the Homeric Zeus in Cleanthes. In the Hymn to Zeus, he affirms that all things proceed from Zeus’ plan, except the evil deeds perpetrated by evil men (SVF I 537.17; Pl. Ti. 42a3–b2; 42e3 – 4). To address Epicurean criticism and not to deny man his moral condition, Chrysippus ends up distinguishing Stoic determinism from fatalism (SVF II 919, 974). The efforts of Stoicism to reconcile determinism and human freedom are, nevertheless, seen to be of little success, and satisfied neither Carneades nor Cicero (Cic. Fat. 31.1– 32.1; 38.8 – 10). Seneca was reluctant to face the problem and put off indefinitely the question of taking a clear position (Q Nat. 2.38.3).  Contra Venini 1961, 1964; Delarue 1990, 1173, 1176; Taisne 1994, 60.  Its best expression, as we know, can be found at Il. 24.525 – 533. Achilles tells a distressed Priam that the gods are ἀκηδέες, while men are doomed to suffer. In effect, the hero continues, Zeus has two urns containing, respectively, ills and blessings. To some men, the lot conferred on them by god contains good mixed with evil; for others, he reserves only some of the mournful gifts. Contrast Hes. Op. 179.  Theseus says to the Argive women (Eur. Supp. 196 – 199): ἔλεξε γάρ τις ὡς τὰ χείρονα | πλείω βροτοῖσίν ἐστι τῶν ἀμεινόνων. | ἐγὼ δὲ τούτοις ἀντίαν γνώμην ἔχω, | πλείω τὰ χρηστὰ τῶν κακῶν εἶναι βροτοῖς (‘some say that evil is what is most abundant in human lives, but I think differently to them, that more good touches mortals than evil’ [my translation]).

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divine punishment, whether or not they have deserved it. The position adopted by Statius is strange for two reasons. First, because Roman literature was always more reluctant than Greek literature to accept the omniscient power of Fate, and second, because in the Roman tradition the arguments with which Academicism had fought the rigour of Stoic determinism were welcomed almost unanimously. Voluntas, studium and disciplina were the instruments with which the Roman vir (not only Aeneas) accepted adversity. But above all it was with the virtues that he managed to overcome his innate predisposition to vitium (Cic. Fat. 11.1– 7). The Statian Jupiter, by contrast, argues that the character abides stamped on all members of the Theban family (mens cunctis imposta manet, 1.227). The genetic legacy, the god seems to say, is as immovable as Aeneas, who remained unperturbed by Dido’s entreaties (mens immota manet, Virg. Aen. 4.449). In the Thebaid the effect of this legacy is as compelling as the power that Jupiter himself attributes to Fate in the Aeneid in his reply to Venus (manent immota tuorum | Fata tibi, 1.257– 258; see also 7.314). Hence, the language of the Statian Jupiter at 1.227 is Virgilian; his thinking, however, is Ovidian. In fact, it was Ovid who, using precisely the phraseology of the Aeneid, conferred programmatic epic status on the motif of immutability. Conspicuously, Callisto, after her metamorphosis, retains her former essence (mens antiqua tamen facta quoque mansit in ursa, Met. 2.485). Neither is this an isolated example. Repeatedly in the narrative, the natura of the characters is seen to be immune to the transforming activity of the deity. It is significant that in a poem that is the quintessential song of constant and unfailing mutatio, the only items that are immobilis and immutabilis are, besides Fatum,²⁸ human essence and genetic heredity. This fact almost implies a denial of the possibility of change, and it will have theological consequences in that the hyper-epic punitive measures that the Ovidian supreme god takes to re-establish his justice will in the end be reduced to ineffective and barren gestures.²⁹ Ovid discussed the prob-

 Jupiter affirms the immutability of Fate and recognises that he himself is subordinated to it (me quoque Fata regunt, 9.434). See p. 211 below.  See Criado 2011, 263 – 264. The futility of the divine transforming actions recurs throughout the Metamorphoses. In book 1, Jupiter converts the blood of the sacrilegious giants into human figures. His corrective gesture, however, leads to a relatively unsuccessful anthropogenic act in that the offspring will continue to be deprecating towards the gods and hungry for crime (1.161– 162). Immediately afterwards the father of the gods relates the punishment that he inflicted on Lycaon for blasphemy against the divinity and for feritas. Despite the fact that Ovid presents Jupiter as the image of incontestable royal power (1.163 – 181), his vengeful and punitive will (vindice flamma, 1.230) is left ineffective, given that Lycaon, once transformed into a wolf, retains traces of his previous form and nature (1.233 – 239) – see Anderson 1989, 97. Also in the case of Actaeon and that of Cadmus and Harmonia, mens tantum pristina mansit (3.203; cf. 4.603).

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lem of epic theology to an extent previously unknown, and Statius took note of this. Thus, in the Thebaid, Jupiter recognises that his previous punishments against mankind failed (nil actum, 1.222). One aspect of the inheritance that Statius shares with Ovid is the hereditary transmission of guilt. This was a core concern of Greek tragedy, and Roman literature exploited it for the construction of the discourse on civil war.³⁰ Yet the central status that both poets confer on this motif has no precedent in epic. In the Ovidian and the Statian narratives the father of the gods has no power over hereditary guilt. The sins committed by characters remain indelible, marking the fatal predisposition of their descendants to crime (also to civile nefas) or to error. ³¹ But if such is the Fate of men, and Jupiter can do nothing about it, we must agree that the perspective of Ovid and Statius differs largely from that which had emerged from the theological optimism of philosophical Greece and which held the absolute subordination of Fate to a personal and benevolent god. Thus, we must also admit that it seems that the Statian supreme god either lies or falls into carelessness, when he affirms his absolute power over Fate as well as when he claims his powerlessness in view of the Fates.

The relationship of the Statian Jupiter to Destiny and the Stoic doctrine of Fate In the divine assembly in Thebaid 1 Statius attributes to Jupiter the status of the sovereign of Destiny. Thus, grave et immutabile sanctis | pondus adest verbis, et vocem Fata sequuntur (‘his holy words have weight heavy and immutable and the Fates follow his voice’, Theb. 1.212 – 213). Juno’s prayer that her husband does not make Argos the target of his wrath follows. The manner of Jupiter’s Equally, the cowardly gesture of Phineus and his servile attitude persist after his metamorphosis (sed tamen os timidum vultusque in marmore supplex | submissaque manus faciesque obnoxia mansit, 5.234– 235), and Galanthis retains her former stoutness (strenuitas antiqua manet, 9.320). Neither did transformation change the coarseness of the soul of Midas (pingue sed ingenium mansit, … ut ante, 11.148), and the love of Ceyx and Alcyone survived when they were transformed into birds (tunc quoque mansit amor nec coniugiale solutum | foedus in alitibus, 11.743 – 744). See also the declaration of Pythagoras at 15.170 – 172.  See Zeitlin 1986, 126; Hardie 1990b, 225 n. 12; Criado forthcoming.  Ov. Met. 6.213; 6.458 – 460; 8.485; 9.123 – 124; 9.149 – 151. For guilt as inheritance in the house of Thebes see Met. 3.185; 3.293 – 295; 3.333; 3.557– 558; 3.701– 731; 4.1– 4; 4.272– 273; 4.390; 5.420 – 421, and Stat. Theb. 1.86 – 87; 1.126; 1.180 – 185; 1.227– 231; 1.266 – 270; 2.462– 464; 3.179 – 206; 3.241– 243; 4.434– 442; 7.208 – 214; 7.364– 365; 10.612– 614; 11.484– 492; 11.617– 620; 11.637– 638. See Heuvel 1932, 144– 145; Markus 1997, 79 – 87.

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reply is consistent with the preceding passage: Stygia aequora fratris, | obtestor, mansurum et non revocabile verbum, | nil fore quod dictis flectar (‘and verily I call the dread waters, my brother’s Stygian sea, to witness, pronouncement fixed and irrevocable: no words shall ever change my purpose’, 1.290 – 292). Hence, both the poet and Jupiter firmly assert that it is the vox of the god that establishes immutable Fate in the very moment of his act of speech. With a forcefulness, which seems to presage a firm theological position on the part of the poet, Statius succeeds in disambiguating the amphibology underlying the etymological play between for and Fatum, which Jupiter employed in the Aeneid when he answered Venus (1.261– 262).³² It also seems to answer resolutely the uncertainty of Lucan in 5.92– 93 with respect to whether predetermined Destiny exists prior to the enunciative act of the gods.³³ Undoubtedly, the ability of the Statian Jupiter to take action is evident when he states that certo reliqua ordine ducam (‘the rest I shall guide in sure process’, 1.302). However, the Statian Jupiter mentions his relationship with Fate on two further occasions. He consoles Mars, progenitor of the house of Thebes, for the ills that his city suffers. Saturn’s son now affirms that these events are due to the dictates of the Fata and the Parcae and that they have remained fixed since the beginning of time. Whether or not -que in 3.241 is epexegetic, it is clear that Jupiter comes to accept his subordination to these figures of Destiny: sic Fata mihi nigraeque Sororum | iuravere colus: manet haec ab origine mundi | fixa dies bello (‘Thus the Fates, the dark distaffs of the Sisters, have sworn to me. This day stands fixed for war from the world’s origin, …’, 3.241– 243).³⁴ Jupiter reaffirms his subordination to Fatum again in the scene in which he comforts the Theban Bacchus. Jupiter states that it is not personal resentment that leads

 Fabor … | … et volvens Fatorum arcana movebo (‘I shall tell you … and I, unrolling the secrets of Destiny, shall put them in motion’ [my translation]).  Sive [sc. deus] canit Fatum seu, quod iubet ille canendo, | fit Fatum? (‘whether he merely predicts the future or the future is itself determined by the fiat of his utterance’ [trans. Duff 1928]).  Lactantius ad loc. understood that with these words Jupiter declared himself to be subditus Fatis. Legras 1905a, 168 – 169, 185; Heuvel 1932, 138; Snijder 1968, 125; Vessey 1973, 83; Delarue 1990, 295 – 296, hold that in this passage Jupiter contradicts himself in presenting himself as the executive agent of a Fate whose course he cannot determine. Dominik 1994a, 27– 28, also notes that in Theb. 3.241– 243 Jupiter claims he is subordinate to the Fates, yet Dominik prefers to interpret this as the god feigning impotence at the hands of the Fates with the purpose of avoiding responsibility for the abominable events that will result from his cruel design. To my knowledge, Statius is the only Roman author in which the Parcae prophesy the future by means of an act of swearing. Significantly, the goddesses also do this at Stat. Silv. 5.1.262, where, flaunting the same power and autonomy as at Theb. 3.241– 243 (see also Ov. Ib. 243), they swear to fulfil Priscilla’s prayers.

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him to sacrifice the Cadmean race but that immoto deducimur orbe | Fatorum (‘our lot is spun by the changeless wheel of the Fates’, 7.197– 198). In these latter two passages Jupiter, leaving Fate in the hands of the Parcae, does not dictate it, but limits himself to ensuring that it is complied with. Neither he nor any other deity can affect the Stoic series of Fata. Evidently, the Statian Jupiter contradicts himself. The opinion of both human and other divine characters also differs here, with some placing Jupiter on a plane of universal supremacy, while other protagonists present him as co-executor or superintendent of Destiny.³⁵ In any case, Statius’ procedure is not new in the context of Flavian epic. While Silius Italicus’ Jupiter at no time verbalizes his relation with Destiny,³⁶ the first of the Flavian epicists, Valerius Flaccus, offers comprehensive information in this respect. In the first divine council of the Argonautica, Jupiter declares that he is the conditor of immutable Fate (vetera haec nobis et condita pergunt, 1.531; cum Fata darem, 1.534). Thus, with a verbal audacity unprecedented in Roman epic, the god bestows on himself the role of the Stoic Demiurge. His diction (condita) is, of course, Senecan.³⁷ As has been noted, Jupiter gives a direct Stoic response to the metaphysical uncertainty that Lucan showed as to whether the world was driven by the Stoic Founder of all things or by blind chance (2.7– 13).³⁸ The words that Valerius places in the mouth of the summus sator have in any case a wider reach in that they aim at disambiguating not only the theological

 Dominik 1994a, 27. As he rightly notes, comments by characters never suggest, as Jupiter himself claims, that he is subordinated to the Fates. Nevertheless, a tragic ignorance and lack of understanding of all things concerning the divinity is a feature common to human characters in the Thebaid (see n. 53 below).  Although the theology of the Punica merits close study, let us simply note here that the absence of an allusion to the relationship of Jupiter to Fate in the narrative is conspicuous. It is not even mentioned in what would have been its natural location, that is, in the conversation that Jupiter has with Venus to reassure her as to the Destiny of Rome (3.557– 629) and which is a rewriting of the analogous scene in Aen. 1.223 – 296. But, while Virgil had converted this passage into the canonical moment of identification (although not an unproblematic one) of Jupiter with Fate, Silius’ Jupiter refrains from naming Destiny. Only after the god has finished speaking is it clarified through the narrative voice that Jupiter has revealed Destiny or, in Stoic phraseology, the sequence of future events (pandit seriem venturi Iuppiter aevi, 3.630). It is not clear in the Punica whether Jupiter is the agent of Destiny (as statuit Fata at 17.385 seems to indicate) or a mere vehicle for its transmission (as the role assigned to the Parcae at 9.475 – and perhaps at 17.361– 362 – might indicate, and the Fato cano at 9.548, which echoes a sentence that the Augustan poets had consecrated for use in referring to the inspired voice of seers and vates).  Sen. Dial. 1.5.8 (see p. 206 below); Ep. 119.15. See Billerbeck 1986a, 3129 – 3130; Wacht 1991, 8.  See Stover 2012, 36 – 37, and pp. 206 – 207 below.

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uncertainties of Lucan, but also those of Virgil himself ³⁹ and, I would dare to suggest, those of practically the whole Greco-Roman epic tradition. Certainly, the god asserts that his design encompasses the totality (cuncta, 1.532) and, what is more important, that it remains immovable (fixa manent, 1.533; see also 1.548 – 549; 1.555 – 556) from the beginning of time (rerumque a principe cursu, 1.532). Now, Valerius’ Jupiter is far from being capable of maintaining his Stoic substance. Indeed, Valerius seems to find some pleasure in the fact that the god, in his very first speech, demonstrates full awareness of the ambiguities that he has inherited from the philosophical and literary tradition. Thus, without the solution of continuity, Jupiter contradicts himself and verbalizes his relation with Fate in the kind of inextricable terms that foreshadow those of Statius. Jupiter suggests, first, that he is not the ruler of Fate, but that they are two separate, yet concurrent forces (sic Fata locos, sic ipse fovebam, 1.541); secondly, contradicting his earlier affirmation that the rerum cursus is fixed from the beginning of time, he claims that he can form his own plans in the future (1.558 – 560).⁴⁰ Jupiter’s assertion that he established Fate at the beginning of time becomes yet more problematic in light of Valerius’ interest (1.499 – 502) in the reader of the Argonautica being conscious that he “is witnessing the end of the Golden Age, and the beginning of Jupiter’s kingdom for mankind”.⁴¹ Jupiter has succeeded his father Cronus and has inaugurated a new era. The poet presents the god revelling in the greater power that he now holds over the other deities (2.82– 93) and delighting in the memory of the details of his triumph in the struggle for succession in the kingship of the sky (1.563 – 565; 5.692– 693). In the narrative frame of the Argonautica Jupiter is effectively a new arrival on the throne. This, clearly, is not in itself possible, given that the Golden Age had ended long before the Argonautic expedition.⁴² Neither is it feasible that, as a member of the generation

 See p. 212 below.  Throughout the work the inconsistencies of Jupiter continue. When in 5.676 Jupiter says that furores, including those of the gods, have their own destiny, he accepts the Homeric and Virgilian view that there are human actions that escape the divine will. At other times, however, the god has a fairly broad capacity to modify what he has established. This happens, for example, when, after the death of Cyzicus, he asserts that he is capable of flectere Fata (3.250) and of bringing an end to the unfortunate battles (see Wacht 1991, 8; Manuwald 1999, 79 n. 141). This is equally the case when he assumes that he could save his son Colaxes from death (6.624– 629). Logically, like the Homeric Zeus (Il. 16.441– 450), he, fearful of the reaction of the other gods, refrains from doing so. Nevertheless, just as in the Iliad, in my opinion the inescapable reality suggested in the text is that he has the power to do so (contra Stover 2012, 37 n. 6).  Feeney 1991, 330.  Manuwald 1999, 151– 152.

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of the younger gods (νεώτεροι θεοί, Aesch. Eum. 162; 778; 808), Jupiter could have been able to dictate Fate in the primordial times of the world’s creation. Such chronological inconsistencies would certainly not easily shock either the ancient reader or the modern one.⁴³ However, with them the poet succeeds in bringing into relief a fact of great significance in the history of the epic genre. Valerius demonstrates an absolute awareness that the will of Jupiter is something far more profound and complex than his mere mythological personality. This difficult conciliation of the metaphysical and mythic entities of the supreme god, as well as the chronological inconsistencies that derive inevitably from it, are already present in the founding moments of the genre. In Hesiod’s Theogony Cronus knows from Gea that he was destined to be overcome by his own son. Such, says Hesiod, is the will of the great Zeus (Διὸς μεγάλου διὰ βουλάς, Theog. 465). In this passage of the Theogony Zeus has still not been born, and it is thus not possible that he might have decided the destiny of his father. With the aim of correcting this contradiction, many scholars have preferred to consider v. 465 suspicious or spurious. However, this does not seem necessary. Indeed, the inconsistency inherent in these words of Hesiod (which Magris qualifies as being both naïve and terribly audacious)⁴⁴ will resound throughout the entire history of the epic genre, addressed, yet never finally resolved by the poets. All in all, scholarship has managed to bestow on Jupiter in Valerius as well as in Statius a philosophical consistency which he in fact lacks and to which, in his quality of epic god, he should never have aspired. From the time of Servius and Lactantius, Seneca’s theories about the relationship of the father of the gods to Fatum have tended to be brought up by scholars whenever the post-Homeric Jupiter (even the Virgilian one)⁴⁵ touches on what has come to be seen as an ‘incoherence’. Recourse is made to the Spanish philosopher whenever the sovereign king does not meet the Stoic model of Providence endowed with absolute power over Fate, or, simply, when he does not meet our own expectations or prejudices about the ontological status of the ancient supreme deity.

 As affirmed by Río Torres-Murciano 2011, 195, by making the expedition of the Argonauts coincide with the beginning of the reign of Saturn’s son, Valerius achieves his objective that the epic action be framed in a specific mythical moment, that of the age of heroes, ruled by Jupiter.  Magris 1985, 172.  Heinze (1903) 1993, 237. Recourse to Seneca is a constant tendency in Flavian epics: Legras 1905a, 168; Heuvel 1932, 101; Schetter 1960, 29; Vessey 1973, 83; Thuile 1980, 222; Adamini 1981, 24; Billerbeck 1986a, 3129 – 3130; Ripoll 1998a, 312; Delarue 2000, 295; Groß 2003, 23. More cautious are Dominik 1994a, 28, and Río Torres-Murciano 2011, 204.

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Seneca, indeed, attributes to Jupiter the ability to scribere Fate, yet introduces an important qualification: at the very moment that the god decides Fate, he himself is forever subject to it (semper paret, semel iussit, Sen. Dial. 1.5.8).⁴⁶ Obviously, Seneca propounds the Stoic principle that Jupiter is the law for the Cosmos, but also for himself. This formulation can be found in the fragment of Zeno (SVF I 162) that the Roman philosopher limits himself to translating.⁴⁷ Thus, Stoic rationalism tried to overcome the inherent pessimism in the ambiguity of the figure of Zeus in archaic Olympian religiosity. God, or natural Law, undoubtedly governs a moral world, and he is not only benevolent, but also moral. Therefore, he must yield to the legality of the series of Fata that he himself established. But, as Seneca warns, this does not mean that the deity has less power (Ben. 6.23.2– 3);⁴⁸ simply, his role is to safeguard the coherence of the Cosmos that he has founded. The potestas of divinity is, in any case, absolute. Clearly, the moralization to which the figure of the highest God was submitted by Stoicism is hardly compatible with the malignancy that Jupiter shows to such a degree in the Metamorphoses and the Thebaid; nor does it accord with the coincidence between Jupiter’s decree and that of the infernal deities in the Statian narrative.⁴⁹ But above all, natural Stoic theology gives no explanation of the contradictions in Valerius’ and Statius’ portrayal of Jupiter or of the Statian Jupiter’s strong affirmation that it is not he who dictates Fate (Theb. 3.241– 243; 7.197– 198). It seems that, after all, the Statian divine machine was reluctant to step outside the equivocal paths of the primum genus theologiae (Varro, Ant. div. 7.3 – 9), that is, of mythical theology, and to embrace naturalis theologia. Nevertheless, there is no denying that the Stoic Lucan rendered the Senecan notion fairly accurately in poetic form. The creator of the universe fixit in aeternum causas, qua cuncta coercet | se quoque lege tenens, et saecula iussa ferentem | Fatorum inmoto divisit limite mundum (‘he … established the chain of causes for all eternity, and bound himself as well by universal law, and portioned out the universe, which endures the ages prescribed for it, by a fixed line of Destiny’, Luc. 2.9 – 11 [trans. Duff 1928]; see also 5.92– 93). Lucan’s way of proceeding, though, is heavily charged with polemical meaning. In fact, the poet allows himself to introduce this orthodox Stoic notion in the middle of a multiple causation, in which it is suggested, as a second possibility, that non–theological Epicurean

 See also Sen. Ben. 6.23.1– 2; Q Nat. 2.35.2.  This principle, although restricted to the realm of Stoic physics, can be found in Cleanthes (SVF I 509) and perhaps in the Heraclitean κοινὸς λόγος of his Hymn to Zeus (SVF I 537).  See the expression of Leibniz (1710) 1951, 387, on a passage from Seneca.  Criado 2000, 196 – 204. See also Dominik 1994a, 1– 33; McNelis 2007, 9, 26 – 27.

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randomness⁵⁰ was the cause of the civil war (2.12– 13). In the Roman literary tradition, authors most often made use of Epicurean and Lucretian πλεοναχὸς τρόπος within the framework of didactic poetry and always in contexts where important truths about the cosmos were explored.⁵¹ From Ovid onwards, these meaningful potentialities were extended. In the Metamorphoses, Ovid combined multiple causality with his invitation to readers to suspend their belief in divine interventions. Both strategies were institutionalized as ideal ways to describe a world of uncertainties in which gods are rather poor purveyors of veritas with regard not only to physical matters but also, and above all, to ethical and theological ones.⁵² Both Lucan and Statius took advantage of Ovidian ingenuity.⁵³ Yet if it is a matter of adducing philosophical evidence to elucidate the problematic affirmation of the Statian Jupiter that he is subject to Fate, one of Cleanthes’ testimonies may be more useful than that of Seneca. According to a fragment that was attributed to Cleanthes (SVF I 551 = II 933) by Chalcidius in late antiquity, the Stoic philosopher argued against the absolute identification established by Zeno and Chrysippus between Destiny (εἱμαρμένη) and Providence (πρόνοια), that the concept of Fate was broader than that of Providence. Hence, while everything ordered by Providence was also a matter of Fate, there were things that arose from Fate, but not Providence. Before we concur with Cleanthes’ iconoclastic interpretation of πρόνοια, Chalcidius’ authority on early Stoicism would have to be established beyond doubt. And this, it appears, is far from being demonstrated.⁵⁴ However, the truth is that if, through recourse to the πολυωνυμία (legitimate both from a philosophical and literary perspective),⁵⁵ we identify Zeus or Jupiter as Providentia, this heterodox notion of  See Feeney 1991, 281.  See Myers 1994, 143, and Schiesaro 2002, 62– 63, 73.  Met. 1.78 – 81; 3.311; 3.659 – 660; 3.700; 4.272– 273; 4.520; 4.612; 8.612– 615; 8.681; 8.721– 722; 9.24; 10.28; 10.302; 11.739 – 740; 12.182– 184; 13.935; 13.941; 14.26 – 27; 15.324– 328; 15.346 – 351.  The emphasis that Statius places on the profound aporia inherent in multiple causation surpasses that of Lucan. In the Thebaid the narrator, the human characters and even the gods themselves constantly bring up the impossibility of discerning what forces govern Fate (1.178 – 185; 1.326 – 328; 2.20 – 22; 2.540; 3.60 – 62; 3.67– 69; 3.241– 242; 3.304– 307; 3.483 – 488; 3.553 – 555; 4.671– 672; 4.756 – 758; 6.942– 944; 7.809 – 817; 10.162– 163; 10.831– 836; 11.188 – 189; 11.462– 463; 11.617– 620; 11.637– 638; 12.338; 12.420 – 423).  Haase 1973, 294– 296.  Plato identified the creator of things (Ti. 41a5: ὁ τόδε τὸ πᾶν γεννήσας) or Demiurge with divine Providence (Ti. 30b8–c1). However, it is Stoicism that brought the force of law on invoking the supreme deity by many names. Indeed, Cleanthes invokes Zeus as the πολυώνυμε (SVF I 537.1) and, from the perspective of Zeno and Chrysippus, is indifferent to whether the terms Providence, Zeus, Fate, Nature or Reason are used (SVF I 102, 153, 160, 176; II 937). This is also the case in Cleanthes (SVF I 530, 532) and in Seneca (Q Nat. 2.45.1– 2; Ad Helv. 12.8.3 – 4; Ep. 4.8.3.

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Cleanthes is the one that best describes the fluctuating relationship between the supreme god and Destiny which we find not only in Valerius’ Argonautica and Statius’ Thebaid (and, we can almost affirm, in all Roman epic), but also in Homeric epic. I am aware of the evident absurdity of invoking Providence in a Homeric context; my only claim here is that, within the unsystematic conglomerate of theological ideas that the Homeric epic presents, certain passages seem to suggest some sort of pre-eminence of the ancient figures of fate⁵⁶ over a Zeus, who will come to be identified with πρόνοια by subsequent philosophical reflection. Obviously, this does not imply a denial that the Homeric poems, like the Flavian narratives, simultaneously document the synonymy and virtual interchangeability, in a broad sense, of fate⁵⁷ and the personal figure of Zeus.

Jupiter in the Thebaid and in the Greco-Roman epic and tragic tradition In my opinion, any attempt to understand the behaviour of the Roman epic Jupiter in philosophical terms is destined to be fruitless. It does seem likely that Stoicism, the dominant system of thought in imperial Rome and clearly more suitable than Epicureanism as a channel of expression for epic theology, contributes to shaping the Roman literary Jupiter. Yet, as I hope to show, the weight of the literary tradition was so great that it prevented a decisive rupture with the Homeric model. However, despite those passages in the Thebaid in which Jupiter explicitly states otherwise, there is a degree of critical consensus that the Statian Jupiter rules over Fate, with a certain carelessness, or at least maintains a relationship of interdependence. Delarue⁵⁸ argues that accepting the contrary would imply an unacceptable break with all previous poetic tradition, both epic and tragic. I believe, however, that it is precisely the epic and tragic precedents that argue against such a statement. It is true that since the beginning of Greek epic poetry the constitutional role of Zeus has remained constant, given that he is a monarch of absolute power. The Homeric Zeus says as much himself, and this is also recognised by the other gods.⁵⁹ However, except for the Hesiodic epics, his theological status is

 Lower-case ‘fate’ is used to refer to ‘destiny’ in pre-philosophical contexts.  Magris 1985, 83.  Delarue 2000, 245. See also Franchet d’Esperey 1983, 101.  Without citing all possible examples, see Hom. Il. 1.565 – 567; 1.580 – 581; 1.589; 4.55 – 56; 8.12– 26; 8.31– 32; 15.107– 108; 15.128 – 141; Od. 5.4; Hes. Theog. 403; 506; 660; 883 – 885; Op. 4.

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as unstable throughout the Greek literary tradition as in Statius. Either because Homer documents an older stage of Greek thought than the author of the Theogony or because of the greater complications of plot in his narratives, it is the case that the Homeric relationship between Zeus and fate resists all attempts at systematization. The most that can be said with any certainty, I feel, is that Homer implies a strong association, and on occasions a total identification, between Zeus (Ζεὺς, αἶσα Διὸς, Διὸς νόος, Διὸς βουλή) and countless figures representing fate (Θέμις, Μοῖρα, Ἐρινύς, Aἶσα, Kῆρες, etc). Magris notes that the ambiguity of the Iliad and the Odyssey regarding this issue is not surprising, since raising the question of whether in the Homeric poems fate depends on a personal deity is a “grossolano anacronismo”. In his opinion, such a reflection will only occur when the divinity is conceived in ‘ethical-intellectualistic’ terms; and this will be an achievement of enlightened Greece, not archaic Greece.⁶⁰ So much is true, but in Hesiod, who shares Homer’s pre-philosophical mentality, we clearly find that Zeus is identified with the cosmic order of the universe, that is, with Δίκη.⁶¹ It is even possible that to a large extent the ‘constitutional’ idiosyncrasy of Homer’s Zeus (not Hesiod’s) led to the theological hesitations that the whole post-Homeric world would inherit. We have said that throughout the epic tradition the monarchical character of Zeus and his condition as supreme ruler remain constant. However, the power of the Homeric Cronides, like that of the archaic βασιλεύς and, perhaps, the Mycenaean wanax, is not without weaknesses, and this affects his relationship with the forces of fate. Like Agamemnon before the assembly of noble warriors, when in divine councils, Zeus has to negotiate and even renounce his own decrees, making collegiate decisions and taking into consideration the interests of the other members of the assembly of the gods.⁶² Hesiod, in contrast, succeeds in giving the full theological dimension to the magical royalty of Zeus. Here there are none of the ambiguities of the Homeric poems. Through marriages, the son of Cronus magically acquires the attributes necessary to consolidate his power and assert himself as a good sovereign.⁶³ Al-

 Magris 1985, 169.  Evidently, this notion is not as late as Dietrich 1965, 212 ff., maintained. For the presence of the justice of Zeus in Homer, see Lloyd-Jones 1971, 35; Dicke 1978, 91– 101; Allan 2006, 1– 35. Bermejo Barrera (1996, 60) argues that the concept of cosmic order associated with the gods was already present in the Mycenaean and pre-Hellenic world.  Hom. Il. 4.14– 17; 4.29; 4.37– 42; 8.39 – 40; 16.441– 450; 22.181; 24.71; Od. 1.76 – 79.  Thus, his union with Metis gives him wisdom (Theog. 886 – 900), and his marriage to Themis confers on him the Law or Δίκη (Theog. 901; Op. 228 – 239). In possession of both, and once the

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though in Hesiod’s poems tragic aspects of his justice persist,⁶⁴ the pre-eminence of Zeus over fate is established incontrovertibly.⁶⁵ So, one could argue that when Aeschylus, in a fully philosophical Greece, raises the issue of the dialectic between archaic and democratic religiosity, he presents a view of the former that, being lightly Homeric, does not fit the Hesiodic perspective at all. The Prometheus of Aeschylus is the representative of the old Olympic religion, whose raw essence Aeschylus puts in his mouth. The Titan challenges the legitimacy of οἱ νεώτεροι θεοί and the nature of Zeus as fiercely as they ever were challenged in any ancient pagan work.⁶⁶ He dares to deny the omnipotence of the sovereign of the gods. Zeus, says Prometheus, cannot defeat the old forces of Fate (ἀνάγκη, Μοῖραι, Ἐρινύες, PV 514– 518).⁶⁷ Either the magical royalty of the Hesiodic Zeus was by that time not well understood by Aeschylus, or he consciously wanted to be overly Homeric and thus manipulated the ambiguities of the Iliad and the Odyssey, making them serve his interests. Thus, the tragic author manages to bring to light the chaotic split between the divine powers of the universe that, in his opinion, permeated archaic religion. This coincides well with the idea found in the Eumenides,⁶⁸ and in this sense it is irrelevant to my argument whether or not Prometheus Bound was written by Aeschylus. In both tragedies, the archaic figures of Fate have an antithetical, non-supportive relationship with Zeus, unlike in Homer and, more clearly still, in Hesiod. For reasons of space I will not dwell on the issue here, but in

struggles for divine succession in heaven are concluded, Zeus is ready to be the supreme king, having risen to the status of μητίετα (see Detienne / Vernant [1974] 1988, 60; Bermejo Barrera 1993, 44– 47; 1996, 50 – 60; González García 1996, 227– 228) and θέμιστα.  Crotty 2009, 22.  Zeus knows the immortal designs (ἄφθιτα μήδεα; Theog. 545; 550; 561; Op. 265), and it is impossible to deceive or evade his νόος (Theog. 613; Op. 105). It is he who assigns each man his lot (Theog. 348; 520) and he who gives the Moirai the gift of apportioning happiness and adversity to mortals (Theog. 906). At no time is any qualification or reformulation found that might create ambiguity. The expression ἄφθιτα μήδεα referring to Zeus only appears once in the Homeric poems (Il. 24.88). However, on countless occasions the god receives the epithet μητίετα. It is not, though, of interest to Homer to explore the origin of this quality.  Scully / Herington 2009, 295.  See also PV 209 – 211; 511– 518; 752– 756; 762; 907– 910.  It is true that at the end of the tragedy, Zeus is reconciled with the Erinyes and with the Moirai (Eum. 1045 – 1046), but Athena makes it clear that the real winner is Zeus (973 – 975). He turns out to be a democratic sovereign since he is ἀγοραῖος (973). The Erinyes are aware that the religiosity of contemporary Athens has been imposed on the ancient prerogative that made them spokespeople of Fate ruled by the Moirai and the gods (393 – 396). They also know that their religious role of avenging crime has been declared obsolete definitively by the generation of newly arrived gods (149 – 152).

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my opinion Delarue’s claim as to the systematic pre-eminence of the father of the gods over Fate in Greek tragedy cannot be maintained. While Aeschylus, as we have briefly seen, expatriates Fate from the democratic polis, Sophocles rehabilitates it, and Euripides, in spite of recognising its irrepressible power, secularises it and ascribes to it a largely irrelevant role in contrast to the one he generally confers on a flagrantly a-theological nomos (I accept that this brief sketch does not explain Euripides’ Bacchae).⁶⁹ The Roman tradition continues to document the fluctuating relationship of Jupiter with Destiny. Curiously, it is only Ovid whose thinking is systematic in this respect. Although he vies with Hesiod in terms of the clarity of thought, he radically apostatizes from the theology of the Ascraean poet. Ovid, who, as we have seen, influenced greatly the Statian conception of divinity, denies the sovereignty of the supreme god in plain language. In Metamorphoses 9 Themis makes a prophecy in which she announces that the sons of Callirrhoe and Alcmeon will grow old in order to avenge the death of the latter. Among the inhabitants of Olympus a riot ensues,⁷⁰ since they all want to modify the ages of their human children and in this way avoid their aging. There is a strong contrast between the authority with which Jupiter silences the rebellion of the gods (o! nostri si qua est reverentia, ‘oh! if you have any respect for me’, 9.428) and his tragic statement that he is also subject to Destiny (me quoque Fata regunt, 9.434).⁷¹ The same subordination of Jupiter to Fate is found in the passage in which the father of the gods dissuades Venus from attempting to save Caesar. He says that he himself entered the mansion of the Parcae, and he read there of Caesar’s Fate; thus he was able to inform Venus (legi ipse animoque notavi | et referam, 15.814– 815). In neither of these two passages do we hear Jupiter’s voice through intermedia-

 Zeus’ instability appears not only in epic and tragic poetry. The example of Pindar is of interest here. He stresses Zeus’ sovereignty, his ability to accomplish all things for mortals and to give fulfilment of all deeds (Pyth. 2.49 – 52; 5.122 – 123; 12.29 – 30; Nem. 10.29 – 30; Isthm. 1.5.52– 53; Fr. 35; 140d; 141 S.-M.). However, the poet does not attempt to resolve the Homeric conflict between Zeus and Fate. This emerges, it is true to say, only on rare occasions. Thus, the son of Cronus does not dare to revoke that which is predestined (Fr. 52– 53; 94– 95 S.-M.); his life is also likely to be the object of a conditional oracle (Isthm. 8.31– 85a) and Moira Lachesis has to give him her consent (Ol. 7.55 – 69; see also Pyth. 5.76). Even in the ‘theologian’ Herodotus, the idea will survive that not even the gods can escape their lot (1.91.2– 3).  Rosati 2001, 52– 3; Galasso 2002, 121, 129.  Intratextually, the power of the Olympic rector turns out to be even less than that of Medea, who, relying solely on her magic, was able to rejuvenate Aeson and Bacchus’ wet-nurses (Met. 7.179 – 296). It would seem that in this passage the poet intended to give an intertextual nod to the Euripidean Theonoe (Hel. 887– 891), who, despite being a mere human, usurped from the gods their capacity to establish Destiny.

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ries. His words are never uttered at a hypodiegetic level, something to bear in mind when we are dealing with Ovid. At no other point in the work is this relationship between Jupiter and Fate contradicted.⁷² For Ovid, it seems, the question of the divinity is no longer uncertain. The power of Jupiter in the face of Destiny is simply zero: he neither dictates, writes nor manipulates Destiny, and he neither invents nor can change it. His role is reduced to an ostensibly passive act of reading a pre-existing text. He is, then, a mere reporter of the indestructible text of the Fates.⁷³ This systematic Ovidian expression of the subordination of Jupiter to Fatum is unprecedented in the Greco-Roman epic tradition.⁷⁴ Valerius and Statius do not dare to present the meagre power of Jupiter over Fatum with the same boldness as Ovid; even so Statius, as we have seen, echoes the god’s Ovidian weakness at Theb. 3.241– 243 and 7.197– 198. It is true, though, that the Flavian poet seems to have renounced Ovidian clarity and that he was not able, or did not want, to plainly resolve the theological ambiguities that the epic father of the gods had inherited from the Homeric poems. In any case, Virgil, whose Jupiter was more closely linked to the Stoic notion of Fate than Statius’, was also far from achieving this. Thus, we must accept that the Aeneid leads us inevitably to the same aporia as the Homeric epic, and adds more in the process. Jupiter, Venus and Juno make it very clear that it is the supreme deity who decides Fate in the act of thinking or speaking (Virg. Aen. 1.229 – 230; 1.237; 1.257– 262; 1.283; 10.628 – 629; 10.632). However, from an intratextual perspective these passages are problematic with respect to those others in which Jupiter and Fate are not one (9.94– 97; 10.34– 35; 10.113). Moreover, the gods deny several times that the wars in Latium in which Aeneas engages have been willed by Destiny, despite the fact that Jupiter himself had stated in book 1 that they formed part of his designs (1.263 – 264).⁷⁵ Thus, as regards Jupiter’s hesitations over his relation with Fate, Virgil⁷⁶ competes with Homer, and Statius with Virgil.

 See Met. 1.256 – 258; 5.532.  Feldherr 2010, 70.  There are precedents, however, in comedy. We know that the Atellan farce ridiculed the concept of Fate and that the comic genre as a whole tended to place it over Jupiter (Cic. Div. 2.25). This will continue to be the case with the satirist Lucian in the second century CE (e. g. Iupp. conf. 3.8 – 4.4; Iupp. trag. 18.3 – 5).  Although Juno admits that the arrival of Aeneas in Italy was due to Fate (10.67– 68), she denies that there is any divine responsibility in the war waged by the hero (10.65 – 66). In book 7, in the prelude to the hostilities, it is Virgil himself who claims that such a war is contra Fata deum (7.583 – 584); and in book 10 Jupiter declares that he had expressly prohibited it (10.8 – 9). However, there is no doubt that later the father of the gods once again comes to consider military confrontation to have been part of his original plans. Thus, although he is willing to grant Juno a

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Conclusion Clearly, Jupiter’s claims in Valerius’ Argonautica and Statius’ Thebaid about his relationships with Destiny have flaws. I do not believe, however, that these should be attributed either to the god’s lies or to the poets’ negligence or carelessness. Both poets were very conscious that the great Greco-Roman epic tradition permitted and encouraged the presentation of the power of Zeus / Jupiter over Fatum in oxymoronic terms, as I hope to have shown. Valerius and Statius could not ignore the fact that, except in Hesiod, the constitutional condition of absolute monarch of the epic supreme god was in constant conflict with the instability of his theological status. But Statius, with greater force than Valerius, appears to have been aware that Ovid had clarified this last point and that in the Metamorphoses, for the first time in the history of the genre, the weakness of the powerful Jupiter had been systematically unmasked.⁷⁷ It is tempting to suggest that Ovid’s theological perspective paved the way for Seneca to show the godlike authority of the human princeps,⁷⁸ but also its limits. In fact, the philosopher is careful to point out the restrictions on the emperor’s absolute power. In the first place, Nero’s wrath, contrary to Fatum, must be revocable (Cl. 1.5.6; 1.20.3; Dial. 3.6.3). Secondly, he does not have any power over his own life (Cl. 1.19.5). Finally, his condition of rector involves subordination (Dial. 11.7.2). This subservience, obviously, bears resemblances to the condition of the Stoic providential Jupiter, who semper paret, semel iussit (Dial. 1.5.8). But the question of the confines of Nero’s power does not lend itself to equivocal expressions. Just as in the case of the Ovidian Jupiter, everything is simpler. The emperor’s power is undeniably limited (non rem publicam suam esse, sed se rei publicae, ‘the State does not belong to him, rather he belongs to the State’, Cl. 1.19.8). In my opinion, this Senecan divine mortal princeps, is almost an exact counterpart of Ovid’s and Statius’ Jupiter. It remains to ask whether the

delay in the death of Turnus (10.622– 624), he is careful to warn her that her hope of changing the course of the war is in vain (10.625 – 627). For different explanations of the coexistence of “two Jupiters so different” (Thornton 1976, 123), see Heinze (1903) 1993, 297 n. 43; Otis 1964, 354; Hardie 1998, 96; Galasso 2002, 132.  Adamini 1981, 24 n. 10; Wlosok 1983; Schubert 1984, 152 n. 3; Feeney 1991, 307.  See p. 211 above. For the metaliterary implications of the Ovidian Jupiter’s lack of power over Fate see Feldherr 2010, 69 – 83.  Mainly in On Mercy, the philosopher constantly emphasizes the fact that the princeps plays the role of gods on earth (Cl. 1.1.2– 3; 1.5.7; 1.19.8), being compelled to imitate their benevolence (Cl. 1.7). Nero’s potestas, just as that of Jupiter, is indisputable (Cl. 1.1.2). Seneca, indeed, in his advice on how to achieve ἀπάθεια, had no trouble equating the divine system of government with that of a human monarchy (in regno nati sumus: deo parere libertas est, Dial. 7.15.7).

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way in which both poets present the weakness of Jupiter has something to do with the recurring identification that they make between the divine assemblies and the Palatine throughout their works⁷⁹ and, more specifically, between Jupiter, Augustus and Domitian.⁸⁰ That is, for Ovid and Statius, the power of the emperor must be restricted, because even the power of his divine counterpart is limited.

 To cite some examples, Ov. Met. 1.172– 176; 6.73 – 74; 9.245; 9.419; 9.427– 428; Stat. Theb. 1.197; 1.203 – 206.  An abundant bibliography exists in relation to this last question, some notable examples being Otis 1966/1970, 98; Ahl 1985, 69; Dominik 1994a, 79 – 97, 133 – 134, 148, 161; Anderson 1997, 171; Rosati 2001, 53; Hill 2008, 141; Romano Martín 2009, 246– 250.

Stephen Harrison

Proleptic ekphrasis in Flavian epic Valerius Flaccus and Statius

1. Introduction This paper pursues a continuing interest¹ in proleptic ekphrasis (description of works of art which anticipate future plot-developments) in epic, this time in Valerius Flaccus and Statius. It focusses on issues of narrative technique, for example whether the events thus anticipated are inside or outside the literary work in which the ekphrasis appears (internal or external prolepsis), and whether the technique of foreshadowing is direct and literal or indirect and symbolic. Like many devices in Flavian epic, this device has clear Virgilian precedent in the temple pictures of Aeneid 1 or the shield of Aeneas in Aeneid 8,² but Statius and Valerius use it with their own subtlety and art, and here as elsewhere Flavian epic shows that it can match its Augustan counterpart in narrative sophistication and intertextual complexity. These two poets are treated in likely chronological sequence, though it is difficult to demonstrate any detailed links between my Valerian and Statian examples; I have rather chosen some key instances of these techniques, which are both relatively extensive and clearly develop Virgilian and other models with considerable intertextual skill and engagement. Some brief introduction to relevant narratological terms and issues will be convenient at this point.³ ‘Prolepsis’ and ‘analepsis’ describe narrative anticipation and narrative flashback: these can be either literal (e. g. the shield of Aeneas in Aeneid 8, listing events from the Roman future) or symbolic (e. g. the belt of Pallas in Aeneid 10, which can be seen as paralleling in figurative form both the recent killing of Pallas himself and the future end of his slayer Turnus in book 12),⁴ or both simultaneously (e. g. the pictures in the temple in Aeneid 1, which both recall the Trojan War and clearly look forward by analogy to its later repetition in the war with the Latins in Italy).⁵ Prolepsis and analepsis

 See Harrison 1992, 2001, 2009. I acknowledge here the inspiration of the work of Don Fowler on the narrative function of ekphrasis (especially Fowler 1991 [2000]).  For discussion and bibliography on these see Harrison 2001.  Here I generally follow the terms of Genette 1982.  See Harrison 1998.  See Harrison 2001, 87– 88.

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can also refer primarily to events within the current narrative text (‘intradiegetic’ analepsis and prolepsis: the belt of Pallas), primarily to events outside that text (‘extradiegetic’ prolepsis: the shield of Aeneas),⁶ or both simultaneously (extradiegetic analepsis and intradiegetic prolepsis: the pictures in the temple). A special form of prolepsis is mise en abyme, the literal or symbolic miniaturisation of the main plot of a narrative in one of its descriptions;⁷ a prominent example is Catullus 64, where the bed-covering depicting the story of Theseus and Ariadne seems to parallel the main narrative of Peleus and Thetis.⁸ Given that we are dealing with descriptions of works of art, there are several important issues about the viewer, whether the text’s narrator or an internal character. The question of focalisation, who sees and interprets the object and whether they are always the same character (occasionally we find ‘deviant’ character-views apparently assigned to the narrator), is an important one.⁹ A key example of complex focalisation highlighted in the Aeneid is that of Aeneas in the temple at Carthage: he famously interprets the depiction of the Trojan War as a token of local sympathy for the defeated (1.462: sunt lacrimae rerum et mentem mortalia tangunt), but the paintings are located in the temple of Juno / Tanit (1.446) and are most plausibly celebrations of the defeat of the Trojans whom she notoriously hates (1.24– 28).¹⁰ This gap of knowledge can thus lead to dramatic irony, where the reader is more aware than the character of the current or future importance of what is seen: Aeneas does the same again in his reaction to the shield in Aeneid 8, where he (unlike the Roman reader) cannot interpret the future events depicted on the miraculous artefact and can only admire the image as a work of art (8.730: rerumque ignarus imagine gaudet).¹¹ With these preliminaries in mind, we can now turn to the analysis of Valerius and Statius.

 I say ‘primarily’ in both these cases since the belt of Pallas can have resonance with the later defeat of Cleopatra in Roman history (see Harrison 1998), and the shield of Aeneas must in some sense symbolically prefigure the coming victory of Aeneas in the future victories of the Romans it displays (see Harrison 2001, 89 – 90).  For a good account of this idea, often used very flexibly, see Dällenbach 1989.  See e. g. Harrison 2001, 84– 86.  See Fowler 1990 (2000).  See e. g. Harrison 2001, 87.  See e. g. Harrison 2001, 89.

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2. Valerius Flaccus, Argonautica 1.130 – 155: the decorations on the Argo In the first book of Valerius Flaccus’ Argonautica we find a description of Argus’ paintings decorating the sides of the Argo (1.130 – 155):¹² hic sperata Tyrrheni tergore piscis Peleos in thalamos vehitur Thetis; aequora delphin corripit, sedet deiecta in lumina palla nec Iove maiorem nasci suspirat Achillen. hanc Panope Dotoque soror laetataque fluctu prosequitur nudis pariter Galatea lacertis antra petens; Siculo revocat de litore Cyclops. contra ignis viridique torus de fronde dapesque vinaque et aequoreos inter cum coniuge divos Aeacides pulsatque chelyn post pocula Chiron. parte alia Pholoe multoque insanus Iaccho Rhoecus et Atracia subitae de virgine pugnae. crateres mensaeque volant araeque deorum poculaque, insignis veterum labor. optimus hasta hic Peleus, hic ense furens agnoscitur Aeson. fert gravis invito victorem Nestora tergo Monychus, ardenti peragit Clanis Actora quercu. nigro Nessus equo fugit adclinisque tapetis in mediis vacuo condit caput Hippasus auro. haec quamquam miranda viris stupet Aesone natus, et secum: ‘heu miseros nostrum natosque patresque! hacine nos animae faciles rate nubila contra mittimur? in solum nunc saeviet Aesona pontus? non iuvenem in casus eademque pericula Acastum abripiam? invisae Pelias freta tuta carinae optet et exoret nostris cum matribus undas.’

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On one side Thetis, whom a god had hoped to win, is being borne upon the back of a Tyrrhene fish to the bridal chamber of Peleus; the dolphin is speeding over the sea; she herself is sitting with her veil drawn down over her eyes, and is sorrowing that Achilles shall not be born greater than Jupiter. Panope and her sister Doto and Galatea with bare shoulders, revelling in the waves, escort her toward the caverns; Cyclops from the Sicilian shore calls Galatea back. Opposite to this is a fire and a bed of green leaves, a banquet and wines, and in the midst of the sea-gods the son of Aeacus with his wife; after their drinking Chiron is touching the lyre. On the other side is Pholoe and Rhoetus mad with much wine, and the strife that broke out over the Atracian maid. Bowls and tables are flying, altars of the gods and cups, the marvellous work of ancient craftsmen. Here may one recognise Pe-

 For full bibliography see Zissos 2008, 152.

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leus, lord of the spear, and here Aeson raging with his sword. Monychus is toiling beneath the weight of his conqueror Nestor, mounted on his unwilling back; Clanis dispatches Actor with a blazing oak tree; Nessus the black centaur is bleeding, and in the midst of all Hippasus leaning against the coverlets is burying his head in an empty golden goblet. But though the men gaze in wonder at these sights, the son of Aeson marvels not, and thus he reasons with himself: ‘Alas! for those of us who have fathers or sons alive! Is this the ship in which we thoughtless souls are sent forth in the face of a clouded sky? shall the ocean spend its wrath on Aeson alone? shall I not snatch away the young Acastus to undergo the same fortunes and the same perils? Then let Pelias desire a safe voyage for the hated ship, and join with our mothers to appease the waves by prayer!’¹³

The main mythical stories chosen here, the story of Peleus and Thetis and that of the battle of the Lapiths and Centaurs, plainly reflect in general terms the future labours on sea and land which face the Argonauts: Thetis and the Nereids look symbolically to the coming marine voyage,¹⁴ the Lapiths and Centaurs to the eventual struggles on land in Colchis, especially emphasised in Valerius’ expanded version of the Argonaut story (book 6). The placing of symbolic parallels to the later narrative in an ekphrasis near the beginning of the epic is of course a Virgilian technique, recalling the famous pictures in the temple of Juno / Tanit in Carthage, which likewise anticipate indirectly later developments in the poem’s narrative (Aen. 1.466 – 493).¹⁵ These general symbolic parallels can be made more specific, since both these myths concern weddings which are far from happy: Thetis’ wedding is blighted since she unwillingly has to make do with a mortal bridegroom rather than Jupiter (cf. 1.133: nec Iove maiorem nasci suspirat Achillen), while that of Hippodamia (the bride of Pirithous) is disrupted by the conflict of Centaurs and Lapiths. As scholars have noted,¹⁶ these elements both look forward to Medea’s wedding later in the poem (8.202– 317), which is disrupted by the arrival of a hostile force under her brother Absyrtus and which is in general the cause of military strife (cf. 1.141: subitae de virgine pugnae). In particular, Thetis as depressed bride in wedding gear specifically looks forward to Medea in book 8: 1.132: (Thetis) sedet deiecta in lumina palla ~ 8.204– 206: (Medea) deiecta residens in lumina palla | fleat adhuc … | … nec coniugii secura futuri.

 Valerius’ text is cited from Ehlers 1980 (with a couple of minor changes); translations of Valerius are adapted from Mozley 1934.  And perhaps specifically to the intervention of Thetis herself (though separated from Peleus) in aiding the Argonauts’ homeward voyage, if this Apollonian element (Ap. Rhod. Arg. 4.753 – 981) was to have been included in the missing final section of the poem.  See e. g. Harrison 2001, 87– 88 (with bibl.).  See e. g. Adamietz 1976, 12; Fuhrer 1998, 17; Schmitzer 1999, 149; Baier 2004, 20; Zissos 2008, 153, 161.

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These prophetic elements seem to be confirmed by the reaction of Jason himself, who responds not with the wonder of his comrades but with anxiety (1.149 – 155); as with Aeneas’ famous reaction to the temple pictures (Aen. 1.459 – 463), this could be seen as a misinterpretation by the character.¹⁷ But it could also be viewed as an accurate interpretation of the paintings, which as we have seen portend Jason’s own unfortunate union with Medea which brings danger and casualties for the expedition. Jason’s view that the quest seems risky for its participants thus turns out to be true; here his patronymic naming as Aesone natus (1.149) may be significant, as the reader will learn later in this same book that Aeson too is an accurate prophet of coming catastrophe, in his dying prophecy of the tyrant Pelias’ death (1.806 – 811). Here, then, we see indirect and symbolic prolepsis of later events in the poem through the use of mythical marriages of similarly disastrous character: like the marriage of Peleus and Thetis, that of Medea and Jason will end badly, as the poem is well aware (see section 3 below), and like that of Hippodamia it will be a cause of immediate martial conflict.

3. Valerius Flaccus, Argonautica 2.408 – 418: Jason’s cloak dixit lacrimans haesuraque caro dona duci promit chlamydem textosque labores. illic servati genitoris conscia sacra pressit acu currusque pios: stant saeva paventum agmina dantque locum; viridi circum horrida tela silva tremit; mediis refugit pater anxius umbris. pars et frondosae raptus expresserat Idae inlustremque fugam pueri, mox aethere laetus adstabat mensis, quin et Iovis armiger ipse accipit a Phrygio iam pocula blanda ministro.

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Weeping she spoke, and brought forth a gift that would cling to her loved prince, a tunic of woven handiwork. On it she had imprinted with her needle the rites that told of her father’s rescue and the holy chariot; there stand in fear the savage throng and make way for him; all round sways the wild forest, woven in green; her father in dread seeks refuge in the midmost shade. This part showed the rape on leafy Ida and the famed flight of the boy; presently he was standing joyfully at the table in heaven, and even Jove’s armour-bearer himself receives pleasurable cups from the Phrygian’s ministering hand.

 So Hershkowitz 1998b, 129 – 130; cf. also Schmitzer 1999, 150; Baier 2004, 21– 22.

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Here Hypsipyle presents the departing Jason with a cloak, which depicts her saving of her father Thoas and the myth of the rape of Ganymede, two symmetrically opposing scenes showing a flight into safety and a flight into apparent danger (413 refugit ~ 415 fugam). The rescue of Thoas clearly provides a literal analepsis of events from Hypsipyle’s back-story outside the poem,¹⁸ but is here neatly matched with a symbolic internal prolepsis from the future plot of the poem itself. A crucial event for the Argo’s expedition is the kidnap of the beautiful young boy Hylas by a nymph and the consequent departure of Hercules in search of his beloved, narrated in the second half of book 3, and it has been plausibly suggested that this coming turn of events is symbolically represented here in the story of Ganymede, another beautiful boy suffering kidnap.¹⁹ There might also be a second element of symbolic prolepsis here: as an Eastern erotic object taken by force from his family Ganymede reflects the future fate of Medea herself.²⁰ This cloak is thus a neat inversion of its obvious model, Apollonius’ prophetic cloak of Jason at Argonautica 1.730 – 767; that description takes place as Jason meets Hypsipyle and clearly anticipates in its design his unheroic behaviour towards her as a lover,²¹ whereas here it is Hypsipyle who presents Jason with the evidence of her own heroic past. The other well-known model here is the cloak depicting Ganymede which is presented by Aeneas to Cloanthus as victor in the ship-race at Aeneid 5.249 – 257; that too has been plausibly argued to be a symbolic external prolepsis of the future apotheoses of Aeneas, Romulus and Julius Caesar,²² and perhaps of Aeneas’ final vengeance for Pallas,²³ so once again Valerius may be consciously picking up a Virgilian technique.

4. Valerius Flaccus, Argonautica 5.415 – 455: the temple of the Sun At Argonautica 5.407 ff. the Argonauts reach the temple of the Sun in Colchis, which like Dido’s temple of Juno in Carthage in Aeneid 1 functions as a royal audience chamber for Aeetes (cf. 5.405 – 406). Here they encounter the impressive  Cf. Apollonius, Arg. 1.609 – 626 and the probably post-Valerian Statius, Theb. 5.28 – 294.  This suggestion of Shey 1968 is too easily dismissed by Poortvliet 1991, 226 – 227. Ripoll 2000b suggests that the Ganymede parallel indicates future heroic apotheosis; this would then be Hypsipyle’s ironic hope for Jason, who in fact ends miserably.  See Hershkowitz 1998b, 142 n. 143.  Cf. e. g. Harrison 2001, 82– 83.  Cf. Ripoll 2000b; Hardie 2002.  See Putnam 1998, 55 – 74.

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doors of the shrine, which contain two sets of images, first a depiction of the origin and early history of Colchis, and then a prophetic representation of the closer past and of the future, with the manufacture and sailing of the Argo and the end of the story of Jason and Medea in Corinth (5.415 – 455): nec minus hinc varia dux laetus imagine templi ad geminas fert ora fores cunabula gentis Colchidos hic ortusque tuens, ut prima Sesostris intulerit rex bella Getis, ut clade suorum territus hos Thebas patriumque reducat ad amnem, Phasidis hos imponat agris Colchosque vocari imperet. Arsinoen illi tepidaeque requirunt otia laeta Phari pinguemque sine imbribus annum et iam Sarmaticis permutant carbasa bracis. barbarus in patriis sectatur montibus Aean Phasis amore furens. pavidas iacit illa pharetras virgineo turbata metu, discursibus et iam deficit ac volucri victam deus alligat unda. flebant populeae iuvenem Phaethonta sorores ater et Eridani trepidum globus ibat in amnem. at iuga vix Tethys sparsumque recolligit axem et formidantem patrios Pyroenta dolores. aurea quin etiam praesaga Mulciber arte vellera venturosque olim caelarat Achivos. texitur Argea pinus Pagasaea securi iamque eadem remos, eadem dea flectit habenas, ipsa subit nudaque vocat dux agmina dextra. exoritur Notus et toto ratis una profundo cernitur, Odrysio gaudebant carmine phocae. apparent trepidi Phasidis ostia Colchi clamantemque procul linquens regina parentem. urbs erat hinc contra gemino circumflua ponto, ludus ubi et cantus taedaeque in nocte iugales regalique toro laetus gener; ille priorem deserit: ultrices spectant a culmine Dirae. deficit in thalamis turbataque paelice coniunx pallam et gemmiferae donum exitiale coronae apparat ante omnes secum dequesta labores. munere quo patrias paelex ornatur ad aras infelix et iam rutilis correpta venenis implicat igne domos. haec tum miracula Colchis struxerat Ignipotens nondum noscentibus, ille quis labor, aligeris aut quae secet anguibus auras caede madens. odere tamen visusque reflectunt. quin idem Minyas operum defixerat horror, …

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Delighted with the temple’s varied imagery the leader likewise casts his gaze upon the double doors, beholding here the infancy and origin of the Colchian race; how first their king Sesostris waged war upon the Getae, how terrified by the slaughter of his people he withdrew some to Thebes and his native stream, and settled others upon the land of Phasis and ordered them to be called Colchians: while the former seek once more Arsinoe and the happy ease of sun-bathed Pharos and the fruitful rainless year, the latter are already changing their linen robes for Sarmatian trousers. In frenzied desire savage Phasis pursues Aea upon her native hills; in maiden distress and panic she shoots frightened arrows, and now her strength fails from running to and fro and the god has overcome her, and binds her fast beneath his rapid wave. His poplar sisters were weeping for young Phaethon, while the charred lump fell into the terrified waters of Eridanus; but Tethys can hardly gather the fragments of yoke and axle, or rescue Pyroeis who fears the father’s grief. Indeed, Mulciber with prophetic skill had also carved the golden fleece and the Achaeans who would one day come. The axe of Argo is interweaving the pines of Pagasae; the captain himself steps aboard and with bare hand beckons to his men; and now the same goddess is bending the oars and the sails alike; a southern breeze springs up, and on all the deep one vessel alone is seen; the seals delight in the Odrysian chant. At the mouths of Phasis are seen excited Colchians, and a princess who leaves far behind her parents’ cries. Here again was a city between the waters of two seas, with mirth and song and marriage torches at night, and a bridegroom proud of his royal bride; his former spouse he abandons: avenging Furies watch from the palace roof. His wife, sore distressed in her chamber and moved to anger by her rival, prepares a robe and the deadly gift of a jewelled crown, first bewailing all her sufferings. With this gift the unhappy rival is adorned before her country’s altars; and already, in the grip of the flaming poison, wraps all the palace in fire. These marvels had the Fire-god wrought for the Colchians, though as yet they knew not what enterprise was depicted, or who it is that with winged serpents cleaves the air, dripping with murder; they hate them nevertheless, and turn away their gaze. The same shuddering dread the works inspired had held the Minyae spellbound …

This clearly combines several Virgilian ekphrases as models:²⁴ the location recalls the doors of Apollo’s temple in Cumae at Aeneid 6.14– 34 which represent Daedalus’ loss of Icarus, surely in some sense proleptic within the narrative of the Aeneid,²⁵ while the temple environment and the narrative of the past picks up the paintings of Aeneid 1, and the overt narrative of the future beyond the poem and manufacture by Vulcan echo the shield of Aeneas in Aeneid 8. Once again, a more detailed examination can lead to interesting elements of interpretation. The double nature of the images, looking both backwards and forwards, is surely thematised in the phrase geminas … fores (5.416): these are truly double doors which look to both past and future in their design, an analeptic and proleptic ekphrasis (Colchis and the Jason / Medea story). But this doubleness con-

 As picked up in a basic way by Wijsman 1996, 196; cf. also Schmitzer 1999, 153– 157.  For its interpretation see e. g. Putnam 1998, 75 – 96.

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tinues: what appears to be a straightforwardly literal external analepsis of backstory, the history of Colchis at 5.416 – 432, can also be read as a symbolic prolepsis of future events in the poem itself. This would be a clear parallel with the temple pictures of Aeneid 1.450 – 493, literally analeptic of the Trojan war but symbolically proleptic of the coming war in Italy.²⁶ The story of Sesostris, encompassing an expedition by a foreign king and a return to the motherland, has clear parallels with the mission of the Argo, while the narrative of Phasis and Aea, showing the erotic pursuit of a fearful girl, could be argued to reflect the imminent relations of Jason and Medea,²⁷ and the lament of the sisters of Phaethon for the tragically premature death of their brother could be seen as anticipating the coming grief of his family for the death of Absyrtus²⁸ (not narrated in what we have of Valerius, but surely an indispensable part of the plot). Thus this long and complex ekphrasis could be seen as containing a number of narrative effects. 5.416 – 432 (the history of Colchis) could be a literal external analepsis and a symbolic internal prolepsis, as detailed above; 5.433 – 441 could be a literal analepsis and prolepsis of the poem’s own plot in miniature, in effect a mise en abyme (the Argo is built and launched, sails, reaches Colchis, events that have happened already in the Argonautica, and Medea is removed from her family, an event that is to come in book 8).²⁹ 5.442– 451, for their part, might constitute a literal prolepsis of the deadly future beyond the text (as narrated in the Medea dramas of Euripides or Seneca). Once again, spectator reaction adds irony and complexity: the Colchians are unaware of what the pictures mean, especially that of Medea escaping in her winged chariot having murdered her children (5.453 – 454), but feel repulsion nevertheless (5.454), while the Argonauts too feel horror (as emended by Meynke), a specifically tragic emotion, which neatly reminds us that Medea’s infanticide was a prime tragic subject.³⁰ The doubleness of the images is again stressed here through the double reaction of the two groups of spectators: the events the depictions portend will bring suffering for both sides, both for the Colchians (soon to lose Medea and Absyrtus) and for the Greeks (in the ultimate form of Jason’s family catastrophe at Corinth).

 See e. g. Harrison 2001, 87– 88.  So Adamietz 1976, 12.  So Manuwald 1998, 313.  For mise en abyme (a term often used loosely, but strictly meaning the miniaturisation of a whole narrative in an internally embedded feature) see Dällenbach 1989.  The Latin equivalent of the phobos seen as an emotion characteristically elicited by tragedy in Aristotle’s Poetics (1453a4; 1456b1); for horror in tragic contexts in Latin see Seneca, Ag. 508; Med. 794, 926; Oed. 206, 576, 591; Thy. 949; Tro. 457.

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5. Statius, Thebaid 2.215 – 223: Adrastus’ palace At Statius Thebaid 2.215 ff. the refugees Polynices and Tydeus are about to approach the palace of the Argive king Adrastus, which is described in some detail: species est cernere avorum comminus et vivis certantia vultibus aera. tantum ausae perferre manus! pater ipse bicornis in laevum prona nixus sedet Inachus urna; hunc tegit Iasiusque senex placidusque Phoroneus et bellator Abas indignatusque Tonantem Acrisius nudoque ferens caput ense Coroebus torvaque iam Danai facinus meditantis imago; exin mille duces.

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Here may they look face to face upon their forefathers, and see bronzes that vie with the living countenance. So much has skill dared and wrought! Father Inachus himself, twinhorned, leans leftward upon his tipping urn; old Iasius supports him and calm Phoroneus and warrior Abas, and Acrisius angry with the Thunderer, and Coroebus bearing a head with his sword drawn, and the grim likeness of Danaus already meditating murder; and then a thousand leaders.³¹

This passage plainly echoes Aeneid 7.170 – 191, the description of the palace of Latinus, a similar king acting as host and potential father-in-law to a royal exile (Aeneas); both buildings have a series of ancestral portrait statues which recall Roman imagines, in both cases representations of past local kings. In Virgil, four figures are picked out for particular attention; in Statius the number is seven, some at least highly warlike, perhaps anticipating the seven champions and their army who will march from this same location of Argos at the beginning of book 4. As in Virgil’s portrait statues, the seven kings represent local history anterior to the narrative; the heroic deeds of Coroebus as monster-slayer have already been narrated in an external analepsis by Adrastus in book 1 (1.605 – 668). But, as we have come to expect, the list of figures here can also be read as a symbolic prolepsis of future characters within the narrative itself. Inachus, the father figure with an unfortunate daughter, perhaps looks to Adrastus himself, whose daughters are soon to be married and widowed; likewise the aged Iasius (for Adrastus’ advanced age cf. 4.39; 11.296). The fierce warriors Abas and Coroebus might suggest the martial spirit of the Seven in general, while Acrisius who defies Jupiter could anticipate the theomachic role of Capaneus in book 10, who is spe-

 Statius is cited from the text of Hill 1996; translations of Statius are adapted from Mozley 1955.

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cifically compared to the giant Aloidae who opposed Jupiter (10.849 – 852), and Danaus as the instigator of family slaying surely looks forward to the role of Polynices himself in the fratricidal climax of the war (facinus at 2.222 anticipates the use of the same word for the conflict between the brothers at 11.332 and 11.535). Once again we find a combination of literal analepsis and symbolic prolepsis in this ekphrasis.

6. Statius, Thebaid 6.531 – 549: prizes at the funeral games for Archemorus In Thebaid 6 the Seven famously compete at the funeral games of the child prince Archemorus, forming the aition of the Nemean Games. In the chariotrace Amphiaraus wins first prize, Admetus second (6.531– 549): huic pretium palmae gemini cratera ferebant Herculeum iuvenes: illum Tirynthius olim ferre manu sola spumantemque ore supino vertere, seu monstri victor seu Marte, solebat. Centauros habet arte truces aurumque figuris terribile: hic mixta Lapitharum caede rotantur saxa, faces (aliique iterum crateres); ubique ingentes morientum irae; tenet ipse furentem Hylaeum et torta molitur robora barba. at tibi Maeonio fertur circumflua limbo pro meritis, Admete, chlamys repetitaque multo murice: Phrixei natat hic contemptor ephebus aequoris et picta tralucet caerulus unda; in latus ire manu mutaturusque videtur bracchia, nec siccum speres in stamine crinem; contra autem frustra sedet anxia turre suprema Sestias in speculis, moritur prope conscius ignis. has Adrastus opes dono victoribus ire imperat, …

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His [i.e. Amphiaraus’] prize of victory was a bowl of Hercules, borne by two youths; the Tirynthian formerly used to take it in one hand, and with head flung back upturn it foaming, whether victorious over a monster or in the field of Mars. It has fierce Centaurs, cunningly wrought, and fearful shapes in gold: here amid slaughter of Lapiths are stones and torches flying, and again other bowls, everywhere the furious anger of dying men; he himself seizes the raging Hylaeus, and grips him by the beard and wields his club. But for you, Admetus, is brought for your achievements a cloak with a flowing border of Maeonian dye, repeatedly stained with purple; here swims the youth contemptuous of Phrixus’ waters, and gleams with sea-blue body through the pictured wave; one sees the sideward sweep of his hand,

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and he seems about to change from arm to arm in the stroke, nor would one think to find his hair dry in the woven fabric. There high upon the tower sits anxiously watching, all in vain, the Sestian girl; near her the accomplice lamp droops and flickers. These rich rewards Adrastus bids to be given to the victors …

We have already seen that prizes in epic games can have designs of symbolic proleptic significance in the cloak depicting Ganymede awarded by Aeneas to Cloanthus at Aeneid 5.249 – 257 (see section 3 above). Here Statius follows this tradition with a richly iconic pair of prizes, a mixing-bowl and a cloak, awarded by Adrastus to Amphiaraus and Admetus. The designs on both items refer to myths outside the episode of the Seven, to the stories of Hercules, of the battle of the Centaurs and Lapiths and of Hero and Leander, but they can again be interpreted as looking forward symbolically to future events in the Thebaid. The mixing-bowl of Hercules has been rightly seen as a symbol of Argive heroic status passed on from Hercules to Amphiaraus,³² but it may also indicate that Amphiaraus will repeat a great feat of Hercules in descending to the underworld while still technically alive at the end of book 7; its design of the battle between the Centaurs and Lapiths has already been seen as portending future battle in Valerius (see section 2 above), and here it surely looks to the coming bloody conflict between the Seven and the defenders of Thebes.³³ The cloak given to Admetus, as well as echoing that of Aeneid 5 in function and symbolic role, plainly echoes the story of Hero and Leander in Ovid, Heroides 18 – 19.³⁴ But it also looks forward to the future in the Thebaid, in this case not of Admetus, but of his commander Polynices.³⁵ Polynices can be seen as an impetuous Leander who brings on his own death by a high-risk strategy, his wife Argia as a Hero who loses her man through his over-confidence; these parallels can be reinforced by textual detail.³⁶ In book 4 we have already seen Argia watching Polynices leave Argos from exactly the same vantage-point as Hero watches for Leander, turre suprema | attonitam (4.89 – 90), and of course it is in book 11 that Polynices like Leander will come to grief.

 So Pavan 2009, 239.  So Vessey 1973, 216. Lovatt 2002, 80, also suggests that it anticipates Amphiaraus’ coming Herculean-style madness in book 7.  Cf. Lovatt 2002, 76 – 78, 80 – 84.  There seems no possibility of echoing the story of Admetus’ self-sacrificing queen Alcestis here.  Here I follow the excellent discussion of Lovatt 2002, 80 – 84.

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7. Conclusion We have seen that both Valerius and Statius follow and develop Virgilian narrative technique in using the device of ekphrasis to relate to the plots of their poems: prolepsis and analepsis can be freely detected, whether internal, looking to events within the epic itself, or external, looking to events that precede or follow the narrative of the poem. Sometimes the prolepsis or analepsis is direct, repeating or anticipating an event; sometimes it can be argued to be indirect, alluding to an event by symbolic representation through a parallel mythological story or the like. Spectator reaction, another Virgilian element, can add dramatic irony, and also highlight the issue of interpretation: the meaning of ekphrasis is very much in the eye of the beholder, whether a character in the narrative itself or a modern reader.

Christiane Reitz

Does mass matter? The epic catalogue of troops as narrative and metapoetic device* The catalogue is one of the epic elements in which variation in form and metapoetic considerations have had a place since early in the tradition. The invocation of the Muse, the use of apostrophe as a means of shifting the perspective, the changes in narrative pace – from the sheer enumeration of names to extended digressions – and even the “hybridization” of the form (to take up an expression used by Nadine Siepe at the conference) are features that immediately come to mind. In all three of the Flavian epics catalogues of troops play an important part.¹ The poets deal differently with this traditional epic device. Of course, besides the Homeric catalogue of ships, Virgil’s enumerations of both the Trojan allies and their foes² have always been taken into consideration as possible models. A detailed analysis of all the catalogues in Flavian epic would exceed the limits of this paper, but I will aim to provide, firstly, a working definition, drawing on recent and older research on the epic catalogue, and secondly a brief outline of the different settings of catalogues in the epic tradition, starting with Homer, and, as the third and most important point, I will present three features that are characteristic of most of the texts in question and that may give an insight into the intertextual relationship or at least into the poets’ awareness of the poetic potential as well as the limitations of the catalogue as an epic device.³

* I thank the editor for her hospitality and for including my article in this collection. It is part of a major project on the structural elements of epic in general and the epic catalogue in particular. In this context I will go into a more detailed discussion of the material presented here. I have been able to discuss my research on the epic catalogue at various opportunities with colleagues not only in London, but also in Amsterdam, Hamburg, Trier and Berne.  The main texts discussed in this paper are Valerius Flaccus, Arg. 1.352– 483; 5.567– 618; 6.42– 170; Statius, Theb. 4.32– 344; 7.243 – 373; Silius Italicus, Pun. 3.222– 414; 8.365 – 621.  Virgil, Aen. 7.641– 817; 10.163 – 214. Older literature is conveniently listed in Suerbaum 1980, on the catalogue, p. 179.  The seminal study of epic catalogues is Kühlmann 1973. See also Gaßner 1972.

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Definition and tradition Benjamin Sammons⁴ in his book on the Homeric catalogue proposes a workable definition of the Homeric catalogues, in particular the so-called Catalogue of Ships, which then becomes his test case for the theory he develops from other catalogue-like lists: … a list of items which are specified in discrete entries; the entries are formally distinct and arranged in sequence by anaphora or by a simple connective, but are not subordinated to one another, and no explicit relation is made between the items except for their shared suitability to the catalogue’s specified rubric.

He then offers a further definition of “rubric” as a category or class. Sammons attempts to distinguish this from the concept of the list⁵ and convincingly highlights the list’s visual-oral communicative strategy, comparable nowadays to tabular information with ‘bullet points’, and its format in lines of similar length. In the catalogue, the narrator ideally steps into the background entirely or partially during the series of individual elements. The absence of authorial presence gives the catalogue the appearance of objectivity, argues Sammons. As a result, where a catalogue is put into the mouth of one of the characters in the action, it creates a moment of narrative objectivity and authority for this figure. Some time ago I too attempted a short definition, making use inter alia of an expression by Gaßner:⁶ Der Katalog ist eine zumeist formal deutlich abgegrenzte Aufzählung gleichartiger Begriffe in einem einheitlichen Zusammenhang. Jedes seiner Glieder ist „Element einer durchgehenden Entwicklung“.⁷ ‘The catalogue is a listing of terms of similar character in a unitary context, which for the most part is clearly marked off by formal means. Each of its parts is an “element in a continuous development”.’

Though a definition like this is helpful as a starting point, the catalogue format becomes most interesting when the texts challenge the definitions. Already in the catalogue in Iliad 2, readers / listeners are faced with the difficulty that not all its entries are of the same category. The items listed include

 Sammons 2010, 9.  As developed by Minchin 2001.  Reitz 1999b; Gaßner 1972. The definition attempted by Scherer 2006 is too sophisticated and too far removed from the texts to be helpful.  Gaßner 1972, 64, on Virgil’s catalogues.

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the leaders, the ‘contingents’ of troops on their ships and, at the end, the best horses. It has also long been noted⁸ that, in its narrative logic, the narrator’s point of view varies between the narrative present of the Iliad, which can be recognised from a reference to the absence of Achilles, and the beginning of the war and the mustering of the Greek troops. Ancient authors had already noticed that a geographical order is followed, and they had, at least in part, imitated this structural principle themselves.⁹ Breaking off from the main narrative in a pause and singling out an individual raises the issue of depicting a hero in contrast to the whole army: here the same narrative problem arises as in battle scenes, when the aristeia of a single hero is contrasted with a longer series of combats.¹⁰ The catalogue of troops is the occasion of a separate invocation of the Muses, and thus of reflection by the poet on his own activity, which distinguishes it from other catalogue-like lists. The topos of the impossible task faced by the poet, which he will only be able to undertake with outside assistance, is later made productive in various ways. For Homer’s catalogue it has recently been established by Heiden¹¹ that this invocation of poetic assistance marks the link between listing the leaders and the large contingents (plēthys), and thus brings into focus the ambiguous relation between mass and leader, between the one and the many. One need not go as far as Heiden and suppose that the editor-poet of the Iliad had a “democratic” outlook; it seems more sensible to follow Sammons’ term of an “invocation strategy” through which this relation between masses and individual leaders is problematized. In many cases in epic, the ‘need’ for a particular form of catalogue is inherent in the material itself. This is true of the Argonauts:¹² while it is Jason’s task to bring back the Golden Fleece, the voyage of the Argo and the martial deeds to be accomplished along the way and at the destination are a collective effort, and so the list of participating heroes is a necessary element. Extensive research has been done on the design of the catalogue in Apollonius of Rhodes and on what Valerius Flaccus made of it a few centuries later.¹³ One point is of special

 See Giovannini 1969; Kullmann 1993.  Silius, e. g. at Pun. 8.349 ff., follows a centrifugal order, enumerating the Italian nations according to their distance from Rome. See Ariemma 2000, 117.  For the term “Kettenkampf” see e. g. van Thiel 1982.  Heiden 2008.  For the inherent generic differences, see Maugier-Sinha 2010.  An exhaustive analysis of the details in Mangano 1988; see also Dräger 2001, 26 – 34; Scherer 2006, 72– 134, on Apollonius. Zissos 2008, 242, rightly insists on the “spatial logic” of the catalogue’s ordering.

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importance for my argument. As in the Iliad, many heroes appear only in the catalogue; some of these are even supplied with a biographical and geographical background, but then never appear again. It is now generally agreed that the Alexandrian poet’s nod to a traditional technique, itself derived from the oral character of epic song, provides only a very superficial explanation. It is rather the case that abundance (plēthys) is present right from the start as the prompt and problem of the catalogue, and there are various rhetorical concepts with which this abundance can be described. It involves, among other things, the recounting of a large number of names and details. This point is made explicit, for example, by Silius Italicus (Pun. 8.508) when he speaks about heroes whose names are not mentioned (sine nomine), but who are numerous and therefore have a place in the list (numero, 8.509). Catalogues might include names that are n o t remembered for deeds that can be retold – and hence reread by the Alexandrian or Roman reader –, names that instead belong primarily to the memory of the catalogue-poet, who activates them for this particular purpose. Depending on the form and structure of the catalogue, this ‘element of superabundant entries’ may be present and notable, or it may be absent. An example in which a lack of names is made explicit can be found in Valerius Flaccus. Here the catalogue form is adopted and varied by setting it in the context of a banquet. At the end of book 5, there is a banquet in the palace of Aeetes who, as intradiegetic narrator, explicitly takes on the function of the catalogue-poet. When requested, he recounts the individual heroes, but suddenly breaks off the list with a reference to the unutterable number of individual contingents (Val. Fl. Arg. 5.605 – 606): ‘… hos autem quae quemque manus, quae signa sequantur, si memorem, prius umentem lux solverit umbram. …’

605

‘… But were I to tell what troop, what standards follow each chieftain, ere that would the light disperse the humid shades. …’¹⁴

Valerius’ catalogue of Scythians in Argonautica 6 recounts their uncanny strangeness and again provides abundance in detail. Baier in his commentary¹⁵ has traced the tradition, especially in Lucan, but above all and, very persuasively, in Catullus 64, and he has shown, in particular, how the exotic variety of the Pompeian soldiers and the ‘negative catalogue’ in Catullus, where the wedding

 Translations from Mozley 1934. For some general observations, see Wijsman 1996, 259.  Baier 2001. See also Smolenaars 1991, 59; Schenk 1999, 299 ff.

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guests leave a barren patch behind them when they go, become productive in Valerius’ catalogue. This varied structure forms a vivid contrast to the orderly seating of the Argonauts at the start. In the catalogue one of the general principles of epic poetry is most evident: each poet is conscious both of being a successor inheriting a structural form and of striving to overcome this form. There is evidence in every case that the poets were fully conscious of what they were doing and expected their readers / listeners to be equally aware of it. Here a very brief overview may suffice. In the Aeneid Virgil uses both the catalogue and functionally related elements, such as the survey of heroes in the katabasis, while including elements of teichoskopia;¹⁶ this becomes important later for Statius in Thebaid 7. Influential for the later tradition is also Virgil’s use of the dynamic principle that is notable in both catalogues of troops, in books 7 and 10: the warriors on both sides of the conflict are shown in movement, at varying levels of detail, with reactions from the viewers. The refinement – e. g. references to ethnographic material, structural principles,¹⁷ building up to a climax with Camilla, ending with a near-ekphrasis embedded in the reference to Camilla’s brooch-pin (Virg. Aen. 7.815 – 816) – is the standard to which all later catalogues will have to measure up. No one sees that more clearly than Lucan. In his two catalogues¹⁸ the key issue of his epic, that both sides of the conflicting parties are Roman, becomes especially noticeable. Nonetheless Lucan provides an innovation in the form of the negative catalogue.¹⁹ Caesar’s troops seem to be presented as dynamic, in movement.²⁰ However, though they are moving, the focus is not on where they are going, but on where they have come from. They depart from regions in which they had useful tasks to carry out, that is, to guard the conquered territories in Gaul. The list recounts not the troops who will later fight, but the delighted Gauls, now left to their own devices. The related theme of the exotic wildness of the Pompeian side has already been mentioned in the discussion of Valerius. With regard to the innovative design of the catalogues in Statius’ Thebaid, I only recall a few unusual compositional aspects.²¹ In Thebaid 4, Statius presents

 Grebe 1989.  E.g. alphabetic criteria, see O’Hara 1989.  Lucan 1.392– 465; 3.169 – 297. Among the numerous studies, see Batinsky 1992.  Here one might also refer to some of the catalogues in Ovid, e. g. the list of important forebears whom Odysseus does not believe it necessary to mention to justify his taking of Achilles’ weapons; see Reitz 1999b.  This is already shown by Green 1991 (2010), 168 – 178.  See Georgacopoulou 1996b.

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the catalogue of the Argives, the seven contingents marching against Thebes. This catalogue is filtered for the reader through a kind of ‘third party’. The poet is not just recounting the assembled warriors from his own inspiration, but fits the enumeration into the action in that he narrates how they march out as the result of the influence of Mars Gradivus. However, for this ‘thirdparty’ narration, too, he requires artistic support, and from three sides: Fama, arcana Vetustas (meminisse) and lastly Calliope, who can provide information on quas ille manus, quae moverit arma | Gradivus (Theb. 4.32– 36). Why this divine assistance is indispensable is explained only in the middle of the catalogue (itself enriched with excursuses), when the theme of abundance, of the large number, is addressed in an unexpected way (Stat. Theb. 4.145 – 146): quis numerum ferri gentesque et robora dictu aequarit mortale sonans?

145

Who of mortal voice could match in words the quantity of steel, the peoples, and the might?²²

Thus speaks the exhausted catalogue-poet, who then names the smallest of the groups of Argive allies, the troops from Tiryns. They are only 300 men, ter centum pectora (4.152), but, as is explained, the number is not important: vulgus | innumerum bello (4.153 – 154). McNelis²³ interprets this passage as a reference to Callimachean poetics on the motto ‘the smaller, the better’, but that seems to me farfetched. In fact, the number vs. achievement is problematized, but this does not go beyond the epic-heroic context. The second catalogue of the Thebaid (the Thebans in book 7) is given the character of a teichoskopia for long stretches. Hans Smolenaars²⁴ has provided us with an exhaustive interpretation of this passage. It should be mentioned that the catalogue is carefully prepared in advance: Smolenaars points out that in book 4, too, Argia watches Polynices de turre in the same way as in book 7 Antigone takes up the position at an observation point.²⁵ The same motif is used by Silius at Pun. 2.251 for the women of Saguntum: they witness a scene of combat from the walls. The development of the individual motifs makes it especially clear that Statius’ catalogues are written in a self-conscious way. He is constantly innovating

 Translations from Shackleton Bailey 2003. The commentary by Parkes (2012) unfortunately came out after this paper was written.  McNelis 2007, 83.  Smolenaars 1994. On teichoskopia see also Augoustakis in this volume.  See also Lovatt 2006, 60 – 66.

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on the epic tradition and on epic topoi in a noticeable way. I will note two instances that will turn out to be of special importance for Silius’ treatment of the catalogues and for the question of possible influences of one text upon the other. Firstly, there is the recurring motif of water and river-courses. It is noticeable that the waterways mentioned by Statius, mostly in biographical or ethnographic contexts, are all dysfunctional, dried up or forced by the Furies to flow backwards. Secondly, it is significant how frequently the motif of the snake occurs: as a decorative element on armour, as an element in biographical or geographical past history and in mythological contexts – the Furies’ hair –, snakes are the animals mentioned most frequently. It is especially striking that Tydeus (fulmineus, Stat. Theb. 4.94), the leader of a particularly bold group of warriors, is himself described in a thoroughly uninformative way (laetus et integer artus). However, these banal words are followed by an extended simile (Stat. Theb. 4.95 – 100) describing the awakening of a snake in spring, which – and here the poet uses the tool of apostrophe (a miser, 4.99) within the complex narrative context of the simile within a catalogue – bites an innocent country person (rusticus) with its venomous fangs.²⁶ Another topos of epic narrative is deployed in the vignette where the youthful hero Parthenopaeus is presented. The youthful hero is a recurrent motif of both catalogue and battle scenes.²⁷ Parthenopaeus, as a Hylas manqué, has already been given a first, special vignette in the listing of the warriors (Stat. Theb. 4.246 – 277). Later in the catalogue a vivid scene has his mother Atalanta implore him in vain not to take part in the war, ending with the mother’s appeal to his comrades in arms to hold him back and prevent him from entering battle. Their manner is ‘like a rock or an oak’ (Stat. Theb. 4.340). That is not just a proverb, but, as used by Hesiod (Theog. 35), an element of the appeal that the genealogical didactic poet addresses to the Muses to underscore his request for truth and reliability. Allusion to other epic structural forms is made at the end of the catalogue, in which the grieving band of Martia pubes Cadmi is announced with parte ex alia (Stat. Theb. 4.345), as if it were an ekphrasis. ²⁸

 This fits with the role of snakes as ‘cosmic icons’ in the Thebaid in general; see Feeney 1991, 363 – 364.  See the analysis of this type of young hero by Schetter 1960, 43 – 48, which is still most valuable.  Cf. e. g. Catullus 64.251.

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In Silius’ Punica two catalogues take up generous space: in the third book there is the catalogue of Carthaginians as they prepare to cross the Alps,²⁹ and in the eighth book that of the Roman troops as they march out to the battle of Cannae. Silius’ catalogues are, at first sight, the most conventional in Flavian epic. They are not transferred into a dramatic setting or reshaped, but consist of list-like enumerations with the standard repertoire of the catalogue, using not only epic motifs, but also topoi from historiography, as has been noted.³⁰

Tradition and innovation in catalogues in Flavian epic I will present some of the most characteristic features by way of a brief comparative analysis, especially of formal elements that can be distinguished in most of the catalogues in Flavian epic. It has become evident already that catalogues can be put into the mouth of an extradiegetic or an intradiegetic narrator. There are, as we have seen, various possibilities for integrating the catalogue proper into dramatic settings. Valerius introduces the catalogue into the banquet scene in book 5, closing it with the intradiegetic narrator breaking off (‘Abbruchformel’). Statius, in Theb. 7, makes use of teichoskopia, a narrative device of epic poetry, but especially of drama. The form can also be expanded by insertion of anecdotes, e. g. Harmonia’s necklace (Stat. Theb. 4.192– 213) or the Atalanta episode (Stat. Theb. 4.309 – 344). At the same time the conventional structure is noticeable within all three Flavian settings. The most important internal element of self-reflection, present in most catalogues, is the invocation of the Muse and the mention of the difficulty of the task, which enhances the authority of the speaker. While insisting on the markers which the reader may expect in an epic catalogue, especially Statius and Valerius chose the catalogue as an area for experimenting: other epic narrative elements are blended into the traditional form.

 Niemann 1975, 162, points out that the catalogue shows the Carthaginians at the moment of their greatest strength, followed by losses while crossing the Alps.  Cf. e. g. Woodman / Martin 1996; see also Gibson 2009 and Pomeroy 2009.

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Self-reflection and authority In Valerius Flaccus, Argonautica 6.33 – 41, this element of self-reflection is particularly evident. This is a double invocation: first an unspecified Muse is asked to inspire the poet to describe the war in general, then there is mention of the great numbers to be taken into account, deploying the topos of numero and nomine, which is also present in other texts like Silius, Punica 5. Consequently, the programme of Valerius’ catalogue is reduced to duces and solas gentes, and, as a result, in the second invocation – appropriate to the double task – the plural form deae … promite is used. Thus from the beginning of the catalogue the poet draws attention to the poetic task and the achievement of composing a catalogue. This becomes even more obvious when we consider that Valerius later has recourse to the topic of authorship and enduring poetry. Within a series of apostrophes the poet points out the importance of his task: te quoque venturis, ingens Ariasmene, saeclis | tradiderim (6.103 – 104). The topos of greatness is also present in Silius’ Punica, in both books 3 and 8; it is applied to the war as a whole, and is used as a means of epic and historic competition. In the preliminary remark, the goal not only of the catalogues, but also of the entire business of war is made clear: the final word is orbem (Sil. Pun. 3.222– 230): prodite, Calliope, famae, quos horrida coepta excierint populos tulerintque in regna Latini, et quas indomitis urbes armarit Hiberis, quasque Paraetonio glomerarit litore turmas ausa sibi Libye rerum deposcere frenos et terris mutare iugum. non ulla nec umquam saevior it trucibus tempestas acta procellis; nec bellum raptis tam dirum mille carinis acrius infremuit trepidumque exterruit orbem.

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Hand down to fame, Calliope, the peoples summoned forth by this fell enterprise and borne against the realm of Latinus! Name the cities of warlike Spaniards whom Carthage armed, and the squadrons that she mustered on the shore of Africa, when she dared to claim for herself the reins of government, and to give a new ruler to mankind. Never at any time did a fiercer tempest rage, driven on by furious winds; not even that dreadful war that swept along a thousand ships raged with more violence or appalled more utterly a terror-stricken world.³¹

 Translations from Duff 1934.

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The fighting – the principal theme of epic in general and of the Punica – is about space and its conquest. The Punic War is the greatest ever (3.227): non ulla nec umquam (tempestas); it is comparable only to the Trojan War.³² However, the conventional invocation of the Muses (3.222) is immediately linked to a value judgment: horrida. So here a claim to objectivity is not made at all. If we bear in mind Statius’ catalogue, the opening is striking. Whether it is correcting Statius’ invocation of the Muses by means of a return to the epic tradition or whether Statius was aiming to outdo his more traditional contemporary with an innovative threefold invocation, is an open question. Nonetheless, the invocation of the Muses and the request for assistance in the face of abundance is a point in the catalogue in which the poetic and metapoetic intention becomes manifest.³³ The point about large numbers is made more specifically towards the end of the catalogue of Roman troops, at Sil. Pun. 8.617– 621: the uncountable number of soldiers, comparable only to the Mycenaean troops going out to Troy, could excuse even Varro’s rashness in hastening into battle, such was the impression the Roman army would have made on anyone who saw it (Sil. Pun. 8.617– 621): ignosset, quamvis avido committere pugnam, Varroni, quicumque simul tot tela videret. tantis agminibus Rhoeteo litore quondam fervere, cum magnae Troiam invasere Mycenae, mille rates vidit Leandrius Hellespontus.

620

Any man who had seen so great an army mustered might have pardoned Varro’s eagerness to fight a battle. In ancient times when great Mycenae attacked Troy, Leander’s Hellespont saw a thousand ships swarm with as huge a host on the shore of Rhoeteum.

In addition to drawing attention to the difficulty of the task and addressing the Muse, there are more ways of asserting authority. We have seen that Statius in Theb. 4 calls first on Fama and Vetustas before the invocation of his muse Calliope (Stat. Theb. 4.32– 38). The motif of the hundred mouths appears only in the middle of the catalogue (4.145), where the poet convincingly introduces it just after mentioning the contingent from Tiryns.³⁴ Silius, on the other hand, seems to begin with the catalogue of Romans in Punica 8 without any invocation proper, whereas in the catalogue of Carthaginian troops there was an invocation to Calliope (Sil. Pun. 3.222). However, it seems very probable that in this case the  The interrelationship between epic catalogue, esp. in Silius, and historiography has recently been investigated by Pomeroy 2009 and Gibson 2009, 53 and n. 2.  Cf., as locus classicus, the invocation of the Muses in Homer, Il. 2.486.  See above.

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poet is using another device to make up for the lack of an invocation. The whole catalogue stresses heavily the religious and agricultural characteristics of the peoples listed. Over large passages, it reads like a learned list of cults and traditions in ancient Italy.³⁵ So it is more than in tune with this ethnographic and religious colouring when the catalogue starts with the word Faunigenae, descendants of Faunus (Sil. Pun. 8.356 – 357): Faunigenae socio bella invasere Sicano sacra manus Rutuli, … The Rutulians, descendants of Faunus, aided by Sicanians, came to battle; …³⁶

In my opinion it is likely that Silius alludes not only to the commonly known ancient myth of the Romans as descendants of Faunus, but also, more specifically, to the well-known proem of Ennius’ Annales 7 (213 V. = 206 Sk.). In these verses, surviving as a quotation in Cicero, Brutus 75, the poet of the Annales apparently dismisses the suggestion of including the story of the First Punic War in his epic, as this had already been done, in the metre used by the less dicti studiosi, namely his predecessor Naevius. It is precisely the task of a vates well versed in the most ancient myths and sources, a pious poet well informed about the Fauni and their verses, to create a catalogue of Italian peoples like the one the reader of the Punica finds at this point – one that considers past merits and is confident in the future greatness in store for the Italian people, even after the defeat at Cannae. By alluding to the earlier epic on the Punic War, and by doing so at this very visible point in the epic catalogue, the poet enhances his own authoritative voice and inserts himself into the tradition of writers on these most important battles in Roman history I have already mentioned the phenomenon of the superabundant entries,³⁷ of names that appear only in the catalogue, never to be mentioned again. On the other hand, there are names, of places and especially of individuals, that are unhistorical and anachronistic. N. Bernstein and A. Pomeroy³⁸ have pointed out this “strategy of shifting history”; yet this technique, viewed metapoetically, can also be seen as an implicit authorial comment on the reliability of the catalogue-poet. The same principle – pointing to both reliability and unreliability – lies behind passages where the poet himself emphasizes the feature of order or disorder. This is the case when the single entries are arranged according to a    

Ariemma 2000, 117, quotes Tandoi’s précis “Baedeker sulle antiquitates Italiae”. The effect of the Latin word order is lost in the translation. See above. Bernstein 2009; Pomeroy 2009.

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guiding principle, like the Argonauts in the ship, or a marching column (Stat. Theb. 4), and also in the orderly geographical-topographical arrangement of Latin troops in Silius, Punica 8. Disorder is the overall impression in the catalogue of the Scythians in Valerius, which is conceptually close to Lucan’s catalogue of Pompey’s oriental troops.³⁹ All these are techniques through which the poet’s voice is explicitly heard within the catalogue.

Catalogue and surprises I will now, as my last point, trace some themes that can be observed in all the catalogues and that are more concerned with content than with form, but nevertheless throw some light on the self-awareness of the epic catalogue.

Catalogue and religion These themes include religion and impiety. This is obvious in Silius, where in the catalogue in Punica 8 the Latins are presented as especially pious. Already the first word of the catalogue, Faunigenae, refers to the divine origin of the troop of soldiers marching out.⁴⁰ In the first, closely packed series of towns and districts of Latium the reader learns of the cults and sanctuaries of Juno, Diana, Cybele and Fortuna; sceptrifer Thybris belongs here too. Later the Tiber will be called pater … | Albula (Sil. Pun. 8.454– 455). On the whole, the vocabulary of cult, religion and sacrifice abounds. Linked with the theme of religion and cult is that of sorcery and magic. Both heroes and whole nations are brought into connection with magic and the supernatural. To mention only a few examples: At Statius, Theb. 4.53, the people presented are geographically connected with the underworld, and at Theb. 4.95 magic and witchcraft come into the catalogue via a simile in the context of the (impious) Tydeus. Even more striking and hyperbolic is the short mention of the Scythian hero Coastes in Valerius Flaccus, Argonautica 6.155 – 159: the powers of the underworld are relieved to be, for once, free of their tasks in the realm of the dead,

 See Schenk 1999; Baier 2001; see above. This feature of ‘designing’ a catalogue is present also in other catalogues, such as in Ovid, Met. 3.320, on Actaeon’s hounds, see Reitz 1999a.  See above.

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and the moon is happy that for once it is not being chanted down from its heavenly course: maximus hos inter Stygia venit arte Coastes; sollicitat nec Martis amor, sed fama Cytaeae virginis et paribus spirans Medea venenis; gaudet Averna palus, gaudet iam nocte quieta portitor et tuto veniens Latonia caelo.

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Mightiest among them in Stygian arts Coastes comes: not love of war excites him, but the fame of the Cytaean maid and Medea breathing poisons to match his own; glad is the Avernian lake, glad the ferryman that night is now untroubled, and Latonia that she can ride in a safe heaven.

At Sil. Pun. 3.301– 302 the Marmaridae, allies of the Carthaginians – no wonder – rely on evil magic. The power of their magic potions surpasses the effect of the most poisonous snakes. In 3.312– 316, various people are listed, some not even identified by name, who have special knowledge of the use of poisonous draughts and of serpents’ venom, which are brought into connection with the myth of the gorgon Medusa. In contrast, the Marsi at Sil. Pun. 8.495 practise a wholesome magic – they provide medicine for the ailing. They are able to control the evil powers of snakes. Here Medea enters into the aetiology: a certain Angitia is the one who originally taught the Marsica pubes how to conduct magic practices. Only the educated reader will detect that Angitia is a learned name for Medea (cf. Servius ad Virg. Aen. 7.750 ff.). In the catalogue of Latin troops in Aen. 7 one entry concerns the Marruvia gens. Virgil predicts their doom, because not even their medical skills will help them against the weapons of their enemies. The commentator notes (ad 7.759 – 760 te nemus Angitiae … | … flevere) that the name Angitia is another name for Medea – a learned and rather farfetched allusion, which apparently inspired Silius to his comment on the Marsians’ medical skills (Sil. Pun. 8.495 – 501): hae bellare acies norant; at Marsica pubes et bellare manu et chelydris cantare soporem vipereumque herbis hebetare et carmine dentem. Aeetae prolem, Angitiam mala gramina primam monstravisse ferunt tactuque domare venena et lunam excussisse polo, stridoribus amnes frenantem, ac silvis montes nudasse vocatis.

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All these knew how to make war; but the Marsi could not only fight but could also send snakes to sleep by charms, and rob a serpent’s tooth of its venom by simples and spells. They say that Angitia, daughter of Aeetes, first revealed to them magic herbs, and taught

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them to tame vipers by handling them, to drive the moon from the sky, to arrest the course of rivers by their muttering, and to strip the hills by calling down the forests.

There are other themes in the catalogues whose detailed analysis must be postponed for now, but which I will mention at any rate: the aspect of agriculture and a similarity to didactic literature in the catalogue of Italian troops in Silius; the motif of rivers already mentioned for Statius is present in all the catalogues under discussion; also the motif of the snake, an astonishing feature to be found in most of the catalogues – unsurprisingly, mostly in connection with the enemies; the use of visual elements: weapons and dress provide occasions to extend the catalogue in respect of colour and brightness.

Catalogue and sound One last point to which I would like to draw attention is the feature of sound and singing in the catalogues. There are various dramatic aspects in which sound is included in the lists. Sounds can be connected with the summoning of the troops: signum dare. This is the case in Statius where, in connection with Parthenopaeus, we twice hear of the sound of the trumpet: Theb. 4.261, where the warriors are called to war, and later, at Theb. 4.342, tubas audire calens – at a time when it is already too late for Atalanta’s intervention. In Valerius, too, the Argonauts are called to board the ship, a sign that they follow in an orderly way (Arg. 1.351– 352), whereas the Scythians sing and chant harshly (Arg. 6.92– 94). It is no wonder that noises and singing are mentioned in the teichoskopia in Statius, Theb. 7, because they provide the dramatic setting inherent in this narrative device. The guide mentions the clamour (ecce autem clamore ruunt, Stat. Theb. 7.271) and rejoicing of the soldiers (audis | exsultare, Stat. Theb. 7.285 – 286).⁴¹ But it is surprising that a tribe of Carthaginians in Silius, Punica 3, is characterized by its raucous singing and blurred speech (ululantem carmina linguis, Sil. Pun. 3.346); also mentioned are stamping and the clashing of shields. On the other hand, the Latins at Sil. Pun. 8.420 solemnly sing the praise of their ancestors Sancus and Sabus. One might also come back to the Tirynthians at Statius, Theb. 4.157: this is a small, but forceful group of soldiers, the Herculean tribe, who sing a song in hon-

 The noises the swans make in the swan simile are fitting and can be interpreted as an omen; see Smolenaars 1994 ad loc.

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our of their noble hero Hercules.⁴² We have already noticed that the Tirynthians are placed exactly in the middle of the catalogue of Argive soldiers. These early heroes, matching Hercules with their lion-skins and clubs and lack of military weaponry, introduce a religious and acoustic moment as they march out. Their appearance and their singing are more reminiscent of a procession than of a military column, and the god Mars listens to the song of these 300. I wonder whether this Mars – the listener – is to be identified with Mars, the god who instigated the deployment of the Argives in the first place. In the depiction of the scene we are for a moment taken back to early times, when heroes were heroes and true piety still existed on earth. The absence, too, of sound and speech might be considered as a metapoetic hint at the activity of the catalogue-poet, at his ability to start and to end his enumeration according to the dramatic needs of his story and to present himself as the dramatist behind the scene he has built up. In the last line of the catalogueteichoskopia, at Statius, Theb. 7.373, the narrator points to his failing eyesight and to the sudden silence of the army that he has so vividly described – the enumeration and the scene come to a standstill because the dramatic means are failing: sight and sound. So the teichoskopia must finish. The epic poet of a ‘conventional’ catalogue would have been able to continue – we might consider this specific closure as a hint to the rivalry between the dramatic and the epic voice within the poem. So, as closure for my observations on the catalogue as a place for metapoetic self-reflection by the epic poet, the last word but one of the catalogue-teichoskopia, at Statius, Theb. 7.373, may be appropriate – silentia – even if much more could be said. Further research will have to be done;⁴³ but a brief conclusion can be reached. The catalogue is one of the places where generic interplay is made most evident. The Flavian poets use it to make us reflect on their position in the literary tradition. Silius exploits the catalogues for his overall strategy in moral characterization of the opposing parties, subtly adapting the overall structure and many details accordingly. Within the continuity of the form the innovative force becomes even more visible: by combining the enumerative lists with other traditional devices, such as the banquet, the teichoskopia or the biographical vignette, both Statius and Valerius experiment with epic structures and enhance the possibilities of traditional epic poetry.

 On the presence of Hercules in the catalogue see Ripoll 1998a, 125 – 131. See above.  See above.

Part III Flavian Epic Intertextuality

Dániel Kozák

Traces of the Argo Statius’ Achilleid 1 and Valerius’ Argonautica 1 – 2* Statius’ Achilleid, a poem that has been characterized as surprisingly ‘Ovidian’ by scholars from the 1990s onwards,¹ opens with an unmistakable Virgilian allusion. Thetis emerges from the sea with her sisters after catching sight of Paris’ ships to make a speech (1.20 – 51), quite similar to Juno’s angry monologue at the beginning of the Aeneid upon seeing Aeneas’ ships (1.34– 49).² There are, however, further intertexts at work in the Achilleid passage.³ Thetis, unlike Juno, emerges from the sea together with her sisters, just as she had done before at the beginning of Catullus 64, another important intertext for the Achilleid, to marvel at the first ship and fall in love with Achilles’ father Peleus:⁴ [Paris] culpatum relegebat iter, qua condita ponto fluctibus invisis iam Nereis imperat Helle, cum Thetis Idaeos – heu numquam vana parentum auguria! – expavit vitreo sub gurgite remos. Nec mora et undosis turba comitante sororum prosiluit thalamis: fervent coeuntia Phrixi litora et angustum dominas non explicat aequor. (Stat. Ach. 1.23 – 29)

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[Paris] was retracing his guilty way where Helle, a Nereid now hidden in the sea, rules the waves she hates, when Thetis (alas for parents’ auguries never vain!) down below the glassy flood took fright at Ida’s oars. Straightway she leapt from her watery bower along with her bevy of sisters. The meeting shores of Phrixus seethe and the strait cannot find room for its mistresses.

* I express my gratitude to Attila Ferenczi and Ábel Tamás for their comments and suggestions regarding a chapter in my PhD thesis on which this paper is based.  See Hinds 1998, 135 – 144; Rosati 1994; Micozzi 2007; Sanna 2007 (the list is not exhaustive).  The most detailed discussions are Mulder 1955, 122– 125, and Delarue 2000, 75 – 78; from earlier, see the cautious comment in Kuerschner 1907, 15: “fortasse Vergilium imitatus”. As Delarue (2000, 64– 65) points out, the Statian scene also recalls Juno’s intervention at Aen. 7.286 – 322.  Intertexts not discussed here are Horace, Odes 1.15 (see Schetter 1960, 142; Parkes 2009, 110 – 111), and Sil. Pun. 7.409 – 419 (noted by Ripoll / Soubiran 2008, on Stat. Ach. 1.26).  The translations throughout the paper are (from the Loeb series, with some modifications) Shackleton Bailey’s for the Achilleid, Mozley’s for Valerius’ Argonautica, Goold’s for Catullus 64 and Seaton’s for Apollonius’ Argonautica.

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emersere freti candenti e gurgite vultus aequoreae monstrum Nereides admirantes. (Catull. 64.14– 15) … forth looked from the foaming surge of the sea the Nereids of the deep wondering at the strange thing

The location of the goddess’ emergence is quite different in the Achilleid. Instead of open seas, we are at the narrow straits of the Hellespont, and the space is scarcely enough for all the goddesses (1.29). A possible interpretation is to take this as an acknowledgment of the literary belatedness of the Achilleid: the poet has to find his way through the crowded seas of epic poetry.⁵ The geographical location, on the other hand, also leads us to another text, belated like the Achilleid itself. Unlike Paris, the Argonauts had to pass through the Hellespont. The crossing is uneventful in Apollonius (1.934– 935), but Valerius Flaccus’ heroes meet Helle, who, in contrast to the more widespread variant of the myth, has not died, but become a sea divinity.⁶ Her description in Statius, fluctibus invisis i a m N e r e i s imperat H e l l e (1.24), is remarkably similar to that in the Argonautica, where she is characterized as the sister of Thetis holding a sceptre, symbol of her divine power (Val. Fl. Arg. 2.585 – 590): … Phrixea subibant aequora et angustas quondam sine nomine fauces. ecce autem prima volucrem sub luce dehiscens terruit unda ratem vittataque constitit H e l l e , i a m P a n o p e s T h e t i d i s q u e s o r o r iamque aurea laeva sceptra tenens.

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…, they entered Phrixus’ sea and the narrow gorges that of yore had no name. But lo! as dawn was breaking, the waves opened and scared the flying ship, and there stood before them Helle chapleted, the sister now of Panope and Thetis, and holding in her left hand a golden sceptre.

Valerius – no doubt due to the importance of the Aeneid as a model – emphasized any possible link between the Argonautic and the Trojan sagas,⁷ and the heroes’ passing through the Hellespont immediately follows the most obvious of these links, without precedent in Apollonius: the Argonauts’ short visit to Laomedon’s city (2.445 – 583). The allusion in the Achilleid may be read as another acknowledgment of this idea. Valerius emphasized that the voyage of the Argo  Feeney 2004, 88.  Hershkowitz 1998b, 190 – 193, compares in detail the Apollonian and Valerian scenes and also the variants concerning Helle’s death.  Barnes 1981; Hershkowitz 1998b, 236 – 241.

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is part of a greater narrative that includes the Trojan war as its next chapter, and Statius mirrors this gesture by making it clear, right at the beginning, not only that he tells a post-Argonautic story, but also that he does so in a post-Valerian epic.⁸ In what follows, I would like to elaborate this reading, focusing on how the Flavian Argonautica is recalled in Achilleid 1, and suggest that we can see Valerius’ poem as a more important intertext than previously recognized.⁹ First I will discuss how Thetis in her dialogue with Neptune alludes, as part of her rhetorical strategy, to the past as we read about it in Valerius’ Argonautica 1; as I am going to show, reading the two texts together may also affect the intertextual interpretation of secundi | … Iovis (1.48 – 49), suggesting that at this point the Achilleid acknowledges a ‘secondariness’ in relation to Valerius as well as to Homer and Virgil. Next I will discuss two passages of the Thessalian episode of the Achilleid: Chiron’s speech to Thetis, recalling the Argonauts’ departure and Peleus’ farewell to Achilles in Valerius, and Achilles’ song which, in addition to being in close intertextual relationship with Catullus 64, also seems to recall specific passages of the Flavian Argonautica. Achilles’ song, in my reading, brings attention to some differences between Apollonius’ and Valerius’ version, and also reflects on (and competes with) Valerius’ ingenious ‘transformation’ of Catullus 64 in the description of the Argo paintings. The paper will conclude with a discussion of how intertextuality with the Argonautica changes in Achilleid 1 after Achilles leaves Thessaly (1.241): in the rest of the book this intertextual relationship, while still enriching our interpretation of the Achilleid, is maintained, instead of verbal allusions, mostly through similarities between the story of Achilles on Scyros and the Argonauts’ stay at Lemnos.

 Relegebat iter (Ach. 1.23) might be read as a sign of the intertextual relationship. Paris is not only retracing his own previous journey from Troy to Greece, but also that of Valerius’ Argonauts from Troy to the Hellespont. This reading, of course, depends on re-reading, or at least recalling, Valerius’ Argonautica. For a similar interpretation of relegere at Aen. 3.690 – 691 see Papanghelis 1999.  The intertextual links between the Thebaid and the Argonautica have been studied much more extensively. On the Hypsipyle episode in Thebaid 5 see the literature cited by Zissos 2006a, 166 n. 5; on Valerius’ place in the intertextual program of the Thebaid see Smolenaars 1994, xxvi–xlii. While the relative chronology of the Thebaid and the Argonautica is subject to debate, it seems to be certain that the Achilleid, composed during the 90s CE, is later than Valerius’ epic (cf. Parkes 2009, 108 n. 1).

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Neptune’s promise and Thetis’ intertextual rhetoric After Thetis has emerged from the sea at the Hellespont, she utters an angry monologue. The primary intertext for this passage, as already mentioned, is Juno’s speech at the beginning of Aeneid 1; but Thetis, as has also been recognized, has a further Virgilian model. She is trying to save her son, and will ask – without success – for Neptune’s help. Venus did the same in Aeneid 5 (779 – 826), and made a similar request to Jupiter in Aeneid 1 (229 – 253).¹⁰ In Peter Heslin’s reading, the cause of Thetis’ ultimate failure in reaching her goal, raising a storm, lies precisely in this mixture of contradictory Virgilian roles. If a goddess in a post-Virgilian epic wants to destroy a ship, she would better not act like Venus and go to Neptune for help, whose Virgilian role is the calming of the seas.¹¹ This reading, persuasive as it is, depends on focusing exclusively on the Aeneid as the intertextual background. The role models for Thetis, however, are to be found not only in Virgil. Another goddess in Flavian epic has already faced a similar problem of having inherited the Virgilian roles of both Juno and Venus. Valerius’ Juno (like Hera in Apollonius) is the primary supporter of the Argonauts, and in this respect she recalls the Virgilian Venus. At the same time Juno tries to be like her Virgilian self, a force of destruction.¹² At the start of the Argonautica she catches sight of Hercules and Hylas on their way to Colchis, and ‘renews her usual complaints’ (solitos novat questus, 1.112), known to the reader from the Aeneid. ¹³ The primary intertext for this monologue, as for Thetis’, is Juno’s speech in Aeneid 1, but the two Flavian monologues are in dialogue with each other as well, as their arguments indicate. Both speeches are about a tension between intents and opportunities. Thetis could have destroyed Paris’ fleet in the past and thus prevented the war, but missed her chance to do so (Ach. 1.43 – 46); Juno would like to see Hercules undertake another labour forced upon him instead of joining the Argonauts in a collective effort of the

 Delarue 2000, 76 – 77; Heslin 2005, 107– 108. Mulder (1955, 125) also compares Thebaid 3.265 – 323, where Venus asks Mars to delay the siege of Thebes.  Heslin 2005, 106 – 109.  On Juno’s double role see Schubert 1991; Hershkowitz 1998b, 159 – 172. As Feeney (1991, 343, 354, 377) notes, a similar play with the goddess’ Virgilian heritage can be discovered in the Thebaid, where Juno is acting mainly as an agent of peace in contrast with Jupiter, who is a force of destruction similar to Virgil’s Juno.  On Juno’s monologue see Eigler 1988, 32– 39; Zissos 2002, 76 – 79.

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Greeks, since in that case she could raise a storm against him (Arg. 1.113 – 116). Both goddesses then begin to think about what they can still do: n u n c q u o q u e – sed tardum, iam plena iniuria raptae. ibo tamen … (Ach. 1.47– 48) ‘Even now – but too late, the outrage of rape is already complete. Yet I will go …’ n u n c q u o q u e nec socium nostrae columenve carinae esse velim, … (Arg. 1.117– 118) ‘Even now I would not have this man the ally and the strength of our ship, …’

Even now, it would be possible for Thetis to destroy Paris’ fleet, but too late to prevent the war, since Helen has already been taken; still, she decides to ask for Neptune’s help in raising a storm (Ach. 1.48 – 51). Juno realizes that, in order to be able to play her Virgilian role as well, she needs to remove Hercules from the Argonauts (Arg. 1.117– 119); she will do that successfully in the Hylas episode (3.481– 4.89). If we recall both the Aeneid and the Flavian Argonautica while reading Thetis’ speech, then we might get the feeling that it is not the mixture of the Virgilian roles in itself that causes her failure. As Valerius’ Juno shows, a goddess in a post-Virgilian epic can, in fact, be like both Juno and Venus in the Aeneid, provided that she plays these roles tactically enough. Yet this is what Thetis in the Achilleid seems not to be capable of. Thetis, however, has her reasons for asking none other than Neptune for a storm. These reasons emerge if we focus on the Valerian intertextual background of the next Achilleid episode, the dialogue between Thetis and Neptune (1.51– 94). This has already been discussed by Thomas Gärtner and Ruth Parkes; my reading is going to be based on theirs. As Gärtner noted, the first lines of Thetis’ indignant speech to Neptune recall Jason’s proud and excited words in the Argonautica: ¹⁴ o magni genitor rectorque profundi, aspicis in qualis miserum patefeceris usus aequor? eunt tutis terrarum crimina velis, ex quo iura freti maiestatemque repostam rupit Iasonia puppis Pagasaea rapina. (Ach. 1.61– 65) ‘Sire and ruler of the mighty deep, see you for what uses you have thrown open the hapless main? Sins of the lands sail in safety since the Pagasaean bark ruptured the laws and secluded majesty of the deep with Jason’s rapine.’

 Gärtner 2000.

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o quantum terrae, quantum cognoscere caeli permissum est, pelagus quantos aperimus in usus! (Arg. 1.168 – 169) ‘Lo! what mighty tracts of land, what vast expanse of sky it is granted us to know! To what great ends are we opening the paths of the sea!’

Thetis faults Neptune for having opened the seas for mankind; and he really did so in Valerius by calming down the storm requested by Boreas and initiated by Aeolus.¹⁵ As Parkes has observed,¹⁶ there is much irony in Thetis’ faulting of Neptune, since in the Argonautica the goddess herself was among those who helped Neptune save the Argo (1.657– 658). Now that Achilles’ life is at stake, Thetis must face the consequences. The intertextual relationship between the Achilleid and the Argonautica thus gives further emphasis to the futility of Thetis’ actions. Thetis, however, might be reminding Neptune not only of how he saved the Argo, but also of something he said; something that may give hope to Thetis now. In the Argonautica Neptune sympathized with Boreas and Aeolus, who wanted to destroy the Argo, but calmed the storm at the request of Juno and Pallas, even though he also had another reason for doing so. Consoling himself as much as he does Boreas and Aeolus, Neptune promised future shipwrecks as compensation (Arg. 1.644 – 646):¹⁷ veniant Phariae Tyriaeque carinae p e r m i s s u m que putent. quotiens mox rapta videbo vela notis plenasque aliis clamoribus undas! ‘yea, let the vessels come from Pharos and from Tyre, and think they are but doing what is lawful. O many are the sails that I shall see ere long torn away by the South winds, and the waves ringing with cries of affliction!’

He seems to echo Jason’s words, permissum est (1.169), quoted above; and Thetis’ words in the Achilleid echo both. She calls on Neptune to destroy Paris’ ships (Ach. 1.72– 73): si quis adhuc undis honor, obrue puppes, aut p e r m i t t e fretum! ‘if any respect be left for the waters, drown the ships, or hand over the ocean.’

 For detailed discussion of the storm scene – another post-Virgilian innovation in Valerius – see Burck 1978, 9 – 14; Shelton 1974; Zissos 2006b. Valerius’ Boreas seems to be another possible model for the Statian Thetis.  Parkes 2009, 111– 119.  The Parcae are also aware that seafaring is going to increase the number of deaths (Val. Fl. Arg. 1.501– 502).

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‘Hand over’ – to whom? Perhaps to Thetis and thus let her act on her own;¹⁸ but permitte might also be a clue that Thetis tries to remind the god of his own words in the Argonautica. This is the opportunity, she seems to suggest, for Neptune to sink ships as he promised; if he does not destroy Paris’ fleet now, people will not just think they have the right to travel by sea, they will in fact have this right.¹⁹ Neptune’s answer indicates that he recognizes what Thetis is hinting at. The speech in which he rejects Thetis begins with an allusion to the Aeneid,²⁰ which further confirms for the reader that the Virgilian Juno is among the models for Thetis, but then reminds her of a fact she has apparently forgotten. The gods have already decided about the Trojan War, and Jupiter has made his decree (Ach. 1.81– 83): ratus ordo deis miscere cruentas Europamque Asiamque manus, consultaque belli Iuppiter et tristes edixit caedibus annos. ‘It is ordained and ratified of the gods that Europe and Asia mingle bloody hands. Jupiter has proclaimed war’s decree and years sad with slaughter.’

Jupiter’s edictum does not belong exclusively to the poetic world of the Achilleid; it has been made and actually quoted in the Argonautica, when Jupiter denied Sol’s request to alter the course of the Argo (1.531– 573).²¹ In his speech the Statian Neptune recalls, in addition to the prophecy of the Parcae in Catullus 64, the exclamatory second person address of Jupiter’s speech in Valerius.²² More important for us here is the end of Neptune’s speech in the Achilleid (Ach. 1.91– 94): nec inulta dolebis cognatisque utere fretis: dabo tollere fluctus,

 Thus Dilke 1954, ad loc.  Getty (1957, 100) notes the allusion to Valerius and suggests a similar interpretation.  Fata vetant (Ach. 1.81) recalls vetor fatis at Aen. 1.39. On the fatum motif in the Achilleid see Mulder 1955.  Parkes 2009, 110, who also compares Hor. Carm. 1.15.9 – 11. On Jupiter’s role in the Valerian storm scene see Schubert 1984, 19 – 44. The Διὸς βουλή mentioned in Iliad 1.5 can also be interpreted as a hint not just at Zeus’ intent, but also at some kind of formal declaration: according to Schol. A ad loc. (Cypria F 1 Davies), some read βουλή as an allusion to the story of Zeus ordering first the Theban, then the Trojan War in order to ease the burdens of Earth. Cf. also Proclus’ summary at the beginning of the Cypria: Ζεὺς βουλεύεται μετὰ τῆς Θέμιδος περὶ τοῦ Τρωϊκοῦ πολέμου (Davies 1988, 30, ll. 5 – 6).  With quem … natum … quanta | aspicies … funera … | cum tuus Aeacides … (Ach. 1.84– 86), compare quae … | … quot … | quot … cernes (Arg. 1.551– 553).

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cum reduces Danai nocturnaque signa Caphereus exseret et dirum pariter quaeremus Ulixem. ‘Nor shall you grieve unavenged. You shall use the kindred seas. I shall let you raise the waves when the Danai return and Caphereus puts out his nighttime signals and we both alike search for dire Ulysses.’

The god employs the same strategy as in the Argonautica, in order to comply with Jupiter’s decree and to reassure those who appealed to him at the same time. Just like he did in the case of the Argo, he refuses to sink the ship and consoles Thetis by the promise of destroying ships in the future. Neptune’s reply helps us understand what Thetis’ strategy has been. She tried to remind Neptune of a promise he made in Valerius’ Argonautica without reminding him of Jupiter’s decree in the same poem regarding the Trojan War. Unfortunately for Thetis, Neptune’s memory of the Argonautica is apparently just as good as hers. In Heslin’s reading, the cause for Thetis’ failure is that she is not conscious enough in using her Virgilian epic heritage, and Parkes rightly adds that her failure is also caused by her own past actions in Valerius. But a further factor, in my view, is that she chose a strategy that is too risky: she tried to exert ultimate control over how the Valerian past is remembered in the Achilleid by the characters themselves, by selectively evoking only parts of that past. She made a rhetorical and intertextual gamble, and she lost.

Second(ary) Jupiters and Statian intertextuality Closing the discussion of the ‘failed’ storm episode of the Achilleid, I would like to return to two expressions near its beginning whose interpretation might concern intertextuality between Statius, Valerius and the epic tradition more broadly as well. The first is line 1.47, showing perfectly the double, Virgilian and Valerian, intertextual background of the Achilleid passage. It starts with nunc quoque, recalling the beginning of a Valerian line (Arg. 1.117; see above); ends with plena iniuria raptae, recalling the end of a Virgilian line (spretae iniuria formae, Aen. 1.27); these two allusions are separated by sed tardum, another possible acknowledgment (after the image of the crowded seas; see above) of literary belatedness.²³ The following lines have by now become a locus classicus for how the Achilleid acknowledges its secondary and belated status. When deciding

 The allusion to the Aeneid is noted by Heslin 2005, 107; sed tardum, and also seri … timores in 1.42, are interpreted as acknowledgments of belatedness by Feeney (2004, 86).

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to ask Neptune for help, Thetis calls him secundus Iuppiter (1.48 – 49: secundi | … Iovis). Parallels for this unusual phrase have been cited;²⁴ but only in the Achilleid is the god actually called a ‘second Jupiter’. It was Stephen Hinds who first interpreted the expression intertextually, as a hint that Neptune is modelled on the Homeric Zeus whom Thetis asked to help Achilles in Iliad 1.²⁵ Others have also noted a similarity between Thetis in the Achilleid and Venus in Aeneid 1: so Neptune is ‘second’ also in relation to the Virgilian Jupiter.²⁶ But if we also take into account the Argonautica as part of the intertextual background of the passage, then it turns out that Neptune is ‘second’ also in relation to Valerius’ Jupiter, representing him and echoing his decree. It is somewhat strange, however, to find Valerius’ character in this list of ‘first Jupiters’. The Iliad is truly ‘first and original’ in the ancient epic tradition known to us; and Virgil’s Aeneid, although following and imitating Homer in so many cases, can be seen – especially in relation to later Roman epic – as a ‘primary’ poem to be imitated. Valerius’ Argonautica, by contrast, is as consciously ‘secondary’ as the Achilleid, and we would expect to find its Jupiter being a ‘second’ himself. He is, in fact, characterized as such in the Argonautica. Before Jupiter utters his decree, Sol complains to him (Arg. 1.506 – 508): …, tuane ista voluntas Graiaque nunc undis duce te nutuque secundo it ratis? ‘…, are these things thy will? Is it beneath thy guidance and with thy favouring consent that the Grecian vessel now sails the sea?’

We can extend, by analogy, Hinds’ reading of secundi | … Iovis to this passage. In addition to being ‘favouring’, Jupiter’s nod is also ‘second’ – the first being his declaration of support for Aeneas and the revelation of fatum in Aeneid 1, the primary intertext for this Valerian passage. Statius’ Neptune is thus secondary to a Jupiter already characterized as secondary to Virgil’s; secundi Iovis, in this sense, is an acknowledgment not just of the Achilleid’s ‘secondariness’, but also of its ‘secondariness in the second degree’. According to the Romantic ideal of ‘originality’, this acknowledgment would probably seem to be a sign of aesthetic flaw

 Dilke (1954, ad loc.) mentions Hades’ designation as ‘Zeus of the Underworld’ and Catull. 4.20, where Iuppiter secundus means ‘favourable wind’. Some further parallels are provided by Getty (1957, 99). Heslin (2005, 108 – 109) suggests that the allusion to Catullus also foreshadows Thetis’ failure in the storm scene.  Hinds 1998, 96 – 98.  Feeney 2004, 86.

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and inferiority; but in the context of Silver Latin literature, such a hint at the numerous layers of literary tradition underlying a given passage may also be read as a proud announcement of poetic talent.

Peleus and Chiron on the future of Achilles Having been refused by Neptune, Thetis decides to go to Thessaly and fetch Achilles. It has escaped the attention of critics that the narrator announces this in lines that recall the Valerian Juno turning her gaze to Thessaly after her monologue discussed above: d i x e r a t . illa gravi vultum demissa repulsa, … tristis a d H a e m o n i a s d e t o r q u e t bracchia terras. (Ach. 1.95, 98) He had spoken. Her face fell at the heavy rebuff. … Sadly she turned her arms to Haemonia’s land. d i x i t et H a e m o n i a s oculos d e t o r q u e t a d undas. (Arg. 1.120) So she spoke, and turned her eyes toward the Haemonian waters.

Statius started the storm episode of the Achilleid by evoking Juno’s monologue in the Argonautica, and he ends it by doing the same, thus confirming retrospectively that the Valerian goddess has been among the literary models for Thetis. The allusion, on the other hand, also looks forward in the Achilleid, functioning as a Leitzitat ²⁷ and announcing a Thessalian episode (Ach. 1.95 – 241) similar to the corresponding one in Valerius (Arg. 1.120 – 497). In both episodes the departure of the heroes is narrated, and Achilles is among the characters; any allusion to the departure of the Argo thus recalls an earlier moment in Achilles’ life, supplementing Statius’ epic biography of the hero.²⁸ A Thessalian scene, of course, can be found in Apollonius as well (1.234– 579);²⁹ but it is Valerius’ epic in particular that is recalled in the Achilleid. What makes the Flavian version especially interesting from the point of view of the Achilleid is that the child Achilles gets somewhat more attention there than in Apollonius. Instead of being just shown by Chiron’s wife Chariclo to his father, already sailing (Ap. Rhod. Arg. 1.557– 558), Achilles actually meets Pe   for

For the term see Knauer 1964, 145 – 146, and Nelis 2001, 384 n. 10, with further literature. For the Argonautica as ‘prequel’ to the Achilleid see Parkes 2009. Further intertextual background is provided for Statius’ Thessalian scene – and especially its first half – by Thetis’ visit to Hephaestus in Iliad 18: see Juhnke 1972, 166.

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leus on the eve of the departure in Valerius’ Argonautica, which allows the narrator to present the relationship between father and son in greater detail.³⁰ Achilles, brought by Chiron, falls on his father’s neck (Arg. 1.259), then looks around. He does not care for the goblets and other silverware; it is the heroes themselves and their words that interest him, and especially Hercules’ lion skin (1.260 – 263). Peleus is delighted (laetus, 1.264): tu cetera, Chiron, da mihi! te parvus lituos et bella loquentem miretur; sub te puerilia tela magistro venator ferat et nostram festinet ad hastam. (Arg. 1.267– 270) ‘All else do you, Chiron, vouchsafe. Let my little son marvel to hear you speak of clarions and of wars; do you teach him to wield his boyish weapons in the chase and rush to grasp my spear.’

Already at this young age, Achilles is beyond his years and shows that he is going to be a great hero. It has been observed that in the Achilleid Peleus’ wishes have already been fulfilled: Chiron is telling Achilles tales about the heroes of old (1.118), Achilles is already a hunter (1.119), measuring himself with his father’s famous spear (1.41).³¹ Here I would like to focus on Peleus’ word festinet. In the Achilleid Chiron tells the anxious Thetis that he himself is worried for his pupil (Ach. 1.146 – 148): non addo metum, sed vera fatebor: nescio quid magnum (nec me patria omina fallunt) vis f e s t i n a parat tenuesque supervenit annos. ‘I go not to alarm you further, but I shall tell the truth. His precocious force is brewing something big (fatherly omens do not deceive me), going beyond his scanty years.’

Chiron’s expression vis festina seems to echo Peleus’ festinet in Valerius; and if we take this as an allusion, we can perhaps offer an alternative interpretation for the parenthesis nec me patria omina fallunt as well, whose meaning is subject to debate among critics. Heslin understands patria omina as referring to the omens Chiron himself received as Achilles’ foster-father; Dilke thinks that Chiron hints at his own prophetic skills bestowed upon him by his father Saturn; according to

 Tschiedel 2004, 167; on the Valerian scene, see also Ripoll 1998a, 64– 66. Lemaire (1825, on Val. Fl. Arg. 1.255), Barnes (1981, 365) and Hershkowitz (1998b, 94– 95) compare the farewell of Hector and Astyanax in Iliad 6.  Zissos 2008, ad loc.; Parkes 2009, 113. Cf. also Dilke 1954, on Stat. Ach. 1.41; Barnes 1981, 365.

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Méheust, the expression refers to fathers’ omens in general.³² But it seems also possible that Chiron is recalling a past event precisely as it happened in Valerius: how the young Achilles’ behaved at the departure of the Argo. Achilles’ father saw a good omen in this behaviour. Statius’ Chiron emphasizes that these omens ‘do not escape his attention’, but he is ‘not deceived’ by them: nec … fallunt may mean both and, in the former sense, act as a marker of intertextuality with Valerius.³³ In Chiron’s view, Achilles’ progress is not simply fast: it is too fast, and that might expose him to danger. Chiron continues his speech by giving examples (Ach. 1.149 – 155). While previously Achilles had been eager to follow the centaur’s commands, now he cannot be restrained. Even the nearby centaurs complain about plundered homes and stolen cattle, and make threats – Chiron does not state, but seems to imply, that they are accusing Achilles. Until this point in his speech, Chiron might have recalled the Argonautic past, but only implicitly; now he ends with an explicit reference to that past, but cannot finish his argument, because Achilles returns from hunting (Ach. 1.156 – 159): olim equidem, Argoos pinus cum Thessala reges hac veheret, iuvenem Alciden et Thesea vidi – sed taceo.’ figit gelidus Nereida pallor: ille aderat … ‘In time gone by, when the pine of Thessaly carried Argo’s kings this way, I saw youthful Alcides and Theseus – but I go silent now.’ Icy pallor rivets the Nereid. The lad was there, …

What was Chiron going to say about the Argonauts? We can never know for sure, but it is precisely the nature of such interruptions – blanks in Iser’s sense³⁴ – that they make us think about what has remained unsaid. Perhaps the centaur was going to compare Achilles to the Argonauts and to say that he is an even greater hero.³⁵ In accordance with the above interpretation of vis festina and patria omina as allusions to Valerius, however, it also seems possible that Chiron was going to tell Thetis (who was not present at that time) how Achilles behaved at the departure of the Argo, already showing signs of the vis festina. Such an

 Heslin 2005, 288 – 289; Dilke 1954, ad loc.; Méheust 1971, ad loc.  I am grateful to Péter Hajdu, who suggested to me that fallo here can also be understood in the sense of ‘escaping attention’.  Iser 1994, 284– 315.  Valpy 1824, on Stat. Ach. 1.158: “voluit dicere: praestantior visus est”; Schetter 1960, 133; Heslin 2005, 181.

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explicit recalling of Achilles’ past, ironically, is thwarted by the sudden arrival of the Statian Achilles himself. By now, he has grown up in a literary as well as in a narrative sense: in the Argonautica he appeared only once and was at the centre of attention only for a few moments. In the Achilleid he is the protagonist, having his own epic story instead of being only a participant, and only for an episode, in the story of other heroes. Instead of the Argonauts and the baby Achilles, it is now the grown-up Achilles who receives the focus of both the characters’ and the reader’s attention.

Catullus and Valerius in Achilles’ song In the Thessalian scenes of both Argonautica poems Orpheus sings a song. In Apollonius it is about cosmogony (1.496 – 511); Valerius has him sing about Phrixus and Helle (1.277– 293). In the Achilleid, Chiron brings a lyre after dinner and libation, tunes it and then passes it on to Achilles (1.184– 188), who entertains his mother with a song about great deeds by heroes of the previous generation: Hercules, Pollux, Theseus and finally his own parents (1.188 – 194). Heslin called attention to the fact that all the heroes Achilles sings about are Argonauts.³⁶ The song is thus ‘an Argonautica, of a sort’; the bard, however, does not narrate the whole Argo story like Apollonius and Valerius did, focusing instead on minor philological details like an Alexandrian scholar-poet: the number of Hercules’ labours, the type of gloves Pollux used against Amycus and the number of wrestling holds Theseus employed against the Minotaur. Heslin sees in this an implicit criticism of “the literal-minded way that Valerius emulated Apollonius” and reads it as a suggestion that it is better to compose an Argonautic poem than a Callimachean epyllion, like Statius himself did in Thebaid 5. It seems to me, however, that Achilles’ song in the Achilleid recalls Valerius’ Argonautica in a more complex and less derogatory way. First of all, the enmity between Juno and Hercules (quot tumidae superarit iussa novercae | Amphitryoniades – ‘how many commands of his proud stepdame Amphitryon’s son accomplished’, 1.189 – 190) in a poem about Argonauts is a motif that calls attention to an important innovation in Valerius’ Argonautica. Apollonius also mentions the enmity once (1.996), but it does not play an important role in the narrative. In Valerius by contrast, as we have seen, Juno’s hatred for Hercules surfaces already

 Heslin 2005, 92; Statius – or, to be more precise: Statian characters – consider Theseus an Argonaut at Ach. 1.157 (Chiron) and perhaps at 1.71 (Thetis), and also at Theb. 5.431– 432 (Hypsipyle). On further attestations of this variant see Getty 1957, 99.

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at the beginning of the epic and is the cause for Hylas’ abduction. The indirect question focusing on the number of Hercules’ labours in the Statian narrator’s summary of Achilles’ song thus seems to suggest that Valerius’ version of the Argo story can be read as supplementing the Hellenistic canon of the twelve labours with a thirteenth ponos. The next story is about Pollux and Amycus. Achilles, according to the narrator’s summary, is again interested in a seemingly minor detail: what boxing gloves Pollux used. The answer, as Heslin noted, can be found in Apollonius and Theocritus: both specify that Amycus and Pollux used a hardened and thus more violent type of glove.³⁷ On the other hand, the words the Statian narrator uses here seem to recall Valerius: … c r u d u m q u o Bebryca c a e s t u obruerit Pollux … (Ach. 1.190 – 191) … with what a glove Pollux crushed the cruel Bebryx … aspice et haec c r u d i durata volumina tauri; nec pete sortis opem, sed q u o s potes indue c a e s t u s . (Arg. 4.250 – 251) Look, here too are hardened wrappings of raw bull’s hide; and seek not the aid of chance, but put on what gloves you can.

Although transferred to Amycus, the epithet crudus (‘raw’) itself supplies the answer to the question: crudo caestu, which in turn is a Virgilian expression.³⁸ There is, however, also the question of ‘which pair’ Pollux chose. Amycus brings two pairs in Apollonius and, without casting lots, allows Pollux to choose, who takes the one that lies close to his feet (Ap. Rhod. Arg. 2.51– 62). Valerius follows Apollonius quite closely in the corresponding passage, except for some details: he does not specify exactly how many volumina Amycus brought, and he does not let his reader know which one Pollux chose. For the Statian question quo … caestu, understood as ‘which gloves?’, there is no answer to be found in Valerius, only in Apollonius. If there is some kind of criticism against Valerius in the Achilleid passage, this might be it: wittily calling attention to a minor lack of detail in the Valerian narrative, rather than disapproving of Valerian poetics in general. Achilles’ song ends with an account of the wedding of the hero’s parents: maternos in fine toros superisque gravatum | Pelion – ‘and finally his mother’s marriage bed and Pelion weighed down by the High Ones’ (Ach. 1.193 – 194). It

 Heslin 2005, 89 – 90; cf. Hershkowitz 1998b, 87.  Heslin 2005, 90, citing Aen. 5.69; the expression also occurs at G. 3.20.

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was Stephen Hinds who first emphasized that by including both the wedding and Theseus’ Cretan adventures in Achilles’ song Statius does not simply allude to Catullus 64, but includes a version of the epyllion, as it were, in his own poem.³⁹ Achilles’ song may also allude, however, to Valerius’ most obvious allusion to Catullus 64 in the ekphrasis of the paintings decorating the Argo (Arg. 1.130 – 139): hic insperatos Tyrrheni tergore piscis Peleos in thalamos vehitur Thetis; aequora delphin corripit, ipsa sedet deiecta in lumina palla nec Iove maiorem nasci suspirat Achillen. hanc Panope Dotoque soror laetataque fluctu prosequitur nudis pariter Galatea lacertis antra petens; Siculo revocat de litore Cyclops. contra ignis viridique torus de fronde dapesque vinaque et aequoreos inter cum coniuge divos Aeacides pulsatque chelyn post pocula Chiron.

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On one side Thetis is being borne upon the back of a Tyrrhene fish to the unwanted bridal chamber of Peleus; the dolphin is speeding over the sea; she herself is sitting with her veil drawn down over her eyes, and is sorrowing that Achilles shall not be born greater than Jupiter. Panope and her sister Doto and Galatea with bare shoulders, revelling in the waves, escort her toward the caverns; Cyclops from the Sicilian shore calls Galatea back. Opposite to this is a fire and a bed of green leaves, a banquet and wines, and in the midst of the sea-gods the son of Aeacus with his wife; they have drunk, and now Chiron is touching the lyre.

Torus in both Valerius and Statius (although referring here, metonymically, to the event of the marriage) has been interpreted as a signal of the Catullan intertextual background, recalling the famous ekphrasis of the coverlet of the marriage bed.⁴⁰ In Valerius the epithalamium – which served as a frame for the description itself in Catullus – is turned into a visual work of art and embedded into the Argonautica as an ekphrasis. ⁴¹ It is even supplemented with a scene which is not found in Catullus, but still recalls the beginning of the epyllion: Thetis followed by other Nereids, this time arriving for the wedding on her dolphin.⁴² To make the play even more elaborate, Valerius includes in this ‘visual epithalamium’ Chi Hinds 1998, 126 – 128; cf. Heslin 2005, 88 – 89.  Zissos 2008, on Val. Fl. Arg. 1.137– 139, who in turn cites Hinds 1998, 127, on the Achilleid passage.  Zissos 2008, on Val. Fl. Arg. 1.130 – 139. See also Barchiesi (1995) 2001b, 135– 139, on this passage and ekphrasis in general as a “trope of intertextuality”.  Both Valerius and Statius reject the Catullan story of ‘love at first sight’ between Peleus and Thetis; in the Achilleid see 1.1– 2, 90 – 91, 252– 257.

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ron’s song that replaces the Catullan prophecy of the Parcae,⁴³ although its subject matter remains unknown – the song is ‘muted’ by the visual medium.⁴⁴ Statius seems to remain closer to the Catullan version. The epithalamium is a song again, and the wedding of Peleus and Thetis is linked with Theseus’ Cretan adventures. Achilles’ song, on the other hand, also shows signs of acknowledging Valerius’ version. Probably in the same cave that was the venue for the wedding in both the Achilleid and Valerius’ Argonautica,⁴⁵ Chiron again plucks the strings of the lyre after drinking and libation,⁴⁶ as in the Argo paintings, but this time only to tune the instrument, which is then given to Achilles. The youth performs an epithalamium, now included in a song about Argonauts, which is in turn embedded into the Achilleid. Valerius and Statius compete with each other in how to recall Catullus 64 through a work of art in their poems, and they also both compete with Catullus: suggesting that the wedding of Peleus and Thetis has become the subject of art and poetry already in the age of heroes, they invent representatives of such a tradition, pretending them to be ‘prototypes’ rather than literary imitations of Catullus’ epyllion.⁴⁷

(Dis)appearing traces: Scyros and Lemnos After performing his song, Achilles goes to sleep. Before he wakes up, Thetis is going to take him to a secret place and hide him from the Greek army. Lemnos is among the candidate islands, but is rejected by Thetis because – as any reader knows from the story of the Argo – it is ‘unfriendly to men’ (non aequa viris,

 On the variant of Chiron singing – or even prophesying – at Peleus’ wedding see Zissos 2008, on Val. Fl. Arg. 1.137– 139.  Poets, of course, may always ‘amplify’ the words or even thoughts of people represented on a visual medium: so does Catullus famously in Carm. 64 with Ariadne, and the Valerian narrator lets us know why Thetis is represented as sighing on the Argo painting (Arg. 1.133).  On the Argo painting the Nereids and Thetis are going to a cave (antra petens, 1.136), although it is not specified that it is Chiron’s cave on Mt Pelion. In the Achilleid Chiron’s cave is called conubialia … | antra (1.101– 102) where tokens of the gods present at the wedding can still be seen (1.109 – 110).  Stat. Ach. 1.184– 186: tunc libare dapes Baccheaque munera Chiron | orat et … | elicit extremo chelyn (‘Then Chiron begs her to taste victuals and Bacchus’ gift, … . At last he draws out his lyre, …’).  I have discussed a similar play, based on the tension between mythical and literary chronology, regarding the relationship of the Achilleid and Pindar’s Nemean 3: Kozák 2012. See also Heslin (2005, 87) on Chiron handing the lyre to Achilles as a symbol of a continuous poetic tradition beginning with the heroes themselves.

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Ach. 1.206). She finally decides to take Achilles to Scyros. They travel on a dolphin, with Chiron standing on the shore and watching their fast disappearance (Ach. 1.232– 236): prosequitur divam celeresque recursus securus pelagi Chiron rogat udaque celat lumina et abreptos subito iamiamque latentes erecto prospectat equo, qua cana parumper spumant signa fugae et liquido perit orbita ponto.

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Untroubled by the sea, Chiron follows the goddess on her path and begs speedy return, hiding his moist eyes and gazing out from horse erect as they are suddenly carried away and presently hidden from sight, where for a little while foam the white traces of flight and the track dies upon the liquid flood.

The passage again recalls an Argonautica, but this time it is Apollonius’ epic, in which Chiron stands on the shore at the departure of the Argo, with his wife Chariclo and Achilles, and wishes a safe return. The ship leaves a white trail behind (Ap. Rhod. Arg. 1.545 – 546, 553 – 556): μακραὶ δ’ αἰὲν ἐλευκαίνοντο κέλευθοι, ἀτραπὸς ὣς χλοεροῖο διειδομένη πεδίοιο. … αὐτὰρ ὅγ’ ἐξ ὑπάτου ὄρεος κίεν ἄγχι θαλάσσης Χείρων Φιλλυρίδης, πολιῇ δ’ ἐπὶ κύματος ἀγῇ τέγγε πόδας, καὶ πολλὰ βαρείῃ χειρὶ κελεύων νόστον ἐπευφήμησεν ἀπηρέα νισσομένοισιν.

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… and ever their wake gleamed white far behind, like a path seen over a green plain. … And there came down from the mountain-top to the sea Chiron, son of Philyra, and where the white turf broke he dipped his feet, and, often waving with his broad hand, shouting wishes of luck and safe return for them.

Barchiesi, who notes Statius’ borrowing from Apollonius, offers a metapoetic interpretation of the allusion: orbita hints also at the textual trace of Apollonius in the Achilleid, which fades away (perit) as quickly as it appeared.⁴⁸ This might be true for this textual trace of Apollonius; but those of Valerius, as we have seen,

 Barchiesi 2001a, 356. It is worthwhile to mention that a metapoetic interpretation of the Apollonian metaphor of the path has also been suggested by DeForest (1994, 45): in her reading, Apollonius’ poem follows a narrow, ‘Callimachean’ path leading through the wide seas of epic poetry. Lovatt (2005, 28) offers a similar interpretation for a line in the narrative of the chariot race in the Thebaid: delet sulcos iterata priores | orbita (6.415 – 416): “repetition and imitation entail deletion”.

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have frequently appeared in the first episodes of the Achilleid. Still, they might disappear at this point in the epic. The first allusion to the Argonautica was in a passage about an appearance at sea (Thetis emerging from below); a passage about a disappearance at sea might now be the last in the same series of allusions, signalling that the stories of the Argonauts and Achilles are going to follow different routes from now on. Indeed, this seems to happen. The number of specific allusions, as far as I can tell, suddenly drops as we continue reading the Achilleid until, towards the end of book 1, some clear cases of textual borrowing from Valerius can be found again. Still, we may compare the story of Achilles on Scyros with some episodes in the Argonauts’ journey – especially after having seen the close connection of the first two episodes of the Achilleid with Valerius’ Argonautica. Just like the traces of a ship disappear not at once but gradually, so the traces of another text may be perceived for a while even after verbal allusions to it have come to an end. How we have read the preceding episodes of the Achilleid also affects the way in which we read the following ones, and heightens our awareness of any possible similarity between the stories of Achilles and Jason. Thetis rejected Lemnos, but we should not forget the Argonauts’ stay there – the first stop on their journey – as a possible parallel for Achilles at Scyros. The Scyros episode (Ach. 1.242– 396, 560 – 960), narrating Achilles’ temporary negligence of his mission and fate, has obvious links to the Virgilian Aeneas’ stay at Carthage; but there seems to be an even closer similarity with the Lemnian story.⁴⁹ Aeneas might have been uxorius (Aen. 4.266) at the court of Dido, a queen leading her people (dux femina facti, 1.364); but the destabilization of gender roles is much more radical on both Lemnos and Scyros. The Lemnian women kill their husbands and thus have to take over traditional male activities, even fighting. Achilles puts on women’s clothes, weaves and dances together with the daughters of Lycomedes. Achilles acting like a girl is thus the mirror image of the Lemnian women acting like men. What Achilles does is, however, even more scandalous from a literary point of view than the transgression of the Lemnian women. On Lemnos the arrival of the Argonauts marks the restoration of sexual order: the women can be women again. On Scyros the opposite happens; it is now the protagonist of the epic himself who disrupts sexual order. This similarity is one of stories rather than texts; but there are some points where the Achilleid seems to recall Valerius’ version specifically. Thetis disguis The most important discussion of the intertextual relationship between the Carthaginian episode of the Aeneid and the Scyros episode in the Achilleid is Hinds 2000, 236 – 244. Aeneid 1– 4, of course, already has among its models the Lemnian episode of Apollonius’ Argonautica (see Nelis 2001, 112– 117, 180 – 182).

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ing Achilles as a girl might remind the reader of Hypsipyle disguising Thoas as Bacchus (a god frequently represented as effeminate!) and leading him through the city in broad daylight.⁵⁰ This scene is not found in either Apollonius or Statius’ own Thebaid, only in Valerius’ Argonautica (2.261– 278). Deidamia’s farewell speech to Achilles also recalls Hypsipyle’s speech in Valerius, both asking the father of their baby not to be forgetful. This time the intertextual connection is based on verbal similarity:⁵¹ i (neque enim tantos ausim revocare paratus), i cautus, nec vana Thetin timuisse m e m e n t o , i felix nosterque r e d i ! … attamen h u n c , q u e m maesta mihi solacia l i n q u i s , h u n c saltem sub corde tene … (Ach. 1.940 – 942, 952– 953) ‘Go! I would not dare to recall such mighty preparations. Go, but have a care. Remember, Thetis’ fears were not idle. Go and luck be with you, and come back still mine. … But this baby that you leave me for my sad comfort, him at least hold in your heart …’ i , m e m o r i terrae, quae vos amplexa quieto prima sinu; r e f e r et domitis a Colchidos oris vela per h u n c utero q u e m l i n q u i s Iasona nostro. (Arg. 2.422– 424) ‘Go now, go, but remember the land that first folded you to its peaceful bosom; and from Colchis’ conquered shores bring back hither your sails, I pray you, by this Jason whom you leave in my womb.’

Neither Jason nor Achilles, as the reader probably knows, is going to return. The allusion, however, might do more than emphasize the similarity between Deidamia and Hypsipyle as ‘abandoned women’.⁵² Only some 20 lines later in Valerius the Argonauts arrive at Troy. Statius, as we have seen, started the Achilleid by recalling the Argonauts’ departure from Troy in Valerius, and now he ends the first book with a matching allusion to their arrival there. What comes in between these allusions, i. e. most of Achilleid 1, can be read as broadly corresponding  Achilles is going to be compared to Bacchus later at Ach. 1.615 – 618, on which simile see Sturt 1982, 835 – 836.  Dilke (1954, on Stat. Ach. 1.940 ff.) and Heslin (2005, 142) compare the use of triple anaphora at line-beginning in Catullus 64; but the repetition of the imperative i links the Statian passage to the Valerian in the first place. Cf. Wills 1996, 397– 405 (on line-initial double and triple anaphora in Latin poetry) and 99 – 102 (repetitions of i and ite).  For Deidamia as relicta, and Roman elegy as the intertextual background for the Achilleid passage, see Rosati 1992, 256 – 263. Among the models he cites there is the Ovidian Hypsipyle, who watches Jason’s ship disappear from the horizon (Her. 6.65 – 72), just like Deidamia is going to at Ach. 2.23 – 36.

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to the main episodes in Valerius’ Argonautica 1– 2: a storm scene (although the storm is only intended, not actual, in Statius), a Thessalian episode narrating the hero’s departure and an episode centring around the hero’s love affair and temporary suspension of his mission on an island (Lemnos and Scyros, respectively). The intertextual relationship is established through repeated verbal allusions in the first two of these episodes (Ach. 1.1– 241), then it seems to be based rather on similarities of plot and character in the Scyros episode. In some cases, the Argonautica is the only target of the allusions; in others, it serves as an intertextual bridge between the Achilleid and the Aeneid or Catullus 64.⁵³ From both Lemnos and Scyros the heroes go on to Troy. For the Argonauts this is only a short visit, since they continue their journey to Colchis. Statius, by contrast, composes an epic whose hero does not have to depart quickly from Troy once he gets there. He is going to spend years, and even die, in Troy. The irony is that Achilles never gets there before the apparently unfinished Achilleid breaks off at 2.167. It is thus impossible to say whether or not a strong intertextual relationship with Valerius’ Argonautica would have been maintained in later parts of the Achilleid, evoking, for example, Jason’s stay in Colchis and the war against Perses – another important Valerian innovation – during the narrative of the events of the Trojan war.⁵⁴ We are left to judge by what we read in the only completed book of Statius’ poem, and the intertextual ‘traces’ we find there allow us, in my view, to conclude that Valerius’ Argonautica features more prominently among the intertexts for the Achilleid than previously recognized, and thus also the Achilleid can be seen as a more important document for the early reception of Valerius’ epic.⁵⁵

 For Statius’ use of Valerius’ Argonautica as an intertextual bridge to earlier models see Smolenaars 1994, xxvi–xlii.  The Colchis episode is already recalled in a few passages of the completed section of the Achilleid. The model for the Amazon simile at 1.823 – 826 is Val. Fl. Arg. 5.343 – 349 (cf. Dilke 1954, ad loc.); Perutelli 2006 compared Ulysses exploring Lycomedes’ palace, looking for Achilles (Ach. 1.742– 746) to Jason looking around Aeetes’ palace, seeking to catch sight of the Golden Fleece (Val. Fl. Arg. 7.30 – 31). Ulysses is going to mention Jason’s rape of Medea and their pursuit by Aeetes at Ach. 2.75 – 77.  For the ancient and later reception of Valerius’ Argonautica see Zissos 2006a.

Mark Heerink

Silius versus Valerius Orpheus in the Punica and the Argonautica *

1. Introduction: Silius and Valerius Scholars generally agree that Valerius Flaccus’ Argonautica was written before Silius Italicus’ Punica. ¹ Particularly because the two Flavian epics were composed so close to each other in time, allusions of Silius to Valerius are to be expected. Whereas Silius’ indebtedness to his most important models, and Virgil’s Aeneid in particular, has received a lot of scholarly attention, the relationship between the Punica and Valerius Flaccus’ Argonautica has not.² This is probably due to the fact that intertextual contact between the two poems is hard to pin down. F. Ripoll has discerned various verbal and thematic parallels, but these are very general in nature, and it is difficult to interpret them as self-conscious allusions.³ When Ripoll deals with possible ‘direct allusions’ to Valerius’ Argonautica, an investigation that he finds ‘hardly fruitful’, he concludes that ‘it is difficult to determine if Silius was thinking specifically about the work of Vale-

* This article was made possible by postdoctoral funding from the Niels Stensen Stichting, Amsterdam, and by a postdoctoral VENI grant of the Netherlands Organisation for Scientific Research (NWO). Earlier versions of this paper were presented at the Pacific Rim Latin Literature Conference 2011 on Silius Italicus and Flavian Culture (4– 6 July 2011), organized by Bob Cowan at Sydney University, and at the conference Entre “imitatio” et “intertextualité”. Citation et allusion dans la poésie latine, organised by Valéry Berlincourt, Lavinia Galli Milic and Damien Nelis at the Fondation Hardt in Vandœuvres (31 Oct.–1 Nov. 2011). I would like to thank the organizers and the participants that helped me to improve this paper, in particular Peter Davis, Denis Feeney, Stephen Hinds and Markus Wilson.  See Stover 2008, who convincingly argues that Valerius’ epic was written between 70 and 80 CE. Silius in all probability started writing the Punica shortly after 80 CE (see Marks 2005a, 287– 288, also for more bibliography). But see also Wilson in this volume.  For the extensive influence of the Aeneid on the Punica see e. g. von Albrecht 1964, 144– 184; Ahl / Davis / Pomeroy 1986, 2493 – 2501; Hardie 1993; Pomeroy 2000; Ganiban 2009; Klaassen 2009. For the influence of Lucan, Ovid and Statius see e. g. Marks 2009, Lovatt 2009 and Wilson 2004 respectively. See n. 15 below for Silius and Homer.  Ripoll 1999 offers the only systematic overview of verbal and thematic similarities between the two epics. For more bibliography on individual points of contact between the two epics see Ripoll 1999, 500 n. 5, and Zissos 2006a, 166 n. 6.

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rius’.⁴ Only Silius’ extensive eulogy of the Flavian emperors at the end of Punica 3 exhibits some very striking similarities with the prologue of the Argonautica, which suggest direct influence.⁵ So it seems clear that Silius at least knew Valerius’ epic, but as these encomiastic passages are more or less detached from the narratives proper of both epics, the question remains why hardly any firm contact can be detected in the epics proper. To a certain extent this may have to do with Silius’ allusive technique, which, as M. Wilson has emphasized, is rather peculiar: Compared with other writers of Latin epic, he tends to eschew signposting his intertexts by the technique of ‘quotation’, that is, by repeating complete phrases or other word collocations from earlier poems. He prefers to signal the intertextual connection by alternative means, in particular, by coincidence of situation and detail rather than wording and, occasionally, by more explicit hints.⁶

In the case of Valerius Flaccus, however, this does not explain why there are not even clearly significant similar situations or points of detail. In this article, I would like to suggest a different explanation for the relative silence that characterizes the intertextual contact between Silius and Valerius, by exploring the presence of the archetypal poet Orpheus in both epics, which reveals a paradoxical kind of intertextuality.

 Ripoll 1999, 517: “Après avoir examiné les endroits des Punica qui suggèrent une influence latente de Valérius, il convient de se demander si l’on ne peut pas déceler, chez Silius, des allusions directes à des épisodes ou à des personnages de la geste argonautique qui renvoient clairement à l’épopée de son prédécesseur. Or une telle investigation ne s’avère guère fructueuse: on relève bien quelques références à l’expédition des Argonautes, mais il est difficile de préciser si Silius pensait spécifiquement à l’œuvre de Valérius.” Cf. Ripoll 1998a, 8: “… l’influence générale de Valérius sur Silius semble tout de même assez limitée.”  For the parallels between the two passages see e. g. Ussani 1955, 40 – 47; Wistrand 1956, 24– 26; Ripoll 1999, 515 – 516, and Zissos 2006a, 166 n. 6, who speaks of the “considerable influence of Valerius’ Flavian eulogy … upon Silius’ …” and conveniently summarizes the striking similarities (Zissos 2008, 82 [on Arg. 1.7– 21]): “The two passages have in common a flattering comparison with the Julian dynasty (8 – 9; Pun. 3.594– 6); praise of Vespasian’s British campaigns (7– 9; Pun. 3.597– 8); laudations of Titus and Domitian, dwelling on the former’s conquest of Jerusalem and the latter’s literary talents (12– 14; Pun. 3.603 – 21); anticipation of apotheosis with similar astral imagery (16 – 20; Pun. 3.626 – 9). Both use Caledonius in connection with Vespasian’s military command in Britain and Idume in connection with the sack of Jerusalem.”  Wilson 2004, 226.

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2. Orpheus in the Punica Orpheus makes three appearances in the Punica. The first, brief passage is part of the already mentioned eulogy of the Flavians at the end of book 3. There, after praise of his rhetorical skills, emperor Domitian is praised for his literary skills, and he is in that respect considered superior to Orpheus (3.619 – 621):⁷ huic sua Musae sacra ferent, meliorque lyra, cui substitit Hebrus et venit Rhodope, Phoebo miranda loquetur.

620

The Muses shall bring him [i.e. Domitian] offerings, and Phoebus shall marvel at his song – a sweeter strain than his [i.e. Orpheus’] whose music made the Hebrus stand still and Mount Rhodope move on. (trans. Duff 1934)

This passage seemingly has nothing to do with Valerius’ Argonautica, as it does not evoke the Argonautic expedition at all, but I will return to this passage at the end. In the other two passages in which Orpheus features in the Punica the poet i s associated with the Argonautic expedition, and he thus at least brings Valerius’ epic to mind. In book 11 the poet is mentioned by the bard Teuthras, who entertains the Carthaginians during their stay in Capua with two songs. In the second song (11.440 – 480), he sings about the power of poetry, describing legendary poets and their supernatural feats.⁸ After Amphion, Arion and Cheiron, Orpheus is dealt with most extensively. After a description of his music’s effect on nature, the poet’s participation in the Argonautic expedition is dealt with (11.469 – 472): quin etiam, Pagasaea ratis cum caerula, nondum cognita terrenae, pontumque intrare negaret, ad puppim sacrae, cithara eliciente, carinae adductum cantu venit mare.

470

Moreover, when the Argo at Pagasae refused to launch out on the blue water which on land she had never known, the sea, summoned by the lyre, obeyed the music and came up to the stern of the sacred bark. (trans. Duff 1934)

 On (the ancient sources for) Domitian’s literary activity, see e. g. Coleman 1986, 3088 – 3095. See also Section 6 below.  On this song see e. g. Marks 2010, 192, but in particular the thorough discussion by Deremetz 1995, esp. 418 – 434.

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This passage again brings Valerius’ Argonautica to mind, where, in the first book, Orpheus also sings to his fellow Argonauts before the start of the expedition (1.277– 293). In fact, Orpheus performs the night before departure, ending the festivities and putting the Argonauts to sleep with his song (1.294– 295): iamque mero ludoque modus, positique quietis conticuere toris; …

295

And now there is an end to wine and festivity; outstretched upon quiet couches, the men have grown still; … (trans. Zissos 2008)

This passage is a reworking of a scene in the first book of Apollonius’ Argonautica (1.496 – 511), where Orpheus sings a song to soothe a quarrel between Idas and Jason, also the evening before departure.⁹ But neither Apollonius nor Valerius mention any trouble with the launching of the Argo the next day, as Silius does; nothing is said about the Argo or the sea resisting. In Punica 12, Silius uniquely depicts a historical poet, Ennius, as fighting in the front lines on the battlefield. The famous Roman epic poet is compared by Silius to Orpheus (12.398 – 402):¹⁰ is prima in pugna (v a t e s ut T h r a c i u s olim, infestam bello quateret cum Cyzicus Argo, spicula deposito Rhodopeia pectine torsit) spectandum sese non parva strage virorum fecerat, et dextrae gliscebat caedibus ardor.

400

He [i.e. Ennius] fought in the front (like the Thracian poet long ago, when Cyzicus attacked the Argo, who laid down the plectrum and shot Rhodopeian arrows) and had made himself conspicuous by slaying many of the enemy; the ardor of his right hand was growing with the number of his victims. (trans. Casali 2006)

Silius here refers to an event that was extensively told by Valerius Flaccus in Argonautica 3. There the Argonauts are mistakenly attacked at night by their former host Cyzicus and his men, only to find out what happened the morning after. Valerius describes several Argonauts fighting, but Orpheus is not among them, which thus creates a striking difference with Silius’ passage. So is Silius alluding to Valerius in these two passages in which Orpheus appears in an Argonautic context? There are no ‘markers’ such as striking verbal

 See e. g. Schubert 1998, 273; Zissos 2004a, 73, 75; 2008, 214– 215 (on Arg. 1.277– 93) for comparisons between the two songs.  On this simile, see also Deremetz 1995, 458 – 460; Ripoll 1999, 517– 518; Casali 2006, 573 – 581; Manuwald 2007, 74– 82; Marks 2010, 189 – 192.

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similarities and words in the same metrical sedes,¹¹ to suggest that Silius is alluding to Valerius Flaccus. But there can be no question of coincidence, as the differences between Silius and Valerius in their depiction of Orpheus are so striking, especially when one considers that the Argonautica was produced so close in time to the Punica. It is, in short, impossible not to think of Valerius.¹² So what is going on then? I would like to suggest that Silius does self-consciously allude to the Argonautica, and that the ‘vagueness’ of Silius’ allusions and his different depiction of Orpheus have to do with the different, in fact opposing, poetical agenda of the Punica with regard to Valerius’ epic.

3. Silius’ poetics As R. Marks has recently emphasized,¹³ Silius Italicus’ Punica self-consciously rejects epic on Greek mythological themes, which had become increasingly popular since the end of the Republic, as part of a broader upsurge of a-political, Callimachean poetry. In Augustan Rome, ‘Callimacheanism’ was associated with small-scale genres, such as bucolic and elegiac poetry, which self-consciously opposed epic poetry. In the Flavian period, however, Valerius and Statius “use the Callimachean recusatio form not to reject epic in favour of another genre but to reject one kind of epic (epic on contemporary Flavian history) in favour of another (the epics they compose). What this evidence suggests is that in the Flavian period the distinction between mythological and historical epic was being drawn quite sharply.”¹⁴ In contrast to his Flavian colleagues Valerius and Statius, Silius puts his own epic in the waning tradition of Roman-historical epic, the tradition of Ennius in particular, but also Virgil. To a certain extent Homer, whose reincarnation Ennius claimed to be in the proem to his Annales, is also an important model, particularly because of the bard’s proven ability to sing the κλέα ἀνδρῶν, which is what both Ennius and Silius aim at: to com-

 See in particular Wills 1996, 18 – 24, 30 – 31, for the various ways in which allusions can be marked.  I am not dealing here with Silius’ allusions to the Orpheus stories of Virgil and Ovid in Pun. 11.459 – 472, on which see in particular Wilson 2004, 232– 234.  Marks 2010. For Silius’ poetics, as expressed by the songs of Teuthras, which function as mises en abyme of the Punica, see in particular the extensive discussion by Deremetz 1995, 413 – 474 (ch. 6: “Les chants de Teuthras ou l’acte poétique: Silius Italicus, Punica, 11”).  Marks 2010, 191, with reference to Nauta 2006 (on which see also n. 35 below), on the Callimachean recusatio in Flavian epic. See also Galli in this volume.

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memorate the heroic efforts of famous Romans such as Scipio, who can thus act as exempla of virtus. ¹⁵ According to Marks, it is through poet figures in the Punica, notably Ennius and Teuthras, that Silius “most clearly articulates his views on poetry and marshals his defence of historical epic”.¹⁶ Silius achieves that by turning these two poets into warriors; this “allows him to address and mend what he sees as one of the major problems facing epic in his times, the disconnection between the genre and history; for the poet-warrior symbolically bridges the world of poetry, which Silius himself inhabits, and the world of history, about which he writes, and thus becomes the perfect vehicle by which to reconnect them”.¹⁷ As we have seen, Orpheus appears in connection with both Ennius and Teuthras in the Punica, so in a very programmatic context. As Orpheus in these passages also evokes Valerius’ Argonautica, I will argue that Silius sets off his own poetical agenda not only to Callimachean, mythological epic in general, as Marks has shown, but also reacts specifically to Valerius Flaccus’ Argonautica.

4. Silius versus Valerius When Ennius programmatically appears as a warrior on the battlefield and is compared to Orpheus, Silius aligns himself and his Punica with Ennius and the kind of epic poetry on the exploits of Rome that he wrote. Silius and Ennius are of course both epic poets, writing about Roman history, which already suggests a connection between the two, but, as Marks remarks, “Ennius’s very status

 See e. g. Deremetz 1995, esp. 470 – 474; Manuwald 2007, 82– 88, for the way in which Silius presents himself as a new Homer, as Ennius had done before him. For a systematic overview of Homer’s influence on the Punica, see Juhnke 1972. See e. g. Marks 2010, 193, for the way in which Silius’ epic “instills and fortifies in its readers those virtues and ideals that Teuthras undermines in Hannibal and his men: hard work, a thirst for glory, and martial valor, or in Latin virtus.”  Marks 2010, 189. See also Deremetz 1995, 458 – 460, 470 – 474; Casali 2006, 573 – 574; Manuwald 2007, for Silius’ programmatic depiction of Ennius as a warrior.  Marks 2010, 190. Cf. Casali 2006, 573 – 574. For the way in which Teuthras is depicted as a warrior, see Marks 2010, 192: “When we first lay eyes on Teuthras, he look like the typical bard of epic poetry who entertains guests at a banquet and releases them from their cares … . But once the pro-Roman goddess Venus orders her Cupids to wound Hannibal and his men with their arrows during the banquet (11.385 – 99), it becomes clear that entertaining the Carthaginians is a way of defeating them and the banquet itself a sort of battle in which Hannibal and his men are to be conquered. … After the Cupids accomplish this task with the bow (11.410 – 31), Teuthras next steps onto the battlefield, as it were, with his lyre … .”

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as a poet-warrior invites us to identify Silius with him. After all, if the collapse of the poet and the warrior into one figure implies the collapse of the poet into the martial world about which he writes, then the inference lies readily at hand that Silius is here blurring the distinction between himself, the poet of the Punica, and Ennius, about whom he is presently writing.”¹⁸ In this context Silius compares Ennius to Orpheus fighting at Cyzicus, a depiction so strikingly different from Valerius’ Cyzicus episode, where Orpheus is not present on the battlefield. Silius’ vates … Thracius (Pun. 12.398) may allude to Orpheus’ song in book 1 of Valerius’ Argonautica, where the poet is denoted as Thracius … vates (Arg. 1.277).¹⁹ If this is indeed an allusion, it would emphasize – as well as generalize – the difference between Valerius’ Orpheus, who is predominantly a singer in the Argonautica, and Silius’ fighting Orpheus, a difference that seems significant in this specific context in the Punica. ²⁰ I suggest that Silius has transformed Valerius’ Orpheus into a poet warrior not only to express his own epic agenda but also to reject Valerius’ mythological epic at the same time. This could also explain the sly allusion of Silius, who wants to show the difference from Valerius, but does not want to credit his Flavian adversary too much.²¹ But what about the other appearance of Orpheus in the Punica in an Argonautic context? Can this also be explained in this ‘anti-Valerian’ way? Orpheus is here associated with another programmatic figure, Teuthras, in the second song that the bard sings in Capua for Hannibal and his Carthaginians (Pun. 11.440 – 480), on the power of Greek mythological poetry and poets, Orpheus in particular. As A. Deremetz and R. Marks have shown, Teuthras – who, significantly, is from Cumae, a city that has remained loyal to the Romans²² – helps the Romans  Marks 2010, 190. Cf. also Marks’ interesting interpretation of Apollo’s words (and reference to his future Annales) that Ennius ‘will raise leaders to the skies’ (attolletque duces c a e l o , Pun. 12.411) as an allusion to the opening of the Punica (1.1– 2): ordior arma, quibus c a e l o se gloria t o l l i t | Aeneadum … – ‘Here I begin war by which the fame of the Aeneadae was raised to heaven …’ (trans. Duff 1934).  As suggested by Zissos 2008, 216 (on Arg. 1.277– 8). If Silius here indeed alludes to Orpheus’ song in Arg. 1 (but the similarity is of course of a very general nature), the allusion could perhaps also be read as a hint by Silius to compare this passage with the other one featuring Orpheus, in Teuthras’ song (discussed below), as the situation described there (Orpheus helping to launch the Argo) directly evokes Orpheus’ song in Arg. 1 the night before departure.  Cf. Manuwald 2007, 79: “By having Orpheus fight on Cyzicus, Silius Italicus includes a reference to a further Roman epic poet, while surpassing him and adapting the available material to his own narrative purposes.”  In line with this interpretation, olim (‘long ago’, Pun. 12.398) can be read as a rather ironic marker of the allusion to Valerius’ singing Orpheus in Arg. 1.277 (“in that old mythological stuff!”), as Stephen Hinds suggests to me.  Deremetz 1995, 414.

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by weakening Hannibal and his men in Capua, with disastrous consequences for the Carthaginians, who will no longer stand a chance against the Romans after this episode in Capua.²³ As Marks has it: “It is not mere coincidence that Silius chooses a song of this sort to weaken Hannibal and his men; in doing so he can suggest that such poetry, poetry on Greek mythological themes, is morally uninspiring and even destructive.”²⁴ Orpheus in this passage also clearly brings Valerius’ Argonautica to mind – by reference to the Cyzicus episode, which also features in Valerius’ epic, as well as by emphasizing the primacy of the Argonautic journey, an aspect that plays an important role in the Flavian Argonautica as is already evident from the epic’s very first word (prima, Arg. 1.1).²⁵ Nevertheless, the allusions are again quite vague, and one gets the impression that Silius also in this passage rejects Valerius’ Argonautica. Moreover, Silius has again transformed Valerius’ mythological Orpheus, giving him more power to make him more dangerous, as he is now able to calm the seas and get the Argo launched, where Valerius’ Orpheus only sung a lullaby the evening before the departure of the Argonauts. Silius’ changes to Valerius’ Orpheus thus reveal what Silius thinks not only of Callimachean, mythological poetry in general, but also of Valerius’ Argonautica in particular.

5. Valerius’ Orpheus as mise en abyme But if Silius’ allusions to the Argonautica can be read in this oppositional way, why would Silius take on Valerius through Orpheus? Of course, Orpheus is not just a character: he is t h e mythological poet, as well as an Argonaut, and he is thus ideally suited to represent Valerius’ epic. In fact, already in the Argonautica itself Orpheus functions as Valerius’ alter ego, the representation of the poet in the text. Of course Orpheus has a rich history of being a mise en abyme of the poet, notably in Ovid’s Metamorphoses. ²⁶ As scholars have often shown, for example, the series of songs Orpheus sings in book 10 of the Metamorphoses seem

 Deremetz 1995, 418 – 434; Marks 2010, 192. See also Deremetz 1995, 413 – 418, on the first song of Teuthras (Pun. 11.288 – 302), who interprets the seemingly just pleasant mythological song as in fact a hidden admonition to the Capuans to stay loyal to the alliance with the Romans.  Marks 2010, 192.  I owe this suggestion to Denis Feeney. For the importance of the theme of the Argo as the first ship and the inauguration of the sea in Valerius’ Argonautica, see e. g. Zissos 2008, 72– 73 (on Arg. 1.1).  For Orpheus as a mise en abyme of Apollonius in the Argonautica and of Virgil in Georgics 4, see e. g. Albis 1996, 29 – 31, and Lee 1996 respectively.

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representative of Ovid’s entire work.²⁷ Valerius Flaccus’ Orpheus sings two major songs, which also seem miniature versions of the epic that contains them. Orpheus’ song in the first book, for instance, which has already been discussed briefly, is about Phrixus and Helle (Arg. 1.277– 293). It is about the prehistory of the Argonautic expedition, and so it is an ‘external analepsis’,²⁸ but in a sense, as W. Schubert for instance has noted, it reflects Valerius’ Argonautica itself, as both stories describe sea voyages involving the Golden Fleece, and as the story of Phrixus and Helle ends in a minor key, so is Valerius’ Argonautica also ‘painted in rather darker colours than Apollonius’ epic’.²⁹ Furthermore, as P. Davis has noted, the song can be read “as foreshadowing events to come. After all Phrixus, like Jason, makes his way from Greece to Colchis and marries one of Aeetes’ daughters.”³⁰ The song Orpheus sings in Argonautica 4, when the Argonauts arrive at the Bosporus (4.351– 421), is about the nymph Io, who, transformed into a cow, is forced to travel east and is eventually deified, as the Egyptian goddess Isis. Valerius thus suggests obvious thematic similarities with the Argonautica itself.³¹ So Orpheus and his song seem to resemble Valerius himself and his epic. There are also hints of a Callimachean agenda. First of all, there is the aetiological aspect of Orpheus’ song – it explains the name of the Bosporus – which brings Callimachus’ Aetia to mind. Furthermore, Valerius’ song of Io alludes to the extensive version of the same story in Ovid’s Callimachean epic Metamorpho-

 See e. g. Knox 1986, 47– 64, but with the perceptive additional comments of Hinds 1989, 269, and Nagle 1988, 111– 113, who systematically describes the many similarities between both Orpheus’ and Ovid’s carmina perpetua.  Zissos 2008, 214 (on Arg. 1.277– 93).  Schubert 1998, 273. Cf. Zissos 2004a, 75: “Orpheus seems to stand here as a figure of the poet himself.”  Davis 2009, 10, who continues to “suggest that elements of Orpheus’ first song find parallels in both Jason’s present and his future. … Bearing in mind Jason’s immediate circumstances, we can note that Pelias, like Athamas, is a relative who attempts to kill a youthful blood relation and that both Jason and Phrixus cross the sea. But the parallels with the future are more comprehensive and more persuasive. Like Athamas, Aeetes is a king who attempts to kill a youth. This results in the flight of Jason and Medea from Colchis and Absyrtus’ death.”  Cf. e. g. Murgatroyd 2009, 178: “Scholars have already pointed out that the bard’s splendid song about Io … continues the epic’s themes of wandering and divinely imposed suffering; … it has ties with Helle, Hercules and Medea elsewhere in the Argonautica … . In addition, it looks back to the previous episode … and forwards to the following one … .” See also Davis 2009, 11– 12, for interesting parallels between Io and the Argo and between Io and Medea in particular: “… the primary purpose of Orpheus’ song of Io in Book 4 is to prefigure the story of Medea, the story which dominates Books 5 to 8 of the Argonautica.”

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ses. ³² And that is not all: Valerius adapts Ovid’s version, adding new elements and omitting others, in a way that resembles Ovid’s reworking of Virgil’s Aeneid in Metamorphoses 13 and 14, and, as a matter of fact, the way Ovid deals with Virgil’s Orpheus story in Metamorphoses 10 and 11.³³ To speak with P. Murgatroyd in his commentary on the passage: “Valerius Flaccus is doing an Ovid on Ovid.”³⁴ Whether or not the ‘Callimachean’ and ‘Ovidian’ aspects of this song of Orpheus can be seen as representative of Valerius’ entire epic,³⁵ Orpheus in the Argonautica at least in certain respects acts as a mise en abyme of Valerius. These two aspects of Valerius’ Orpheus – his Callimachean and Ovidian associations and his function as mise en abyme – make the character particularly fitting for Silius to criticize Valerius’ Greek-mythological epic through Orpheus, as I think he has done in the two passages discussed.

6. Epilogue: Domitian and Orpheus If Silius does indeed allude to Valerius in these passages, we are dealing with a somewhat paradoxical kind of intertextuality, which is quite vague. The reason for this, as I have suggested, is that Silius does not want to allude too much to a predecessor with whom he disagrees on what kind of poetry to write. But how far can one go in interpreting this kind of intertextuality? Could the other passage in which Orpheus features, where Domitian was considered a superior singer to Orpheus (Pun. 3.619 – 621), perhaps also be interpreted as an allusion

 For the allusions to Ovid see Davis 2009; Murgatroyd 2009, 178 – 179 (on Arg. 4.344– 422). For the Metamorphoses as a Callimachean (and in particular elegiac) epic see e. g. Knox 1986; Hinds 1987.  For Ovid’s ‘little Aeneid’ see e. g. Papaioannou 2005, with pp. 3 – 16 for a discussion of earlier work. See e. g. Anderson 1982 for Ovid’s reworking of Virgil’s Orpheus in Georgics 4.  Murgatroyd 2009, 179 (on Arg. 4.344– 422). See esp. Davis 2009 for Ovidian influences in this episode.  I have argued elsewhere (Heerink 2010, 189 – 206; 2013) that Valerius’ reaction to the Aeneid in the Hylas episode can be seen as “Callimachean” and can, furthermore, be compared with Ovid’s poetics in the Metamorphoses, with which Valerius also associates himself in the Hylas episode. As Nauta 2006, 27– 30, has argued (see also n. 14 above), Valerius uses, but reworks, the Callimachean motif of recusatio in the proem to the Argonautica so as to refuse to write a panegyrical epic on Titus’ exploits in Judea; Valerius is only able to write a mythological epic on heroes of the past. Furthermore, Stover 2010 has recently interpreted the scene describing the building of the Argo (1.120 – 129) metapoetically as expressing Valerius’ allegiance to “the erudition and stylistic exquisiteness characteristically associated with Alexandrian poetry” (p. 643).

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to Valerius? Orpheus does not feature here in an Argonautic context, so there is nothing that points specifically to Valerius’ epic, except perhaps for the bare mentioning of Orpheus itself. But I just wonder if the passage can be interpreted in a way similar to the other passages concerning Orpheus in the Punica. As ancient sources suggest, Domitian was apparently in his youth, before his accession to the throne in 81 CE, engaged in writing poetry.³⁶ Martial suggests that Domitian wrote an epic Bellum Capitolinum on Vitellius’ siege of the Capitol in 69 CE,³⁷ and Valerius hints at an epic about his brother Titus’ siege and destruction of Jerusalem in 70 CE.³⁸ If Domitian indeed wrote these epics, does Silius in this passage then assert that he prefers Domitian’s poetry to that of Orpheus because of its historical, Roman subject matter? And does Silius here again, albeit very implicitly, through Orpheus reject Valerius’ Argonautica as an example of the kind of epic that he dislikes?

 Tac. Hist. 4.86.2; Suet. Dom. 2.2; Quint. Inst. 10.1.91. See Coleman 1986, 3088 – 3095, for an analysis of these (and other) passages concerned with Domitian’s literary activity.  Mart. 5.5.7– 8: ad Capitolini caelestia carmina belli | grande cothurnati pone Maronis opus. – ‘Beside the celestial lay of the Capitoline war place the great work of buskined Maro [i.e. the Aeneid].’ (trans. Shackleton Bailey 1993). Cf. Zissos 2008, 87 (on Arg. 1.12– 4): “Mart. 5.5.7 … evidently refers to an epic by Domitian on the Flavian defeat of Vitellius in 69.” Coleman 1986, 3089, suggests that the author of the epic could be Martial’s addressee, Sextus, but as Nauta 2002, 327, duly notes, “the term caelestia … can only refer to the emperor.”  Arg. 1.12– 14: versam proles tua pandit Idumen, | sancte pater, Solymo nigrantem pulvere fratrem | spargentemque faces et in omni turre furentem. – ‘Your own son [i.e. Domitian], holy father [i.e. Vespasian], sings of Idume overthrown, of his brother [i.e. Titus], black with the dust of Solyma, scattering torches and raging against every tower.’ (text and translation: Zissos 2008). We have no other source for such an epic, but cf. Plin. NH Praef. 5, who also suggests that Domitian wrote in praise of his brother: quanto tu ore patris laudes tonas! quanto fratris famam! quantus in poetica es! – ‘How eloquently you thunder forth your father’s praises and your brother’s fame! How great you are in the poet’s art!’ (text and translation: Rackham 1938). Waszink 1971 argues, however, that the poem referred to by Valerius is a Panegyricus Titi (see also Coleman 1986, 3090 – 3091).

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invida fata piis? Exploring the significance of Silius’ divergence from the night raids of Virgil and Statius¹

1. Introduction A night incursion into enemy territory is made when the leaders of an invading army are demoralized by recent military reverses to the point of fearing that the enterprise is doomed to failure.² These, loosely speaking, are the circumstances that initiate the epic night raid. Silius Italicus defines the situation unequivocally in Punica 7: finisque erat Carthaginis armis (7.281). The formula of closure signals a new departure in the epic narrative, reinforced here by the traditional devices of nightfall and a council of war. As darkness spreads tranquillity over the land, bringing to all living creatures the blessings of sleep, the leader of the invasion, wakeful, by contrast, through anxiety and foreboding, meets other leaders in a council where a nocturnal sortie into the enemy camp is proposed. The original model for the literary night raids of Virgil, Statius and Silius, the Doloneia, described in Iliad 10, involves the collision of t w o nocturnal expeditions behind enemy lines: the competently executed Achaean sortie of Diomedes and Odysseus and the failure, both moral and actual, of their unheroic counterpart, Dolon, the Trojan spy.³ This dichotomy offers the possibility for divergence of success and failure in the night raids of Roman epic. Elements of both Iliadic sorties are present in the versions of Virgil and Statius: Nisus and Euryalus operate, like the two Achaeans, as a mutually supportive pair, but their impetuous audacity, unwisely encouraged by their Trojan leaders with recklessly extravagant rewards,⁴ ends in failure and ignominious death. The literary night raids

 I am indebted to the editors of the volume for helpful suggestions and illuminating comments on an earlier draft of this paper.  Agamemnon seeks out Nestor at the beginning of Iliad 10 hoping to avert the disastrous end to his invasion that he announced (Hom. Il. 9.17– 28). Cf. Virg. Aen. 9.159 – 175; Stat. Theb. 10.15 – 17; 10.176 – 179; Sil. Pun. 7.279 – 281.  The significance of the double raid and the contrasting fortunes attending them are analysed by Casali 2004, 321– 337.  Hector (Hom. Il. 10.329 – 331) promises Dolon as his reward for success the horses and chariot of Achilles, a spectacularly reckless boast matched by Ascanius’ promise to Nisus of Turnus’ horse (Virg. Aen. 9.267– 268).

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of the Roman epicists are divergently influenced by their circumstantial moral slant. Since stealth is essential to success, no stigma is attached to fraudem et operta … | proelia (Stat. Theb. 10.241– 242),⁵ the words used by Statius’ Adrastus to describe the night raid counselled with prophetic passion by the seer Thiodamas, who urges the Argives to slaughter the Thebans while they are helpless with sleep and wine,⁶ the condition in which Rhesus and his companions are overpowered by Odysseus and Diomedes and the Rutulians by Nisus and Euryalus. Nevertheless, the frenzied carnage of enemy warriors is problematic, which is evident from the heightened expressions of pathos through similes and the definition of the carnage as a blood sacrifice. As a consequence of this, Statius separates the ‘Achaean’ part of the Argive raid, Thiodamas’ offering to Apollo of a blood-sacrifice of dead Thebans, from the (failed) sortie of Hopleus and Dymas, which follows the ‘Trojan’ model more closely. He heightens the pathos of their fruitless act of pietas by elaborating the consequences and significance of minor Homeric details. Diomedes’ over-reaching spearcast in the hands of Theban Amphion slays Hopleus and mutilates the corpse of Tydeus. When he, in contrast to Dolon, refuses Amphion’s offer to spare his life and allow him to bury Parthenopaeus in exchange for military information, Dymas responds by stabbing himself and falling across Parthenopaeus’ body in a simulated burial.⁷ Following his complex, and often witty, literary interaction with his contemporary,⁸ Silius responds to Statius’ epigram for Hopleus and Dymas, invida fata

 Conversely, the ambushes, feints and concealed manoeuvres, fraudem occultamque fugam, practised by Silius’ Hannibal (Pun. 7.131– 146) are regarded as characteristic of the Carthaginians’ treacherous nature.  Stat. Theb. 10.194– 195: stupet obruta somno | Aonidum legio. In the same way Virgil’s Trojan leaders praise Nisus and Euryalus for their heroic desire to penetrate the enemy camp and inflict carnage among the sleeping Rutulians (Virg. Aen. 9.236: Rutuli somno vinoque sepulti). Cf., too, 9.161– 167; 9.315 – 319.  Stat. Theb. 10.347– 448. The recurrence of the theme of denial of burial in ancient epic reflects both the fears of the vanquished and the battle rage of the victor: epic wrath drives Achilles and Aeneas to deny burial to Lycaon and Tarquitius in Hom. Il. 21.122 and Virg. Aen. 10.557– 560. It accentuates impiety: Lucan cites Caesar’s denial of funeral rites to Pompey’s supporters at Pharsalus (7.796 – 803). Colaxes reveals his barbaric origins by refusing burial to Jason (Val. Fl. Arg. 6.647– 648). On a grander scale Eteocles’ refusal to give Maeon burial (Stat. Theb. 3.97– 98) begins the cycle of impiety mentioned in the prologue (1.35 – 37) and reiterated in 3.111– 113, 3.213 – 215, 7.776 – 777, 8.736 – 738, 9.158, 10.197– 198, 10.434, 11.190 – 191, 11.662– 664, 11.738 – 739. Dominating book 12 the theme concludes in the plethora of pyres that follow Theseus’ promise to bury the dying Creon (12.779 – 781).  On Statius’ and Silius’ literary rivalry and homage to each other see Ahl 1986, 2814– 2816; Pomeroy 1990, 120; Lovatt 2009; Littlewood 2011, lvi–lix.

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piis, with a night raid that succeeds as a result of Hannibal’s notorious impiety.⁹ It is the purpose of this paper to analyse how the poet constructs Hannibal’s ‘triumph of impiety’ from his (historically attested) nocturnal holocaust of Italian oxen. In order to extricate his army from encirclement by the Romans, Hannibal devises a plan of driving towards the Roman positions 2,000 Italian steers with brushwood fires blazing between their horns; the spectacle of multiple fires, dancing and leaping in the darkness, as the beasts cavort in pain, will create the illusion of an advancing army.¹⁰ When the fires are lit between the horns of the oxen, a scene of horror unfolds in a locus horridus of darkness, mountain crags and dense wood. The flames spread rapidly, as the terrified animals toss their heads. Soon the heat scorches their flesh, and they leap in agony. They attempt to bellow, but the smoke chokes them. The suffering of the steers implicates Hannibal in a violation of a form of pietas, namely man’s duty towards domestic animals, since the domestication of farm animals constitutes the contract to give food, shelter and care in exchange for the animals’ toil and productivity (Lucr. 5.868 – 870): nam cupide fugere feras pacemque secuta sunt et larga suo sine pabula parta labore, quae damus utilitatis eorum praemia causa.

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For they have willingly turned their backs on their predators to seek safety and nourishment provided without their own effort, and this we give in exchange for their usefulness.

To underline that Hannibal’s holocaust is both a violation of social order and a breach of pietas, Silius links each stage of the oxen’s torment intertextually with Virgil’s description in his third Georgic, of the natural pain suffered by oxen from sexual longing or disease, in a passage where the poet emphasizes the care owed by the farmer to the oxen, which share his daily toil.¹¹ The closest model for Silius’ Hannibal, however, is Sophocles’ Ajax, who is transformed in a single night of madness from mighty hero to bestial monster

 Sil. Pun. 1.58: nullus divom pudor.  The story is recounted by Livy (22.16.7) and Polybius (3.93.3 – 10), but only Polybius notes that the cattle were plough oxen.  In his third Georgic Virgil uses the fire metaphor to describe sexual urges in cattle, 3.271: ubi subdita flamma medullis, and disease, 3.482– 483: ignea venis | … acta sitis, 3.511– 512: furiis refecti | ardebant, and 3.566, when, finally, oxen die, consumed by fever: sacer ignis edebat. Silius’ description of the oxen’s mad gallop across Mount Callicula in Punica 7 has affinities with Virgil’s description of rutting bulls who canter saxa per et scopulos (3.276), undeterred by scopuli rupesque cavae (3.253): in furias ignemque ruunt (7.244).

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through his violent and pitiless slaughter of domestic cattle and rams. Strong revulsion at Ajax’ carnage is expressed first by Odysseus (Soph. Ai. 21– 28) and then Tecmessa (216 – 220). Their horror is powerfully echoed by Ajax himself before he falls on his sword in shame for what he has done (815 – 865). By contrast, Hannibal feels only triumph at his success. It is significant that Tecmessa refers to the slaughtered beasts in language suggesting that they are sacrificial victims (216 – 220).¹² We shall see that Hannibal’s nocturnal holocaust of oxen may also be interpreted as a violation of Roman ritual. As the tortured oxen blunder, halfsuffocated, up the mountainside until they are no more than charred corpses, they exude the stench of burning flesh, the concomitant and symbol of Roman sacrifice. This paper will outline, first, the series of close verbal correspondences with which Silius points to the night raid of the Achaeans as his model for Hannibal’s night attack on the Roman garrison on Mount Callicula in Punica 7. Two further sections will consider the motifs of sacrifice and the pathos of tragic failure in the night raids described by Virgil in Aeneid 9 and Statius in Thebaid 10 and assess their poetic and intertextual impact on Silius. Finally it will be suggested that Silius departs from his Homeric model for the purpose of underlining Hannibal’s cultural and Punic ‘otherness’. It will be concluded that the ‘success’ of Hannibal’s night raid depends in part on his deviation from the heroic culture of Greco-Roman epic and that Silius’ night raid achieves dialogue with both parts of Statius’ raid through a carefully constructed inversion of the traditional motifs of sacrifice and pathos.

2. Silius’ Doloneia In order to exaggerate their primitive and exotic barbarism, Silius clothes his Carthaginians picturesquely in the manners and accoutrements of Homer’s Achaeans. This setting enables him also to subsume poetically the substratum of folklore, which underlies the Homeric poems. For the same reasons that Odysseus’ followers forfeit their return to Ithaca through roasting and eating the cattle of the sun (Hom. Od. 12.260 – 425), it may be argued that Hannibal’s ultimate defeat is the price he must pay for a successful raid achieved by the incineration of 2,000 Roman plough oxen, a sacrilegious act that will incur the vengeance of Hercules, the guardian god of Italian cattle (Sil. Pun. 7.591– 597).

 See Segal 1981.

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The opening lines (1– 4) of Iliad 10, which contrast Agamemnon’s wakeful despondency with the tranquillity of night, have close verbal correspondences with Silius’ introduction to his night raid. Convinced that Troy will not fall to the Achaeans, Agamemnon wanders, sleepless, through the Greek camp seeking advice from the other leaders. The same realisation confronts Silius’ Hannibal, encircled by Fabius’ legions in the Ager Falernus, who faces the collapse of his ambitious invasion and conclusive defeat for Carthage (Sil. Pun. 7.282– 287): cuncta per et terras et lati stagna profundi condiderat somnus, positoque labore dierum pacem nocte datam mortalibus orbis agebat. at non Sidonium curis flagrantia corda ductorem vigilesque metus haurire sinebant dona soporiferae noctis.

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Over land and sea all was buried in sleep. The day’s work done, the world enjoyed the peace given to living creatures by night. But a heart ablaze with torment and wakeful anxiety denied the Carthaginian leader the blessings of sleep-bearing night.¹³

There is a close correspondence of superficial detail. Homer’s Agamemnon communicates his apprehensions first to Menelaus (Hom. Il. 10.25 – 71); Silius’ Carthaginian leader strides through the sleeping camp in search of his younger brother Mago (Sil. Pun. 7.305 – 309). Like both Atridae, Hannibal wards off the chill of night with an animal skin, fulvi circumdat pelle leonis (7.288), and rouses Mago from sleep on a bull’s hide, taurino membra iacebat | effultus tergo (7.292– 293). The archaic Homeric world is picturesquely evoked by the donning of animal skins, retaining a superficial allegiance to the distinction of rank implied by Agamemnon’s lionskin, Menelaos’ leopard and Dolon’s simple wolfskin (Hom. Il. 10.24, 29, 334), but the Flavian poet perhaps intends a wittily xenophobic comment on the primitive and nomadic lifestyle of Rome’s barbarian enemy.¹⁴ Ethical disparity leaves clear water between Hannibal and the leader of the Achaeans. Agamemnon’s fear of military failure concerns the fate of the armies that he commands and his moral responsibility for them. Hannibal, conversely, is obsessed with personal grievance and goaded by fury at being outwitted by Fabius, whom he openly scorns as senile and decrepit (Sil. Pun. 7.103 – 105, 113 – 115). This is underlined by intertextual allusion, not simply to the peace of the night before the raid in Aeneid 9, but also to the passage in Aeneid 4  This and all other translations of Latin texts are the author’s.  Disregarding the Hellenistic sophistication of third-century Carthage, Silius entertains his readers with allusions to African huts, tamed lions and nomads crossing the desert in waggons. Sil. Pun. 1.406; 2.438; 3.387– 391; 4.374 et passim.

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which contrasts the serenity of night over land and water with Dido’s sleepless agony (4.522– 524, 529): nox erat et placidum carpebant fessa soporem corpora per terras, silvaeque et saeva quierant aequora, … at non infelix animi Phoenissa …

524 529

It was night and all over the world weary creatures were enjoying peaceful sleep, the forests and tossing seas had become calm … But not the Queen of Carthage, whose mind was in turmoil …

Following Virgil’s allusion to Dido’s Eastern origins in Phoenissa, Silius underlines the resemblance Hannibal bears to his literary ancestor: at non Sidonium … | ductorem, (7.285 – 286). Both evince the violent passions, xenophobically attributed by Romans to Carthaginians, as they rage against their humiliation by the two Romans with whom each is obsessed. Hannibal’s first words in response to Mago’s sleepy greeting are (7.305 – 306): Fabius me noctibus aegris, | in curas Fabius nos excitat (‘It is Fabius who plagues me with sleepless nights, Fabius who destroys my peace of mind’). Whereas Agamemnon consults Nestor, whose opinion he values above all others, and accepts his advice that they should summon the other leaders to a council of war, Hannibal acts like a tyrant, driven by his emotions, in devising, unilaterally, the plan which he unveils to his brother Mago, who unquestioningly issues orders to the Carthaginian warriors who will see it carried out. The detail with which Homer describes Nestor’s princely accoutrements (Hom. Il. 10.75 – 78) and Diomedes, asleep on an oxhide, with his spear fixed upright, his horse beside him and his companions, heads pillowed on their shields (Hom. Il. 10.150 – 156), is transferred by the Flavian poet to Mago (7.291– 299): nec degener ille belligeri ritus taurino membra iacebat effultus tergo et mulcebat tristia somno. stat procul hasta viri terrae defixa propinquae et dira e summa pendebat cuspide cassis; at clipeus circa loricaque et ensis et arcus et telum Baliare simul tellure quiescunt. iuxta lecta manus, iuvenes in Marte probati, et sonipes strato carpebat gramina dorso.

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Mago, no less valiant upholder of warrior custom, was lying on a bull’s hide, attempting to alleviate his cares with sleep. The hero’s spear stood upright in the ground nearby, and his fearsome helmet was hanging from its point; but around him on the ground lay his shield,

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his breastplate, his sword, his bow and his Balearic sling. Nearby were his chosen companions, young men tried in battle, and, still saddled, his warhorse cropped the grass.¹⁵

Hannibal speaks to Mago with the brotherly familiarity of Homer’s Atridae and, as with Diomedes and Odysseus, action replaces the impassioned vows of valour and vengeance uttered by Virgil’s and Statius’ raiders. Mago responds to his brother’s rant by wordlessly swinging into step beside him (7.321– 322): gemino tentoria gressu | inde petunt (‘Striding out as one, they make for the camp’). As Nestor prods Diomedes with his toe, rebuking his laziness,¹⁶ Silius’ Mago administers a kick, incussa … planta (7.304), to recall his companions to their duties and ‘swings’, quatiens (7.328), his spear, so that he can jab Maraxes with the butt end, mocking him for fighting imaginary battles in his sleep (7.329 – 330): tenebris … | iras compesce atque in lucem proelia differ (‘keep your battle-rage in check at night and reserve fighting for daylight hours’). When Hannibal and Mago seek the help of Acherras, chieftain of the lion-taming Gaetulians (Sil. Pun. 3.287– 291), they find him salving the lacerated mouth of his warhorse (7.340 – 342): feroci pervigil inservibat equo fessumque levabat tractando et frenis ora exagitata fovebat.

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(Acherras) was awake caring for his spirited horse; he was soothing the weary animal by applying medication and healing a mouth injured by its bridle.

On a superficial level Acherras’ pride in his horse may be regarded as another Homeric detail consonant with Dolon’s demand to be rewarded with Achilles’ magnificent horses, reputedly descended from the West Wind,¹⁷ if he accepts Hector’s challenge to find out Agamemnon’s intentions by reconnoitring near the Achaean ships. Further interpretation is possible.¹⁸ In Aeneid 9 another Trojan, Ascanius, promises Nisus, on behalf of his father, Turnus’ warhorse, a promise as empty as Hector’s since Turnus is, at this point, a significantly dangerous rather than a vanquished foe. The Trojan leaders’ extravagant promises of an illusory prize of unattainable war horses contribute an unpropitious augury for  Similarly the Carthaginian warrior, Maraxes, whom the Barcid brothers approach next, sleeps pillowed on his shield, surrounded by soldiers, warhorses and booty (7.322– 324).  Hom. Il. 10.157– 158. This gesture was not intentionally discourteous: cf. Hom. Od. 15.45.  Hom. Il. 16.149, cf. 19.415. On the relationship between horse and hero in early epic see West 2007, 465 – 470.  On the negative implications of the extravagant rewards promised by Trojan leaders see Casali 2004, 327– 333.

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two missions destined for catastrophic failure. Rome’s enemy, Silius’ Hannibal, however, is identified in military competence and sagacity not with the Trojans but with the Achaeans, Odysseus and Diomedes, whose successful night raid is rewarded with their (unpromised) prize of the magnificent horses and chariot of King Rhesus, a Trojan ally. Besides the poetic justice of this, the acquisition of fine horses corresponds to epic heroism and virility; Acherras has a natural affinity with Diomedes, tamer of horses, in his confident handling of his spirited warhorse, feroci equo, and his personal nocturnal care for its welfare. Silius’ emphasis on the importance of horses among the Carthaginians has symbolic relevance to a theme recurrent in Punica 7: Hannibal’s destruction of the land of Italy. The horse is a powerful symbol of war, set in contrast with the pastoral symbol of Italian oxen that the Carthaginian is about to slaughter to achieve the success of his night raid.¹⁹ The success of Odysseus’ and Diomedes’ night raid is measured by the spoils that they bring back to the Greek ships: Rhesus’ much-prized horses. The success of Hannibal’s escape from Fabius’ encircling army depends on the destruction of 2,000 Roman plough oxen. Homer’s night raid ends with a feast celebrating the triumphant return of Odysseus and Diomedes driving King Rhesus’ chariot horses, which Nestor jestingly observes must have been a gift from Zeus himself.²⁰ Silius’ night raid ends with Hannibal bounding down the Volturnus valley, gloating, exsultans (7.376), with archaic glee at having achieved his objective of outwitting Fabius (7.336 – 337): hic Fabio persuadeat astus | non certare dolis! (‘Let this teach Fabius not to rival a Carthaginian in trickery!’). Hannibal achieves his objective of escaping from the Roman ‘ring of iron’, like Odysseus and Diomedes, through the calliditas of his plan and the audacity of its execution. The details of Mago’s oxhide, upright spear, shield and surrounding companions are all found in Homer’s description of the sleeping Diomedes. Silius, however, adds the seemingly insignificant image of a warhorse cropping grass, carpebat gramina (7.299), a detail that is also present in the night raids of both Virgil and Statius. Among the sleeping warriors whom he kills in the Rutulian camp, Virgil’s Euryalus sees the horses of Messapus, an Etruscan ally of Turnus, carpere gramen (Virg. Aen. 9.353), while Statius’ seer, Thiodamas, slits the throat of Calpetus, whose horses are described as cropping their native, that is to say Theban, turf: gramen gentile metentes | … equos (Stat. Theb.

 Silius’ shield of Hannibal, where Dido’s colonists are depicted rejoicing at the discovery of a horse’s head at the foundations of Carthage because it presages successful wars in the future (Sil. Pun. 2.410 – 411). Cf. Luc. 6.397: sonipes bellis feralibus omen.  Hom. Il. 10.44– 53.

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10.319 – 320). Marco Fucecchi²¹ convincingly suggests that the repetition of this phrase constitutes a subtle allusion to Homer’s king Rhesus, an ally of the Trojans, which has been, perhaps, inserted by Silius’ two Roman predecessors to establish a link with the oracle to which Virgil alludes in Aeneid 1. Here Aeneas gazes in amazement at the images depicted on Juno’s temple in Carthage, where he sees, between two other divine portents, Rhesus’ horses being stolen by Diomedes and Odysseus before they can graze Trojan grass or drink Trojan waters: prius quam | pabula gustassent Troiae Xanthumque bibissent (Virg. Aen. 1.472– 473).²² The talismanic powers of Rhesus’ horses are mentioned in the pseudo-Euripidean tragedy, Rhesus (595 – 605), where Athene chides Odysseus for his intention of leaving the Trojan camp before he has killed king Rhesus, promising that this act will ensure victory for the Greeks. In Silius’ night raid the repetition of this intertextual allusion to Mago’s grazing horses with its ‘talismanic’ subtext has a particular significance. In the Homeric tradition the talismanic animal is allied to Troy, and the Achaean raiders must prevent them from grazing Trojan grass. To achieve a parallel or analogous situation Silius’ Hannibal must further his conquest of Rome by stealing or destroying Roman animals. In a night raid that depends on the holocaust of 2,000 Italian plough oxen, we should consider reasons why these creatures might be talismanic for the survival of Italy. Not only a symbol of Italy, which was said to derive its name, through Oscan, from vitulus,²³ the oxen represented the strength of rural Italy; they are celebrated in Virgil’s Georgics as the working companion of the hardy farmer-warriors²⁴ and the finest specimens, untouched by the yoke, provided the supreme sacrifice offered to Jupiter by Rome’s triumphing generals.²⁵ Having destroyed the symbol of Italian agricultural prosperity along with the Falernian vineyards in a destructive rampage, Hannibal’s triumphalism merits poetic retribution from the Roman commander set against him, Fabius Maximus, who so far has refused to retaliate in order to give his new legions time to gain the strength of experience. Hannibal’s holocaust of Italian oxen, which replaces the carnage of warriors in other epic night raids, equates him with Cacus, the fire-god’s son and the archetypal destroyer of Italian cattle. This interpretation makes sense of the miraculous conclusion of Punica 7, where, in an intertextually pointed replay of Rome’s ktistic legend celebrated

    

Fucecchi 1999a. See also AD scholiast on Hom. Il. 10.435. Dion. Hal. Ant. Rom. 1.35.2. Virg. G. 3.519. Virg. G. 3.22– 23.

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at the Ara Maxima, Hercules endows his elderly descendant, Fabius, with youthfully heroic strength so that he can defeat the forces of the latter day Cacus.²⁶

3. The pathos of tragic failure Homer’s night raid brings renewed hope for the Achaeans when the two warriors most likely to negotiate unexpected hazards through their audacity and canny wiles return triumphant from their mission. The tragic failure of youthful idealism replaces the cowardice of Dolon in the unsuccessful night sorties described by Virgil and Statius. For this reason Statius aligns his memorial for Hopleus and Dymas with Virgil’s epitaph for Nisus and Euryalus, where the promise of immortality consecrates a pair whose failure is eclipsed by the constancy of their loyalty and devotion: fortunati ambo! si quid mea carmina possunt. ²⁷ Virgil’s tragedy begins when Nisus confides to Euryalus his passionate longing for glory, knowing that Euryalus, who loves him, will support him unquestioningly. Nisus’ ominous expression, dira cupido (9.185), resonates as a leitmotif through the whole episode, as their impetuous choices and personal passions undermine noble aspirations and national interest. Bursting into the Trojan council, the pair win instant admiration for their heroic scheme to deliver a message to the absent Aeneas and, on the way, to wreak carnage in the Rutulian camp, before continuing their journey. But their double objective is too ambitious. They repeat the tragic mistakes of youth, and the poet loses no opportunity to heighten the pathos of their failure as they gradually lose sight of their main purpose of bringing help to the leaderless Trojans. The heroic ideal of vengeance lures them into immoderate carnage and booty-hunting which continues up to the time when they reach Messapus and his companions and observe their horses which are tethered, religatos (9.352), and grazing. They could, following the model of Diomedes and Odysseus, take this opportunity to escape with the horses and, like the admonitory voice of Athene, Nisus realises at this moment that they have been carried away by bloodlust and greed (9.354): sensit enim nimia caede atque cupidine ferri. The tragedy requires that Euryalus disregard the horses. Instead he eagerly seizes Messapus’ ornate helmet, which will later betray him by glinting treacherously in the moonlight.²⁸ The pair’s noctur-

 Sil. Pun. 7.593 – 594; 7.729, and Littlewood 2011, ad loc.  Virg. Aen. 9.446 – 449; Stat. Theb. 10.445 – 448. The significance of Virgil’s sphragis is examined by Lennox 1977.  Virg. Aen. 9.373 – 374.

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nal journey²⁹ and separation from each other in a dark wood has resonances of an unsuccessful katabasis, in particular, Orpheus’ loss of Eurydice in Virgil’s fourth Georgic. ³⁰ When Nisus manages to evade pursuit, he does not cut his losses for the greater good of bringing help to the beleaguered Trojans. Like Orpheus’, Nisus’ love for Euryalus surpasses all other loyalties. To avoid, perhaps, contaminating an act of pietas in the moral darkness of Thebaid with brutality and greed, Statius constructs a dyadic raid that separates into two distinctive parts Virgil’s sequence of vengeful carnage / plunder and the capture and death of his two idealistic young raiders.³¹ In the first part Thiodamas prophesies a successful night raid, nox fecunda operum (10.192), a prophecy fulfilled only if measured in the carnage of sleeping Thebans. Contrasting with this brutal military objective is the pious quest of Dymas and Hopleus to bring back for burial the corpses of their overlords, Tydeus and Parthenopaeus. This variant engages with a theme central to Thebaid: the moral darkness of denying burial to slain warriors, an act of impiety decreed by Eteocles and enforced after his death by Creon. When Statius, in book 10, laments the harshness of fate towards the incorruptible pietas of his two young Argive warriors, he anticipates the emphasis on pietas / impii in book 12, which distinguishes those who seek to give burial to the vanquished from the impious rulers of Thebes who forbid it. Driven by pietas to perform funeral rites over the corpse of Polynices, his wife, Argia, – hortantur pietas ignesque pudici (12.186) – and his sister, Antigone, claiming pietas ignava sororis (12.384), joyfully demand a voluntary death rather than sacrifice their principles (12.456 – 457): ambitur saeva de morte animosaque leti spes furit They compete for a cruel death, and their spirited desire for annihilation rages (within them).

Their glorification of mors voluntaria as the honourable way of escaping the unjust decrees of a tyrant, a theme widespread in Seneca’s tragedies, continued to

 Hardie 1997a, 320 – 321, underlines, with reference to Vidal-Naquet’s ‘Black Hunter’, the symbolic conjunction in the story of Nisus and Euryalus of night and the hunt and its relationship to the rites of passage of Greek adolescent males to full hoplite status. On the tension between public and private demands see Saylor 1990.  See Hardie 1994, 26 – 27.  On Statius’ debt to his predecessors in this passage see Kytzler 1969, 209 – 219; Burgess 1971– 72, 58 – 59; Vessey 1973, 116 – 117; Williams 1986; Markus 1997; Ripoll 1998a, 402– 405; Ganiban 2007, 131– 136.

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be explored in literature as well as political debate through the Flavian period.³² A flood of ‘impious blood’, sanguis | impius (12.776 – 777), pouring from Creon’s fatal wounds signals that the Theban king has remained true to his edict to the end. His impiety is contrasted with the nobility of Theseus, who gives the dying Creon the satisfaction that he will receive burial (12.779 – 781): ‘iamne dare extinctis iustos,’ ait, ‘hostibus ignes iam victos operire placet? vade atra dature supplicia, extremique tamen secure sepulcri.’

780

‘Will you now immolate (or) bury your dead enemies? Go, receive the punishment of darkness, assured, at least, of a final tomb!’

As Nisus stirs Euryalus to valour, so Hopleus, grieving for Tydeus, inops tumuli (10.356), rouses Dymas to his moral duty to bury his dead overlord Parthenopaeus (10.351– 353): ‘nullane post manes regis tibi cura perempti, clare Dyma? teneant quem iam fortasse volucres Thebanique canes? …’ ‘Do you feel no anxiety for the shade of your dead king, noble Dymas? That already perhaps he may be seized by the birds and dogs of Thebes? …’

Dymas does not hesitate. In answer to his prayer to the Moon, the two bodies lie revealed in the moonlight and, as day is breaking, the young warriors shoulder their burdens and head for home. Statius underlines their piety by recreating Rome’s archetypal image of pietas: as Aeneas carried his father Anchises on his shoulders from burning Troy, so Hopleus and Dymas carry on their shoulders Tydeus and Parthenopaeus (10.378 – 380): et amicum pondus uterque, | … | subiecta cervice levant (‘and on his shoulders each bears the weight of loyalty.’). Weighed down by their dead princes, they are discovered by a Theban patrol led by Amphion, who is unimpressed by Argive piety. A spear transfixes Hopleus, further mutilating the corpse of Tydeus. The lion simile, used by Homer and Virgil to underline the savagery of their raiders’ carnage in the enemy camp, is transformed by Statius into the more pathetic image of a tigress defending her young, and this heightens the pathos of Dymas fiercely defending his corpse as the Thebans try to drag Parthenopaeus away by his long hair. Amphion  Silius praises the mass suicide of the Saguntines as pietas (2.697– 698): ite, decus terrarum, animae, … | Elysium et castas sedes decorate piorum – ‘go, glorious ones, honour with your presence Elysium and the pure resting place of true patriots’. On the prominence and exaltation of suicide in Flavian epic see McGuire 1990 with further bibliography, nn. 14 and 15.

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contemptuously offers to spare Dymas’ life and let him bury his lord if he will reveal all he knows of the Argives’ military plans, but Dymas prefers to lose his life rather than his moral integrity.³³ Like Virgil’s Nisus, he makes one last heroic gesture by killing himself, securing, as he falls, a symbolic ‘substitution burial’ for Parthenopaeus with his own body.³⁴ Virgil and Statius justify their heroes’ literary immortality because they unhesitatingly choose death in preference to violating the sacred bonds of friendship or liege-loyalty. The pathos of these night raids lies in the extinction of immature and idealistic heroes by the brutal expediency of war. As a foil to this, in a typically Silian inversion, Silius transfers pathos to the victims of the raid and success to a night raider so removed from heroic idealism that he has sworn to achieve his conquest in titanic defiance of divine powers.³⁵

4. The pathos of sacrificial victims Following Diomedes’ slaying of Rhesus and his companions in the Doloneia, carnage became a topos in epic night raids, evolving, as we have seen, into the idea of sacrifice. Silius begins his allusive introduction to the night raid with the Carthaginian desperately pondering his limited options in the quietness of night: Sidonium … | ductorem (7.285 – 286). We may perhaps detect here an intertextual allusion to Virgil who, at the beginning of his night raid, describes the Trojans locked in a council of war, which is abruptly interrupted by Nisus and Euryalus, as ductores Teucrum primi, delecta iuventus (Aen. 9.226), in imitation of Hector’s assembly of illustrious Trojans in Iliad 10. Since these acquit themselves less creditably than their Achaean counterparts, we can see both a verbal and a conceptual correspondence with Lucretius 1.86, ductores Danaum delecti, prima virorum, where the earlier poet is commenting ironically on the illustrious witnesses of the sacrifice of Iphigenia.³⁶ Lucretius’ irony is directed against the religious function of sacrifice, and the implication appears to be that these ‘chosen leaders’ are guilty of performing a wrongful sacrifice in order to further military conquest.

 Stat. Theb. 10.431– 438, unlike Dolon, who eagerly trades military information for his life (Hom. Il. 10.382).  See Michiel van der Keur in this volume.  Sil. Pun. 1.109 – 111.  See Casali 2004, 340 – 343 and n. 39, which contains bibliography relevant to the ‘sacrificial implications of Lucretian intertextuality’.

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When given the opportunity to glut their hatred for the enemy in a nocturnal carnage of sleeping soldiers who cannot defend themselves, the night raiders’ excessive, almost animal bloodlust is clearly apparent in the similes used to describe this. The killers are then driven to excuse their guilt by dedicating their slaughter to the gods, so that the carnage becomes a sacrifice where any sense of treachery is exonerated or attenuated through the language of religion, as, for example, when Statius’ Thiodamas consecrates to Apollo the Argives’ carnage of dead Thebans as a (pious) blood sacrifice by his loyal seer (Stat. Theb. 10.337– 339):³⁷ ‘Phoebe, tibi exuvias monstratae praemia noctis nondum ablutus aquis (tibi enim haec ego sacra litavi), trado ferus miles tripodum fidusque sacerdos. …’ ‘Phoebus, though not yet purified with water (for I perform this sacrifice in your honour), a fierce warrior and priest loyal to your service, I offer to you the spoils of the night which you revealed to us. …’

The similes of predatory big cats falling on herbivores used by Homer, Virgil and Statius to contrast the helplessness of the victims with the bloodlust of the raiders achieves a sequential crescendo of pathos. Diomedes despatches his sleeping victims efficiently, like a lion falling on a few stray sheep.³⁸ Having killed 14 men, including Rhesus and Dolon, he is checked by Athene, the ‘voice of reason’ who counsels a timely escape from the Trojan lines. No such restraining word checks the bloodbath of enemy warriors, nimia caede (9.354), which Virgil’s Nisus and Euryalus perform in the interests of ‘vengeance’: poenarum exhaustum satis est (Virg. Aen. 9.356). Virgil’s rendering of the Homeric idea acquires a vicious tenacity which accentuates the comparative brutality of Nisus’ and Euryalus’ slaughter of Rutulians (Virg. Aen. 9.339 – 341):³⁹ impastus ceu plena leo per ovilia turbans (suadet enim vesana fames) manditque trahitque molle pecus mutumque metu, fremit ore cruento.

340

 Stat. Theb. 10.195 – 196; 10.210 – 211; 10.243 – 244. Cf. Virg. Aen. 9.356. For the recurrence in Roman epic of the theme and imagery of sacrifice see Ahl 1976; Hardie 1993, 19 – 32.  Hom. Il. 10.469 – 514.  Hom. Il. 10.485. Statius subtly alters the emphasis by introducing the comparison of a tigress defending her young at the point where Dymas gives his life in defence of the body of the young Parthenopaeus (Stat. Theb. 10.414– 419).

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As a starving lion (driven mad with hunger), rampaging through pens filled with sheep, gnaws and drags and worries in his blood-stained maw sheep unresisting and dumb with terror.

Statius, by raising the number of Argive raiders to 33, multiplies the carnage of somnolent, wine-drugged Thebans and renders the bloodbath more horrific by his simile of a tigress glutted with gore (Stat. Theb. 10.288 – 292): Caspia non aliter magnorum in strage iuvencum tigris, ubi immenso rabies placata cruore lassavitque genas et crasso sordida tabo confudit maculas, spectat sua facta doletque defecisse famem.

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As a Caspian tiger amid the slaughter of mighty steers, when her bloodlust has been glutted, her jaws wearied and her stripes befouled and thickly streaked with gore. She stares at her carnage, regretful that her hunger is now sated.

As these similes heighten the pathos of the defenceless victims, so too they evoke feelings of ambivalence towards the night raiders. Statius attributes the frenzy of Thiodamas, at the moment when he instigates the Argive carnage, to madness or the influence of Juno (10.162– 163): sive hanc Saturnia mentem | … instigabat. To Silius, reading every word of his contemporary with close attention, this line hints at Hannibal. This, and Silius’ tendency to invert literary themes derived from other poets, may have encouraged him to transpose the ambivalence felt towards the nocturnal carnage of heroes into more direct antipathy for an enemy of Rome, whose nocturnal annihilation of 2,000 Roman oxen is flawlessly executed and entirely successful. The fact that this sacrifice is carried out at night corresponds to Silius’ portrayal of the Barcids’ religious practices in Punica, which are nocturnal, chthonic and unnatural. Since Hannibal’s purpose is victory over Rome, we can now see the motif of sacrifice, perversely vaunted by Statius’ Thiodamas as reason for his carnage of sleeping Thebans,⁴⁰ has been impiously perverted by Hannibal to represent a subversion of the sunlit Roman triumphal sacrifice of white bulls from the Clitumnus valley as described by Virgil (Virg. G. 3.22– 23).

 Homer’s and Virgil’s similes of the lion, which recur, in the form of a tigress, in Dymas’ story, take a more horrific form when applied to Thiodamas, who is likened to a tigress madly killing cattle long after she has glutted her hunger (Stat. Theb. 10.288 – 295).

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5. Hannibal’s cultural ‘otherness’ The theme of sacrifice is present in Silius’ night raid, but not as the blood sacrifices offered to the gods by Virgil’s Nisus and Statius’ Thiodamas for the success of their raid on the enemy camp. Entirely self-reliant, Hannibal neither watches for omens nor offers prayers to higher powers. Defined in Silius’ introductory character study as having nullus divum pudor (1.58), the Carthaginian, alone of all the literary night raiders, offers no prayer to any deity for the success of his enterprise. His failure to solicit divine support is one of several details that separate him from Greco-Roman cultural practice. While Silius exaggerates the primitive lifestyle of his Carthaginians and reinforces Hannibal’s cultural ‘otherness’ by his imitation of Homer’s picturesque and archaic imagery of heroic warriors wearing animal skins and sleeping amid horses and scattered weapons, his Hannibal does not subscribe to warrior customs and patterns of behaviour that are common to Homer’s Greeks, Virgil’s Trojans and Statius’ Argives. He summons no council of Carthaginian leaders, does not invite volunteers nor promise generous rewards. Neither he nor Mago presents his warriors with armour or weaponry. In the Carthaginian camp there are no prayers for success nor recognition of omens. These cultural omissions widen the distance between the African invaders and the Greco-Roman world, between ‘civilized’ and barbarian mores. ⁴¹ The council of leaders is an important prelude to Homer’s and Virgil’s night raids and both feature a dominant senior statesman who takes the lead in promising rewards to those who volunteer to penetrate the enemy camp.⁴² There are variations. Nestor’s appeal for a volunteer to spy on the Trojans is pre-empted, in Aeneid 9, by Nisus’ impassioned plea to be allowed to take a message to Aeneas. While Nestor’s seniority and wisdom in council entitles him to take the lead in offering rewards, the speech of his Virgilian counterpart, old Aletes, is interrupted by Ascanius’ promise of gifts from Aeneas’ royal treasure and the horses of Turnus (Virg. Aen. 9.264– 274). Setting out with gifts of armour from their comrades in arms, Odysseus and Diomedes hear the call of a heron on the right, which they interpret as a propitious omen from Athene, to whom they offer a prayer and a promise of thanksgiving sacrifice (Hom. Il. 10.275 – 279). Nisus and Euryalus, loaded, too, with gifts from the Trojan leaders, depart amid a chorus of prayers for their success: prosequitur votis (Virg. Aen. 9.310).⁴³ Propitious  For the periodic instability of Silius’ literary contrast of Punic ‘otherness’ with the exemplary Roman heroism of Hercules in Punica, see Tipping 2010, 198 – 199.  Hom. Il. 10.212– 217. Virg. Aen. 9.246– 261.  Virg. Aen. 9.306 – 310.

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omens of Aeneas’ ships transformed into dolphins and of Thiodamas’ vision of Amphiaraus promising a night rich in vengeful action, nox fecunda operum (Stat. Theb. 10.192), precede the night raids of Virgil and Statius,⁴⁴ in which their young warriors will make urgent prayers to Luna in mid-action, from Nisus to guide his spear to the captors of Euryalus and from Dymas to reveal the body of Parthenopaeus.⁴⁵ It is significant that none of these manifestations of Greco-Roman warrior culture is included in Hannibal’s night raid.

6. Conclusions From the Doloneia of Iliad 10 Silius derives the framework and detail of his story: a leader’s nocturnal torment in a military impasse, fraternal cooperation and a raid competently executed by experienced warriors and picturesquely embellished by Homeric detail. In both Homer’s and Silius’ night raids domestic animals have a prominent role, but there is a significant literary contrast: Odysseus and Diomedes’ success is represented by their capture of Rhesus’ horses, a symbol of war, whereas Hannibal’s destruction of Italian cattle, a symbol of the peaceful pastoral world, has resonances with the madness and societal transgression of Sophocles’ Ajax. Highlighted as the central panel of Punica 7, the conflagration of the Italian oxen is a mise en abyme for Hannibal’s destruction of Italy. The talismanic power of Rhesus’ horses, mentioned in the Rhesus and in Virgil’s Aeneid 1, encourages the interpretation that the Italian cattle should be regarded here as a talismanic symbol of Italy. This is further confirmed by the prominence in Punica 7 of Fabius’ descent from Hercules, the divine guardian of Italian cattle, which elevates Silius’ night raid into a symbolic reworking of Rome’s foundation myth with Hannibal in the role of Cacus, the monster that must be extirpated from the site of Rome (cf. Virg. Aen. 8.190 – 272). It is in his interaction with Statius that we can most clearly perceive Silius’ literary intention for the night raid that occupies a central place in Punica 7. Hannibal’s nocturnal holocaust of Italian oxen replaces the scene of carnage inspired by Statius’ Thiodamas under the influence of hostile divinities. If we regard this as a chthonic perversion of the Roman triumph sacrifice, it corresponds to the perversion inherent in Thiodamas’ claim that his fruitful night of carnage will be consecrated to Apollo.

 Virg. Aen. 9.107– 122; Stat. Theb. 10.192– 193.  Virg. Aen. 9.404– 409; Stat. Theb. 10.365 – 370.

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Statius celebrates Hopleus and Dymas for their tragic failure of pietas in attempting to secure burial for their lords Tydeus and Parthenopaeus, a noble act and a direct confrontation with the evil and dysfunction of the house of Oedipus mirrored in Eteocles’ and later Creon’s denial of burial to the vanquished. All this is encapsulated in the epigrammatic line (Stat. Theb. 10.384– 385): invida fata piis et Fors ingentibus ausis rara comes.

385

Fate opposes the virtuous, and luck seldom accompanies their noble endeavours.

As a direct literary response to invida fata piis Silius has constructed a night raid which succeeds in its immediate objective, but which at the same time achieves a pinnacle of impiety. Supremely courageous, decisive and shrewd, like Lucan’s Caesar, Hannibal with his flawed sense of honour, fideique sinister (Pun. 1.56), will allow no piety to obstruct the workings of his cruel and perfidious nature. This interpretation is supported by the story’s thematic importance in a book that interweaves the agricultural devastation of Italy with the military narrative in which the cunctatio of Q. Fabius Maximus aims at the preservation rather than the expenditure of Roman life. In contrast to Scipio, the imperialist, who takes the war to Africa, Fabius’ aspirations are rooted in the defence of Italy. When Hannibal demands to know Fabius’ ancestry, he is told: Tirynthia gens est (7.35). Fabius’ descent from Hercules has a particular relevance to Punica 7, for Hercules was worshipped as the guardian of the Italian land and particularly of Italian cattle.⁴⁶ Fabius, miraculously transformed to heroic stature by his divine ancestor (7.591– 594), performs an aristeia that avenges Hannibal’s destruction of Italian crops and herds. His rescue of Minucius and his men is described through the intertext of Hercules’ conquest of Cacus, the cattle thief and child of Vulcan, whose role Hannibal has played through his theft and holocaust of Italian plough oxen.⁴⁷

 See Morgan 2005.  Sil. Pun. 7.727– 729: ut qui collapsa pressi iacuere ruina, | eruta cum subito membra et nox atra recessit, | convivent solemque pavent agnoscere visu. – ‘Like men who lay crushed under a building collapsed into ruin when suddenly their limbs are dug out and the darkness abates, they screw up their eyes and shrink from looking at the sun.’

Raymond Marks

The Thebaid and the fall of Saguntum in Punica 2 There is general agreement that Statius began composing his Thebaid between 78 and 81 CE and completed it between 90 and 92.¹ The chronology of Silius’ composition of his epic, the Punica, is less firmly established, but two plausible time frames have been proposed: from the early 80s CE to shortly after Domitian’s death in 96 or from the mid-late 80s to the late 90s.² In either case, there is overlap with Statius’ composition of the Thebaid, and interaction between both poets is possible. We might even think it likely on the basis of parallels, such as those found in commentaries and studies of the epics; for even if they are not very numerous, some appear to be unique to Statius and Silius, and as long as that is the case, and we cannot ascribe them to happenstance, we can consider interaction between the poets.³ Next, it is necessary to determine the direction in which the influence is going in any particular instance, from Statius to Silius or from Silius to Statius. This is because to prove interaction we need to show that at least one parallel reflects Statius’ influence on Silius and at least one Silius’ influence on Statius. Otherwise, it is possible that all parallels we consider reflect influence in one direction, which would testify to allusion, not interaction. Unfortunately, we do not know when Statius and Silius composed or made available (say, through recitation or publication) specific books, episodes or passages of their respective epics. Unless, or until, the problem of the relative chronologies of these epics is resolved, it is inevitable that studies concerned with the relationship between Statius and Silius be essentially comparative and, to that extent, only suggestive of interaction. The present study, which examines parallels between Statius’ Thebaid and Silius’ account of Saguntum’s fall (2.437– 707), is no different, as I have not been able to demonstrate the priority or posteriority of either text in any instance. Even so, it is hoped that the parallels discussed herein will bolster the case for interaction between the poets, and not only because many of them, being new, add to the sum of parallels identified heretofore, but because they conform to patterns that are consistently maintained in both epics separately

 See e. g. Coleman 1988, xv–xviii, and Nauta 2002, 196.  For the former time frame, see Wistrand 1956 with Marks 2005a, 287– 288. For the latter, see Fröhlich 2000, 9 – 18.  There have been, however, relatively few studies on the relationship between Statius and Silius: Legras 1905; Lorenz 1968; Venini 1969; Lovatt 2010.

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and thus suggest an effort on the part of both poets to sustain them across their epics as well. As to why I limit my analysis to only a part of a book of the Punica, but am willing to consider everywhere else in the Thebaid, my choice is threefold. First, verbal parallels comprise a substantial part of the evidence I investigated, and searching both epics in their entireties for them would have taken me a long time indeed. Second, since it is unclear who is influencing whom in the parallels I discuss, one cannot exclude in any instance either possibility, Statius’ influence on Silius or Silius’ on Statius, but because this involves contextualizing each side of the parallel (or the passage from which it comes) in its own epic and because I feared that the constant back-and-forth between texts might be disorienting for the reader, I decided to focus on a smaller, more digestible portion of one of the two texts. Third, for someone seeking to identify points of contact in the Punica with the Thebaid the Saguntum story seemed to me a natural choice. There are two reasons for my thinking so. First, the siege of Saguntum is one of the few events in the Second Punic War to which Statius refers in his poetry, and he even appears to be familiar with Silius’ version of it.⁴ In his poem on Novius Vindex’s Hercules Epitrapezios statue, Silvae 4.6, Statius tells of Hannibal’s ownership of the object (75 – 84) and says that the god hated the Carthaginian for waging war against the Romans (78 – 80), but was especially saddened to accompany him when he laid siege to Saguntum (81– 84). There are three details in these lines that suggest a connection with Silius’ treatment of Saguntum’s story in the Punica. First, Statius refers to ‘his own [i.e. Hercules’] citadels’ (arces | ipsius, 82– 83) and thus indicates that Hercules is the founder of the city; Silius is the only other ancient author to identify him as the founder of Saguntum (Pun. 1.273 – 287). Second, Statius describes Hercules as grieving (maerens, 81) when Hannibal besieges Saguntum; Silius describes the god as sorrowful on the occasion of the siege too: illacrimat fractae nequiquam casibus urbis (2.476).⁵ Third, Statius says that Hannibal ‘induced noble madness in the people’ (populis furias immisit honestas, 84); this is probably a reference to the internecine slaughter and suicide the Saguntines committed to avoid being taken alive,⁶ but the word furias may point more precisely to

 For others, see Silv. 1.4.86 – 87 (Trasimene, Alps, Cannae); 3.3.190 – 191 (Scipio’s rescue of his father at the Ticinus); 4.6.79 (Hannibal’s siege of Rome). Also, cf. Silv. 5.3.292– 293.  Hercules’ hatred of Hannibal (oderat, 80) because of his war with Rome (78 – 80) is also consistent with the god’s support of the Romans at Cannae (Pun. 9.292– 293). Also, note: R o m u l e i s portantem i n c e n d i a t e c t i s (Silv. 4.6.79) = Ta r p e i s infers i n c e n d i a t e c t i s (Pun. 4.784; cf. atra refers i n c e n d i a terri s , Theb. 7.159).  The story was well known: e. g. Liv. 21.14; Val. Max. 6.6.ext.1; Diod. Sic. 25.15; Flor. 1.22.6; App. Hisp. 12. Cf. Bonadeo 2010 on Silv. 4.6.82 ff.

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Silius’ version of the city’s self-destructive fall, which is precipitated by the intervention of a Fury, Tisiphone (2.543 – 695). I cannot say for certain whether Statius used Silius’ version or Silius Statius’ version, but the former strikes me as more plausible because Silius’ is more fully developed and thus more likely, it seems to me, to be the source text and because, if Silius followed Statius’ version, he would have had to compose his version after the winter of 94/95 CE,⁷ and that seems to me rather late for an event that comes so early in his epic. Of course, to make use of Silius’ version in the Thebaid Statius would have had to be familiar with it several years earlier, by 90 at the earliest and 92 at the latest, and I cannot say whether he was. Even so, the fact that their versions of Saguntum’s fall in Silvae 4.6 and Punica 2 are uniquely similar in the ways discussed above suggests that there was some kind of contact between the two poets. The other reason why I think Saguntum’s story is a good place to look for parallels with the Thebaid is that from its beginning Silius invites us to read it in connection with the war between Thebes and Argos, the theme of Statius’ epic. In addition to an obvious thematic parallel between Thebes’ and Saguntum’s stories – both are cities under siege – Silius makes them blood relations (1.271– 295). Saguntum, he says, was founded by Hercules in honour of his companion Zacynthos, who was killed by a poisonous snake (1.273 – 287) while they were passing through the area on their way back to Thebes: hic comes Alcidae remeabat in agmine Thebas (1.276).⁸ The reference to Thebes reminds us of Hercules’ close connection with the city and thus identifies Saguntum’s founder as Theban.⁹ But immediately after this link between Saguntum and Thebes is forged, our thoughts turn to Argos. First, there is the reference to Zacynthos as ‘Inachian’ at the end of the foundation narrative (Inachiumque virum, 1.287). Sometimes in Latin literature this adjective is used broadly to mean ‘Greek’, but it is often used to mean ‘Argive’ specifically, and this is the case in the two other instances in which it appears in the Punica (10.347; 15.278).¹⁰ Shortly

 The date of Silv. 4.6; so, Coleman 1988, xxi. Cf. Bonadeo 2010, 51– 52.  Cf. a g m i n a T h e b e s (Theb. 9.255); a g m i n e T h e b a s (Theb. 12.608). Also, note: h a u d p r o c u l H e r c u l e i (Pun. 1.273) = h a u d p r o c u l H e r c u l e a m (Theb. 6.368); r u p i t l e t a l i v u l n e r e s e r p e n s (Pun. 1.286) = v u l n e r e l e t a l i s v e i n r u m p e r e t atria s e r p e n s (Theb. 6.40). But also cf. Virg. Aen. 9.580: l e t a l i v u l n e r e r u p i t (so Spaltenstein 1986 on Pun. 1.286).  As was noted above, only Silius and Statius (Silv. 4.6.82– 83) identify Hercules as Saguntum’s founder. For Hercules as the city’s founder see also Pun. 1.369, 505; 2.507. The story of Zacynthos’ death by a snake bite, which is a Silian invention, may be designed to underline the city’s relation to Thebes, in whose foundation snakes play a conspicuous role (e. g. Cadmus’ slaying of Mars’ serpent, his and Harmonia’s transformation into snakes).  OLD, s.v. Inachius.

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hereafter, we also learn that people of Argive descent settled in Saguntum: after colonists from the island of Zacynthos arrived (1.288 – 290), colonists from Ardea in Italy came as well (1.291– 293). According to Virgil (Aen. 7.409 – 412) and Pliny the Elder (NH 3.56), Ardea was founded by an Argive, Danae, the mother of Perseus.¹¹ The Saguntines, therefore, are related to the two principal warring cities in Statius’ Thebaid. What further invites comparison in this regard is that Thebes and Argos, the cities whose blood flows through their veins, are themselves kindred in Statius’ epic; as Jupiter points out in Thebaid 1, they both share him as a common ancestor (1.224– 226).¹² There are many ways in which Saguntum’s story in the Punica may be read in connection with Thebes’ in the Thebaid, but there are two that Silius invites us to consider from the start. First, because Saguntum and Thebes are related by blood and are both cities under siege, we expect that comparisons will be drawn between them and perhaps, correspondingly, between their respective besiegers, the Carthaginians and the Argives. Second, because Saguntum is related to Argos, we expect that there will be some blending and blurring between these correlative pairs, with the Saguntines being identifiable, in addition, with Thebes’ enemy, the Argives, and perhaps, correspondingly, the Carthaginians with the Thebans. In reviewing the parallels I and others have identified between the Thebaid and Saguntum’s story in Punica 1– 2, I found that both expectations are met in both epics, but this is neither surprising nor necessarily indicative of interaction between them. After all, one-to-one correspondences of this kind are rarely, if ever, sustained through multiple parallels or allusions between literary works, and it is inevitable, then, that some parallels will invite comparison, say, between Saguntum and Thebes and others comparison between Saguntum and Argos. And yet from many parallels two patterns emerge that reflect a narrative logic common to both epics, and these patterns conform, in fact, to the two expectations raised by Silius’ account of Saguntum’s history.¹³ When the focus is on the conflict between Saguntum and its external enemy, Carthage, in the Pu That colonists from Ardea came to Saguntum is reported in Liv. 21.7.2. For more on the Saguntines’ Rutulian background, see Bernstein 2008, 181– 187. Also, note: d i v e s a l u m n o (Pun. 1.292) = d i v e s a l u m n i s (Theb. 5.54).  Just to make things more complicated, I should point out that the Carthaginians, being descendants of Agenor, father of Cadmus, are also related to Thebes and thus to their enemy, Saguntum, and Silius often reminds us of this line of descent in his epic through terms such as Cadmeus, Tyrius and Sidonius, epithets that Statius applies to the Thebans in the Thebaid.  These parallels also tend to be among the stronger ones in that they are instances where Statius’ and Silius’ texts are similar not only in the kind of correlation they signal, but also in two or more other respects: language, theme, motif, location, function, relation to other parallels etc.

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nica and on the conflict between Thebes and its external enemy, Argos, in the Thebaid, parallels between both epics tend to reflect these correlations, i. e. between the besieged and between the besiegers, respectively. But when the distinction between friend and foe or self and other becomes destabilized, as when Saguntum falls from within at the end of Punica 2, we encounter many parallels with an episode that similarly reflects the breakdown of these distinctions in the Thebaid, the final combat between Eteocles and Polynices in book 11, and a few that correlate Saguntines and Argives as well. The establishment and collapse of categories, such as friend and foe, Theban and Argive, or Carthaginian and Saguntine, which are suggested to us through parallels between the epics, may not be, therefore, casual or accidental, at least not in every instance. For in many instances they are coordinated and complementary moves, aimed at revealing a fundamental truth about both conflicts in both epics: that as each side wages war against another, that side is ensuring its own destruction. To demonstrate this, I now turn to Silius’ account of Saguntum’s fall at the end of Punica 2. The final phase of Saguntum’s story begins with an account of her people’s suffering from hunger and disease (2.437– 474). Hercules’, the city’s patron god, observes their plight and seeks out the goddess Fides, whom he implores for help (2.475 – 492). Fides replies that she cannot prevent their downfall, but can see to it that they meet a glorious and noble end (2.493 – 512); she then visits the Saguntines and inspires them not to give up (2.513 – 525). This episode shows similarities with two episodes in the Thebaid. The first is in Thebaid 7, when Bacchus, seeing the Argive army approaching Thebes, fears for his city and seeks out Jupiter, whom he asks to save her (7.145 – 192). It happens often enough in epic that a god fears for an individual, a people or a city, laments their suffering and turns to another god for help or consolation – consider, for example, Venus’ appeal to Jupiter in Aeneid 1 – and Silius and Statius certainly draw on this and other episodes of the kind.¹⁴ Even so, there are many details common to both: Hercules and Bacchus both weep for their cities (illacrimat, Pun. 2.476; lacrimis, Theb. 7.151);¹⁵ the context in which each makes his appeal is the same, a siege, an on-going one in Hercules’ case, an imminent one in Bacchus’; each is concerned about the hostility of his step-mother Juno: ne saevae tendat contra decreta novercae (Pun. 2.478); saeva adeo coniunx?

 For models see Juhnke 1972, 192; Smolenaars 1994 on Theb. 7.145 – 226; Ganiban 2007, 101– 110.  Cf. e. g. Virg. Aen. 1.228: lacrimis oculis suffusa nitentis (Venus). For precedents for Hercules’ weeping in Greek and Roman literature see Ripoll 1998a, 115 – 116 (cf. 135– 139).

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(Theb. 7.156);¹⁶ when each seeks out a god who occupies a solitary place in the sky, the descriptions contain verbal parallels: s e c r e t a que pectora temptat. | arcanis dea laeta p o l o t u m f o r t e remoto (Pun. 2.480 – 481); et t u n c f o r t e p o l u m s e c r e t u s habebat (Theb. 7.152);¹⁷ and they receive similar replies from the gods to whom they appeal: neither god can prevent what is to come because it is fated, but each promises something else, Fides that Saguntum will fall nobly (Pun. 2.507– 512), Jupiter that Thebes will not fall (Theb. 7.195 – 198, 218 – 221).¹⁸ Even if some of these details may be due to the use of common models, the number of parallels between Silius’ and Statius’ episodes seems to me quite high, and the combination of all of them is unique to both. The Hercules-Fides episode also bears comparison with Pietas’ intervention in the final combat between Eteocles and Polynices in Thebaid 11 (457– 496). This is especially evident in similarities between Fides and Pietas: each goddess sits alone in a remote part of the sky (Pun. 2.480 – 481; aversa caeli Pietas in parte sedebat, Theb. 11.458);¹⁹ each complains of the iniquity of others, Fides of mankind’s, whose misdeeds led her to abandon the earth for the sky (Pun. 2.496 – 506), Pietas of the combatants’ and the gods’, whose actions lead her to consider abandoning the earth for the underworld (Theb. 11.457, 462– 464);²⁰ each descends from the sky to help those on the ground (inde severa levi decurrens aethere virgo, Pun. 2.513; desiluitque polo, Theb. 11.472);²¹ and each inspires them, though for different reasons and with different results: Fides inspires the Saguntines to continue the fight against the Carthaginians (Pun. 2.515 – 525), Pietas

 Bacchus is also mindful of Juno’s hostility when he attempts to forestall the Argives’ march to Thebes in Theb. 4.671– 672.  Cf. Hom. Il. 1.498; 5.753; so, Spaltenstein 1986 on Pun. 2.481 and Smolenaars 1994 on Theb. 7.152, who also compares Theb. 9.821: caeli iamdudum in parte remota. Also, cf. t u n c f o r t e r e m o t o s (Theb. 4.248); t u m f o r t e r e m o t u s (Pun. 8.207).  Also, compare specifically Pun. 2.510 and Theb. 7.197– 198 with Vessey 1973, 90.  So, Legras 1905, 369 n. 1 and Ripoll 1998a, 307 n. 251. Also, see n. 17, above.  So, Legras 1905, 369 n. 2 and Ripoll 1998a, 307 n. 251. Also, note: oppressu m n o c t e p u d o r e m (Pun. 2.503) = damnatu m n o c t e p u d o r e m (Theb. 1.47). Fides and Pietas are often compared to Astraea, particularly as she appears in Ovid Met. 1.128 – 150 (esp. 149 – 150): so e. g. Bruère 1958, 478; von Albrecht 1964, 57– 58; Venini 1970 on Theb. 11.467 (who also compares Silv. 3.3.1– 5); Vessey 1974a, 31 n. 25; Spaltenstein 1986 on Pun. 2.496; Ripoll 1998a, 306 – 307; Ganiban 2007, 173. Along these lines, note Pun. 2.486 (Fides as iustitiae consors) and Theb. 11.469 (reference to Pyrrha). With Fides’ and Pietas’ complaints one might also compare Jupiter’s in Ov. Met. 1.182– 198 (cf. Theb. 11.470 with Venini 1970, ad loc.) or in Theb. 1.214– 247.  Cf. Theb. 10.118: huc se caeruleo libravit ab a e t h e r e v i r g o . Also, note: desiluitque (Theb. 11.472) = desiluit (Theb. 10.636: Virtus); so, Ganiban 2007, 174.

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Eteocles and Polynices to stop fighting (Theb. 11.474– 481).²² Although none of these parallels is uniquely common to both episodes, the combination of them is, and one cannot ignore, therefore, the possibility of interaction between them or of one episode influencing the other.²³ What further recommends this interpretation is the rarity of Fides’ and Pietas’ appearances as flesh-andblood characters in literature; other than at these moments and another one in their respective epics (Fides in Pun. 13.281– 282; Pietas in Theb. 10.780 – 782), they appear as such nowhere else in epic poetry.²⁴ Also, although Fides never makes an appearance in the Thebaid, it is perhaps suggestive of a Silian connection that when Tisiphone conspires with Megaera to set Eteocles and Polynices against each other, the Fury speaks of the prospect that Fides and Pietas may together try to stand in their way: licet alma Fides Pietasque repugnent, | vincentur (Theb. 11.98 – 99).²⁵ After an initial set of parallels points to a correlation between Saguntum and Thebes, the former being Hercules’ object of concern, the latter Bacchus’, parallels between Fides and Pietas begin to predominate and establish a second correlation, between the Saguntines and Eteocles and Polynices during their final conflict. This shift is fitting in that it reflects the direction in which Silius’ Saguntine narrative is heading, toward the city’s self-destructive fall; hence, as the external threat to the city, the Carthaginians, begins to fade into the background and to give way to an internal threat, the Saguntines themselves, our attention, correspondingly, turns to the climactic moment of fraternal discord in Thebaid 11.²⁶ The trend continues with Tisiphone’s subsequent involvement. In response to Fides’ intervention, Juno calls upon Tisiphone and commands her to destroy  For epic models and parallels see Venini 1970 on Theb. 11.474 ff., 477 and Spaltenstein 1986 on Pun. 2.515. Also, note: it t a c i t u s fessis per ovantia p e c t o r a sensus (Pun. 2.521) = p e c t o r a que, et t a c i t u s subrepsit fratribus horror (Theb. 11.476; cf. tacitus … | horror, Pun. 6.169 – 170 with Venini 1970, ad loc.).  Many, in fact, have compared the episodes, and some have suggested that they reflect the influence of one poet on the other: Legras 1905, 369 – 370 (though, mostly on parallels between Fides and Virtus in Theb. 10); Venini 1970 on Theb. 11.458; Vessey 1974a, 31 n. 21; Ripoll 1998a, 307; Dominik 2003, 486; Ganiban 2007, 173. See also Walter in this volume.  Val. Max. 6.6.ext.1, though, may have initially given Silius the idea to have Fides play a role at Saguntum; on this see von Albrecht 1964, 68. On personified virtues in Flavian epic see Ripoll 1998a, 304– 307.  The names Fides and Pietas are usually capitalized, but it is possible that they should not and should be understood, rather, as non-personified virtues; on this see Feeney 1991, 387.  This shift is more fully appreciated if one takes into account parallels with the Thebaid in Silius’ account of the siege leading up to Saguntum’s fall (1.196 – 2.456); for correlations between the besieged and between the besiegers in each epic are established through them. I cannot present that evidence here, but I hope to do so elsewhere.

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Saguntum (2.526 – 542); the Fury obeys, infecting the Saguntines with madness, inciting suicide and internecine slaughter, and making the city fall from within (2.543 – 695). This event has a counterpart in Thebaid 11 when Tisiphone responds to Pietas’ intervention: she confronts the goddess, rebukes her and drives her from the field of combat (11.482– 496); Pietas gone, Tisiphone and her companion Megaera then re-incite Eteocles and Polynices to mutual hatred, which leads to the brothers’ deaths at each other’s hands (11.497– 573). There are precedents for Tisiphone’s actions in both cases – Virgil’s Allecto, in particular, comes to mind – but the consistency and number of parallels between them, in addition to previous parallels between Fides and Pietas, strongly suggest a connection between Silius’ and Statius’ texts at these points.²⁷ After Tisiphone infects the Saguntines with madness, we witness not only citizens killing citizens, but family members killing each other (2.617– 644) and suicide (2.645 – 649, 678 – 680). In this respect, the fall of Saguntum is broadly similar to the plot of the Thebaid, in which the theme of self-destructive violence, especially in the form of familial strife and suicide, figures prominently. But there are also moments in Silius’ text that, again, bear comparison with Thebaid 11 specifically. At one point during the slaughter, twin brothers named Eurymedon and Lycormas commit suicide in quick succession (2.636 – 644), and their mother, immediately thereafter, follows suit, stabbing herself with a sword and falling upon their bodies (2.645 – 649). The brothers’ deaths here may well call to mind the deaths of Eteocles and Polynices in Theb. 11.537– 573, and vice versa. Granted, the Saguntine brothers commit suicide rather than kill each other, as Eteocles and Polynices do, but both are, nevertheless, types of self-destructive violence, the slaying of a brother being a sort of suicide in that it is tantamount to killing one’s ‘self’.²⁸ And even though there are epic precedents for both sets of deaths,²⁹ it is suggestive that in connection with each the mother of the dead commits suicide; for shortly after Eteocles’ and Polynices’ deaths in Thebaid 11, Statius recounts Jocasta’s suicide by the sword (11.634– 647). Now, while there are precedents for a woman’s suicide by the sword –  For epic models and parallels see von Albrecht 1964, 61– 62; Lorenz 1968, 26 – 28; Venini 1970 on Theb. 11.482 ff.; Juhnke 1972, 192– 193; Vessey 1973, 75 – 76; Spaltenstein 1986 on Pun. 2.526, 553; Ripoll 1998a, 309 n. 263, 407– 409; Dominik 2003, 486; Dietrich 2005, 79; 2009, 198; Ganiban 2007, 153 – 156.  Note how Tymbrenus sees himself in his father (Pun. 2.634– 635) and the brothers are indistinguishable to their mother (2.642, 646); cf. Theb. 5.227– 228 (so, Spaltenstein 1986 on Pun. 2.633). Also, see Ganiban 2007, 185 – 190, on the confusion of distinctions (father-son, brother-brother) in the final combat between Eteocles and Polynices.  For the brothers’ deaths in the Punica see Vessey 1973, 125 n. 1, and Spaltenstein 1986 on Pun. 2.636. For Eteocles’ and Polynices’ deaths see Ganiban 2007, 185 – 195.

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one may compare Dido’s suicide in Aeneid 4 – there is no prior instance in epic, of which I am aware, in which a mother commits suicide by the sword because of and in such close connection with the double-deaths of her sons.³⁰ But what really ties together all of these connections between Silius’ and Statius’ epics is Tymbrenus’ slaughter of his father, which immediately precedes the deaths of Eurymedon, Lycormas and their mother (2.632– 635). For when this death is also taken into account and the episode is viewed in its entirety – and it is a self-contained set-piece in Silius’ narrative³¹ – one can see how the sequence of events recounted therein mimic that which leads up to and includes the plot of Statius’ Thebaid: just as a son (Tymbrenus) kills his father, twin brothers (Eurymedon and Lycormas) die together, and their mother commits suicide, so Oedipus kills Laius, Eteocles and Polynices kill each other, and Jocasta kills herself.³² It is as if the tragic deaths of the royal house of Thebes are being played out in miniature at Saguntum. A little later we encounter a cluster of parallels in Silius’ description of Tiburna, as she makes her way to the tomb of her husband Murrus (2.665 – 670): ecce inter medios caedum Tiburna furores fulgenti dextram mucrone armata mariti et laeva infelix ardentem lampada quassans squalentemque erecta comam ac liventia planctu pectora nudatis ostendens saeva lacertis ad tumulum Murri super ipsa cadavera fertur.

665

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Lo! in the midst of madness and murder, unhappy Tiburna was seen. Her right hand was armed with her husband’s bright sword, and in her left she brandished a burning torch; her disordered hair stood on end, her shoulders were bare, and she displayed a breast discoloured by cruel blows. She hurried right over the corpses to the tomb of Murrus. (trans. Duff 1934)

 Note that Statius has Jocasta kill herself in connection with her son’s deaths (some texts give this version; others put her suicide after her recognition of Oedipus as her son) and has her die by the sword (similarly, Eur. Phoen. 1454– 1459; Sen. Oed. 1037– 1039), but uniquely has her strike herself in the breast (pectore, Theb. 11.639; throat: Euripides; womb: Seneca). Silius’ mother is similar to Statius’ Jocasta in all three respects (note: ubera, Pun. 2.648). On Statius’ and other versions of Jocasta’s suicide see Smolenaars 2008, 225 – 233. For Jocasta and Dido see Dietrich 2009, 188.  The episode contains named, particularized characters whereas the passages surrounding it (Pun. 2.609 – 631, 650 – 664) offer general descriptions of death and destruction.  In the Thebaid Jocasta’s suicide occurs before her sons’ deaths, but Statius reports it afterwards (Theb. 11.634– 636).

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In Latin literature the words ecce inter medios, with which line 665 begins, are found in this order only here, at two other moments in the Punica (8.656; 15.435), and when Statius introduces Tydeus in the catalogue of Argive troops and allies (Theb. 4.93).³³ Next, we see Tiburna armed with her husband’s sword and carrying a torch. This description closely resembles that of Juno in Thebaid 10, when she provides moonlight to help the Argives as they slaughter Thebans during a night-raid on their camp: fulgenti d e x t r a m mucrone a r m a t a mariti | et laeva infelix ardentem l a m p a d a q u a s s a n s (Pun. 2.666 – 667) = a r m a t a que Iuno | lunarem q u a t i e n s exerta l a m p a d a d e x t r a (Theb. 10.282– 283).³⁴ Another point of comparison here is that in each case the guiding hand of Juno is at work: in the Thebaid the goddess is helping the Argives in their night-raid while in the Punica she previously sent Tisiphone to infect the Saguntines with madness (2.526 – 579), which has led to this moment of frenzied grief for Tiburna. In fact, the connection between Juno and Tiburna via Tisiphone is even tidier than that in Silius’ text: the Fury fulfilled Juno’s command by taking on the appearance of Tiburna and, in that guise, convincing the Saguntines to take their own lives (2.553 – 579).³⁵ Although both of these parallels signal a break from the correlative pattern witnessed previously, between Saguntum’s fall and the conflict between Eteocles and Polynices, they, nevertheless, continue to underline the idea of the ‘enemy within’ in Silius’ text; for by establishing a correlation between Tiburna, who, as a Saguntine, is among the besieged in the Punica, and Tydeus and Juno, who, as allies of Argos, are among the besiegers in the Thebaid, they blur the distinction between friend and foe across both epics. What lends further support to this interpretation is that Tiburna’s role as a kind of double-agent and thus an ‘enemy within’ is elsewhere established in Silius’ text, through Tisiphone’s impersonation of Tiburna, to which I just referred. Granted, it is more difficult to see how the correlation informs either of the moments in the Thebaid with which Silius’ text bears a resemblance, and for that reason it may be preferable to regard both parallels as evidence of Silius’ use of Statius (allusion) than as evidence of interaction.

 The parallels are noted by Steiniger 2005 on Theb. 4.93.  Silius must have had in mind Virg. Aen. 6.587 and, perhaps, also Val. Arg. 1.841, as both contain the clausula lampada quassans and appear in contexts involving death, and Statius may have been thinking of Arg. 8.278 (quatioque hanc lampada). Even so, Silius’ and Statius’ texts show more verbal parallels between themselves than with any of these texts individually.  And note how Tiburna’s connection with the Fury is evoked in Pun. 2.671– 674, where she is compared to Allecto. Tisiphone’s use of a disguise is comparable to Statius’ Pietas (Theb. 11.477), but there are other examples of the sort in epic; see the studies cited in n. 22 and n. 27 above.

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But Silius and Statius appear to be on the same page when it comes to two other parallels involving Tiburna. The first comes in Pun. 2.668, immediately after the parallels we have just looked at. Tiburna’s dishevelled, bruised appearance corresponds to that of Ide, who in Thebaid 3 mourns the deaths of her sons, who were among the fifty sent by Eteocles to ambush Tydeus: s q u a l e n t e m que erect a c o m a m ac l i v e n t i a planctu (Pun. 2.668) = s q u a l e n t e m sublat a c o m a m l i v e n t i a que ora (Theb. 3.135).³⁶ This parallel seems out of place in its Silian context, as it signals a return to a correlation (between Saguntum and Thebes) that has since been abandoned. But when viewed in connection with the ‘enemy within’ motif, the correlation makes good sense; for although Ide is a Theban, she suffers not only because of the actions of an Argive ally, Tydeus, who killed her sons, but because of the actions of a fellow Theban, Eteocles, who rashly sent the fifty out to ambush him, and one need only refer to the wider context of which Ide’s grief is a part in the Thebaid to see how Eteocles’ responsibility for their deaths is emphasized there.³⁷ We may speak, therefore, not only of ‘enemies within’ in each scenario (Tiburna and Eteocles), but also of ‘victims within’ (Tiburna and Ide). In fact, a final parallel, again involving Tiburna, puts into sharp focus the inseparable relation between these two faces of internal strife. When she piles up Murrus’ arms at his tomb, sets them aflame, kills herself and then falls upon the pyre (Pun. 2.675 – 680), her actions closely resemble the suicidal self-immolation of Evadne upon the pyre of Capaneus, an event not recounted, but referred to in the Thebaid (12.800 – 802). It is possible, of course, that Silius was thinking of Dido’s death in Aeneid 4 or of a pre-Statian version of Evadne’s story. And the same can be said of Statius, who might have had in mind models other than Silius’ Tiburna.³⁸ Even so, the cumulative thrust of this and the aforementioned parallels and the univocal way in which so many of them speak across both epics make it plausible that some kind of interaction between Statius and Silius is at work here as well. Immediately after Tiburna’s death, however, we encounter parallels that reestablish a pair of correlations that has largely been abandoned since Silius’ account of Saguntum’s fall began, namely, between Saguntum and Thebes and between their respective besiegers, Carthage and Argos. These parallels are evident in a simile with which Silius puts into perspective the mass carnage spread

 The parallel is noted by Snijder 1968 on Theb. 3.135, who also compares Virg. Aen. 2.774, 6.48 and Val. Arg. 2.212; 8.68; but none of these texts shows as many verbal parallels with Statius’ text as Silius’ does.  Cf. Theb. 3.53 – 113, 176 – 217.  Dietrich 2005, 80; 2009, 188, and Augoustakis 2010, 134, compare Tiburna’s and Dido’s suicides. For pre-Statian versions of Evadne’s death, see Pollmann 2004 on Theb. 12.800 – 801.

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throughout the city (2.681– 682) as the Carthaginians storm the citadel (2.692): it is as when a lion has wreaked havoc in a sheepfold and lies sated among the slaughter (2.683 – 691). There is a comparable simile in the Thebaid, when Tydeus, after vanquishing the fifty Thebans sent to ambush him, is like a lion after slaughtering sheep (2.675 – 681). Several verbal and motival parallels link the two passages, but that is not itself surprising as their themes are similar, and because lion similes are not uncommon in epic poetry, it cannot be said on that basis alone that Statius and Silius are not independently drawing on common models.³⁹ But there are reasons to consider the possibility of interaction between the two poets as well. First, each simile appears in a similar location in its epic, toward the end of its second book. Second, each simile sets up a simile later in its epic that signals a turn-around in the fortunes of the figure who was the victor in the former instance, and in both cases the animal with whom the figure is compared is a wolf: whereas Hannibal and the Carthaginians, when victorious at Saguntum, are like a lion having slaughtered sheep, Hannibal, when kept at bay by Fabius in Punica 7, is compared to a pack of wolves shut out from a sheepfold by a shepherd (7.126 – 130); likewise, Tydeus, when victorious against the fifty, is like a lion having slaughtered sheep, but, when blocked from reaching Eteocles in Thebaid 8, is compared to a wolf warded off by a band of shepherds (8.691– 694).⁴⁰ There is, furthermore, a line in the lion simile in Punica 2 that shows close verbal parallels with two lines in a lion simile in Thebaid 9: p a s t o r u m que c o h o r s stabuliq u e g r e g i s q u e m a g i s t e r (Pun. 2.690) = quem propter clausiq u e g r e g e s vigilantq u e m a g i s t r i ; | p a s t o r u m lassae debellavere c o h o r t e s (Theb. 9.190 – 191). The figure compared in the Statian simile is, again, Tydeus, but now he is like a slain lion viewed upclose by a crowd of shepherds and farmers, who are identifiable with Theban soldiers surrounding his corpse in the narrative proper.⁴¹ The re-establishment of correlations between Saguntum and Thebes and between Carthage and Argos, which these parallels signal, is not accidental but conforms to the narrative  For models see Mulder 1954 on Theb. 2.675, 676 – 677, 677– 678, 680; von Albrecht 1964, 101– 102; Juhnke 1972, 76; Spaltenstein 1986 on Pun. 2.683 (including Theb. 2.675 – 681), 685, 687, 4.331; Taisne 1994, 137– 138.  Although both similes owe much to Virg. Aen. 9.59 – 64, note that the clausula in the first line of each is the same, nocte sub atra (Pun. 7.126; Theb. 8.691), and that the poets switch singulars and plurals when referring to the principal actors in their similes: Silius has a single pastor (7.127) that protects his sheep from a turba luporum (7.129), and Statius has a pastorum turba (8.692) that protects their sheep from a single lupum (8.691). On the Virgilian model and others see Spaltenstein 1986 on Pun. 7.126; Taisne 1994, 142 n. 103; Littlewood 2011 on Pun. 7.126 – 127.  The parallel is noted by Dewar 1991 on Theb. 9.191, who also sees Theb. 8.691– 694 as a companion simile to this one.

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logic of Silius’ text: now that the internecine violence is over, the focus shifts from the internal enemy, the Saguntines themselves, back to the external enemy, the Carthaginians, who now invade the city. But the parallels do not stop there. Silius concludes the book with a brief coda in which he praises the Saguntines (2.696 – 698) and says that one day Hannibal will pay for his victory with his exile and suicide (2.699 – 707). Silius’ praise of the Saguntines has a counterpart in Statius’ praise of the lone survivor of the fifty, Maeon, after he commits suicide before Eteocles (Theb. 3.108 – 113). In addition to the similar contexts in which each passage occurs (after a self-destructive act through which punishment by another is avoided), there are verbal and motival correspondences: in each passage the poet begins with an adversative and a second person pronoun (at vos, Pun. 2.696; tu tamen, Theb. 3.99), tells the dead to go to Elyisum (ite … | Elysium, Pun. 2.697– 698; Elysias, i, carpe plagas, Theb. 3.109) and refers to the injustice of the victim’s or victims’ aggressor (e. g. non aequa … victoria, Pun. 2.699; sontis iniqua tyranni | iussa, Theb. 3.110 – 111).⁴² What is notable about this parallel is that while it correlates the Saguntines with a Theban, it implicitly identifies those to whom they are opposed, Hannibal and Eteocles, with each other as well, and this is not an inconsequential detail. For as Silius next turns to Hannibal’s eventual fate, we encounter a parallel with the Thebaid that links him and Polynices: v a g u s e x u l in orbe | e r r a b i t toto, p a t r i i s proiectus a b o r i s (Pun. 2.701– 702) = interea p a t r i i s olim v a g u s e x u l a b o r i s | Oedipodionides furto deserta p e r e r r a t (Theb. 1.312– 313).⁴³ Between these two parallels, the former identifying Hannibal with Eteocles, the latter Hannibal with Polynices, we can see, yet again, how the interweaving of correspondences between both epics underlines the notion that in waging war against an external foe one comes to destroy oneself. And so, in the Punica the siege of Saguntum proves to be self-destructive not only for the Spanish city in that it leads to her falling by her own hand, but, ironically, for her victor Hannibal in that it ultimately leads to his death, which will be accomplished by his own hand too. Likewise, in the Thebaid, although Eteocles

 The passages are compared by McGuire 1997, 216, who also compares Aeson’s and Alcimede’s descent to Elysium in Val. Arg. 1.827– 851; cf. von Albrecht 1964, 58; Ripoll 1998a, 393 – 396. Dominik 2003, 489 – 490, differently, compares Silius’ praise of the Saguntines with Statius’ condemnation of Eteocles and Polynices in Theb. 11.574– 579 (esp. 574– 575 with Pun. 2.697– 698).  The parallel is noted by Spaltenstein 1986 on Pun. 2.701. The words vagus exul, so juxtaposed, are also found in Ov. Met. 11.408 and Theb. 12.394, but Statius in Thebaid 1 and Silius in Punica 2 uniquely use these words in connection with the prepositional phrase patriis ab oris and a form of the verb errare.

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and Polynices seek to destroy each other, they end up ensuring their own destruction by each other’s hand. As we have seen, many parallels between the Punica and the Thebaid reflect patterns of correlation between combatants in their epics and do so according to a narrative logic that is evident in both epics. When the focus is on a conflict between external enemies, parallels reflect this state of affairs in both epics, as at the beginning (Hercules’ appeal to Fides) and the end (lion simile) of Silius’ account of Saguntum’s fall in the Punica and, correspondingly, in Thebaid 7 (Bacchus’ appeal to Jupiter) and Thebaid 2 and 9 (lion similes). But when the focus is on an internal conflict, parallels reflect this state of affairs in both epics too, as in Silius’ descriptions of internecine violence and suicide during Saguntum’s fall in the Punica and, correspondingly, in the Thebaid at various points, but, most notably, during the final combat between Eteocles and Polynices in book 11. These patterns do not simply coexist in and between both epics, but stand in tension with each other, together revealing a fundamental truth that mutually pertains to and thus unites both conflicts across both epics: that as each side wages war against another, it ensures its own destruction. Hence, the fall of Saguntum becomes, from a Silian perspective, a microcosm of the war between Thebes and Argos in the Thebaid, and the war between Thebes and Argos becomes, from a Statian perspective, a macrocosm of Saguntum’s fall in the Punica. Of course, none of this proves interaction, but it shows that in some instances both poets were on the same page to a remarkable degree, and that makes interaction between them more likely.

Anke Walter

Beginning at the end Silius Italicus and the desolation of Thebes What can you do if you read a story whose ending you do not like? The beginning of Silius Italicus’ Punica, the story of the fall of Saguntum as told in the epic’s first two books (Pun. 1.271– 2.707), is a meditation on exactly this question. Beleaguered by Hannibal and plagued by slow starvation, the Saguntines give up all hope of salvation and ‘see their doom at hand’ (propius suprema vident, 2.461).¹ The downfall of the city is watched by Hercules, who reveals himself as a very emotional internal spectator of the Punica and sheds tears for what he sees. He sets out to change the end of this story and entreats the goddess Fides to come to the help of the weary Saguntines and make the city rise anew. With this exhortation, Hercules initiates a momentous series of events that lead to the gruesome mass suicide of the Saguntines and are of programmatic importance for the Punica as a whole. As has been argued, what is at stake here are the themes of ‘loyalty’, fides, and civil war, but also Silius’ poetic affiliation with his predecessors Virgil and Lucan.² I would like to propose that there is a further layer of meaning in that Silius also makes programmatic statements about his relationship with one of his fellow Flavian epic poets, Statius.³ As Helen Lovatt has reminded us with regard to the relationship of these two poets, we cannot know for certain who of them came first, and she proposes that “we should look for readings which offer the most interesting story”.⁴ I shall take up her lead and propound one story we could tell about the interaction between Silius and Statius and which runs as follows: in his narrative of Saguntum, Silius closely engages with the main programmatic passages of the Thebaid, especially of its last two books (to make things more complicated, in turn perhaps provoking a response from Statius in an earlier part of the Thebaid). By encapsulating Statius’ open-ended Theban war in his miniature epic on the fall of Saguntum,

 The text of the Punica referred to is that of Delz 1987; translations of the Punica mostly follow Duff 1934. For the Thebaid see Hill 1990 and Shackleton Bailey 2003.  On the paradigmatic importance of the Saguntum episode for the prominence of fides in the Punica see von Albrecht 1964, 55 – 86; Vessey 1974a; Küppers 1986, 164– 170; Pomeroy 2010; on this episode as foreshadowing Roman civil war see esp. McGuire 1997, 207– 219; Dominik 2003; 2006.  On echoes of Statius’ Thebaid in Silius Italicus’ Saguntum episodes see also Marks in this volume.  Lovatt 2009, 158; an approach also developed in her 2005 monograph.

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Silius fashions himself as a successor of Statius who begins where the Thebaid ends, thereby changing the end of the story he is part of – the history of Flavian epic.

Saguntum and the aftermath of the Theban war From the first moment Hercules catches sight of the sufferings of the Saguntines, the Punica enters into a programmatic intertextual dialogue with the Thebaid. Hercules weeps over the fate of the town whose founder he is and calls the goddess Fides to help (2.475 – 512). In this, he resembles the god Bacchus who early in Thebaid 7 cries over the impending fate of his hometown of Thebes, which the Argives are about to attack, and appeals to Jupiter to show mercy (Theb. 7.145 – 192).⁵ Similarly to Hercules, Bacchus finds the god in a distant region of heaven (Theb. 7.152; Pun. 2.481– 482) and begins his speech by reminding him of the close bonds between himself and the suffering city (tuas … Thebas, Theb. 7.155; tuae … Sagunti, Pun. 2.487). This scene occurs at the beginning of the war, immediately after Mars – at Jupiter’s command – has instigated the departure of the Argives from Nemea towards Thebes. The war that is now to begin will have no end, as Jupiter declares in response to Bacchus’ complaint: he has not decreed the end of Aonian history ‘at this time’; instead, a more suspect age and ‘other avengers’ will come (non hoc statui sub tempore rebus | o c c a s u m Aoniis, veniet suspectior aetas | ultoresque alii, Theb. 7.219 – 221).⁶ Saguntum, by contrast, is already defeated and its end is certain (fractae … c a s i b u s urbis, Pun. 2.476), and Fides is addressed not as destroying the city herself, but only as the spectator of its downfall (cf. excindisne tuas, divum sator optime, Thebas?, Theb. 7.155, with exitiumne tuae dirum spectare Sagunti | … | … lenta potes?, Pun. 2.487– 489).⁷ Silius’ Fides seems to be watching the Statian Jupiter’s instigation of war, in her turn supplying the end that Jupiter denies: she promises to ‘prolong the renown of the Saguntines’ death’, grant them immortal fame and lead their shades to the underworld (Pun. 2.511– 512). The fall of Saguntum,

 My thanks to Raymond Marks for pointing out this parallel to me.  Yet even this end is only provisional, since Fides begins her speech by foreshadowing a later day of revenge (Pun. 2.495).  Jupiter defends himself by saying that he is not sacrificing Thebes to his private wrath, but that pietas and ‘violated faith’, among others, demand the war (rogat hoc … | et pietas et laesa fides, Theb. 7.216 – 217). Silius’ Fides, however, insists on the pervasiveness of human guilt, thus implicitly freeing herself from this charge.

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then, is introduced as the aftermath of Thebes, the final conclusion missing from Statius’ epic.⁸ The way Fides sets out to achieve the promised glorious end for the Saguntines interacts with another central scene of the Thebaid. Hercules finds Fides in a secluded part of heaven, the same area where Statius’ readers first meet Pietas immediately before the duel between Eteocles and Polynices. Like her Statian counterpart, Fides states that she has abandoned the ‘polluted earth’ in protest at human guilt, greed and violence, but nevertheless leaps down from heaven to help the suffering mortals (Theb. 11.457– 473; Pun. 2.479 – 514).⁹ Statius’ Pietas, however, sets a rather questionable example. At first it looks as if her intervention might immediately be successful: as soon as she appears on earth, ‘the armies turn gentle in a sudden peace’, the wickedness of the nefas is perceived, and ‘silent horror steals upon the brothers’ (Theb. 11.474– 476). However, what she could have accomplished by simply making her presence felt among the humans is counteracted by her attempt at acting as the leader of an army would do. Bearing ‘feigned arms and manly dress’, she addresses the soldiers with a loudly voiced speech. When she has ‘somewhat pushed them wavering’ (Theb. 11.482), she is noted by the Fury Tisiphone, who immediately rebukes her and eventually forces her to flee back to heaven (Theb. 11.482– 496). The vigorous attempt of Statius’ Pietas to leave the realm of mere allegory and become an actual ‘person’ exerting military power seems to serve as a warning to Silius’ Fides. She acts purely as an inward force and takes possession of the hearts and minds of the Saguntines (2.515 – 525). When ‘an unspoken resolve fills the triumphant hearts of the sufferers’, the result of Fides’ intervention closely resembles the near-success of Statius’ Pietas, who brings about a ‘silent horror’ that steals upon the brothers (tunc ora madescunt | p e c t o r a q u e , et t a c i t u s subrepsit fratribus horror, Theb. 11.475 – 476; it t a c i t u s fessis per ovantia p e c t o r a sensus, Pun. 2.521).¹⁰ However, Fides cannot escape the gaze of Juno, who immediately spots her, standing in the citadel of the hated people (quam simul invisae gentis conspexit in arce, Pun. 2.526). Who is ‘her’ (quam)?  The association between Fides and the end of the Thebaid is strengthened when we learn that Fides takes possession of the Saguntines’ minds and pervades their breasts, ‘her familiar habitation’ – a habitation that is ‘familiar’ since Statius has Clementia, the goddess closely associated with the final resolution of the epic conflict, happily ‘live in minds and hearts’ (cf. mentes habitare et p e c t o r a gaudet, Theb. 12.494, with invadit m e n t e s et p e c t o r a n o t a pererrat, Pun. 2.515; cf. von Albrecht 1964, 60 n. 31).  Cf. Vessey 1974a, 31 n. 21; n. 25; Hardie 1993, 82; Dominik 2003, 486; on the status of Pietas as a personification in the Thebaid see Feeney 1991, 387– 389.  However, what Fides brings about is not without its troubling aspects, since the Saguntines’ impulse is to commit cannibalism, which Fides has to prevent (Pun. 2.521– 525).

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So far, the reader has not seen Fides in any physical manifestation. To Juno, however, she is as visible as Statius’ Pietas. This is no coincidence: intertextually speaking, Silius’ Juno is under heavy Statian influence. As she reprimands the ‘maidenly furor stirring up war’ (virgineum i n c r e p i t a t miscentem bella furorem, Pun. 2.528), her actions closely imitate those of Statius’ Tisiphone, who arrives on the scene ‘more swiftly than celestial fire’ and reprimands her opponent (… ni torva notasset | Tisiphone fraudes caelestique o c i o r igne | adforet i n c r e p i t a n s , Theb. 11.482– 484). The fact that it is the depiction of Statius’ Tisiphone that influences Juno is immediately signalled when Juno ‘quickly’ (ocius, Pun. 2.529) calls on her very ‘source’ of inspiration, ‘black Tisiphone’ herself (a t r a m | Tisiphonen, Pun. 2.529 – 530; cf. a t r a soror, Theb. 11.75).¹¹ Despite her attempts to avoid the mistakes of Statius’ Pietas, Silius’ Fides immediately finds herself in the same situation and faced with the same opponent as her Statian counterpart. What is at stake when Statius’ Pietas and Tisiphone meet on the battlefield? The Fury tells Pietas to withdraw; this is her own day, now it is too late for Pietas to defend ‘guilty Thebes’ (noster | hic campus nosterque dies; nunc sera nocentes | defendis Thebas, Theb. 11.485 – 487). Tisiphone hereby reaffirms what she declared earlier in book 11. After having called up her sister Megaera from the underworld, she asks for her help in preparing no ‘ordinary’ battles, but those of brothers: non solitas acies nec Martia bella paramus, | sed fratrum (Theb. 11.97– 98).¹² In both of these programmatic passages, Tisiphone aspires to take the epic out of the poet’s hand, claiming as her own merit the climax and fulfilment of the poem about ‘battlelines of brothers’ (fraternas acies, Theb. 1.1) and ‘guilty Thebes’ (sontes … Thebas, Theb. 1.2). However, when Tisiphone first lays out her ‘poetic programme’, she mentions two potential obstacles to its completion: ‘kindly Fides’ and Pietas, who might resist, but who will certainly be defeated (licet alma Fides Pietasque repugnent, | vincentur, Theb. 11.98 – 99).¹³ With her victory over Pietas, Statius’ Tisiphone fulfils one part of this prophecy. But what about the other half concerning Fides? This is the only time the personified Fides, who is otherwise conspicuously absent

 For this parallel as well as the other two major models of Silius’ Tisiphone, Allecto from the Aeneid and Tisiphone from Ovid’s Metamorphoses, see Bruère 1958, 478 – 479; von Albrecht 1964, 60 – 62; Vessey 1974a, 32 n. 30; Spaltenstein 1986, ad loc.; Hardie 1993, 82.  When Juno finds Tisiphone ‘driving with her scourge the spirits in the depths of hell’ (imos agitantem verbere manes, Pun. 2.530), this can be read as a short summary of the opening of this scene of the Thebaid: Statius describes in detail how Tisiphone terrifies both the earth and the underworld, in order to make Megaera join her in the upper world (Theb. 11.57– 75).  On this line see Feeney 1991, 387– 389.

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from the Thebaid, is invoked. Statius’ Furies have no chance to complete the ‘epic programme’ sketched out here, i. e. to overcome both Pietas and Fides. When Silius’ Juno spots Fides in the hearts and minds of men, she seizes the chance to send Tisiphone back to the battlefield of epic to finish her task and fulfil what she has prophesied in the Thebaid. The narrative that follows shows that Tisiphone indeed lives up to this task, since what she brings about in the close confines of the walls of Saguntum amounts to nothing less than a full-scale civil war, in which clear allusions to programmatic declarations as well as individual scenes of civil war in the epics of Virgil, Lucan, Valerius Flaccus and Statius are accumulated.¹⁴ Silius’ Saguntum is turned into an epitome of civil war. ‘Any spot that is not burning is a scene of crime’, the embodied literary topos of scelus: furit ensis et ignis, | quique caret flamma, scelerum est locus (Pun. 2.657– 658). What Statius could not finish is completed by Silius. That much is signalled by the poet himself: the long narrative of the Saguntines’ gruesome deeds ends with the suicide of Tiburna, the wife of Murrus, whose aristeia had opened the actual fighting between Hannibal and the Saguntines (Pun. 1.376 – 534). Tiburna hurries to the funeral pyre, sets it aflame, stabs herself with her husband’s sword and throws herself into the fire (Pun. 2.665 – 680). This can be taken as the completion of what is self-consciously left open by Statius, whose epic ends in a praeteritio: when Theseus has entered the city of Thebes in triumph and the Theban women revisit the battlefield, the narrator declares that, not even had he a hundred voices, could he describe so many scenes of mourning, of which he goes on to catalogue a few. The first woman he cannot describe is Evadne, the widow of the Argive captain Capaneus, who ‘boldly throws herself on the beloved flames’ (turbine quo sese caris instraverit audax | ignibus Evadne, Theb. 12.800 – 801). Statius’ praeteritio ends with the declaration that he could hardly narrate all the scenes of mourning, even if a ‘new madness and the coming of Apollo’ had filled him with inspiration (vix novus ista furor veniensque implesset Apollo, Theb. 12.808). By taking up and developing the scene of female suicide that Statius could only sketch out briefly, Silius fashions himself as the poetic successor explicitly called for by the poet of the Thebaid. The allusions to key moments of the Theban war – Bacchus’ appeal to Jupiter at the beginning of the second half of the Thebaid, the confrontation between Pietas and Tisiphone immediately preceding the fraternal duel and the praeteritio amid the countless scenes of mourning – suggest that within no more than

 Cf. Vessey 1974a, 33 n. 32; Hardie 1993, 82; McGuire 1997, 213 – 214; Ripoll 1998a, 498; Dominik 2003, 487– 489.

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250 lines Silius accomplishes what Statius had to leave open even after twelve books of his account of the Theban myth – “the classic example of an epic tale to be continued”, as Philip Hardie states.¹⁵ However, if Silius completes and finishes what Statius could not, he does so only to begin anew: Silius’ Saguntine narrative of aftermath gains special force from being an ending at the beginning, since Saguntum has to fall for the Second Punic War to begin. How does the Saguntum episode and in particular Silius’ dialogue with Statius resonate with this new epic that is about to start?

Epic epilogues The depiction of Tiburna’s suicide is followed by a final look at the empty battlefield and by the triumph of the Fury Tisiphone: applauded by Juno, she proudly and triumphantly carries with her the large crowd of the Saguntines to Tartarus (Pun. 2.693 – 695): tum demum ad manes p e r f e c t o m u n e r e Erinys Iunoni l a u d a t a redit magnamque superba exsultat rapiens secum sub Tartara turbam.

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And then at last the Fiend, her duty done, returned, with thanks from Juno, to the nether world, proud and triumphant that she carried with her to Tartarus a multitude of victims. (trans. Duff 1934)

Tisiphone keeps the outward appearance of epic decorum, as she gains divine praise (laus) and celebrates what on the surface looks like a proper epic triumph. There is a clear contrast here with the Furies of the Thebaid, who are denied such a triumph: when their work is done and Eteocles and Polynices finally go to combat, they can only marvel and stand by applauding, rather than being applauded, realising that men’s madness is more powerful than their own (f a c i n u s q u e p e r a c t u m e s t . | nec iam opus est Furiis; tantum mirantur et astant | l a u d a n t e s , hominumque dolent plus posse furores, Theb. 11.536 – 538). Immediately after the duel, the death of the two brothers is ‘hailed’ by a completely perverted epic eulogy. The narrator of the Thebaid addresses the souls of his ‘heroes’ and sends them to the underworld. He calls upon the Furies to ‘spare the ills of mankind’ and let in all lands and ages only one day see such a crime, which should

 Hardie 1997b, 155 – 156; on the problematic ending of the Thebaid see also Feeney 1991, 359 – 363; Braund 1996; Hardie 1997b; Dietrich 1999; Lovatt 1999.

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be forgotten by future generations and remembered only by kings (Theb. 11.576 – 579): vosque malis hominum, Stygiae, iam parcite, divae: omnibus in terris scelus hoc omnique sub aevo viderit una dies, monstrumque infame futuris excidat, et soli memorent haec proelia reges. And you, Stygian goddesses, spare now the ills of mankind. In all land and every age let one day only have seen such a crime. Let the monstrous infamy be forgotten by future generations and only kings remember this duel. (trans. Shackleton Bailey 2003)

Epic conventions are profoundly reversed: it is not the Muses in heaven that are invoked, but the Furies of the underworld; neither shall all lands and ages, but only one day see what Statius has just told us;¹⁶ there shall be no memory, but oblivion for a work that does not glorify reges et proelia, but tells of horrible proelia as a warning to reges. In Silius’ Saguntum episode, by contrast, we see no ‘grisly Tartarus’ that the shades of Eteocles and Polynices are told to ‘pollute’, but an actual triumph in the underworld. What is problematic here is not so much the fact that the traditional language of epic has totally disappeared, but that it has become so hard to tell the glorious and the reprehensible apart. When Tisiphone’s work is done, the Saguntines have committed a dreadful act for which they would have to be sent to Tartarus, but which in some sense still happens in the name of Fides and is honourable in so far as it allows the Saguntines to preserve their loyalty to Rome.¹⁷ This is mirrored in the language of the epic narrator, who speaks of the ‘unhappy glory’ (infelix gloria, Pun. 2.613) that the Saguntines have won and laments their ‘praiseworthy crimes’ (laudanda … monstra, Pun. 2.650; cf. monstrumque infame, Theb. 11.578). This world in which good and bad, heroic deeds and dreadful crimes, are inseparably intertwined seems to demand the intervention of the epic narrator. In the epilogue which immediately follows, he makes himself heard in order to correct the disorder into which the epic language has been thrown by Juno and Tisiphone. He apostrophizes the shades of the Saguntines as ‘starlike souls, whom no succeeding age shall ever match’, as ‘the glory of the earth’ and the ‘venerable people’ who should adorn Elysium and the ‘chaste seats of the pious’ (Pun. 2.696 – 698):

 Cf. Hardie 1993, 3 – 10; Bernstein 2004, 80 – 81.  On the ‘collaboration’ of Fides and Tisiphone and the resulting confusion of good and bad see Vessey 1974a, 34; Küppers 1986, 166 – 170; Feeney 1991, 307– 308; Hardie 1993, 82; Spentzou 2008, 136 – 137.

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at vos, sidereae, quas nulla aequaverit aetas, i t e , decus terrarum, a n i m a e , venerabile vulgus, E l y s i u m et castas sedes decorate piorum. But you, ye star-like souls, whom no succeeding age shall ever match – go, glory of the earth, a worshipful company, and adorn Elysium and the pure abodes of the righteous. (trans. Duff 1934)

There could hardly be a clearer contrast with the ‘fierce souls’ of Statius’ Theban brothers who are sent to Tartarus to exhaust all punishments of the underworld, (ite truces a n i m a e funestaque Ta r t a r a leto | p o l l u i t e et cunctas Erebi consumite poenas, Theb. 11.574– 575).¹⁸ However, the underworld plays a key role in Silius’ epilogue as well. Only a few lines later, Hannibal’s fate is predicted: having gained glory by an unjust victory, he will be exiled from his homeland and wander over the whole earth, plagued in his sleep by the shades of the Saguntines, before ‘carrying down to the waters of Styx his body disfigured and blackened by poison’ (Pun. 2.699 – 707). Between the praise of the Saguntines and the prophecy of Hannibal’s ignoble end, the poet inserts the central message of the Punica: Hannibal’s end should serve as a warning ‘not to break treaties of peace nor set power above loyalty’ (audite, o gentes, neu r u m p i t e f o e d e r a p a c i s | nec r e g n i s postferte f i d e m , Pun. 2.700 – 701). This foreshadows the fulfilment of Silius’ central poetic programme, the Roman victory over the Carthaginians who are characterised by their perfidia, their habit of breaking treaties and their greed for power (… s a c r i cum p e r f i d a p a c t i | gens Cadmea super r e g n o certamina movit, Pun. 1.5 – 6; i m p i u s ensis | ter placitam suasit temerando r u m p e r e p a c e m , Pun. 1.10 – 11). Instead of Statius’ rather cryptic remark that only kings, reges, should remember his battles, proelia, Silius has a clear message for all people to hear. Both poets intervene in their narratives to ‘correct’ the afterlife of their epic characters. Yet in contrast to Statius, Silius does so not in order to alienate the framework of his epic from its main topic, but in order to establish a realignment of the world of epic fame with the declared core topic of the Punica. Obviously, the fact that the Saguntum narrative, and thus the second book of the Punica, ends with an epilogue reminds the reader of the epilogue to the Thebaid. Here, the poet finally steps back from his own narrative and addresses his Thebaid, for which Fama has already begun to ‘lay a kindly path’ and show it as a new epic to future generations (iam certe praesens tibi Fama benignum | stravit iter coepitque novam m o n s t r a r e f u t u r i s , Theb. 12.812– 213). The contrast with the epic’s subject matter could hardly be sharper, if we remember the ‘monstrous  Cf. Dominik 2003, 489.

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infamy’, the infame monstrum of the fraternal duel, which the futuri are told to forget.¹⁹ After twelve books of death and destruction, the epic is handed back to a world where traditional ideas of memory and fame are still valid and where no trace is left of anything the poet has told before. What remains of the Thebaid is the impression of an unbridgeable gap between the epic’s form and its content. When Silius takes over from Statius and begins a new epic narrative, the first thing he does is to make the language of epic applicable again to heroic deeds that fit traditional expectations. Yet how stable is this newly established connection and the state of affairs foreshadowed in Silius’ epilogue? In order to clearly distinguish between praiseworthy and inglorious deeds, the narrator has recourse to and actively takes part in a narrative of vengeance and retribution. Even before Fides sets out to bring a glorious end to the story of Saguntum, she states that the day of vengeance is already fixed (statque dies ausis olim tam tristibus ultor, Pun. 2.495). By the way in which the narrator tells of Hannibal’s exile and his shameful end as the punishment he deserves, the narrator does not only punish Hannibal, but also conducts a kind of ‘intertextual vengeance’. Hannibal’s fate as predicted here resembles what Virgil’s Dido wishes should happen to Aeneas:²⁰ ‘harried in war by a bold people’, he should end up as an exile, torn from Iulus’ embrace and begging for help; he should die before his day and be left unburied on the shore (Aen. 4.615 – 617, 620). In revenge for what Aeneas has done to her, an avenger should rise from her bones – Hannibal. The narrator of the Punica in his turn takes revenge on Dido, as he prophesies that her curse on Aeneas will later fall on her avenger Hannibal. He even exacerbates the punishment: Hannibal will not only be an exile, but he will also be afflicted by the shades of the Saguntines, he will not only die before his day and lie unburied, but he will be denied death by steel, even by his own hand. While Dido wants Aeneas to see ‘the disgraceful fall of his own men’ (videatque indigna suorum | funera, Aen. 4.617– 618), Silius transfers the ‘disgraceful end’ to Hannibal himself, whose limbs he pictures as disfigured by poison (Pun. 2.706 – 707). By throwing Dido’s curse back at Hannibal and intensifying the punishment, the narrator actively takes part in the cycle of retribution. Revenge is potentially endless. Hannibal will continue to plague the Romans long after the Second Punic War. When the epilogue ends with the image of him carrying down his disfigured limbs to the underworld, we should remember that it is precisely as a shade that Hannibal will pose the most dangerous threat to

 Cf. Malamud 1995, 24– 25.  I am very grateful to Philip Hardie for pointing out this parallel to me.

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Rome. As Lucan suggests from the outset of the Bellum civile (1.39), the civil war can be understood as the revenge sought by the shades of Hannibal and the Carthaginians (cf. excitet invisas dirae Carthaginis umbras | inferiis Fortuna novis, ferat ista cruentus | Hannibal et Poeni tam dira piacula manes, Luc. 4.788 – 790; cf. 6.310 – 311). Moreover, the link between Silius’ Saguntum episode and the civil war is strengthened if we remind ourselves that the story of this city serves as a paradigm for the city of Massilia (Luc. 3.342– 355), which in its resistance to Caesar becomes the site of the first major battle of the Bellum civile. ²¹ When Silius hands down to posterity the story of the Saguntines and sends Hannibal to the shades, the ground is prepared for Lucan’s account of the civil war. From the end of Silius’ Saguntum narrative, the never-ending cycle of revenge and civil war, which is activated by the intervention of Tisiphone, extends far beyond the Punica and foreshadows the civil war to come and another subversion of fides as well as the traditional notions of epic fame and memory.²² These are not only associated with Lucan, but Silius’ intense dialogue with the Thebaid is continued here as well: when the banished Hannibal is described as vagus exul … | … patriis proiectus ab oris (Pun. 2.701– 702), he is on the way to becoming the protagonist of another Thebaid: there is a close echo here of Statius’ first introduction of Polynices as ‘a wandering exile from his native land’, patriis … vagus exul ab oris, with the phrase vagus exul, otherwise rare in Latin poetry, programmatically recurring near the end of the Thebaid (Theb. 1.312; 12.394).²³ The brief moment between the civil war among the Saguntines and the Roman civil war turns out to be the moment in which the Punica and its epic program are situated and in which the message about the veneration due to fides can be heard. Silius begins his epic from where the Thebaid ends and encapsulates an entire Thebaid within his narrative of Saguntum – the narrative of an aftermath that is itself a new beginning. Despite a new sense of closure established by Silius, something of the open-endedness of all stories of Thebes spills over into the Punica and turns this into an epic whose endings can never be final.

 On the parallels between Silius’ Saguntum and Lucan’s Massilia see Ariemma 2004, 185 – 187.  The end of the Punica resembles the end of the Saguntum episode: the epic closes with the triumph of Scipio, but even in this triumphal procession it is the image of Hannibal that attracts the gaze of all (17.643 – 644) – Hannibal, who in the preceding passage reminds us that he still desires to take revenge (17.606 – 615); cf. Bessone in this volume.  Cf. Spaltenstein 1986, ad loc.

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A dialogue of κλέος The dialogue that we can trace here between Silius and Statius is not only about endings, but also about the poet’s ability to confer praise or blame on the epic characters. Apart from what we have seen so far, there are a number of other intertextual gestures between the Punica and the Thebaid, which throw each author’s attitude towards the idea of epic κλέος – the first principle and raison d’être of epic storytelling – into clearer relief. The first of the episodes in question is Silius’ depiction of Tiburna’s suicide. She does not only recall Statius’ Evadne, but she also closely resembles the Argive mother Ide, whom we meet in Thebaid 3. Together with the other Theban women, she rushes on to the battlefield, where she finds her twin sons among the 49 warriors single-handedly killed by Tydeus.²⁴ Ide looks for her sons’ corpses, ‘with hair standing up in squalor and pressing her bruised face with her nails’. She closely resembles Tiburna, who rushes towards her husband’s funeral pyre with similar signs of horror and mourning (cf. s q u a l e n t e m sublata c o m a m l i v e n t i a q u e ora | ungue premens, Theb. 3.135 – 136, with s q u a l e n t e m q u e erecta c o m a m ac l i v e n t i a planctu | pectora nudatis ostendens saeva lacertis, Pun. 2.668 – 669). Most clearly, however, the similarity between these two women is signalled by the fact that they are both compared to a female figure closely associated with the underworld – Tiburna to the Fury Allecto, doing service to ‘Tartarean Jupiter’ and dealing out punishments, Ide to the Thessalian witch Erictho, looking for the spirit of a recently killed soldier in order to bring him back to life, much to the indignation of the ruler of the underworld (Theb. 3.140 – 146; Pun. 2.671– 674). The parallel between Tiburna and Ide is of great programmatic importance, since Ide, Statius’ first example of excessive female lament, offers a paradigm of misjudged mourning. She complains that her sons, a pair of pious brothers, suffered a ‘fameless end’ and are now lying there ‘with none to praise’ (Theb. 3.163 – 164).²⁵ Yet nothing could be further from the truth: the epic narrator earlier introduces the story of their death by asking, ‘you too, sons of Thespius, why should I deny and keep you from honourable fame?’ (vos quoque, Thespiadae, cur infitiatus honora | arcuerim fama?, Theb. 2.629 – 630). The story of how these two brothers die together, pierced by the same spear, and close each other’s eyes in death is marked out as an example of outstanding brotherly pietas

 On this programmatic first scene of aftermath, which prefigures the end of the Thebaid, cf. Pagán 2000.  On Ide and Statius’ perverted world of mourning and epic memory (as well as the echoes of Virgil’s Nisus and Euryalus in this episode) see Hardie 1993, 63; see also Henderson 1998, 240 – 243; Micozzi 1998, 100 – 103.

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(Theb. 2.630 – 643). In the warped world of the Thebaid, however, none other than the narrator is able to recognize and praise such a display of piety, which must lie hidden before their own mother.²⁶ If we think of Silius as ‘completing’ in his depiction of Tiburna what Statius passes over in his praeteritio at the end of the Thebaid, he would be taking over material from an earlier part of the Thebaid in order to supply what Statius himself cannot recount. What is of central importance to the dialogue between the two poets is the association between the mourning woman and a Fury. Whom does Silius compare to Allecto? Is it Tiburna herself or the Fury Tisiphone who impersonated Tiburna the last time she was mentioned (Pun. 2.553 – 579)?²⁷ It seems most likely that this is Tiburna herself, since in the meantime Tisiphone has given up her disguise and begun to drive the swords of the humans herself, reminding them of her presence by ‘cracking her hellish scourge’ (2.614– 616). However, when Tiburna appears amid the scenes of madness (inter medios caedum … f u r o r e s , 2.665) with signs of mourning, she still looks strikingly similar to the Tiburna impersonated by Tisiphone earlier (cf. 2.665 – 670 with 2.558 – 560). If Silius was reacting to Statius here, the comparison of Tiburna with Allecto would be part of an anticlimax. Statius’ Ide would be ‘tamed’ by being compared to Allecto rather than Erictho, which, at the same time, would be an attempt by Silius to ‘tame’ his own Tisiphone, who is still lurking in the background of this depiction of Tiburna herself. What is more likely, however, is that Statius tries to outdo Silius by turning Allecto and Tisiphone into the much more gruesome Lucanian Erictho.²⁸ Statius would then ‘Lucanise’ Silius’ Tiburna, signalling the strong Lucanian affiliations of his epic²⁹ and making Si-

 There is a reflection on this question in the Saguntum episode as well, immediately before Tiburna’s suicide: the twins Eurymedon and Lycormas, who commit suicide, cannot be told apart by their own mother. She calls them by their wrong names as they die, and ultimately ‘ignorantly she herself falls over the sons whom even then she cannot distinguish’ (Pun. 2.649). The web of Flavian intertextual connections, it seems, could hardly be more tangled.  Cf. the brief discussion in Spaltenstein 1986, ad loc.  It is at least conceivable that Silius reacted to the last two books of the Thebaid in the first two books of his own epic, but that Statius, knowing Silius’ Saguntum episode, in his turn took over individual motives and alluded to them in earlier parts of his epic, in this case 2.628 – 3.168 (which he might not have completely finished at the time when the beginning of the Punica was written or which he might have inserted or reworked later). Note that the dialogue between the end of Silius’ Saguntum episode and the aftermath of Tydeus’ embassy to Thebes is rather wideranging, cf. not only Statius’ Ide and Maeon, but also the lion-simile in both Theb. 2.675 – 681 and Pun. 2.681– 691 (cf. also, from the point of view of the shepherd, Theb. 3.45 – 52).  Even more so since Erictho can be regarded as a particularly fitting embodiment of the narrator of the Bellum civile himself, as Masters 1992, 205 – 215, demonstrates.

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lius look more ‘Virgilian’ in turn. This can be taken as a reaction to Silius’ depiction of Tiburna, the last and highly marked scene of the ‘praiseworthy monstrosities’, laudanda monstra, committed by the Saguntines, to suggest that Statius’ own world of epic death, fame and afterlife was even more ‘Lucanian’ and more perverted than the world of Silius’ Saguntum, itself torn between Fides and Tisiphone. The dialogue between Silius and Statius on epic mourning and memory comprises another episode of the Thebaid. In the epilogue to Silius’ Saguntum narrative, what is called to mind as well is the programmatic first eulogy of the narrator of the Thebaid (Theb. 3.99 – 113). Just like the depiction of Ide, this passage is part of the aftermath of Tydeus’ embassy to Thebes and his victory over the fifty Theban warriors sent out by Eteocles to ambush him. The only survivor among the Thebans is the seer Maeon, whom Tydeus sends back to Thebes to report to Eteocles what has happened. When Maeon has delivered the news to the Theban ruler, he accuses him of cruelty and injustice and commits suicide in the face of the tyrant (Theb. 3.33 – 98). He is then apostrophized by the narrator of the Thebaid, who hails him as ‘splendid of fate and soul and never to suffer oblivion’ (Theb. 3.99 – 100). Similarly to the shades of the Saguntines, Maeon is sent to Elysium, far away from the Tartarus, where the unjust commands of the Theban ruler will have no power (cf. E l y s i a s , i , carpe plagas, ubi manibus axis | invius Ogygiis nec sontis i n i q u a tyranni | iussa valent, Theb. 3.109 – 111, with i t e , decus terrarum, animae, venerabile vulgus, | E l y s i u m … . | cui vero n o n a e q u a dedit victoria nomen | …, Pun. 2.697– 699).³⁰ By sending Maeon to Elysium and denouncing Eteocles as unjust, the narrator of the Thebaid brings about a correction of the preceding narrative, since it counteracts Eteocles’ commands that Maeon should be denied burial. Again, there is a close parallel between the procedures of Statius and Silius, who finishes the Saguntum episode by picturing an afterlife in which the tables are turned. The defeated Saguntines will gain glory, while Hannibal will suffer an ignoble end. However, it becomes clear again that, while Silius ultimately vindicates his poetic programme as announced in the proem, Statius uses the epic device of the eulogy and the topos of the glorious afterlife in Elysium as a means to resist the Theban tyrant as well as, by implication, the main topic of his epic on the battlelines of the Theban brothers, fraternas acies, and ‘guilty Thebes’. There is a further twist in the Statian eulogy, which gains a special point if we take Statius as reacting to Silius. Maeon’s unburied corpse is described as

 Many thanks to Pramit Chaudhuri and Raymond Marks for pointing out this programmatic parallel.

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‘untouched by bloody beasts’ and kept safe by the reverence of the birds (durant habitus et membra cruentis | inviolata feris, Theb. 3.111– 112). He stands in clear contrast to Silius’ Hannibal, whose corpse will be ‘disfigured by livid poison’ (Pun. 2.707), particularly since Maeon is a vates, a prophet, taught by Apollo himself and deemed worthy of his laurel (Theb. 3.104 – 105). This first ‘poetic victim’ of the Thebaid represents and vividly illustrates what is characteristic of Statius’ poetic technique. In contrast to Silius, bestowing or withholding epic fame and eternal memory is no technique by which the poet could overcome a temporary crisis in his poetic world. Instead, the poet’s inability to gain success by this strategy can be regarded as the very point of the Thebaid. The presence of Maeon, the vates who kills himself in the face of the Theban tyrant and whose name evokes that of Homer, frequently referred to as ‘Maeonian’,³¹ suggests that Statius’ poetic technique is confirmed and even approved by the highest poetic authorities, Apollo and Homer, the first and greatest of epic poets.³² In their programmatic eulogies on Maeon and the Saguntine shades respectively, both Statius and Silius refer to the virtues and values that are held out as the ideal their epic heroes should aspire to. For Silius, the epic ideal is clearly the fides that the nations are called to respect. The greed for power and, in accordance with the praise of fides, the breaking of treaties of peace are denounced (2.700 – 701). Statius’ Maeon, however, is praised for something slightly different: his courage in showing his contempt to the king and for ‘hallowing a path for ample freedom’ (qui comminus ausus | vadere contemptum reges, quaque ampla veniret | libertas, sancire viam, Theb. 3.100 – 102). Another way to fame and a glorious afterlife in the Thebaid, as we have seen with the praise of the twin sons of Ide, is to show exceptional fraternal pietas. What is singled out for praise by the narrator of the Thebaid are brotherly pietas and resistance to tyranny, virtues that have the least chance of success in the claustrophobic world of Statius’ Thebes, which is doomed by its ancient curse to repeat the same pattern of impietas, tyranny, revenge and violence over and over again. In the Punica by contrast, the question of which virtues and qualities are extolled or denounced is more complex.³³ While the praise of fides is obviously a major concern of the epic narrator, he also signals that there is more to his poetic

 Cf. OLD s.v. Maeonides 1; s.v. Maeonius 1b, 2.  Alternatively, we could think of the relationship between Statius and Silius as reversed. By pointedly omitting this aspect of the Statian eulogy, Silius would then ‘rob’ Statius of his supposed divine and poetic approval. But the story of Statius as reacting to Silius and setting his own as well as Apollo’s and Homer’s poetic ‘seal’ under his more radical poetic technique seems to be ‘the more interesting story to tell’.  For a detailed treatment of this question see e. g. Ripoll 1998a.

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message than the condemnation of the proverbial Carthaginian perfidia. To offer but one example: during the battle of the Ticinus, when he has described the battle between two sets of three brothers, which ends with their mutual killing, the narrator praises them as ‘fortunate in death’, sent to the shades by their pietas; coming ages, he adds, will pray for ‘similar brothers’: felices leti, pietas quos addidit umbris! | optabunt similes venientia saecula fratres (Pun. 4.396 – 397). This constitutes what could be termed a ‘praise in the light of what is to come’. The end of the brothers, in itself, is not particularly happy: the battle ends with each of the two survivors ‘running his sword through the other’s breast’, the two of them ‘ending the combat by mutual slaughter’ (inde alterna viris transegit pectora mucro, | inque vicem erepta posuerunt proelia vita, Pun. 4.394– 395). This evokes the mutual slaughter of Statius’ Eteocles and Polynices,³⁴ but also constitutes another reversal of the Statian ‘anti-eulogy’ by which he sends their souls to Tartarus (see above). In contrast to the Theban brothers, Silius’ brothers are ‘fortunate’ because they kill a foreign enemy, not their own brother. However, this supposedly ‘happy’ state will not last long, since in ‘coming ages’ Roman brothers will indeed kill each other. Via this type of ambiguous praise, Statius’ poetic world again enters into the Punica and determines its ideas of epic fame, but also questions their stability and the duration of their success. For Silius, the Thebaid seems to be on a par with Lucan’s Bellum civile, since the narrator of the Punica constantly foreshadows the Lucanian civil war to come and allows it to deeply colour his account of one of the greatest moments of Roman history – which increasingly foreshadows the impending civil wars that threaten to reverse all norms of epic storytelling.³⁵

Conclusion When Statius sings of Thebes, the city that must tear down any epic structure, he can tell of nothing but endless deaths and infinite suffering. What his work is about is the eternal struggle between the epic framework of the Thebaid and its very ‘heart’, the ‘unspeakable’ city of Thebes. While Statius marks the end of all epic story-telling as it is usually known, Silius fashions himself as the epic successor foreshadowed by Statius himself. In enacting the struggle be-

 It also contrasts with the pious Thespian brothers in the Thebaid (cf. procubuere pares fatis, miserabile votum | mortis, et alterna clauserunt lumina dextra, Theb. 2.642– 643).  On this central aspect of Silius’ poetic programme see Dominik 2003; 2006; Tipping 2010, 26 – 44. For the ambiguous state of epic heroism in the Punica in general cf. Tipping 2007; Spentzou 2008; Tipping 2010.

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tween Fides and Tisiphone, he closely engages with Statius’ poetic programme and supplements the Thebaid with a ‘narrative of aftermath’ that tells a new story and opens a new epic narrative. Although the dark fate of Statius’ Thebes as well as the Roman civil war as narrated by Lucan loom large over the Punica, this is not the end of his story: at least in the brief moment between the civil war of Saguntum and the next Roman bellum civile, there is some room for an epic poet to be heard. We can only speculate about the exact time of composition of the Punica and Silius’ ‘actual’ political outlook, but his poem suggests that, probably working at roughly the same time as Statius or slightly later, Silius, in contrast to his nearcontemporary, does not see Rome lost beyond all hope. His portrayal of Saguntum makes it possible for Roman readers to conceive of what Statius denies them: a city which can, at least for a moment, give future generations something to remember – even if this state might not last forever and another Thebes, so to speak, is just around the corner. It serves as a welcome illustration that Zakynthos, the founder of Silius’ Saguntum, was on his way back to Thebes when he met death in Spain (1.271– 287). The city which is founded on this very spot allows Silius to meditate on his relationship with Statius, the poet of Thebes, and to change the end of the history of Flavian epic. Statius need not have the last word, as Silius demonstrates: Not all roads of epic storytelling end in the desolation of Thebes.

Michiel van der Keur

Of corpses, carnivores and Cecropian pyres Funeral rites in Silius and Statius

Introduction In the thirteenth book of Silius Italicus’ Punica the protagonist Scipio performs a blood offering to summon the shades of his dead father and uncle, thus following in the footsteps of Odysseus and Aeneas.¹ Just as in Homer and Virgil, the first shade the hero encounters is that of an unburied man: Scipio’s former comrade Appius Claudius, who, like Elpenor and Palinurus, asks for a funeral. But in what follows (13.471– 487) Silius rather diverges from his models; for after agreeing to Appius’ request, Scipio launches into a catalogue of nine exotic funeral rites, ranging from Egyptian sarcophagi to Celtic skull goblets, and from Scythian tree burials to Nasamonian sea burials. This passage, which seems somewhat out of place in its otherwise highly traditional setting, has evoked diverse reactions.² Some have focused on the concordance of Silius’ foreign customs with those in ancient geographers and historiographers and his self-presentation as a poeta doctus. ³ Others have compared the passage with philosophical treatises, seeking to explain its presence from Silius’ Stoic inclinations.⁴ A third line of approach is to look for poetic models, as is done by Bassett (1963), who compares Virgil, Ovid, Lucan, Valerius Flaccus and Statius. While these three approaches all seem valid and are not mutually exclusive, here I will focus on the poetic tra-

 The intertextuality of Punica 13 with Odyssey 11 and Aeneid 6 has been treated most recently by Klaassen (2009). For echoes of Homer see Juhnke 1972, 215 – 216, 280 – 297; for a discussion of the nekyia episode see von Albrecht 1964, 149 – 152; Kißel 1979, 162– 184; Reitz 1982; Ahl / Davis / Pomeroy 1986, 2548 – 2553; Grebe 1989, 113 – 126; van der Keur (forthcoming). On katabasis in Flavian epic poetry see also Augoustakis in this volume.  For some scholars (e. g. Duff 1934, Spaltenstein 1990 and those quoted in Bassett 1963, 74) the passage was nothing more than a vain display of erudition and an object of condemnation and sometimes ridicule.  E.g. Nicol 1936, 14– 16; Devallet 1990, 157– 158.  Cf. Bassett 1963, 74– 80; Kißel 1979, 165 – 166; Devallet 1990, 155 – 157; Laudizi 1991; Ripoll 2000c, 161– 162; see also n. 41 below.

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dition and intertextuality, with Statius in particular; for, as I hope to show, reading the catalogue in the light of the Thebaid is especially fruitful.⁵ In order to make it plausible that the comparison with Statius should be made, let us first take a look at the general setting of the catalogue; the events leading to Scipio’s meeting with Appius are strongly reminiscent of the narrative in the last book of Statius’ Thebaid. When a hundred lines earlier Scipio learns of the deaths of his father and uncle, he grieves excessively (13.388 ff.). His almost violent expression of pietas reminds the reader of his near-suicide at 4.457– 458, when his father was in mortal danger.⁶ While Scipio’s grief echoes (amongst other things) similar mourning scenes in the Thebaid,⁷ a clearer parallel with Statius’ epic is found in what follows, when Scipio becomes more resolute, and his pietas manifests itself in quite a different way.⁸ He decides to go to nearby Cumae and summon the shades of his relatives at lake Avernus. By doing so, Scipio becomes like Statius’ Argia (Polynices’ wife), who also mourns with

 The chronological priority of Statius or Silius is still an issue of debate, and indeed much can be gained if we allow for the possibility that the two poets were constantly influencing each other (see Lovatt 2009). Still, most observations in this article rest on the assumption that at least Punica 13 was written or finalized after the completion of the Thebaid.  Cf. Reitz 1982, 18; Laudizi 1991, 3 n. 1; Dietrich 2005, 78. The parallel with Scipio’s suicide attempt is underscored by the phraseology at 13.390 non comites tenuisse valent, which is similar to that used by Statius for the near-suicides at Theb. 9.77 comites tenuere (where Polynices’ companions can barely prevent him from taking his life after he learns of Tydeus’ death), Silv. 2.1.25 vix tenui similis comes and 3.3.178 vix famuli comitesque tenent. The motif goes back to Hom. Il. 18.32– 34, where Antilochus holds Achilles’ hands for fear that he would kill himself over the death of Patroclus (cf. Laudizi 1991, 3 n. 1).  There are some verbal correspondences with Theb. 12.44– 45, where the Thebans mourn their dead; cf. 12.44 iam lacrimis exempta dies and Silius 13.393 iamque dies iterumque dies absumpta querelis and perhaps 12.45 amant … lamenta and Silius’ negative counterpart at 13.392 odit solacia. See also the previous note.  Reitz (1982, 18) also identifies 13.394 as a transition point. Several readers have noted that Scipio’s behaviour in the preceding lines is alarming (cf. e. g. Ahl / Davis / Pomeroy 1986, 2547– 2548; Dietrich 2005, 78 with n. 29); Scipio shows little self-control and has not only lost regard for his status (13.390 – 391: non ullus honorum | militiaeve pudor), but also, worse, for the gods (13.391– 392: sinistris | caelicolis). The excessiveness of his grief is underscored by another possible echo of the Thebaid at 13.390 (see n. 6 above), namely Theb. 8.762 n e c c o m i t e s auferre v a l e n t , of Tydeus’ companions being unable to prevent his horrid cannibalism. This all suggests that for Scipio this form of showing pietas is very much unwanted; but rather than lingering too long over the possibly problematic nature of his grief, we should note that both in book 4 (there through intervention of Mars) and here Scipio eventually reverts to more epically appropriate ways of displaying his pietas and follows in Aeneas’ footsteps by saving his father from death and later seeking out his ghost (cf. Ahl / Davis / Pomeroy 1986, 2544– 2545; Laudizi 1991, 12).

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deeds. She resolves to go to Thebes (12.177 ff.) and cremate her husband’s body in secret.⁹ Scipio’s plan (Sil. Pun. 13.394– 397): versatur species ante ora oculosque parentum. ergo excire parat manis animasque suorum alloquioque virum tantos mulcere dolores. hortatur vicina palus, …

395

The faces of his kinsmen come before his face and eyes. Therefore he prepares to summon their shades, the spirits of his kin, and to ease his great sorrow by conversation with these men. The lake close by summons him … Argia’s resolve (Stat. Theb. 12.186 – 193): hortantur pietas ignesque pudici. ipse etiam ante oculos omni manifestus in actu, … sed nulla animo versatur imago crebrior Aonii quam quae de sanguine campi nuda venit poscitque rogos.

191

Piety and chaste love urge her on. He himself is plain before her eyes in his every act: …; but no image comes to her mind more often than the naked ghost from the blood of the Aeonian battlefield demanding burial.

A number of parallels between Argia’s and Scipio’s motivations stand out. Argia sees the ghost of Polynices before her eyes, and no image is clearer in her mind than that of her husband asking for cremation. Scipio sees the image of his kin before his mind’s eye; compare Statius’ ipse etiam ante oculos (12.187) and later animo versatur imago (12.191) with Silius’ versatur species ante ora oculosque (13.394). Argia is goaded (hortantur) by pietas; Scipio grieves in pietas (13.391), but then is spurred on (hortatur) by the vicinity of the entrance to the underworld to perform a nekyia. Both then leave for their destination and arrive in the dead of night (in Scipio’s case after visiting the priestess of Cumae). After Scipio’s sacrifice to the dead, the first shade to come forward is that of a fellow combatant, Appius Claudius. When the hero inquires how he died, Appius replies (13.457– 465) that the previous dawn took the sun’s horses away from him and brought him to the underworld, and that his family performs vain rites and, by using protective ointments, keeps him from the cremation pyre, since they first want to transfer his body to the ancestral tomb far away. He begs Scipio to let him enter the gates of the underworld. Now, firstly, compare these ointments that preserve Appius’ putres artus (13.464) with a passage early in Thebaid  The translations of Silius are my own; those of the Thebaid are by Shackleton Bailey (2003).

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12, where the goddess Iris rubs the bodies (12.138: putres … artus) of the Argive dead with ambrosia in order to preserve them for cremation. In Appius’ case by contrast such treatment would mean d e l a y of burial.¹⁰ For the rest of his speech, we should compare the address by the wife of Capaneus, Evadne, on behalf of all wives of the Seven, to Theseus, king of Athens, to plead for burial of the bodies of their husbands:¹¹ Appius’ plight (Sil. Pun. 13.457– 458, 465): fesso mihi proxima tandem lux gratos Phaethontis equos avertit … … daque vago portas quamprimum Acherontis adire. Eventually, the most recent dawn turned the welcome chargers of the sun from me on my sickbed … [A]nd grant my wandering spirit to enter the gates of Acheron as soon as possible. Evadne’s address to Theseus (Stat. Theb. 12.558, 563 – 564): quos vetat igne Creon Stygiaeque a limine portae, … septima iam surgens trepidis Aurora iacentes aversatur equis. Them does Creon forbid the fire and bar from the threshold of the Stygian gate, … Now a seventh Dawn rising turns her frightened horses from them as they lie.

Evadne says that already the seventh Dawn has averted her horses from the bodies in repulsion; a new dawn also averted the sun’s horses from Appius, but in his case the expression signifies that he died; note especially avertere and equi in both passages. In Evadne’s words, Creon bars the Argives from the pyre and from the gates of the underworld; similarly, Appius’ family will not yet cremate him (13.461: cessat flammis imponere corpus), whereas he just wishes to enter the gates of the underworld. Through the intertextual connection, Appius’ addressee Scipio has thus been cast after a second model; he is not only an Argia, griever in action, but also a Theseus, redresser of wrongs and granter of burial. Scipio lives up to the comparison by promising that he will give priority to his duty towards Appius. He then comments that ‘that differing opinion re-

 Bassett (1963, 77) thinks that Appius contrasts two forms of burial (cremation and inhumation) and chooses the former, but in fact the only method that is discussed is cremation; Appius’ family only wants to transfer his corpse first and bury the ashes (cf. Reitz 1982, 36, 41; Laudizi 1991, 9).  Bassett 1963, 88.

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garding burial and cremation keeps a distinction between all peoples and varies the funeral of the deceased’; as Bassett (1963, 88) notes, these lines are reminiscent of the disagreement between the Argive women earlier in Thebaid 12 as to where they should go to plead their case.¹² The Argive women hold different opinions about what is the best way to seek burial for their husbands, whereas in Scipio’s catalogue nations differ about the best way of burial as such. And this is where the catalogue itself enters the discussion. At 13.471– 487, Scipio lists nine practices: (1) the Iberians leave the bodies to the vultures; (2) the Hyrcanians feed them to the dogs; (3) Egyptians put their corpses in a stone coffin and have them present at their feasts; (4) people from Pontus remove the brains and embalm the bodies to last for all eternity; (5) the Nasamones commit their dead to the sea; (6) the Garamantes bury them naked in the sand; (7) the Celts make gilded goblets out of skulls; (8) the Athenians burn those who have fallen for their country in a communal fire; and (9) the Scythians put their dead in trees and leave them to rot. Especially the penultimate custom, with its keyword Cecropidae, suggests comparison with the Thebaid. One of the options open to the Argive women is to go to Athens, to ask Theseus to cremate their husbands. They are advised to go there with the words ‘why not implore C e c r o p i a n aid?’, and Evadne later exhorts Theseus saying ‘Hasten, honoured sons of Cecrops!’.¹³ Compare also an earlier reference in book 9, when Juno metapoetically complains to Jupiter: ‘Where are Cecropian flames after battles, where Theseus’ fire?’¹⁴ In the Thebaid, there are several possible fates for the bodies of the fallen, of which the one that everybody prefers, cremation, is associated with Theseus and Athens. Interestingly, some of the other options in Scipio’s list also return in the Thebaid. At the funeral of Menoeceus, at the beginning of book 12, his father Creon, now the king, reinforces his edict that no-one may bury the corpses of the enemy (Stat. Theb. 12.97– 99):

 Sil. Pun. 13.468 – 470: namque ista per omnis | discrimen servat populos v a r i a t que iacentum | exsequias tumuli et cinerum s e n t e n t i a d i s c o r s ; compare Stat. Theb. 12.173 – 174 continuo d i s c o r s v a r i o s e n t e n t i a motu | scinditur. – ‘Straightway comes dissidence, opinion variously split.’  Stat. Theb. 12.163 – 165: aut vos Cecropiam … | … | imploratis opem? and 12.569 – 570: properate, verendi | Cecropidae (cf. also Bassett 1963, 88). The latter passage is the only instance of Cecropidae in the Thebaid, just as the one at Sil. Pun. 13.484 is unique for the Punica. Statius has Cecropius three times (two of which are cited here); Silius has it twice (at 2.217 and 14.26, both unrelated).  Stat. Theb. 9.518 – 519: ubi Cecropiae post proelia flammae, | Theseos ignis ubi est? (also in Bassett 1963, 89 n. 62).

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‘…, ipsumque feras, ipsum unca volucrum ora sequi atque artus regum monstrare nefandos! ei mihi, quod positos humus alma diesque resolvet! …’ ‘… [Would it were given] myself to seek wild beasts and hooked beaks of birds and show them the accursed limbs of the kings! Alas that kindly soil and time shall resolve them where they lie! …’

Creon thus contrasts the wild animals and carrion birds with slow putrefaction. These two forms of removing the body return in Silius’ list.¹⁵ It begins with vultures and dogs, which are of course the common terrors of the fallen warrior since Homer’s Iliad,¹⁶ but there is also a link with Statius. (1) tellure, ut perhibent, is mos antiquus Hibera: exanima obscenus consumit corpora vultur. (2) regia cum lucem posuerunt membra, probatum est Hyrcanis adhibere canes. (Sil. Pun. 13.471– 474) It is said that in the Iberian land this ancient custom exists: the foul vulture eats the lifeless bodies. When the bodies of kings lay down their lives, the Hyrcanians prefer to send for the dogs.

The Hyrcanian practice of ‘funeral by dog’ is recorded in other authors as well.¹⁷ But Silius adds a significant detail, namely that the dogs are fetched whenever ‘the bodies of k i n g s lay down their lives’. Compare regia … membra to Creon’s hostility towards the artus regum (12.98); furthermore, adhibere (‘fetch’) echoes Creon’s wish to get the birds and beasts himself. At the end of Scipio’s catalogue, we find the other alternative for burial that Creon mentions, namely the slow decomposition over time (Sil. Pun. 13.486 – 487): (9) at gente in Scythica suffixa cadavera truncis lenta dies sepelit putri liquentia tabo. But with the Scythian people slow time buries the carcasses that are fixed on trees and are decomposing with putrid decay.

Here, lenta dies sepelit is to be compared with Statius’ diesque resolvet, with a similar use of dies. Thus, the fates of the fallen in the Thebaid are framing the

 Cf. Bassett 1963, 88.  Hom. Il. 1.4– 5; 2.393; 8.379 – 380; 13.831– 832; 17.241; 22.335; 22.354; 24.412.  Cic. Tusc. 1.108; Stob. 4.55.1; cf. also Hdt. 1.140 on the Persians and Magi.

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catalogue in Silius. These few examples suggest that a further examination of the theme of burial in the Thebaid may prove instructive.

The Statian leitmotif of burial The burial of the Seven (or rather Six, as Adrastus still lives) is the major theme of the last book of Statius’ Thebaid, which he inherited from Greek tragedy; but no reader will fail to notice how this leitmotif, as Pollmann calls it,¹⁸ pervades the earlier books as well. Statius prepares for book 12 in at least four ways: (1) Various announcements and prophecies throughout the poem, starting in the proem (1.36 – 37: tumulisque carentia regum | funera), foretell Creon’s laws preventing cremation.¹⁹ (2) Characters often refer to the fate of their own bodies or those of others.²⁰ Related to this, many actions are motivated by burial.²¹ (3) The theme of book 12 is foreshadowed in the first half of the epic by parallel or contrasting burials. Opheltes’ funeral at 6.54– 248 corresponds to that of Menoeceus at 12.60 – 104;²² Hypsipyle’s fake cremation of her father Thoas out of pietas at 5.313 ff. counterbalances Argia’s and Antigone’s pietas in actually cremating Polynices;²³ the search for and cremation of the fifty Thebans killed by Tydeus at 3.114– 217 could well adumbrate the cremation of the Theban dead at 12.1– 59.²⁴ It is also in book 3 that the theme of n o t burying begins. After Maeon, the sole survivor of these fifty men, has spoken out against Eteocles

 Pollmann 2004, 24; on pp. 23 – 24 and 34– 36 she collects a number of parallel scenes through which the motif is prepared, covering many of my passages in (1)–(3), but only some in (4).  E.g. the prophecies by the ghost of Laius at 4.640 – 641 and by Apollo at 7.776 – 777 and Pluto’s threat at 8.71 ff.  E.g. Aletes at 3.212– 213 (cf. Snijder 1968, ad loc.), Tydeus at 8.472– 473 and Polynices at 11.190 – 191 (cf. Venini 1970, ad loc.). Note also Tydeus’ striking r e j e c t i o n of his own funeral at 8.736 – 738, which is suggestive of his ‘lack of civilization’, soon to become obvious in his cannibalism.  For instance: the nightly expedition in book 10 (10.197– 198); Dymas’ information would be rewarded with the burial of Parthenopaeus (10.434); Antigone’s request to allow Oedipus to stay is phrased in terms of burial (11.738 – 739); Theseus goes to war over the burial of the Argives and refers to it when he kills Creon (12.779 – 781).  With the grief of his father, king Lycurgus, also foreshadowing that of Creon, father of Menoeceus.  Pagán 2000, 437– 438.  Burck 1981, 475 n. 155. Pollmann (2004, 23) also compares Ide’s search for her sons at 3.133 ff. with Argia’s scouring the field for Polynices.

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and has committed suicide, Eteocles orders that his body must remain unburied. Creon thus continues Eteocles’ policy, which is underscored by verbal parallels.²⁵ (4) The bodies of the fallen are not simply ‘not buried’; all kinds of things happen to them, some constituting an alternative form of burial – a substitute, if you like. It is this fourth way in which Statius anticipates the ban on burial that is the most relevant for the present discussion, as these ‘alternative last rites’ may be what Silius is responding to in his list of exotic burial customs. While seeking a one-to-one relation between Silius’ list and the alternatives in Statius would go too far, it is striking that the fate of many a corpse in the Thebaid is represented in some way in this catalogue. The first alternative burial is that of the seer Amphiaraus, who is swallowed by a huge chasm in the earth and taken directly to the underworld. While he himself complains to Pluto that he will never have a tomb or cremation now (8.114– 115), his followers hold a different opinion; they regard the chasm itself as his sepulchre (8.133: inferni … honore sepulcri) and perform a funeral ceremony, a s i f it were his cremation (8.209 – 210); in imitation of his fate, his successor Thiodamas buries sacrificial victims alive in the sand (8.339 – 341). This seems somewhat similar to the custom of the Garamantes to bury their dead nudos in the sand (Sil. Pun. 13.479 – 480),²⁶ especially when we take into account that in the Thebaid nudus frequently means ‘without burial’, just as Amphiaraus complains.²⁷ The next of the Argive heroes to die is Tydeus, but not before he has gnawed at the head of Melanippus, an act that for the Thebans is equal to disturbing the tombs of their ancestors (9.10 – 11: quam si turbata sepulcris | ossa patrum, ‘as  Cf. Vessey 1973, 103 n. 1; Burck 1981, 475 n. 155; Ripoll 1998a, 296; Pollmann 2004, 35 – 36. Eteocles forbids Maeon’s cremation, hoping to withhold burial (3.97– 98: vetat igne rapi, pacemque sepulcri | … arcet), but the wild animals do not touch his body, and it lies under the naked sky (3.112: nudoque sub axe). Creon’s edict is very similar: at 11.662– 663 he prohibits the cremation of the Argives (iubet i g n e supremo | a r c e r i Danaos, n u d o q u e s u b a x e relinqui); compare also Pluto’s prediction at 8.72– 73: quique i g n e supremo | a r c e a t exanimes. Evadne’s account of Creon’s cruelty echoes book 3 even more closely (12.558 – 561: quos v e t a t i g n e Creon … | … | … dubio caelique Erebique s u b a x e | detinet).  Sil. Pun. 13.479 – 480: (5) quid, qui reclusa nudos Garamantes harena | infodiunt? – ‘What to say of the Garamantes, who inter their dead naked in the opened sand?’; harena is also the word used at Theb. 8.340.  Cf. of Amphiaraus himself Apollo’s words at 7.776 – 777 non … | … vetito nudus iaciture sepulcro, and also 8.73, 9.51 (funus Håkanson), 9.298, 12.56 (perhaps adumbrated at 6.594– 595 campoque refulsit | nuda cohors), 12.193, 12.216, 12.711; cf. also nudo sub axe at 3.312 and 11.663 (see n. 25 above), and 9.898 nuda iaceo tellure and 12.328 proiectus caespite nudo. This use of nudus goes back to Virg. Aen. 5.871 nudus in ignota, Palinure, iacebis harena; the unburied Palinurus as a model is thus shared by Statius and Silius.

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though their fathers’ bones had been disturbed in their tombs’), a comparison by which Statius again underscores the theme of burial. Tydeus’ eating his enemy’s brains (8.760: effracti perfusum tabe cerebri) may be vaguely referred to by the Pontic custom of removing the brains (Sil. Pun. 13.477– 478),²⁸ but a more appropriate comparison is that with the Celtic habit of d r i n k i n g from the skulls of the dead (13.482– 483) – the sole custom that Scipio rejects as nefas, just as Tydeus’ act is characterized as nefandus (9.18) and scelus (8.761; 12.119).²⁹ Cannibalism itself as a burial custom was in antiquity associated with the Indians and the Scythians,³⁰ but that seems not to return here; or does it? A closer look at Silius’ words on the Scythian practice of tree burial (13.486: suffixa cadavera truncis) shows that they are taken from Ovid’s Ibis 515 – 516:³¹ Astacidaeque modo defixa cadavera trunco, digna feris, hominis sit caput esca tuum.

515

And like that of the son of Astacus may your carcass be fixed to a tree, fit for beasts, may your head be food for a man.

Now interestingly, these lines refer to … Tydeus hanging the remains of Melanippus’ corpse in a tree for the animals. The Scythian practice thus combines two references to the Thebaid: Tydeus’ cannibalism and the putrefaction that robs Creon of his revenge. Tydeus’ own body is guarded by Hippomedon, to save it from the Thebans, who have flocked like vultures to his corpse. Here, we should compare Statius’ words with Silius’ lines on the Iberian custom to leave the dead to the vultures (Sil. Pun. 13.471– 472): (1) tellure, ut perhibent, is mos antiquus Hibera: exanima obscenus consumit corpora vultur.

 Sil. Pun. 13.477– 478: (4) exhausto instituit Pontus vacuare cerebro | ora virum et longum medicata reponit in aevum. – ‘Pontus has established the custom to empty a man’s head of its brain and buries it embalmed for long eternity.’  Sil. Pun. 13.482– 483: (7) at Celtae vacui capitis circumdare gaudent | ossa, nefas, auro ac mensis ea pocula servant. – ‘But the Celts like to overlay – o horror – the bones of an emptied skull with gold and keep them as drinking vessels for their meals.’  For the Scythians as cannibals cf. e. g. Mela 3.59; Plin. HN 6.53; 6.55; 7.9; Gell. NA 9.4.6. For the Indians and other peoples cf. Hdt. 1.216; 3.38; 3.99; 4.26; Megasthenes apud Strabo 15.1.56; Lucian. Luct. 21.  The translation is my own. Some mss. have decisa, but Silius’ imitation suggests that defixa in ω is the better reading (cf. Ellis 1896, 185; La Penna 1957, ad loc.). Note that Ovid’s digna feris hominis is also metrically equivalent to Silius’ next hemistich lenta dies sepelit.

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It is said that in the Iberian land this ancient custom exists: the foul vulture eats the lifeless bodies.

Statius’ Thebans are like incestarum avium (9.28), corresponding to Silius’ obscenus … vultur, and Hippomedon guards exanimes socios inhumataque corpora (9.158), which is quite similar to Silius’ exanima … corpora in the same metrical sedes. For consumit, we may even want to compare Polynices’ singular statement Tydea consumpsi (9.60). After Tisiphone has tricked Hippomedon, the Thebans are able to snatch away Tydeus’ body; in revenge, the Argive hero starts killing the Thebans in the river. He comments on the alternative burial that Tydeus will have: the earth will consume him (9.301: illum terra vehit suaque in primordia solvet – ‘him earth bears and shall resolve into his elements’).³² For Hippomedon, this compares favourably to the fate of his Theban victims, who will be washed to the sea and devoured by sea monsters (9.300). Now in Silius, the Nasamonian practice of sea burial is an obvious candidate for comparison (Sil. Pun. 13.480 – 481): (6) quid, qui saevo sepelire profundo exanimos mandant Libycis Nasamones in oris?

480

What of the Nasamones on the Libyan shores, who prescribe to bury the lifeless in the savage sea?

The foremost of the Thebans falling under Hippomedon’s hands is Crenaeus, the grandson of the river god; the boy’s mother, the nymph Ismenis, emerges from the saevo … profundo to bury him (9.387), whereas the Nasamonians toss their dead i n t o the sea (saevo … profundo, in the same sedes), as a form of sepelire. Hippomedon himself dies on dry land, and he, too, is given an alternative burial, when Capaneus covers his body with his own shield and the arms of his slayer, Hypseus (9.565): hoc ultor Capaneus operit tua membra s e p u l c r o , ‘with this sepulchre Capaneus your avenger o’erlays your limbs’. Once again, Statius uses sepulcrum to draw attention to a substitute tomb. For the next Argive leader, Parthenopaeus, the motif of ‘substitute burial’ is doubled. First, at the end of book 9, the dying boy gives a lock of his hair to his

 Compare again the Scythian custom of decomposition and Creon’s antithesis of animals and putrefaction.

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squire Dymas, so that this lock may receive a funeral in his stead.³³ In the next book, Dymas tries to recover his master’s corpse, but when he is caught, he commits suicide and covers Parthenopaeus’ body with his own, exclaiming that Parthenopaeus will at least have t h i s grave (sepulcro).³⁴ Capaneus, the fifth of the Seven, is also left unburied on the field, but we should note that he is left there s m o k i n g – as if Jupiter had cremated him with his lightning bolt – a n d is compared to a Giant buried under the Etna, receiving a tomb through the simile, as it were (Stat. Theb. 11.7– 8): … ceu … … Encelado fumanti impresserit Aetnen. … as though he [i.e. Jupiter] … had piled Aetna on smoking Enceladus.

The last one, Polynices, is the only one of the six dead Argive leaders who is actually left without any form of alternative funeral, and it is his body and cremation on which the narrative will focus exclusively in book 12. But if we compare it with Scipio’s catalogue, it is tempting to think, of course, that the peculiar fate of Polynices’ corpse returns in the words on the Athenian burial practice: simul communibus urere flammis (Sil. Pun. 13.485). The most literal rendering of the communibus … flammis is a joint cremation, which is exactly what happens to Polynices, whose body accidentally ends up on the s a m e pyre as that of his brother Eteocles (Theb. 12.429 ff.). We may safely conclude that in preparation for the dramatic action in book 12 Statius describes many different treatments that corpses may undergo, several of them constituting an alternative form of burial; in many cases this is stressed by the use of the very word sepulcrum. Silius’ catalogue of different funeral practices responds to this. The marked use of the verb sepelire reinforces this notion, as it signifies two practices that would not be called ‘burial’ in the physical sense of the word: the Nasamonian custom to throw their dead into the sea (13.480) and the Scythian one of putrefaction (13.487).

 Stat. Theb. 9.900 – 903: hunc tamen … crinem … | … hunc toto capies pro corpore crinem | … | huic dabis exsequias … – ‘but this lock … this lock, you will take in lieu of my whole body … To this you will give burial …’.  Stat. Theb. 10.441: hoc tamen interea certe potiare sepulcro. – ‘Yet gain meanwhile t h i s burial at least.’

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Cremation and the epic hero Now that a connection with Statius’ epic has been established, we should briefly look at the impact of this intertextuality on the function of the catalogue. Its setting, after Appius’ plea, evokes that of Thebaid 12 with its focus on cremating bodies sooner rather than later (or never). It should be noted that Scipio adduces the customs of other nations as an explanation for his own swift action.³⁵ This is paralleled in Statius’ text, where in Evadne’s speech to Theseus (which, as we have seen, is in several ways a model for Appius’ speech) the Athenians are encouraged to act, before the Emathians and Thracians and any nation that has funeral rites start to feel distressed.³⁶ Thus, just as in Silius, the practice of other nations is adduced to stress the need for Theseus to act and bury. Furthermore, Evadne introduces with her choice of words another intertext with immediate relevance to the topic. Statius’ reference to the Emathians seems to me a veiled allusion to Lucan’s seventh book, in which Caesar refuses to bury the Pompeian soldiers on the Emathian fields. Towards the end of the book we find the statement that it does not matter whether tabes or rogus consumes the body (Luc. 7.809 – 810): tabesne cadavera solvat an rogus, haud refert; …

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it matters not whether corpses disintegrate by putrefaction or on the pyre; … (trans. Braund 1992)

Caesar’s action or inaction is immaterial for the bodies, as Nature will take them eventually. The same can be said for the Thebaid; not only are the corpses provided with an alternative form of burial, but the edicts of a tyrant are completely irrelevant,³⁷ as is illustrated by 3.97– 98 pacemque sepulcri | impius ignaris nequiquam manibus arcet, ‘[Eteocles] impiously but idly denies the peace of the tomb to the unwitting ghost’. The ghost of Maeon is not harmed by the ban of burial

 Sil. Pun. 13.467– 468: haud ulla ante tuam, quamquam non parva fatigent, | curarum prior exstiterit. n a m q u e … – ‘Although no small responsibilities keep me occupied, none will take priority over the care for you. F o r …’.  Cf. Bassett 1963, 88.  Creon must have read his Lucan, since he curses the fact that the bodies will be resolved eventually (12.99: ei mihi, quod positos humus alma diesque resolvet; Pollmann (2004, ad loc.) compares Luc. 7.845 – 846 d i e s q u e | … r e s o l u t a m miscuit arvis; cf. also 7.809 solvat) and that his Caesarian punishment is thus in vain.

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(nequiquam) or even aware of it (ignaris).³⁸ Even so – both in Statius and Lucan – the tyrant withholding burial (Caesar, Eteocles, Creon) is condemned for his inhumanity. As Ripoll (1998a, 298 – 299) argues, the poets express that, even if objectively on the eschatological level burial is irrelevant, on the subjective level of ethics it is all-important. The argument made by Silius is similar. The family of Appius has missed the crucial point with their insistence on performing vanos ritus (13.460), since the comparison with the customs of other nations shows that the manner of the rites is irrelevant for the soul.³⁹ It is perhaps not by chance that the last two practices named, joint cremation and putrefaction, correspond to the two options given by Lucan in the lines cited above.⁴⁰ As Laudizi (1991, 6) observes, the only real duty towards the dead is to bury them; it matters not h o w bodies are buried (in the broad sense), but t h a t it is done, as an act of humanity and pietas – and, as the procedure is unimportant given the various options, the sooner the better.⁴¹ The above observations gain in significance if we note that half of the peoples in the catalogue would be in Hannibal’s army. Indeed, two of the exotic customs (notably the first and the last) are found earlier in the Punica. In the catalogue of the Carthaginian army in book 3 the poet describes the custom of the Celtiberians in Spain, who believe their souls will soar to heaven if their bodies are eaten by vultures,⁴² the practice that Scipio names first. The last item on the list, hanging bodies in trees, recalls a passage in book 1, where the evil tyrant

 Similarly, both Capaneus (Stat. Theb. 11.70 – 71) and Tydeus (11.85 – 87) (and possibly Polynices, cf. 12.214– 215) are already in the underworld despite not having been buried.  So Reitz 1982, 42: “alle diese Toten finden ihren Weg in dieselbe Totenwelt”.  Compare especially Luc. 7.809 tabesne cadavera solvat and Sil. Pun. 13.486 – 487 c a d a v e r a … | lenta dies sepelit putri liquentia t a b o . The connection between the end of Lucan’s seventh book and Silius’ catalogue is also made by Bassett (1963, 85) and Reitz (1982, 42).  Reitz 1982, 41; Laudizi 1991, 7. That the catalogue illustrates the irrelevance of the method of burial is also the interpretation of Bassett (1963, 77), Kißel (1979, 166) and Devallet (1990, 155). All these scholars, with the exception of Reitz, connect this reading with Silius’ ‘Stoicism’, and it is indeed true that Stoics hold the same views, that Scipio’s list seems based upon similar ones such as at Cic. Tusc. 1.108 (see Bassett 1963, 76 – 78; Laudizi 1991, 7 nn. 19, 20), and that the Lucanian intertext has the same Stoic background (with the holocaust at the end of the world, 7.814– 815). Yet it is unlikely that Silius follows these Stoic tenets here to their full extent – for if burial was completely irrelevant to the soul, Appius’ request would be ridiculous; furthermore, the same Stoics also rejected the concept of necromancy, which is the setting of the meeting with Appius (see also Reitz 1982, 42). The point here is the irrelevance of the manner of burial, not the irrelevance of burial itself. For burial as an act of pietas in the Thebaid see Snijder 1968, on Stat. Theb. 3.97; Dewar 1991, on Stat. Theb. 9.297 ff.  Sil. Pun. 3.342– 343: caelo credunt superisque referri, | impastus carpat si membra iacentia vultur. See also Reitz 1982, 38 n. 1.

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Hasdrubal leaves an enemy suffixum (1.153 ~ 13.486) on a cross as punishment.⁴³ This barbaric treatment mirrors the deeds of Caesar and Creon, and the enlightened conceptions of Appius and Scipio contrast favourably with it. The figure of Hannibal is more complicated. Rather than maltreating the corpses of his enemies, he seems to want to appropriate pietas by burying them, and in particular the three Roman commanders Paulus (10.558 – 577), Gracchus (12.473 – 478) and Marcellus (15.387– 396), three funerals that have a lot in common.⁴⁴ Here again Lucan’s portrayal of Caesar presents itself for comparison (Luc. 7.799 – 801): non illum Poenus humator consulis et Libyca succensae lampade Cannae compellunt hominum ritus ut servet in hoste

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The Carthaginian who buried the consul and Cannae lit by Libyan torches do not compel him to observe the customs of humanity towards an enemy (trans. Braund 1992)

In Lucan, Hannibal’s humanity is contrasted with Caesar’s wickedness;⁴⁵ but in Silius, the picture is less complimentary. The situation in the Punica is actually the inverse of that in the Thebaid. While Statius’ tyrant (Eteocles / Creon) forbids burial, the depravity of Silius’ tyrant (Hannibal) is found at the other end of the spectrum. For while Hannibal seeks a reputation of clementia and humanitas, he does so not out of pietas, but lust for glory: he ‘snatches at the honour’ of burial (12.478: laudemque Libys r a p i e b a t humandi; cf. 10.559: hostilis leti iactabat honorem; 13.715: laudemque tuo quaesivit honore).⁴⁶ Scipio, who shows the right mindset by making the cremation of Appius a priority, not for glory, but in recognition of his duty, forms a stark contrast with Hannibal.

 Cf. Reitz 1982, 39 n. 3. In addition, the seventh practice, of the Celtic skull goblets, presumably goes back to Liv. 23.24.12, where it is described how in 216 BCE the consul elect L. Postumius Albinus was killed by the Boii in northern Italy (cf. Reitz 1982, 38 n. 4; Devallet 1990, 158); his head was emptied and gilded, to be used as a sacrificial vessel and poculum (cf. 13.483) for the priests. According to Livy, the Boii had been Hannibal’s guides over the Alps (21.29.6), and in the Punica they figure prominently as one of the Gallic tribes in his army (4.148 ff.: taking part in the battle of the Trebia under the command of Crixus; 5.644 ff.: the slayers of Flaminius at lake Trasimene).  Cf. Burck 1981, 483.  Cf. also e. g. Val. Max. 5.1.ext.6, where Hannibal’s burying of his enemies is noted as a praiseworthy act.  Cf. Burck 1981, 464, who notes that this aspect detracts from Hannibal’s generosity.

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By alluding to Statius’ leitmotif of alternative burials, Silius thus extends the traditional element of the ghost of the fallen companion who requests burial (Elpenor, Palinurus) by the broader theme of granting burial to the dead. This funeral theme, which operates on such a grand scale in the Thebaid as an inheritance from its questioning in Sophocles’ Antigone, ultimately goes back to Homer’s Patroclus and Hector.⁴⁷ It is in Iliad 23 that we find the last set of correspondences between Thebaid 12 and Silius’ scene. At the beginning of the book Patroclus’ shade appears to Achilles, entreating his friend to cremate him with all haste (Hom. Il. 23.69 ff.). In Statius his appearance is picked up by Argia’s vision of Polynices begging for a pyre;⁴⁸ we should also compare Patroclus’ request that he and Achilles be buried in the same urn (23.91) with the Theban brothers ending up on the same pyre,⁴⁹ for which Statius had already prepared in book 3, where the bereaved mother Ide will cremate her two sons together and commit the remains to a single urn (Theb. 3.167– 168).⁵⁰ In Silius, Patroclus’ entreaty returns at 13.465, ‘grant my wandering spirit to enter the gates of Acheron as soon as possible’, which is almost a translation of Patroclus’ words at Il. 23.71: θάπτε με ὅττι τάχιστα, πύλας Ἀίδαο περήσω, ‘Bury me with all speed, let me pass inside the gates of Hades.’ (trans. Murray / Watt 1999); and in general, Appius’ situation is comparable to that of Patroclus: both ask to be cremated right away, although their funeral has already been planned.⁵¹ But there is more to say about this. It was not a vision of Appius’ ghost that appeared to Scipio earlier, but that of his father and uncle. It is they who really are Scipio’s Patroclus, whose deaths herald his prominence in the rest of the epic, whom he will avenge in Spain and whose funeral and games are held in the penultimate book, as in Homer.⁵² At the beginning of the nekyia, Silius is playing with his readers’ expectations; for Scipio’s grief, the vision of his kin and the general analogy with Argia, who sets out to cremate Polynices, all suggest that what will follow in book 13 is not an encounter with the dead, but the funeral of the brothers Scipio. For this funeral we will still have to wait until 16.303 ff.; instead, we hear of the cremation of Appius, who thus almost serves

 For other observations on the correspondences between Thebaid 12 and the end of the Iliad see Schetter 1960, 77– 78; Juhnke 1972, 158 – 162; McNelis 2007, 155 ff.  Cf. Pollmann 2004, on Stat. Theb. 12.191– 193.  McNelis 2007, 157– 158; see also Juhnke 1972, 369.  Cf. Burck 1981, 475 n. 155, who notes many correspondences between books 3 and 12, but does not observe the Homeric roots, for which see Juhnke 1972, 329.  Both observations were already made by Ettig 1890 – 1891, 378 n. 4.  Juhnke 1972, 216, 222– 224. See also n. 6 above for the correspondence between Achilles and Scipio in their grief.

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as a ‘placeholder-Patroclus’ – Scipio’s promise to see to Appius’ cremation adumbrates his burial of his father and uncle. The encounter with the unburied friend is in itself thus just as much a substitution and foreshadowing of later, greater funerals as the many alternative burials in the Thebaid that Silius alludes to in his catalogue.⁵³ Statius’ burial theme, which culminates in Creon’s edict to leave the bodies on the field, is only resolved when Theseus grants cremation to all the fallen (Theb. 12.797 ff.). Scipio’s likeness to the Athenian king, who observes the common human duty towards the dead and who acts in a just way where Creon did not, underscores his pietas. But with the introduction of this Statian exemplar for his hero, Silius also anticipates the later role that Scipio will share with Theseus: that of the hero who brings peace and concludes the epic.⁵⁴

 Note that the Scipio brothers themselves had also received a substitute burial in Spain: Gnaeus Scipio (whose fate stands for both of them) was ‘cremated’ in a tower by the Carthaginians, which acted as his sepulcrum: Sil. 13.692– 693: haud parvo data membra sepulcro | nostra cremaverunt – ‘they burned my body, put into a grave that was hardly small’.  See Federica Bessone in this volume.

Jean-Michel Hulls

‘Well stored with subtle wiles’ Pyrene, Psamathe and the Flavian art of interaction Now the serpent was more subtle than any beast of the field which the Lord God had made. (Gen. 3:1)

1. Milton’s amazing serpent In book nine of Paradise Lost, John Milton re-tells the story of Eve being tempted by the serpent to eat the fruit of the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil. Satan, having entered paradise in the form of a mist, enters the body of the sleeping serpent and in this form tempts Eve (Paradise Lost 9.182– 184): Him fast sleeping soon he found In l a b y r i n t h of many a sound self-rolled, His head in the midst, w e l l s t o r e d w i t h s u b t l e w i l e s :

Milton obviously bases his own narration of the temptation of Eve on the biblical account given in Genesis, but it is interesting to see how the poet expands the short and matter-of-fact original. In particular, Milton makes a great deal of the symbolic value of the creature that tempts Eve. In the Bible, there is no indication that Satan himself has departed Hell and has possessed the serpent in any way, yet in Paradise Lost, where Satan’s possession of the serpent might appear to obviate any guilt for his corruption of mankind, there remains the sense that the serpent shares the guilt with his possessor to a degree (9.82– 96): thus the orb he roamed With narrow search; and with inspection deep Considered every creature, which of all Most opportune might serve his wiles; and f o u n d The serpent subtlest beast of all the field. Him after long debate, irresolute Of thoughts revolved, his final sentence chose Fit vessel, f i t t e s t i m p o f f r a u d , in whom To enter, and his dark suggestions hide From sharpest sight: for, i n t h e w i l y s n a k e

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Whatever sleights, none would suspicious mark, As from his wit and n ative subtl ety P r o c e e d i n g ; which, in other beasts observed, Doubt might beget of diabolic power Active within, beyond the sense of brute.

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Although the serpent is not yet guilty of any crime or sin, the implication is made by Milton that Satan could only ever tempt Eve in this particular guise, for this is the one creature which already contains sufficient guile for Satan’s possession to go unnoticed. The serpent certainly shares those characteristics familiar from the snakes of classical epic. It is a destructive force that ultimately undoes mankind in paradise, but also provides a sense of re-birth as post-lapsarian humanity is ‘born’ out of the fall.¹ Furthermore, there is something inherently tricky about the snake;² even in his innocent sleep (9.186 – 187), the serpent is labyrinthine in form and, given Milton’s repeated emphasis of the creature’s subtlety, form is clearly meant as a physical instantiation of character. The serpent is, in other words, symbolic of Satan’s meditated guile and the flattery with which he induces Eve to eat the forbidden fruit. Such a characterisation of the serpent as a symbolic representation of Satan’s corrupting power is a significant feature of book 9.³ Labyrinthine language dominates the description of the serpent: Satan decides to hide himself within the serpent’s ‘mazy folds’ (9.161) and, as he makes way towards Eve, the snake is described as a ‘circular base of rising folds, that towered | fold above fold, a s u r g i n g m a z e ’ (9.498 – 499). The language of maze and labyrinth is echoed in the amazement felt first by Eve at the serpent’s new-found power of speech, then by Adam at her disobedience: Eve is ‘not unamazed’ (9.552) by the serpent’s first speech to her, then ‘yet more amazed’ (9.614) as the serpent claims to have learnt speech after eating the forbidden fruit. As the serpent leads her to the tree of knowledge, he is compared in a simile to a will’o-the-wisp that ‘misleads the amazed night-wanderer from his way’ (9.640), while Adam is ‘amazed, | astonished stood and blank’ (9.889 – 890) when he hears of Eve’s trespass. The link between the mazy shape of the serpent and the amazement that his speech causes is more explicitly linked in the description of the serpent leading Eve to the tree of knowledge, ‘he leading swiftly rolled | in tangles, and made intricate seem

 The classic discussion of serpent imagery in Aeneid 2 remains Knox 1950. For the serpent as a positive symbol of re-birth and representation of genius we need look no further than Aen. 5.85 – 93.  There is even a sense of complicity in the description of the serpent as an ‘inmate bad’ (9.495).  See Swaim 1972.

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straight, | to mischief swift’ (9.631– 633). The serpent’s movement echoes the way in which a clever speaker is able to twist words to his advantage. Earlier, the serpent’s sideways and implicitly alluring movement was described in a simile likening the snake to a skilful helmsman navigating a river mouth (9.513 – 517).⁴ Finally, the serpent is likened in a further simile to an ancient orator ‘renowned | in Athens or free Rome, where eloquence | flourished’ (9.670 – 672).⁵ Throughout the book, then, Milton makes a connection between the bewildering shape and movement of the serpent and the beguiling words that Satan utters through him. This symbolic use of the serpent is not especially surprising, given the creature’s role in Judaeo-Christian literature and thought, but I would suggest that such a role also has a good, pagan, classical tradition and that Milton is keen to emphasize the classical heritage of his own guileful serpent (PL 9.503 – 510): Pleasing was his shape And lovely; never since of serpent kind Lovelier – not those that in Illyria changed Hermione and Cadmus, or the god In Epidaurus; nor to which transformed Ammonian Jove, or Capitoline, was seen, He with Olympias, this with her who bore Scipio, the height of Rome.

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Milton’s snake trumps the great snakes of the classical tradition,⁶ not only by being more beautiful (and naturally, from a Christian point of view, more important), but also, paradoxically, by having a temporal priority as the original, Edenic serpent. Yet this serpent at a literary level also displays a strong classical ancestry and its symbolic power is grounded in the numinous power of the snakes of Roman epic; this series of classical allusions is suggestive of mankind’s future as much as of its fall.

 There is a further devilish twist here as the initial letters of lines 510 – 514 form an acrostic S-AT-A-N. I would suggest that there is something peculiarly satanic about the sideways, crafty and devious appearance of the serpent. For the contest over language between the serpent and Eve see Leonard 1999, 134– 143.  For the distrust of oratory in the 17th century see Fish 1967, 6 – 7. Cf. Jesus’ rejection of oratory in Paradise Regained 4.628 – 629.  Ovid’s Metamorphoses must be an important intertext for Milton here, but Silius’ Punica may be important for the final mythical serpent adduced in this passage. Cf. Blessington 1979. For the universalism of Paradise Lost see Fish 1967, 35.

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2. Serpentine heroines: Pyrene and Psamathe⁷ The manner of comparison that Milton uses is also very revealing of his conception of classical serpents and how they fit in with the symbolism of deception and temptation. Each of the examples used in the passage above says something interesting about the classical conception of the serpent. All four examples involve that inherently problematic process, metamorphosis. Cadmus and Harmony are changed into snakes by the gods while Aesculapius and Jupiter transform themselves into serpents. There are generative as well as destructive processes at work. Cadmus’ demise mirrors his creation of the Theban race by sowing dragon’s teeth,⁸ Aesculapius travels as a snake to Rome to relieve the plague,⁹ and Jupiter in serpentine forms fathers Alexander¹⁰ and Scipio.¹¹ The typical double-edged symbolism of destruction and re-birth is now developed and adapted into a Christian narrative. The numinous aspect of the serpent is reworked as Satan breathes new life into it. For Milton, snakes are symbolically slippery and complex, and this set of associations has an equal weight in the classical texts we examine below. In the third book of Silius Italicus’ Punica, the poet breaks from his narrative of Hannibal’s journey from Spain to Italy and, as the Carthaginian leader and his army cross the Pyrenees, produces an aetiological digression that accounts for the name of the mountain range (Sil. Pun. 3.415 – 421):¹² at Pyrenaei frondosa cacumina montis turbata Poenus terrarum pace petebat. Pyrene celsa nimbosi verticis arce divisos Celtis late prospectat Hiberos atque aeterna tenet magnis divortia terris. nomen Bebrycia duxere a virgine colles, hospitis Alcidae crimen, …

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But now Hannibal, throwing a peaceful world into confusion, made for the leafy summits of the Pyrenees. From the eminence of their rain-swept peaks they command a wide prospect and divide Spain from Gaul, making an eternal barrier between two great countries. These mountains took their name from Pyrene, daughter of Bebryx and victim of Hercules.

 The name Psamathe is not given by Statius. The name is included by Pausanias in his summary at 1.43.7– 8, cf. also Paus. 2.19.8.  See Ov. Met. 4.563 – 603.  Ov. Met. 15.622– 744.  See Plut. Alex. 2– 3.  Liv. 26.19.6 – 7; Sil. Pun. 13.615 – 649.  On this episode see Keith 2000, 56 – 57, 63; Asso 2001; Augoustakis 2003; Tipping 2010, 20 – 21, 72, 79. – Translations of Silius’ Punica are taken from Duff 1934.

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The mountains that have, hitherto, provided a permanent if not entirely impervious barrier between Spain and Gaul take their name from Pyrene, the daughter of a mythological local king, Bebryx. Silius tells us that Hercules stayed with Bebryx when on his way to Spain to find Geryon, got drunk and raped the king’s daughter. Pyrene gave birth to a snake and fled from her angry father and hid in caves, presumably (though not explicitly) in the mountains. There she was torn apart by wild animals. Hercules, on his return from killing Geryon in Spain, found her remains and in grief called out her name until all the mountains and cliffs echoed with her name. Hercules buried Pyrene in the mountains, which took her name from then on.¹³ Silius’ aetiology of the Pyrenees is an interesting transitional moment for many reasons, a few of which we shall explore below, but this short passage strikes a particular chord because of the correspondences in detail with a digressive, aetiological and rather better-known passage in Statius’ Thebaid. At the end of the first book of that poem, Adrastus explains to Polynices and Tydeus the origins of the worship of Apollo as a principal deity at Argos. Adrastus tells of how Apollo had travelled south following his killing of Python at Delphi and was looking to atone for this act (Stat. Theb. 1.562– 571):¹⁴ postquam caerulei sinuosa volumina monstri, terrigenam Pythona, deus, septem orbibus atris amplexum Delphos squamisque annosa terentem robora, Castaliis dum fontibus ore trisulco fusus hiat nigro sitiens alimenta veneno, perculit, absumptis numerosa in vulnera telis, Cirrhaeique dedit centum per iugera campi vix tandem explicitum, nova deinde piacula caedis perquirens nostri tecta haud opulenta Crotopi attigit.

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The god had struck down earthborn Python, dark monster of the winding coils, embracing Delphi with his seven black circlets and grinding ancient oaks with his scales, even as he sprawled by the Castalian spring and opened his triple-cleft mouth in thirst of nourishment for his black venom. Many the wounds on which the god spent his darts, till finally he left the creature outspread over a hundred acres of Cirrha’s plain. Then, seeing to expiate the recent slaying, he came to the modest dwelling of our Crotopus.

 On the link between aetiology and geography see Bona 1998, 96 – 97; Mela 2.89; Liv. 21.24.1; Plin. HN 3.8. On Hercules in Spain see Diod. Sic. 4.19; Dion. Hal. Ant. Rom. 1.41; Hyp. Poet. Astron. 2.6; Plin. HN 3.33 – 34.  On this passage, see Ganiban 2007, 9 – 23 and 10 n. 48 for further bibliography. For the relationship with Callimachus’ Aetia see McNelis 2007, 29 – 44. – Translations of Statius’ Thebaid are taken from Shackleton Bailey 2003.

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Apollo stayed with Crotopus, king of Argos, and had his wicked way with Crotopus’ beautiful daughter (1.573 – 574). The daughter, Psamathe, fearing for her life, hid her new-born son with a shepherd. There he was torn apart by wild dogs; his mother could not restrain her grief and was killed by her father (1.578 – 579). When Apollo found out all that had happened, he sent a monster to Argos to get his revenge (1.595 – 598). When a hero called Coroebus killed this monster, an angry Apollo sent a plague on Argos and only relented when the hero offered himself to the god (1.662– 664). Despite the very different ‘feel’ of these two digressions, we will see an overwhelming weight of correspondence at a number of levels, and at the heart of each passage is the labyrinthine and complex image of the serpent lurking as it does in Milton’s poem. There are differences of course: Silius narrates his digression extradiegetically, through the voice of his omniscient narrator, whereas Statius tells his story intradiegetically, with Adrastus narrating it specifically to Polynices and Tydeus. Expiation for sin and fathering of children is a feature of both passages. Apollo comes to Argos seeking expiation for his slaying of the Python (Theb. 1.569 – 570) while Hercules seeks expiation after he finds Pyrene’s remains.¹⁵ Hercules is clearly a rapist; the phrases lugendam formae sine virginitate reliquit | Pyrenen (‘and left Pyrene robbed of her maidenhood; her beauty was a cause for mourning’, Pun. 3.424– 425) and ingratos r a p t o r i s amores (‘the ingratitude of her ravisher’, 3.431) leave no room for doubt in this.¹⁶ However, Crotopus’ daughter has a more ambiguous relationship with Apollo. Although critics normally read Psamathe as raped by Apollo, Statius’ language may be, as we shall see below, slightly more ambiguous than that of Silius. Furthermore, Hercules grieves where Apollo seeks vengeance (Pun. 3.437– 438; Theb. 1.597: Phoebe, p a r a s m o n s t r u m ). Despite all these differences, there is an overlap significant enough to demand comparison despite the fact that there does not appear to be any strong link established through correspondence of language. That absence has a significant effect upon the critic placing these passages side-by-side; after all, repetition and exploitation of a key piece of language to generate new meaning within a new literary context is not only a hugely important compositional technique for Roman poets (especially Flavian poets),¹⁷ but also a central feature of the way in which classical critics analyse their poetry. Thus I would suggest that these Flavian passages are interconnected in interesting ways, but do not necessarily re  on 

See Vessey 1982a, 332. See Billerbeck 1986b, 348, on Hercules as a drunken rapist and Augoustakis 2003, 241– 243, this passage in particular. On peculiarly Flavian techniques see Hulls 2011.

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spond to traditional interpretive strategies prompted by linguistic parallels. Instead they demand exploration along other lines.

3. Entering the labyrinth: chronology and composition Before getting into the nitty-gritty of the interaction of these two episodes, we should briefly summarise the chronology of composition for these two epic poems. Fixing exact dates of composition is always tricky and the process is further complicated by the fact that portions of these long poems were almost certainly in the public domain in some form before the final texts that we have were released. ‘Publication’ is not linked to a precise date in the manner of modern works of literature or scholarship. We are fortunate, in contemplating the Thebaid and the Punica, to have the only two classical Latin epics to survive in a complete and finalised form. We can only posit a start and finish date for each poem; they certainly took more than a decade to compose, and we can speculate as to how parts of the final whole were disseminated in the intervening period. During that enormous length of time, a significant part of the process of composition was recitation of excerpts to audiences more or less public and getting their reactions.¹⁸ Silius certainly read portions of his work in public, not merely to a small circle of like-minded literary pals, but, as Pliny tells us, to a wider and less carefully selected audience (Ep. 3.7.5: nonnumquam iudicia hominum recitationibus experiebatur);¹⁹ did Statius take advantage of these recitations? The Thebaid is slightly easier to date from internal evidence and mentions made in the Silvae; it seems likely to have been published in its final form by the end of 92 CE, as Statius makes no mention of Domitian’s Sarmatian campaign, which ended in January of the following year. Meanwhile, Statius’ references to the Thebaid at Silvae 1.5.8 – 9, 3.2.40 – 41 and 3.2.142– 143 certainly suggest that it was still incomplete when he wrote the shorter poems.²⁰ Silvae 3.2 cannot be accurately dated, but if we assume that 1.5, the poem on the baths of Claudius Etruscus, was written at the same time as Martial 6.42 and 6.83,

 On recitation in Pliny see Johnson 2010, 42– 62. Ep. 3.7 discusses Silius and his writing, and it seems very likely that Pliny, although he does not mention him by name, also read Statius; see Guillemin 1929, 125 – 127.  Johnson 2010, 40 – 41, notes the implicit criticism in Pliny’s letter that Silius recites for homines, not amici or pauci.  See Nauta 2002, 196 and n. 8.

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both also addressed to Claudius Etruscus,²¹ then we can tentatively posit a date of publication at some point between 89 and 91 CE.²² So the Thebaid was in some sense unfinished in 91 CE. Statius tells us that the poem took twelve years to compose (Theb. 12.811– 812), and we can tentatively posit a start date in 80 CE.²³ Although the evidence is quite thin, these rough dates are generally accepted. Silius’ poem was composed over about the same period, but there is less scholarly consensus regarding the exact years of composition.²⁴ The standard view is that, like Statius, Silius began in 80 or 81 CE and completed his poem shortly after Domitian’s assassination, either late in 96 or in 97 CE. This dating depends partly on when we believe him to have withdrawn from urban and public life and devoted himself to poetry.²⁵ We know that Martial (4.14) was well aware of the Punica by 89 CE, suggesting that the earlier books were recited or were in some sense in the public domain. Moreover, Martial 7.63.9 – 12 also suggests that some of Silius’ poem was available for public consumption b e f o r e the full poem was completed. However, there are competing theories of composition and suggestions that Silius may have begun his composition much later than Statius and may even have left the final poem unrevised at his death in about 102 CE.²⁶ There are further complications if we consider the possibility that either poet may not have composed in a linear fashion and instead have worked on different episodes and books at the same time.²⁷ There is not enough evidence to be sure, but it seems highly unlikely to this reader

 We assume that the shared subject matter of Silvae 1.5 and Martial 6.42 and 83 indicates a similar date of composition, see White 1975, 275 – 279. The dating evidence for Martial book 6 is also a little vague. E.g. Vioque (2002, 4– 5) indicates that the terminus ante quem for the publication of Martial 6 is the publication of Martial 7, dated to December 92. Poems 6.4 and 6.10 contain mentions of the emperor and triumphs, and Sullivan (1991, 37) dates book 6 to late 91, possibly December. However, Citroni (1989) dated book 6 to 90 – 91 CE. For a modern and complete analysis of the dating evidence for Martial see Vioque 2002, 1– 8.  Coleman 1988, xvi; Nauta 2002, 196 n. 8.  On dating the Thebaid see Coleman 1988, xvi–xvii; Dewar 1991, xvii–xviii; Gibson 2006a, xvii–xviii.  For details on the dating of Silius’ work see Wistrand 1956; Fröhlich 2000, 9 – 18; Augoustakis 2009, 6 – 10.  For a biography of Silius see Klotz 1927, 79 – 80; Vessey 1974b; Burck 1979, 254– 256; Laudizi 1989, 11– 19, 24; Fröhlich 2000, 1– 9, 18 n. 55; Marks 2005a, 8 – 9.  See Hardie 2011.  Linear composition is the orthodox point of view, see Wistrand 1956; Smolenaars 1994, xviii; however, Fröhlich 2000 supports the idea of dynamic composition.

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that the final polished versions of these poems (if we have them) were not checked, edited and re-cast to some degree before final ‘publication’.²⁸ As regards the interaction between Statius and Silius, therefore, all we can say with certainty is that the two episodes being considered may have been composed at the same time, that the poets may have been well aware of each other’s work, either through recitation or through sections of their epics being ‘published’ in some form prior to full completion, and that both poets may have revised their own poetry in the light of what they had read in the other’s work. That Silius had access to individual books or parts of books of the Thebaid before its final publication was posited in the 1950s.²⁹ There are moments where Statius also appears to draw competitive inspiration from the Punica. For example, Juhnke dated Silius’ river battle scene in Punica 4 to c. 84 CE and Statius’ river battle in Thebaid 9 to before 88 CE. Dewar concurs, saying that the catalogue of deaths in the Ismenus ‘seems designed to surpass the terrors of Pun. 4.585 – 97’.³⁰ Yet these examples suggest a purely one-way process of allusion and influence. This seems to miss the point. Rather, the exchange of ideas and influence between Statius and Silius is a two-way process, with each poet feeding off the other’s inspiration in a cumulative and productive exchange that may have taken place over many years. Heslin has recently detected a broadly similar process at work in the exchange of poetic pseudonyms used by Horace and Propertius, where the metapoetic play in Propertius 1 and Horace’s Epodes involves both poets having pre-publication knowledge of each other’s works.³¹ I would like to suggest that the interaction between Statius and Silius is of the same order. Deciphering chronology and processes of influence is very much a case of stepping into the labyrinth.

4. Lost in the labyrinth: the construction of text I will suggest in a moment that there are many reasons to believe that there is an important textual relationship at work here. What is difficult about these two passages is the fact that there does not appear to be an instance of significant verbal repetition that would signpost the act of allusion by one poet to the

 E.g. Pun. 13.601– 612 and 14.686 may refer to Nerva and Trajan and may therefore be the product of a ‘final revision’.  Wistrand 1956, 58.  Juhnke 1972, 12– 13; Dewar 1991, xxxi.  Heslin 2011, 60 – 66.

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other. Moreover, we cannot reasonably assign to one poet a temporal priority over the other (indeed, I believe that we are reading the product of a backand-forth textual relationship and not a single response). The traditional mechanics of allusion with which we, as classicists, are most familiar do not apply here. The process of allusion implies feeding off an established text, even if that process of allusion imbues both alluding and alluded-to texts with new meaning. In other words, the term ‘allusion’ implies only one author (however constructed in the critic’s mind) at work.³² Here, however, we find ourselves in the paradoxical position of reading Statius and Silius as simultaneously both active and passive players in a textual process that lacks an obvious activation point. Rather than use the terms ‘allusion’ or ‘intertext’, we might think of this as a process closer to Gérard Genette’s ‘metatextuality’, which ‘unites a given text to another, of which it speaks without necessarily citing it (without summoning it), in fact sometimes even without naming it’.³³ Instead we have the confluence of similarities that we mentioned above and that we will catalogue more thoroughly here. These similarities are of varying orders and can be usefully separated into different categories. I would like to explore the similarities in some detail. We see a number of similarities in the narrative depicted by each text: (1) In each passage a divine being visits a local king when on another quest. In both instances the quest is only mentioned briefly, but is a much more familiar aspect of that hero’s mythology.³⁴ In Statius, Apollo has just killed the Python at Delphi and is seeking expiation for this act when he comes to Argos (Theb. 1.562– 571). In Silius, Hercules is on his way to Spain to take the cattle

 This would correspond to the term ‘intertextuality’ as it is narrowly defined by Genette 1997, i. e. ‘the actual presence of one text within another’. See e. g. McNelis 2007, 1– 2 and n. 5, on the process of allusion in Statius. Even the complex metapoetic process described by Heslin 2011 can be explained in terms of single-author actions; Propertius 1.4 alludes to Horace’s as yet unpublished Epodes while Epode 11 alludes to the as yet unpublished Monobiblos.  Genette 1997, 4. ‘Metatextuality’ usually implies a critical commentary, implicit or explicit, of one text upon another.  For the narrative of Apollo killing Python see Ov. Met. 1.436 – 451. For Apollo seeking expiation and the story of Psamathe and Coroebus see Callimachus, Aetia, frr. 87– 89 Pfeiffer and Aetia, frr. 28 – 34 Massimilla respectively. McNelis 2007, 29 – 40, is the essential discussion. Although Silius’ take on Pyrene has no surviving precedent of any length, the figure of Hercules wandering, slaying monsters and fathering illegitimate children on the local maidens is commonplace. Silius gives a similar story at Pun. 6.627– 636, and both these passages take their cue from the Hercules and Cacus narrative in Aeneid 8, see Augoustakis 2003, 245 – 247.

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of Geryon when he stops at the house of Bebryx in the mountains (Pun. 3.421– 422).³⁵ (2) In each passage the divine visitor rapes (or at the very least has an illicit union with) the king’s daughter. This is clear-cut in Silius: Hercules gets drunk and rapes Pyrene (3.423 – 435). In Statius, the nature of the encounter is less clear; Crotopus’ daughter initially appears to share a secret love with Apollo (Theb. 1.573 – 574: felix, si Delia numquam | furta nec occultum Phoebo sociasset amorem! – ‘Happy had she been if she had never shared Delian dalliance and Phoebus’ secret love.’). The verb sociasset implies a love affair rather than rape.³⁶ The subsequent phrase p a s s a deum (‘she suffered the god’, 1.575) need not imply forced union.³⁷ When fearing her father’s reaction, the ambiguity of what has happened is further underlined by the phrase coactis | … thalamis (‘forced union’, 1.578 – 579).³⁸ (3) In both instances there is a child of which the divine parent is initially unaware and which results in the daughter hiding from the father, fearing for her own safety. In the Thebaid, Psamathe gives birth to a child that she hides from her father and gives the child to a shepherd to look after. Presumably she hides the pregnancy as well, although Statius is silent on this point. Crotopus certainly does not find out what his daughter has been up to until the child dies and Psamathe’s grief is unrestrained (1.576 – 581). The birth in Silius is rather more peculiar: Pyrene gives birth to a snake and then runs away from home in fear of her father’s anger (Pun. 3.426 – 428). Whether Pyrene hides the pregnancy or whether she is merely terrified because she gives birth to a s n a k e is not

 The name Bebryx may also invite a further comparison with the boxing match between Amycus, king of the Bebrycians, and Pollux in Valerius Flaccus, Argonautica 4.146 – 343. The name Bebryx is used by Silius to account for the Bebryci, a local tribe, which lived on both sides of the Pyrenees. Pliny (HN 5.127) suggests that the Pyrenean tribe originated in an Asian tribe of the same name, but extinct by the time he was writing. See Lovatt 2005, 149 – 162, for the relationship between Valerius and the boxing match in Thebaid 6, where the gigantic Capaneus fights Alcidamas, a protégé of Pollux. However, the passage in Valerius has a number of thematic parallels with the Pyrene and Psamathe narratives, in particular the slaying of a monstrous figure by a semi-divine hero. Pollux plays a similar role to Hercules killing Geryon, Apollo killing Python and Coroebus slaying Apollo’s monster. The array of mangled body-parts in Bebrycia (Arg. 4.181– 185) is replicated by the scattering of Pyrene’s limbs (Pun. 3.433 – 435). Amycus’ vastness in death (Arg. 4.320 – 322) is very similar to the dead Python (Theb. 1.567– 568), and Pollux’s obsessive staring at the dead Amycus is replicated by the behaviour of Coroebus and his followers (Theb. 1.616 – 619).  OLD s.v. socio 1b ‘to unite in marriage or sim.’; 3 ‘to have sexual intercourse’.  Adams 1982, 189 – 190.  Does this suggest that Crotopus would condemn her e v e n if she had been raped?

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clear, but it certainly seems that she is presumed innocent until the actual act of birth. (4) Violent death plays a significant part in each narrative. In Statius’ longer text this is more emphatic. The son is torn apart by wild dogs, Psamathe is killed by Crotopus as soon as he discovers the truth. Apollo takes vengeance by summoning a serpentine monster that eats new-born children, and when this is killed by Coroebus, Apollo sends a plague that kills everyone (Theb. 1.632: labuntur dulces animae – ‘sweet lives fail’). The cycle is only broken when Coroebus offers his life to Apollo (there is a heavy irony in that Apollo grants him tristem … honorem | … vitae – ‘the sad benison of life’, 1.663 – 664). Silius’ shorter narrative has one death; Pyrene is torn apart by wild animals. (5) Wild animals play a significant part in both narratives. Pyrene is torn to pieces by wild animals, and Hercules on his return sheds tears on her dismembered remains. Psamathe’s son is similarly torn apart by wild dogs. The dismemberments of Pyrene and Psamathe’s son are echoed by the destruction and dismemberment of Apollo’s monster by Coroebus. (6) Snakes play a significant role in both stories. Pyrene gives birth to a snake; Silius does not develop this idea further nor explain why a union with Hercules should produce monstrous offspring, although there is a parallel with the snake-like Hannibal crossing the Pyrenees.³⁹ In the story told by Adrastus, meanwhile, Apollo appears in Argos after killing a giant snake, Python, and the monster he sends in revenge is a bizarre combination of snake and girl.⁴⁰ (7) Finally there are close parallels in the reaction of the divine parents, Apollo and Hercules. Both return too late to help their erstwhile partners. Lateness is carefully underlined by Statius (Theb. 1.596 – 597: sero memor … | Phoebe – ‘too late Phoebus remembers’), and Silius makes ironic play of Hercules as victor shedding tears (Pun. 3.434: victor, lacrimis perfudit – ‘victorious, he wetted … with his tears’). The reaction of both divinities drives the aetiology that is the overt motive for each digression; Apollo sends his monster as a way of consoling himself (Theb. 1.596 – 597: maestae solacia morti | … paras monstrum – ‘to solace her sad end he gets him a monster’) and the ultimate pacification of the god by Coroebus is the starting point for the festival that is being celebrated when Polynices and Tydeus come to Adrastus’ court. Hercules meanwhile gives the Pyre-

 For Hannibal characterized as a snake see Tipping 2010, 72– 73, 79. Hercules famously strangles snakes as a baby, cf. Virg. Aen. 8.288 – 289.  The death of the infant in this narrative clearly foreshadows the death of Opheltes later in the Thebaid, who is crushed by a giant snake (Theb. 5.538 – 540). The fact that birds and wolves do not feed on the remains of Apollo’s unnatural monster foreshadows the reaction of nature to the body of the monstrous and gigantic Capaneus (Theb. 11.12– 20).

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nees their name by his echoing cries of lament (Pun. 3.438 – 439: Pyrenen … | Pyrenen resonant – ‘Pyrene … echoed the name of Pyrene’; 3.441: tenent montes per saecula nomen – ‘the mountains retain for ever the name’). As well as these similarities in plot structure and narrative detail, we can see further correspondences operating at a generic level and in the way in which each section fits into the macrostructure of the poem. Both passages are aetiological digressions away from the main thrust of the poem, and both provide interesting moments of pause in the narrative. In the Thebaid, the origin-myth of the festival is told through the mouth of the current Argive king, Adrastus, and has a strong digressive feel. After the energetic departure of Polynices from Thebes and his violent clash with Tydeus, we have the first in a long series of delays that hold back Polynices’ eventual return to Thebes at the head of an army. In Silius’ Punica we get a pause during Hannibal’s energetic rush towards Italy from Spain, and the poet emphasises the clash of tempo as narrative pause interrupts narrative thrust; Hannibal disturbs the peaceful mountain landscape by his presence (3.416: turbata Poenus terrarum pace petebat); his violent penetration prompts the aetiology of the mountain range’s name through the dismemberment of Hercules’ victim. In addition to this, both digressions appear early on in their poems and thus have clear proleptic functions to which we have already alluded. The crossing of the eternal division between Spain and Gaul foreshadows the violent and destructive crossing of the Alps.⁴¹ Meanwhile the monstrous offspring of Pyrene and Hercules foreshadows the symbolising of Hannibal as a snake through the latter parts of the poem.⁴² Adrastus’ longer passage has a complex relationship with later parts of the epic and mirrors the deaths of Opheltes and Capaneus in particular whilst also reflecting the uncomfortable and destructive relationship between humans and gods.⁴³ Both passages play upon the idea of significant moments in physical journeys and in narrative journeys. For Polynices and Tydeus, Adrastus’ narrative, which begins with Apollo stopping off on a journey, marks a physical turning point – all roads from here lead back to Thebes and to mutual fratricide. For Silius, the aetiology of the Pyrenees marks a dividing line in Hannibal’s journey and a narrative division between the Spanish part of his poem and the greater narratives to come. For Hercules, the Pyrenees mark a double stopping point during the narrative of his labours and a significant end-point for the woman whose

 See Augoustakis 2003, 248 – 252.  See Tipping 2010, 72– 73, 79.  See McNelis 2007, 40 – 44, 93 – 96.

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brutal death he ultimately causes (the repetition letique deus … | causa fuit leti miserae deus, Pun. 3.425 – 426, links to the mournful repetition of Pyrene’s name, Pyrenen … | Pyrenen, 3.438 – 439). Furthermore, the geographical location of Silius’ episode interacts with the narrative structure of the story in productive ways. The Pyrenees form an eternal dividing line between Gaul and Spain, and, as I have suggested, between different parts of Silius’ narrative (Pun. 3.418 – 419: d i v i s o s Celtis late prospectat Hiberos | atque a e t e r n a tenet magnis d i v o r t i a terris). Yet Hannibal, by crossing that barrier, throws what had hitherto been a natural and peaceful landscape into chaos (3.415 – 416: frondosa cacumina … | turbata … pace). This chaos allows the irruption of the mythological, aetiological narrative into the landscape of the Second Punic War. The story that Silius tells is as much about story-telling as it is about the origins of a name. Pyrene herself becomes a species of narrator as she laments in the wilderness and tells Hercules’ promises to black forests (3.429 – 430: tum noctem Alcidae solis plangebat in antris | et promissa viri silvis n a r r a b a t opacis – ‘Then in lonely caves she mourned for the night when she lay with Alcides, and told his promises to the dark forests’). As she mourns, Pyrene stretches out her hands and appears to summon the wild beasts that tear her apart. In so doing she becomes a second Orpheus, compressing into a single action the three most familiar aspects of the ancient world’s most famous singer: his singing to wild nature, the lamentation for his lover, Eurydice, and his dismemberment (at the hands of wild Bacchantic women rather than wild animals). Hercules takes up the metaliterary theme when he returns and laments; the repeated cry of Pyrene’s name echoes not only in physical space, but also the repetition of the name of Hylas. Hercules’ Argonautic lover disappeared in a similarly wild spot and his story features in another Flavian epic. Indeed, the disappearance of Hylas provokes the disappearance of Hercules from Valerius’ poem. Hercules here echoes a more famous element of his own life’s narrative.⁴⁴ The connection between wild, natural landscapes and the violence of the aetiologies is also visible in Adrastus’ story. Psamathe’s secret love affair with Apollo takes place, not in her home at Argos, but in the wilds by the river Inachus at Nemea (for a description, see Theb. 4.804– 810). Like Pyrene lamenting in her cave, Psamathe suddenly assumes the guise of an Ovidian nymph about to be raped by a god. Her son is hidden in Oedipal fashion in a truly pastoral landscape (Theb. 1.579 – 586):

 Cf. Ap. Rhod. Arg. 1.1153– 1272; Theoc. Id. 13; Virg. Ecl. 6.43 – 44; Prop. 1.20; Val. Fl. Arg. 3.481– 597. For a brief summary see Hulls 2013.

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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; clausa arbutei sub cortice libri membra tepent, suadetque leves cava fistula somnos, et pecori commune solum.

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…, she chooses a pathless tract and amid the sheepfolds secretly consigns her son to a hillfaring keeper of the flock for him to rear. The grass gave the boy his bed, cradle unworthy of his high birth, and his house was woven of oaken withies. His limbs were snug in a wrapping of arbutus bark, a hollow pipe lulls him to light slumbers, he shares the ground with the sheep.

As with Pyrene’s death, the extreme violence of the boy’s dismemberment seems entirely at odds with the natural world that surrounds him. Dismemberment is, perhaps paradoxically, another salient feature of both narratives that unites them. Antony Augoustakis has written perceptively that “verbal echoes from Pyrene’s dismemberment throughout the book confirm that the female is … a sign ‘posted’ in the narrative in order to foreshadow, but not avert, the disasters that await the male protagonist”.⁴⁵ We could write a very similar response to the dismemberment of Psamathe’s son in Thebaid 1; his shattered limbs act similarly to foreshadow future disasters, not least the dismemberment of Opheltes in book 6. The theme of dismemberment is maintained through the figure of Apollo’s monster, who tears infants away from their mothers (Theb. 1.602– 603: animasque a stirpe recentes | abripere altricum gremiis – ‘and tears lives newly born from their mothers’ breasts) in a kind of familial dismemberment entirely appropriate to this poem and who is virtually torn apart in turn. There is a natural contrast between the aggressive, divine physicality of the male protagonist in each episode and the passivity of the feminine subject. For Alison Keith, the Pyrene story “emphasises the violence which conjoins imperial gaze with male gaze in the feminisation of landscape … this exemplum exposes the violence that underwrites the assimilation of the female to the topography of epic”.⁴⁶ This kind of violent assimilation is perhaps even more explicit in Adrastus’ tale that begins and ends with acts of heroic monster-killing and in which narratives of birth and maternal love are crushed by acts of male savagery (perpetrated by Crotopus and Apollo). Both our divine scenes of rape are also meta-

 Augoustakis 2003, 235.  Keith 2000, 56 – 57.

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phors for the aggressive incorporation of other narrative modes into that quintessentially masculine and violent genre, epic poetry. Furthermore, this metaliterary violence assumes a particular importance when we think of each poem’s textual relationships, here within that narrowly defined framework of ‘Flavian epic’. Dismemberment is not only a scattering of signs for future appropriation within the epic. Hercules’ lamentation is structured around his gathering and reassembling the ‘signs’ that have been left scattered for him to discover. The word order amplifies this picture by placing Hercules in the midst of these jumbled limbs (Pun. 3.433 – 435: laceros Tirynthius artus | dum remeat victor, lacrimis perfudit et amens | palluit invento dilectae virginis ore. – ‘When Hercules came back victorious, he wetted the mangled limbs with his tears; and when he found the head of the maid he had loved, he turned pale, distraught with grief.’). Having gathered these limbs together in an act that resembles the reconstruction of Pentheus’ corpse at the end of Euripides’ Bacchae, Hercules lays out Pyrene’s body in a new order and in so doing lays out the signs those severed limbs represent in a way which now represents the entire mountain range (3.441: defletumque tenent montes per saecula nomen – ‘and the mountains retain for ever the name that caused such grief’). In this way, the process of rape, destruction and dismemberment within this wild setting becomes a complex metaphor for the interpretive reprocessing of sign-systems – in other words the act of literary appropriation and interpretation.

5. Navigating the labyrinth: snakes as symbols We should now pan out and consider how these ideas impact upon our understanding of epic textuality. It certainly seems that our Flavian passages were produced in contact with one another. The exact mechanics of their interaction is ultimately irrecoverable and must be seen as a dynamic, even unstable, process. They should be read against one another, and this reading feels richer for the impossibility of allotting one poet chronological priority over the other. The lack of linguistic contact may tell us something about how these two poets regarded the art of allusion. Specific verbal repetition implies a kind of veneration towards the object text and implies a sense of participation in a wider poetic tradition. My feeling is that these Flavian poets are reluctant to give each other too strong an acknowledgement. Rather these contemporaries create an impression of rivalry by not deferring to the other. The snake is symbolic of this Flavian mode of interaction, but we may perhaps understand the processes at work much better with the help of Milton’s subtle serpent. His narrative of the Fall also shares some of the salient features

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of our Flavian narratives. Here we can see a wild landscape of a different kind corrupted by the presence of Satan as he possesses the snake. Eve, like her Flavian counterparts, suffers a violation at the hands of a divine figure, albeit that her corruption is of a very different kind. It feels as if, in all three texts we have explored, the serpent’s traditional ability to symbolise destruction, re-birth and numinous power has been developed in a new direction. Most peculiar of the serpentine figures in these texts is the hybrid monster that Apollo sends in vengeance for Psamathe’s death (Theb. 1.598 – 600: cui virginis ora | pectoraque; aeternum stridens a vertice surgit | et ferrugineam frontem discriminat anguis. – ‘It had the face and bosom of a girl; from its head rises a serpent ever hissing, parting the livid brow.’). This creature has the face and body of a girl, but a snake comes out of the head. This seems to replicate, but invert the peculiarity of Pyrene’s giving birth to a snake, with the monster coming from head rather than body. The snake to which Pyrene gives birth replicates Hannibal (who earlier dreamed of himself as a giant snake, Pun. 3.183 – 213) crossing the Pyrenees. But if the snake in Silius is a metaphor for the destructiveness of his male protagonist, then Apollo’s monster symbolizes the subjugation of feminine figures by aggressively masculine dynamics, while Milton’s snake even more explicitly seduces Eve. Meanwhile the over-abundance of giant snakes destroyed by heroes in both Flavian poems (Coroebus in Thebaid 1, Regulus in Punica 6, Capaneus et al. in Thebaid 6) suggests the futility and self-destructiveness of epic, masculine domination. Furthermore, the mutability of the snakes in these episodes makes them a powerful metaphor for the process of textual exchange that underpins the relationship between the two passages. These snakes are slippery, unstable and remarkably changeable in form. Like the interactions between our two aetiologies, these monsters are very difficult to pin down. The subtle serpent is nonetheless the tool with which to navigate these symbolic figures, complex generic games and unspoken interactions. The snakes in these poems have a transformative effect. Silius’ hybrid serpent and Statius’ serpent birth reflect the creative processes of transforming each other’s poetry into something new. Meanwhile, Milton’s snake reflects his power to transform classical epic symbolism into a new Christian form, even as Satan is transforming man’s place on God’s earth through the deceptive utterances of the serpent. Just as Milton’s mazy serpent makes the intricate seem straight, the snakes at the heart of the Flavian passages act as symbolic markers of the textual processes of epic. Milton’s serpent was symbolic of Satanic flattery and guile, the glib speaking with which he induces Eve to eat the fruit of the tree of knowledge. Milton’s serpent was constructed in the language of maze and amazement. Yet its beauty also symbolizes the triumph of a narrower, more personal style of poetry

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over traditional martial epic.⁴⁷ Meanwhile the monstrous Flavian snakes mimic the generic impact they (as instantiations of heroic epic) have, crushing and squeezing the life out of slenderer generic forms (such as aetiology or elegy). The snakes of Statius and Silius symbolize the tacit, devious and labyrinthine interactions between the two poems. In a similar way, Satan’s snake symbolizes the process of transforming classical narratives into Christian epic. Milton’s serpent is astonishingly loquacious while the Flavian snakes advertise their textual natures in an unspoken manner. The dismemberments that these serpentine presences so frequently signal are representative of the process of textual production and the way in which these poets reassemble the shattered remains of each other’s works in what can seem an endlessly repetitive process. There is an undeniable subtlety to the interaction between these narratives within the Thebaid and the Punica. Just as the heart of Milton’s Garden of Eden, these are poems well stored with subtle wiles.

 See Quint 1993, 282– 283. Cf. Paradise Lost 9.27– 47.

Jörn Soerink

Statius, Silius Italicus and the snake pit of intertextuality Introduction The (inter)relation between Statius and Silius Italicus is notoriously problematic. In 1892 the German scholar Rudolph Helm called it a “quaestio difficilis et lubrica”,¹ and a difficult and slippery problem it still is, although some progress has been made.² The composition of the Thebaid (c. 79 – 92 CE) and that of the Punica (c. 80 – 98 CE) overlap.³ That does not mean, however, as Léon Legras once claimed, that the two poets worked on their epics independently⁴ nor that Statius cannot have had knowledge of Silius’ epic in progress. It is important to take Roman literary practices into account.⁵ We know that both Statius and Silius frequently gave recitationes; we also know that both poets spent most of their lives in Rome and Naples, where they both visited the tomb of their admired predecessor Virgil.⁶ Hence it is likely that Statius was in Silius’ audience and vice versa. Unfortunately, however, the two poets do not mention each other, and although we have some evidence, external and internal, for dating their poems,⁷ there is no firm evidence that enables us to date individual books.⁸ It is sometimes assumed that epic poets wrote book after book and needed roughly one

 Helm 1892, 156.  See Smolenaars 1994, xvii–xviii; Ripoll 1998a, 6 – 7; Lovatt 2010.  See Nauta 2002, 195 – 197; Augoustakis 2010, 6 – 8 with references.  Legras 1905b, 132: “l’épopée de Silius et celle de Stace ont été commencées à peu près dans le même temps et n’ont donc pas influé notablement l’une sur l’autre” (cf. 146).  See Winsbury 2009.  See esp. Plin. Ep. 3.7.5 and 8; Mart. 11.48 and 50; Juv. 7.82– 86; Stat. Silv. 4.4.53 – 55; 5.2.160 – 163.  External: esp. Plin. Ep. 3.7; Mart. 4.14; 6.64; 7.63; 8.66; 9.86; 11.48; 11.50; internal esp. Sil. Pun. 3.607 ff.; 13.844 ff.; 14.684 ff.  It has been argued that Punica 4 precedes – and is alluded to in – Thebaid 9 (Juhnke 1972; Dewar 1991), that Punica 5 precedes Thebaid 7 and that Punica 2 precedes Thebaid 10 and 11; and, conversely, that Thebaid 9 precedes Punica 14 (Dewar 1991), that Thebaid 4 precedes Punica 13 (Juhnke 1972), that Thebaid 10 precedes Punica 12 and that Punica 16 uses both Thebaid 6 and 12. See Smolenaars 1994, xvii–xviii. Lovatt has suggested that the games in Punica 16 are later than the games in Thebaid 6 (Lovatt 2005, 45 and 59 with n. 7; Lovatt 2010 opts for a more postmodern view).

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year to produce one book,⁹ but that is little more than an assumption. Statius and Silius need not have written book after book – compare Donatus’ remarks on Virgil’s method of composition – and about their pace of writing there is simply no information.¹⁰ In that light, if we find a striking correspondence – verbal, structural, conceptual – between Silius and Statius, the question ‘who imitates whom?’ usually remains a chicken-or-egg question. Moreover, it may be an oversimplification to think of just one chicken and one egg. As François Ripoll has pointed out,¹¹ we should even reckon with the possibility of two-way traffic. It is conceivable that, say, Statius heard Silius reciting a passage from his Punica and used it in composing his Thebaid, and that Silius, in turn, after the publication of the Thebaid in 92 CE, used Statius in revising his Punica. And one might envisage a literary milieu in which the poets could exchange ideas in different ways as well.¹² Needless to add that, in many instances, one might dispute whether there is a direct connection in the first place, since similarities may also be explained otherwise, from a (lost) shared model for example.¹³ In recent times, critics have attempted to break free from these vexed problems of intertextuality by embracing a postmodern, reader-response, point of view. Thus Helen Lovatt has recently suggested that the intertextual connections between the games in Punica 16 and in Thebaid 6 can be read in two directions. Since we cannot discover the truth, she suggests, we should instead “look for readings which offer the most interesting story … exploring the possibilities and constructing our own narratives”.¹⁴ The following pages will discuss the intertextual relation between two serpentine passages in Silius and Statius: Regulus’ encounter with the Libyan serpent in Punica 6 and the encounter of the Seven against Thebes with the Nemean serpent in Thebaid 5. Readers that hope to find an answer to the question of priority should read no further; my discussion merely aims to illustrate the methodological problems involved, and to show that, although we cannot tell apart chicken and egg, it is still rewarding to read Statius and Silius together.

 Cf. e. g. Legras 1905b, 132; Ripoll 1998a, 3 (on Statius).  See Smolenaars 1994, xvii–xviii. Admittedly, the unfinished Achilleid suggests that Statius, unlike Virgil, wrote book after book. Cf. the unfinished epics of Lucan and Valerius Flaccus.  Ripoll 1998a, 3 – 8.  Cf. the complex (inter)relation between Hellenistic poets, esp. Callimachus and Apollonius Rhodius; see e. g. Harder 2002.  See Hinds 1998.  Lovatt 2010, 158.

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Silius’ Bagrada serpent Silius Italicus’ Punica 6 largely consists of an embedded narrative, in which the old veteran Marus tells Serranus, the son of Marcus Attilius Regulus, about the heroic exploits of his father in the First Punic War. In the first part of his narrative, Marus relates Regulus’ epic fight with a monstrous serpent on the banks of the Libyan river Bagrada (6.140 – 298).¹⁵ As we shall see shortly, the passage shows remarkable similarity with Statius’ Nemean episode, but we should acknowledge that there is also contact with several other intertexts, especially Lucan’s Bellum civile and Ovid’s Metamorphoses. ¹⁶ In 1835 Sir Grenville Temple wrote that “the reptile” which Silius describes “was probably the Haemorrhois mentioned by Lucan”.¹⁷ Temple’s suggestion is amusing, but Silius’ episode does indeed recall Lucan: it looks back to Cato’s expedition through the serpentine desert in Bellum civile 9,¹⁸ and the very first line of Silius’ episode echoes yet another Lucanian passage. turbidus arentes lento pede sulcat harenas Bagrada, non ullo Libycis in finibus amne victus limosas extendere latius undas et stagnante vado patulos involvere campos. (Sil. Pun. 6.140 – 143)¹⁹

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The turbid stream of Bagrada furrows the sandy desert with sluggish course; and no river in the land of Libya can boast that it spreads its muddy waters further, or covers the wide plains with greater floods. (trans. Duff 1934) …, qua se Bagrada lentus agit siccae sulcator harenae. (Luc. 4.587– 588)²⁰ …, where the Bagrada slowly pushes on and furrows the thirsty sand. (trans. Duff 1928)

 On the episode see Bassett 1955 and Fröhlich 2000; unfortunately I have not been able to consult Martin 1979. Regulus’ encounter with the Bagrada serpent is also mentioned in Liv. Per. 18.1; Val. Max. 1.8.ext.19; Gell. NA 7.3; Plin. HN 8.37; Flor. Epit. 1.19; Polybius does not mention the monster; cf. Ripoll 2000, 9; Augoustakis 2006, 145.  See Fröhlich’s introduction to the episode. Bassett 1955 emphasises the Herculean models: Virg. Aen. 8.184– 275; Ov. Met. 9.134– 272; Luc. 4.587– 655; Val. Fl. Arg. 2.451– 549.  Temple 1835, 253. His argument is simply that the Haemorrhois is ingens too: squamiferos ingens Haemorrhois explicat orbes (Luc. 9.709). He adds that “ [t]his enormous race of serpents, if it ever existed, is now entirely extinct”. More recently, Fowler and Hermann have also claimed that the story has a germ of truth (see Fröhlich 2000, 189 with references).  See Brouwers 1982, 79 – 80; Ripoll 2000, 9.  The text follows Delz (Teubner 1987).  The text follows Shackleton Bailey (Teubner 1988).

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In addition to the obvious verbal echoes, note the wordplay with harena and areo: Silius’ arentes … harenas resumes Lucan’s siccae … harenae, and makes explicit the etymological pun implicit in Lucan.²¹ Silius’ opening line can be seen as a ‘Leitzitat’,²² pointing to the intertextual relevance of the Hercules and Antaeus episode in Lucan 4 (4.581– 660).²³ We may also observe in passing that Silius’ opening lines signal, in Callimachean terms (broad, slow, muddy river), that we are entering the realm of essential epic;²⁴ the epic river is an appropriate habitat for the serpent, epic monster par excellence. Another important intertext is Cadmus’ encounter with the Theban serpent in Ovid’s Metamorphoses (3.28 – 94).²⁵ There are numerous similarities, both verbally and structurally. Both passages open with an ekphrasis – to use the term in its broad ancient definition²⁶ – of the serpent and its habitat (Met. 3.28 – 34; Pun. 6.140 – 165); then some companions of the principal hero – Cadmus and Regulus respectively – enter the serpent’s grove, to be killed and devoured by the monster (Met. 3.35 – 49; Pun. 6.166 – 204); and finally the heroes themselves enter the scene and manage to kill the serpent (Met. 3.50 – 94; Pun. 6.205 – 282). There is no need to repeat the many parallels between Silius and Ovid collected by Fröhlich in his commentary on Punica 6. To illustrate how Silius reworks his literary model, one more example will suffice. Before killing the Theban serpent with his spear, Cadmus first attempts to kill it by hurling a millstone (without success): dixit dextraque molarem sustulit et magnum magno conamine misit;

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 Lucan, in turn, may have been inspired by Ov. Met. 15.725 – 726: litoream tractu squamae crepitantis harenam | sulcat. Cf. also Sil. Pun. 6.677: lentus harenoso spumabat Bagrada campo.  See Knauer 1964, 145 – 147; Smolenaars 1994, xxviii.  Like Cato, Hercules intertextually supports the traditional reading of Regulus as Stoic hero (see Bassett 1955; Fröhlich 2000; Ripoll 2000); Augoustakis 2006, however, detects ‘further voices’ in the episode.  Cf. esp. Callim. Hymn. 2.108 – 109: Ἀσσυρίου ποταμοῖο μέγας ῥόος, ἀλλὰ τὰ πολλά | λύματα γῆς καὶ πολλὸν ἐφ’ ὕδατι συρφετὸν ἕλκει. (note that Latin sulco and Greek ἕλκω are etymologically related). Santini 1991, 97 notes “ [t]he identification between the reptile and the river, that is, the genius of the Bagrada”. I borrow the phrase ‘essential epic’ from Hinds 2000.  See Fröhlich 2000, 177– 182. It has been noted that Silius’ passage is less Ovidian than Statius’. Legras (1905b, 365 n. 3) points out that Silius has already imitated the same Ovidian passage in Pun. 3.189 ff. Fröhlich (2000, 177– 182) rightly asks the question how the Ovidian intertext affects our i n t e r p r e t a t i o n of the episode; in the footsteps of Häussler (2010) he takes the Theban intertext as an incentive for a ‘tragic’ reading of the episode.  See e. g. Elsner 2002.

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illius inpulsu cum t u r r i b u s ardua c e l s i s moenia m o t a forent: … (Ov. Met. 3.59 – 62)²⁷ As he spoke, he picked up in his right hand a massive stone and sent the great thing off with great exertion. The blow would have moved high city walls with lofty towers (trans. Hill 1985)

The last lines, inspired by Virgil’s simile in Aeneid 12, when Aeneas hurls his spear,²⁸ conjures up images of Roman siege engines.²⁹ That inspired Silius to have Regulus employ real ballistae and falaricae in his battle against the Libyan monster (6.212– 215): …, scutataque raptim consequitur iusso manus et muralia portat ballistas tormenta graves suetamque m o v e r e exc e l s a s t u r r e s immensae cuspidis hastam.

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…; and at his command there followed a body of shieldsmen, bringing the heavy catapults used in sieges and the weapon whose huge point can batter down high towers. (trans. Duff 1934)

Silius not only imitates Ovid, he also seems to have noticed Ovid’s debt to Virgil, since muralia … | … tormenta is literally borrowed from the Virgilian model that Ovid had in mind.³⁰ And although the Libyan serpent is gradually brought down by the many spears from Regulus, Marus and others, the beast is eventually defeated by a rock hurled by a ballista (6.269 – 272) and finished off by a falarica (6.279 – 282), in an hyperbolic and thoroughly Romanised echo of Cadmus’ rock and spear.

 The text follows Anderson (Teubner 1991).  Virg. Aen. 12.921– 924: … | eminus intorquet. murali concita numquam | tormento sic saxa fremunt nec fulmine tanti | dissultant crepitus. volat atri turbinis instar | exitium dirum hasta ferens. It is interesting to see that Ovid thus combines a Turnus-element (rock) with an Aeneaselement. Bömer (1969) and Anderson (1997) on Ov. Met. 3.61– 62 overlook the allusion.  See Bömer 1969 and Anderson 1997, ad loc.  Virg. Aen. 12.921– 922 murali … | tormento. Other echoes of Virgil’s simile occur distributed over the passage (hastam, fulmineo, torquet, turbine – with per inane from Aen. 12.906 – in Pun. 6.247– 249; murali in Pun. 6.269; tormentis in Pun. 6.279). Silius’ ardua … moenia also derive from the last book of the Aeneid (Aen. 12.745). Like Bömer (1969) and Anderson (1997), Fröhlich (2000) fails to see the relevance of Aeneid 12.

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Statius’ Nemean serpent The Ovidian model is especially important for our discussion, since it also underlies Statius’ description of the Nemean serpent and its death at the hands of Hippomedon and Capaneus (Theb. 5.505 – 587), as has long been observed.³¹ The similarities, both structurally and verbally, are again numerous. To illustrate how closely Statius has modelled his Nemean serpent on Ovid’s Theban one, we may compare the following descriptions of the serpents’ physical features: livida fax oculis, tumidi stat in ore veneni spuma virens, ter lingua vibrat, terna agmina adunci dentis, et auratae crudelis gloria fronti prominet. (Stat. Theb. 5.508 – 511)³²

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In its eyes is a livid flame, in its mouth gathers the green spittle of swelling venom, three tongues flicker and three rows of hooked fangs, and a cruel vainglory is apparent on its golden face. (trans. Ritchie / Hall 2007) … cristis praesignis et auro: igne micant oculi, corpus tumet omne veneno, tresque micant linguae, triplici stant ordine dentes. (Ov. Met. 3.32– 34) distinguished by its golden crest: its eyes gleamed with fire, all its body swelled with venom, its three tongues flickered and its teeth stood in triple ranks. (trans. Hill 1985)

Admittedly, all these characteristics are traditional features of literary snakes; the three rows of teeth, for instance, have several parallels from Homer onwards, and the same holds for the threefold tongue.³³ Nevertheless, their combination leaves little room for doubt that Statius has modelled his lines on Ovid.

 See Eisfeldt 1904, 416; Legras 1905a, 72 – 73; Aricò 1963. The question of how the Ovidian intertext affects the i n t e r p r e t a t i o n of the Nemean episode is beyond the scope of this paper. Elsewhere I have argued that the Theban palimpsest of Statius’ Nemean serpent supports a reading of the Nemean episode as a symbolic reflection or mise en abyme of the Thebaid as a whole (Statius Workshop, Nottingham, January 2010; see Bollettino di studi latini 40, 2010, 265 – 266), an idea that I hope to develop and elaborate in my dissertation, currently in progress.  The text follows Hill (Brill 1996).  For three rows of teeth cf. e. g. Hom. Od. 12.91; Nic. Ther. 441– 442; Val. Fl. Arg. 2.500 – 501. Would it be possible that Statius’ agmina alludes to the teeth of the Theban serpent giving birth to the agmina of the Spartoi? For the threefold tongue cf. e. g. Virg. G. 3.439 = Aen. 2.475; Ov. Met. 7.150; Sen. Med. 687; Val. Fl. Arg. 1.161; Apul. Met. 6.15. In the ‘real’ world of Plautus, snake tongues are always twofold (see Sauvage 1975, 249 with n. 89; cf. also Ov. Met. 9.65: linguam … bisulcam), although some Romans believed threefold tongues really existed (Plin. HN 11.171). On these and other typological features of literary snakes see Sauvage 1975.

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Another example of Statius’ intertextual engagement with Ovid is his reworking of Cadmus’ hurling a millstone (Met. 3.59 – 62; see above). Before Capaneus kills the Nemean serpent with his spear, another of the Seven against Thebes, Hippomedon, hurls a rock at the monster (without success): rapit ingenti conamine saxum, quo discretus ager, vacuasque impellit in auras arduus Hippomedon, quo turbine bellica quondam librati saliunt portarum in claustra molares. (Stat. Theb. 5.558 – 561)

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With a mighty effort tall Hippomedon seizes a rock which marks the boundary of a field and hurls it into the empty air, with such whirling motion as catapulted millstones sometimes dash against the wartime barricading of gates. (trans. Ritchie / Hall 2007)

Statius subtly improves upon his Ovidian model. Cadmus lifts up the millstone single-handedly (dextra), although he needs magno conamine to hurl it; Hippomedon needs ingenti conamine to lift up the stone in the first place. Statius has further replaced sustulit with rapit, probably in imitation of his secondary model, Turnus’ equally unsuccessful attempt to crush Aeneas with a rock in the Aeneid (12.896 – 907).³⁴ Statius’ engagement with Virgil acknowledges Ovid’s debt to the same Virgilian scene – something we have seen in our discussion of Silius’ imitation too. One could also read Statius’ lines as an intertextual ‘comment’ on Ovid. Cadmus lifts up a millstone (molarem), in imitation of Hercules in Aeneid 8.³⁵ Ovid’s imitation, however, is slightly odd: what on earth is that millstone doing in the sacred grove of the Theban serpent? One might explain away the problem and say that molaris is simply a poeticism for any large rock, but perhaps Statius has wondered, like Bömer, “wie gerade in diese Wildnis ein Mühlstein geraten konnte”.³⁶ In any case, Statius deliberately writes saxum, not molarem; the latter word he carefully reserves for the simile in 5.560 – 561.³⁷ Furthermore, Statius’ phrase quo discretus ager explains what Ovid failed to explain – what the rock is doing

 Cf. Aen. 12.901: manu raptum trepida. Similarly vacuas … in auras reworks Aen. 12.906 vacuum per inane (cf. also Aen. 7.593: aurasque … inanis; 12.592: vacuas … auras; G. 3.109: aera per vacuum; Hor. Carm. 1.3.34; Pind. Ol. 1.6: ἐρήμας δι’ αἰθέρος); and the dream motif in Theb. 5.543 looks back to Aen. 12.908 – 912. – The intertextual relevance of the Virgilian passage is noted concisely by Mozley 1933, 38: “Thebais 5.558 – 561 = Metamorphoses 3.59 – 62 = Aeneid 12.896 – 900”. Finally, the phrase portarum … claustra is taken from Aen. 7.185 portarum … claustra (cf. Aen. 9.758: rumpere claustra … portis).  Virg. Aen. 8.249 – 250; see Bömer 1969, ad loc.  Bömer 1969, on Ov. Met. 3.59.  In Statius’ simile, turbine is taken from Virgil’s simile (Aen. 12.923: atri turbinis instar).

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there.³⁸ And in doing so, Statius again imitates his secondary model Virgil.³⁹ The lines are an excellent example of Statius’ technique of combinatorial imitation.

Triangular affairs Both Silius and Statius have used Cadmus’ fight with the Theban serpent in Metamorphoses 3 as a model. As a result, similarities between Statius and Silius can be explained to some extent by the fact that both poets look back to Ovid. The shared Ovidian model may explain, for instance, why both Silius and Statius mention the pernicious breath of the serpent, with the same word afflatus, or its flickering threefold tongue: (a) hos necat adflatu funesti tabe veneni (Ov. Met. 3.49) (b) tabe afflatus (Sil. Pun. 6.159) (c) percussae calidis afflatibus herbae (Stat. Theb. 5.527) (a) tresque vibrant linguae (Ov. Met. 3.34) (b) trifido vibrata per auras | lingua micat motu (Sil. Pun. 6.222–223; cf. 6.263–264) (c) ter lingua vibrat (Stat. Theb. 5.509)

As we have already noted, these features are typological and likely to occur in any description of snakes in classical literature. Yet the phrasing strongly suggests that Silius and Statius are consciously reworking Ovid. In any case, the similarities between Statius and Silius need not be the result of direct imitation.

Direct imitation At first sight one might be inclined to regard the similarities between Statius and Silius as the result of independent imitation of the same Ovidian model. However, there are strong indications that there is also a direct relation between the two passages. One parallel in particular leaves little room for doubt, as Rudolph Helm has pointed out in his 1892 dissertation:⁴⁰

 Cf. also Stat. Theb. 6.352– 353 saxeus umbo | arbiter agricolis with Pavan’s note (2009).  Virg. Aen. 12.897– 898: s a x u m antiquum ingens, campo q u o d forte iacebat, | limes a g r o positus litem ut d i s c e r n e r e t arvis. Lewis (1773, ad loc.) notes the parallel. Klinnert (1970, 86 n. 22) connects Hippomedon removing the border stone with his transgression of boundaries, which he regards as a crucial feature of his character; cf. Stat. Theb. 7.424– 440.  Helm 1892, 162– 163.

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isque ubi ferventi concepta incendia ab aestu gurgite mulcebat rapido et spumantibus undis, nondum etiam toto demersus corpore in a m n e m iam caput adversae ponebat margine r i p a e . (Sil. Pun. 6.162– 165) And, when he was fain to bathe in the foaming waters of the running stream and cool the heat engendered by the blazing heat, before he had plunged his whole body in the river, his head was already resting on the opposite bank. (trans. Duff 1934, adapted) saepe super fluvios geminae iacet aggere r i p a e continuus, squamisque incisus adaestuat a m n i s . (Stat. Theb. 5.516 – 517) often it stretches across the river joining one bank to the other, and the severed stream boils against its scales (trans. Ritchie / Hall 2007) The similarity is obvious: not only do both poets describe the same scene, they also have ripae and amnis at the end of their lines.⁴¹ Since the similarity cannot be explained from the shared Ovidian model, this parallel strongly suggests that Silius has taken his inspiration directly from Statius or vice versa.

Perhaps, I would like to suggest, there is also a connection between Statius’ adaestuat and Silius’ ab aestu. ⁴² In Silius, the phrase ferventi … aestu, if correct, must refer to the heat of the Libyan desert. But perhaps Statius observed that the phrase is equally applicable to a seething river. Would it be possible that Silius thus inspired Statius’ image of the river ‘boiling against the scales’ of the Nemean serpent? In any case, Helm’s claim that there is a direct connection between the two passages is supported by several other verbal parallels, which cannot be explained from the Ovidian model passage, as the following table may show:⁴³ Thebaid 5  –        

Punica  horror … | terrigena omnis anhelat aëra lambit adhaeret humo collectus gyro ululatus flebilis linguaeque … trisulcae capitisque … corusci

 –        –   – 

horror … | telluris genitum omnis anhelat aethera lambit haeret humi cetera sinuatis glomerat sub pectore gyris ulularunt flebile trisulca | … lingua coruscum | … caput

 Cf. Helm 1892, 163: “in eadem mirabili imagine eaedem voces in extremo versus pede”. Ruperti, ad loc., only notes “comparant Stat. Th. V, 516”.  Heinsius’ conjecture, supported by Håkanson 1976, 14– 15, and accepted by Delz 1987. The manuscripts read pastu, which is defended by Fröhlich 2000, ad loc.  Most parallels are taken from Fröhlich’s note (2000) on Sil. Pun. 6.164– 165.

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Although each individual parallel might not be convincing on its own, cumulatively these parallels strongly suggest that there is indeed a direct connection between Statius and Silius. In addition, there are three similarities that deserve special notice.⁴⁴ (1) Ovid compares his Theban serpent to the constellation Draco, winding between the two Bears in the northern hemisphere: tantoque est corpore, quanto, | si totum spectes, geminas qui separat Arctos (Met. 3.44– 45). In imitation of Ovid, Statius compares his Nemean serpent to a serpentine constellation as well (Theb. 5.529 – 530);⁴⁵ and in emulation of his predecessor, he adds another quantus simile, comparing the Nemean serpent to the Python of Delphi (Theb. 5.531– 533).⁴⁶ Now in Silius we find not a double, but a triple quantus simile (Pun. 6.181– 184): the Libyan serpent is compared to the huge serpentine legs of the Giants, to the Hydra of Lerna slain by Hercules and to the serpent guarding the golden apples of the Hesperides (all associated with Hercules). An indication, perhaps, that Silius wanted to emulate Statius’ emulation? (2) Silius compares his serpent to ‘the snakes that armed the Giants when they stormed heaven’ (Pun. 6.181– 182: quantis armati caelum petiere Gigantes | anguibus [trans. Duff 1934]). Interestingly, Statius also mentions serpent-legged Giants in his passage: before Capaneus kills the Nemean serpent, he threatens that the monster will not escape his vulnera (the wounds residing in Capaneus’ spear), not even ‘if you brought a Giant against me joined above this body’ (Theb. 5.569 – 570: non si consertum super haec mihi membra Giganta | subveheres [trans. Shackleton Bailey 2003]). Curiously, the superum contemptor Capaneus, who carries a Giant on his helmet (Theb. 4.175 – 176) and who will ultimately in a Gigantomachic gesture challenge Jupiter himself, compares Jupiter’s sacred serpent to a Giant, which puts himself in the role of Jupiter.⁴⁷ In Statius, the mention of the Giants – despite the curious role inversion – is in accordance with the persistent characterization of Capaneus as a Gigantomachic figure.⁴⁸ In Silius, however, the Giants seem to fit the context less well. Another indication, perhaps, that Silius has imitated Statius?  On these three parallels Fröhlich (2000) is silent.  Statius’ simile is wrought with difficulties, which I hope to elucidate in my dissertation. For our present purposes, however, the astronomical or astrological problems are irrelevant.  The second simile echoes the description of the Python monster in the first book of the Thebaid (1.562– 569) as well as Ovid’s Python in the first book of the Metamorphoses (1.438 – 444), which underlies Theb. 1.562– 569.  Cf. Klinnert 1970, 31: “[Capaneus stellt] den Drachen, seiner Gestalt wegen, als einen Zeusgegner, einen Giganten hin und rückt sich damit indirekt neben Jupiter, genauer gesagt setzt sich als ein ‘alter Jupiter’ an seine Stelle.”  See Lovatt 2005, 114– 139.

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(3) Both Statius and Silius end their passage with Nature – and, in Statius, Nymphs and Fauns too – lamenting the dead serpent (Theb. 5.579 – 582; Pun. 6.283 – 285), something we do not find in Ovid. Although there are no noteworthy verbal echoes, it is striking that both poets round off their passage in a similar way. Moreover, at the end of the passage it is made clear that the death of the serpent heralds future doom. In Statius, in reaction to the death of his sacred Nemean serpent, Jupiter initially wants to punish Capaneus, but the hero is spared to meet his death in Thebaid 10 (Theb. 5.583 – 587). In Silius, soothsayers warn Regulus and his soldiers that they have killed ‘the servant of the Naiads’ and that they will suffer for it (Pun. 6.288 – 290). The motif goes back to Ovid, where a mysterious voice prophesies that Cadmus will be changed into a serpent himself (Met. 3.96 – 98). What the shared Ovidian model cannot explain, however, is that both Statius and Silius, at the end of their episodes, mention the close relationship between serpent and nymphs (Theb. 5.580: Nymphae; Pun. 6.289: Naiadum). In parentheses, it may be worth noting that Statius also mentions the Libyan river Bagrada in his Silvae, in his poem on the Via Domitiana, which is datable to 95 CE: qualis Cinyphius tacente ripa | Poenos Bagrada serpit inter agros (Silv. 4.3.90 – 91). Certainly, as Smolenaars has observed, the verb serpit alludes to the serpent.⁴⁹ However, the line need not allude to Silius specifically, as the story was known from other sources as well. In any case, the line does not shed light on the problem under consideration. Clearly one poet has consciously imitated the other. But who imitates whom? Personally, I am inclined to believe that Silius has imitated Statius – but that is nothing more than an intuition. How do we determine priority? In the following paragraphs I will first survey earlier scholarship on the problem; then I will discuss some methods (and their problems) for determining priority; and finally I will discuss one more parallel between the two passages, to show that, even for mere philological purposes, it is helpful to read Silius and Statius together.

Status quaestionis In his 1664 commentary on Statius’ Thebaid, Caspar Barth writes (on 5.507): “Nolumus comparare descriptiones Poetarum [sc. Statius and Silius Italicus], quod jam fecerunt alii, et vulgata res talibus cartas implere, nemini non obviis.” One wonders what ‘others’ Barth has in mind; unfortunately he does not provide

 Smolenaars 2006, 232– 233.

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names. More importantly, one wonders why Barth deems the matter so ‘obvious’. Does he mean that the parallels themselves are obvious? Or that the question how the two passages are related is obvious too? From another note (on 5.526) it becomes apparent that, according to Barth, Silius has imitated Statius.⁵⁰ Interestingly, Barth’s note develops into an (amusing) invective against Silius, and one cannot help feeling that Barth’s idea about priority is the product of aesthetic judgement: Statius is the better poet, so Silius must be the imitator. If we believe Legras, Ruperti held the same view.⁵¹ However, in Ruperti’s 1795 notes on Punica 6.140 – 293 I cannot find any statements about priority. Rather, Ruperti seems to believe that the similarities are the result of independent imitation of the same model. On 6.140 ff. he notes: “narrationis ornamenta et colores, in quibus tamen poetae ingenium nimis luxuriatur, Silius aeque ac alii poetae in similibus locis (inpr[imis] Ovid. Met. III, 28 – 100 et Stat. Th. V, 505 sq.) petiit ex Virg. A. II, 209 sq. et VIII, 193 sq.)”. Silius, like Ovid and Statius, has taken his inspiration from Virgil.⁵² Drakenborch, in his 1717 edition of the Punica, mentions some parallels without comment,⁵³ although in one note he seems to suggest that Statius precedes Silius: on 6.181 he notes: “Comparat Silius serpentem hunc tribus maximis serpentibus …; quemadmodum Statius alium serpentem duobus non minoribus comparavit … in v. Theb. vers. 529”. The tenses of the verbs ‘comparat’ and ‘comparavit’ suggest that Drakenborch thinks of Statius as preceding Silius. This idea might be inspired by an idea of amplification as a form of aemulatio: Statius compares his Nemean serpent to t w o other serpents, Silius compares his Bagrada serpent to t h r e e other serpents, so probably Silius has tried to improve upon Statius (as I have suggested above). In the 20th and 21st centuries the relation between the two passages has hardly been studied. Scholars have noted the parallelism, but somehow decided to ignore it. In his 1955 discussion of the Bagrada episode in Silius, Bassett writes: “Correspondences” with Statius … must be understood as nothing  “Quae tolerabiliter Papinius, immani hiatu p r o t u l i t Silius Italicus, cujus Poesis tot senilem conatum habet, neque ingeniosum fere quicquam, nisi forte unum aliquod dictum singulis Libris. … Quo genere plerumque vitiosus est Poeta iste. Ut taceam quod non sibi verba, sed se verbis servire indicat, vocabulis rerum aequalium et fere earundem inhaerens. … Pro bono aliquo auctore legamus hunc Scriptorem, pro Poeta nescio an non erubescamus; vatis vero nihil habet. Judicio insigni in eo tamen fuit, quod agnoscere potuit veram Poesin, cultu Maronis suam conscientiam fassus. Non nego bonas sententias inspergere. Sed et rarae eae sunt, et valde trepide aut pigriter incedunt” (my emphasis).  Legras 1905b, 131.  Virgil’s Laocoon snakes play an important role indeed.  On Sil. Pun. 6.164 he notes: “Pariter Statius de immenso serpente in v. Theb. vers. 516”.

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more than “correspondences” because “the time has n o t y e t come for stating with any certainty that Silius is imitating Statius in a given instance or vice versa” (my emphasis).⁵⁴ Vessey, in his 1973 monograph on the Thebaid, only mentions the correspondence in a footnote.⁵⁵ Spaltenstein, in his commentary on Silius, provides the parallels, but nothing more.⁵⁶ Hutchinson, in his Latin Literature from Seneca to Juvenal, suggests in passing that Statius may have used Silius, without arguments to support the idea that Silius precedes Statius.⁵⁷ Fröhlich, in his excellent 2000 commentary on Punica 6, confines himself to the following: “Zu der szenischen Übereinstimmung gesellen sich noch zahlreiche weitere Korrespondenzen hinzu, von denen sich nur einige auf die gemeinsame ovidische Vorlage (met. 3,28 – 100) zurückführen lassen …, während die meisten für eine direkte literarische Abhängigkeit zwischen Silius und Statius sprechen … . Leider scheint es kaum möglich, einem der beiden Epiker mit Bestimmtheit die Priorität zuzuerkennen”.⁵⁸

Method I: integration Who imitates whom? One criterion frequently used is the degree of ‘integration’: if we find X in both text A and B, the text where X is best integrated in the context is likely to be the model, the other its imitation. In discussing the appearance of the serpent-legged Giants in both passages, I myself have used this criterion to suggest that Silius has imitated Statius. In his 1892 dissertation (mentioned earlier) Helm has used the very same criterion to suggest the opposite: that Statius has imitated Silius. With respect to the snakes that lie across the river (Pun. 6.162– 165; Theb. 5.516 – 517; see above), he claims that in Silius the lines are best integrated in the context and that, therefore, Silius wrote prior to Statius: qua in re si recte iudico, Statii narratio multum nobis praebet offensionis, et quia repente fluvii nominantur adhuc ignoti et quia ludibrium illud non intelligitur; ludibrium enim videtur ille serpentis situs causis non additis. at in Punicis omnia consentaneo quodam cursu fluunt, cum supra de Bagrada flumine edoctis nobis hic optime magnitudo anguis imagine illa indicetur. tota autem loca cum plena ossum et taetro odore informia describantur, satis

 Bassett 1955, 2– 3.  Vessey 1973, 187 n. 2: “For another monstrous serpent, see Silius, Punica 6.151 ff.”  See Spaltenstein 1986 on Sil. Pun. 6.155, 158, 160, 181, 185, 223, 226, 283.  Hutchinson 1993, 121: “[Statius] draws largely on Ovid (Met. iii. 31– 98), as does Silius (vi. 146 – 293); Statius may be making some use of Silius too, as he is of other authors”.  Fröhlich 2000, 196 – 197.

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illius monstri edacitatem cognovimus, ut minime miremur quod crudum talibus utitur remediis.⁵⁹ ergo hoc loco fieri non posse existimo quin Statium ex Punicis exemplum sibi petivisse concedamus.⁶⁰

But Helm is totally subjective. And one might as well agree with Barth, who held the opposite view: “Portentum hoc non incredibile, secundum fluvii quidem Latitudinem. At operosius credi quod in Silio lectum, centum ulnas longum serpentem, maximum Libyae amnem, Bragadam [sic] plus semel emensum corporis prolixitate: nondum etiam … margine ripae”.⁶¹ And one might add that the scene is best integrated in the context in Statius, because it beautifully throws into relief the description of the snake tormented by heat and thirst that follows. In short, this method amounts to little more than aesthetic judgement, the underlying assumption being that an imitation is by definition inferior to its original. And we may agree with Legras, who concludes: “à vrai dire, il ne semble pas que la description de Silius soit plus logique ni mieux composée que celle de Stace … . Ici encore, on ne peut donc rien décider, et la méthode de Helm apparaît insuffisante”.⁶²

Method II: compression and amplification More promising, perhaps, are the Statian principles of imitatio and aemulatio that Gordon Williams has formulated.⁶³ He argues that there are two tendencies in Statius’ technique of imitatio: on the one hand, the poet tends to phrase an element from his model passage as concisely as possible, sometimes even to the point of obscurity, while on the other hand he tends to elaborate or improve upon his model passage. Now let us have yet another look at the bathing snakes, with these opposite principles of ‘compression’ and ‘amplification’ in mind. If we look for compression, one could argue that Statius has compressed Silius’ scene (four lines) into two lines, with the arresting adjective continuus expressing in one single word what took Silius a whole sentence. At the same time, perhaps, Statius’ serpent could be seen as Überbietung of Silius’: the Nemean serpent not only bathes in the river, like Silius’ serpent, it is so enormous that it blocks the stream of the river (incisus)! The problem is, of course, that

    

Helm 1892 reads pastu, not ab aestu (see above s.v. ‘direct imitation’). Helm 1892, 163. Barth 1664 on 5.516 super fluuios. Legras 1905b, 366. Williams 1986.

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one can easily inverse the argumentation and use the very same observations to argue for imitation in the opposite direction: perhaps Silius’ four lines are an amplification of Statius’ more concise language. We are still groping in the dark. The problem is, as Helen Lovatt has also pointed out, that imitatio can take so many different forms: “suppression, miniaturization, and oblique allusion”, she reminds us, “are techniques just as frequently used as capping, elaboration, and multiplication”.⁶⁴ Accordingly, there are many more methods to argue for imitation in this or that direction.

Silius explaining Statius Our inability to establish priority, however, should not result in our shying away from the clear intertextual relation between the two passages. It is still fruitful to read Silius’ Bagrada serpent and Statius’ Nemean serpent together, as they do shed light on each other. The following problem of interpretation in Statius may serve as an illustration. In Thebaid 5.505 – 507 Statius describes the appearance of the Nemean serpent, which will soon (accidentally) kill the infant Opheltes, as follows: interea campis, nemoris sacer horror Achaei, terrigena exoritur serpens tractuque soluto immanem sese vehit ac post terga relinquit.

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Meanwhile an earthborn serpent arises in the meadow, holy horror of the Achaean wood, dragging his huge form in a loose slide and leaving it behind him. (trans. Shackleton Bailey 2003)

The third line, with the adjective immanem applied to the object sese,⁶⁵ nicely suggests that the serpent is hampered by the enormity of its own body; the spondaic rhythm underlines the weight and slow movement of the serpent, as does the placement of the adjective “en tête de vers”.⁶⁶ It also recalls Virgil’s description of the Laocoon snakes (Aen. 2.207– 208: pars cetera pontum | pone legit sinuatque immensa volumine terga); in Statius one can choose to read post either

 Lovatt 2010, 157.  Cf. Theb. 8.273 – 274: (Phoebe) seseque vagantem | colligit; Virg. Aen. 9.597: (Numanus) ingentem sese clamore ferebat. Barth 1664 on 5.506 notes Statius’ fondness for such reflexive constructions.  Taisne 1972, 358.

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as preposition (which makes sese the object of relinquit) or as adverb, like pone in Virgil. For the moment, however, I would like to confine myself to the arresting phrase tractuque soluto in the second line of the passage. What does this mean? Translators have interpreted the phrase in two different ways: (1) Shackleton Bailey translates: ‘dragging his huge form i n a l o o s e s l i d e and leaving it behind him’. This interpretation we also find in Ritchie and Hall: ‘drags its vast weight along i n a s l i t h e r i n g m o t i o n and leaves its length behind it’. This reading finds support in OLD s.v. tractus 1: ‘The action of dragging or pulling along; b (applied to the movement of a snake; of a swimmer)’, with some examples, e. g. [Virg.] Cul. 163: volvens … tractibus isdem … serpens, Val. Max. 1.8.2: per celeberrimas partes … leni tractu labi coepit [serpens], to which we may add Virg. G. 2.154: in spiram tractu se colligit anguis. ⁶⁷ (2) But there is an alternative interpretation. Taisne translates: ‘en déroulant ses anneaux’,⁶⁸ with which we may compare Bindewald: ‘[eine Schlange] die im Vorgehn | ihre gewaltigen Ringe, s i e l ö s e n d , hinter sich her zog’.⁶⁹ This interpretation is also that of Barth, who notes (on 5.507 tractuque soluto): “Contraxerat se enim, nunc omni nexu soluto volvit se per campos erectum qua potest. Tractus alioquin iter seu meatus serpentum.” It is also possible, then, to take tractuque soluto as an ablative absolute, with tractu applied to the actual coils, not their movement. At first sight, the second interpretation may seem too daring even for Statius – tractu as abstractum pro concreto, soluto as simplex pro composito for resoluto. But in the light of Silius, this interpretation suddenly becomes quite convincing (Sil. Pun. 6.227– 229): dira dehinc in bella ruit rapideque resolvens contortos orbes derecto corpore totam extendit molem … Then he began a fearsome conflict, quickly unwinding his coils and stretching his body out to its full length, … (trans. Duff 1934)

It is impossible to tell who imitates whom. One could say, with Gordon Williams in mind, that Statius has compressed Silius’ phrase to the point of obscurity; per-

 Unfortunately, the TLL does not yet include S and T.  Taisne 1972, 357.  Perhaps also Wilson Joyce 2008: ‘Coiling, u n c o i l i n g , | it heaved its huge bulk forward, then left it behind’, although ‘coiling, uncoiling’ probably refers to serpentine motion as in the first interpretation.

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haps Statius expected his readers to understand tractuque soluto through Silius Italicus? In any case, it seems, one poet has consciously imitated the other. If Statius has imitated Silius, interpretation (2) is probably what Statius himself had in mind; if Silius has imitated Statius, then we know at least how he has interpreted Statius’ Latin.

Conclusion The relation between Statius and Silius remains a ‘quaestio difficilis et lubrica’ – the word ‘lubrica’ being most appropriate to the slippery serpents we have been discussing. “The time has not yet come for stating with any certainty that Silius is imitating Statius … or vice versa”, Bassett wrote in 1955. Probably that time will never come, and probably Statius and Silius will remain chicken and egg. That does not mean, however, that we should shy away from reading Silius and Statius together. Even if we cannot determine priority, Silius and Statius do shed light on each other. As has been mentioned in the introduction, Helen Lovatt has recently argued for a more postmodern, reader-response, approach to Silius and Statius: since we cannot determine priority, she suggests, we should instead “look for readings which offer the most interesting story … exploring the possibilities and constructing our own narratives”.⁷⁰ I have offered a few such intertextual stories on the micro-level of the text, reading some phrases in Silius through Statius or the other way around. One might also consider the possibility of constructing intertextual narratives on the macro-level. Would it be possible, for instance, to read the superum contemptor Capaneus, who kills the Nemean serpent, through the lens of the Stoic hero Regulus, who kills the Libyan serpent? Or the other way round? And would Capaneus then intertextually call the heroism of Regulus into question? These questions I leave to the reader. Yet I hope to have given an idea of the methodological problems of the intertextual relation between Statius and Silius, and to have shown that, even for mere philological purposes, it can be rewarding to read these two Flavian poets together.⁷¹

 Lovatt 2010, 158.  I would like to thank Ruurd Nauta and Hans Smolenaars for their helpful comments.

Pramit Chaudhuri

Flaminius’ failure? Intertextual characterization in Silius Italicus and Statius In Punica 5, just before the fateful battle of Trasimene, Silius Italicus narrates an agon between the consul Flaminius and a certain Valerius Corvinus over the notoriously ill omens observed as the Roman army marched to meet the Carthaginians.¹ Silius exploits the freedom provided by the epic genre to exaggerate the prodigies: whereas Livy, for instance, records that Flaminius fell from his horse and that one of the standards could not be pulled from the ground, Silius describes, among other unsettling occurrences, the earth bleeding at the removal of the standards (5.66 – 69) and even spectacular signs sent by Jupiter himself (5.70 – 74):² ac super haec divum genitor terrasque fretumque concutiens tonitru Cyclopum rapta caminis fulmina Tyrrhenas Thrasymenni torsit in undas, ictusque aetheria per stagna patentia flamma fumavit lacus atque arserunt fluctibus ignes.

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Moreover, the father of the gods, shaking land and sea with thunder, seized bolts of lightning from the furnaces of the Cyclopes and hurled them against the Tuscan waters of Trasimene, and struck by heavenly flame throughout its suffering waters the lake smoked and fires burned on its tides.

The image of the god hurling thunderbolts provides more than a splash of epic colour – it makes the presence of the divine an explicit feature of the episode, which therefore has a direct bearing on the substance of the argument between

 A revised and expanded version of this essay will appear in Chaudhuri forthcoming. I am grateful to Ayelet Haimson Lushkov for her expertise on Livy and many suggestions for improvements to the paper.  Unless otherwise indicated, all line references are to the Punica (ed. Duff 1934 with minor adaptations), and all translations are my own. – Livy 22.3.11– 12 reports the prodigies, on which see Levene 1993, 38 – 43. Silius’ omen of the bull fleeing the altar (5.63 – 65) picks up the similarly inauspicious attempt to sacrifice a calf when Flaminius entered office (Livy 21.63.13 – 14), as well as alluding to Virg. Aen. 2.223 – 224 (cf. Spaltenstein 1986, 340). Cf. Cic. Div. 1.77 = Coel. fr. 20 P.

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Flaminius and Corvinus on the validity of omens as an index of divine favour or disfavour.³ The agon itself, unlike the prodigies, has no equivalent in the sources. Although Polybius and Livy report the consul’s rashness, impiety and the disagreement with his advisors over military strategy, the dispute is not framed in terms of the interpretation of omens, and no individual is singled out.⁴ Cicero, following Coelius Antipater, does record a disagreement between Flaminius and the pullarius, but the exchange extends only to a few words, which are much transformed and expanded in Silius’ agon (Cic. Div. 1.77 = Coel. fr. 20 P). Indeed, the figure of Corvinus, who appears neither in other sources nor anywhere else within the Punica, seems to be a fiction invented solely for the purpose of this agon. ⁵ Moreover, Silius draws particular attention to the scene through the emotional intensity of the narrator’s voice immediately prior to Corvinus’ introduction (5.75 – 78): heu vani monitus frustraque morantia Parcas prodigia! heu fatis superi certare minores! atque hic, egregius linguae nomenque superbum, Corvinus …

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Alas for futile warnings and prodigies vainly delaying the Parcae! Alas for gods unable to contend with the fates! At this point, excelling in speech and of distinguished name, Corvinus …

The repeated mentions of fate – in both personified and abstract forms – succinctly emphasize the inevitability of the coming disaster despite Corvinus’ intervention, but they also prepare the way for the subsequent argument to elaborate on the role of human beliefs and actions – specifically, those of Flaminius – in leading to such a dire outcome. In adapting the historiographical character of Flaminius and inserting him into a fictitious agon, Silius naturally drew inspiration from the epic tradition. The argument between one character mindful of omens and another dismissive of supernatural knowledge exemplifies an epic topos with roots stretching back to Homer, and passing through Apollonius Rhodius to Silius’ contemporary, Sta-

 The locus classicus for discussions of the validity of omens is Cicero’s De divinatione. On the complexities involved in its argument see Beard 1986; Schofield 1986; Krostenko 2000. On its connections to the theological discourse of Latin epic see Neri 1986.  Polyb. 3.80.3 – 82.8; Polybius mentions neither omens nor impiety.  For the supposed genealogy of this Corvinus see below.

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tius.⁶ In each of these instances, as with Flaminius and Corvinus, imprudent scepticism – or, in the more extreme cases, impious folly – contends with pious caution. As several critics have noted, however, Silius’ scene has particularly strong resemblances, especially in Flaminius’ speech, to Statius’ agon between the impious Capaneus and the seer Amphiaraus in Thebaid 3.⁷ While history, and indeed epic, has generally not been kind to Flaminius, an intertextual kinship with the theomach Capaneus threatens to turn his rashness and neglect of ritual into a far greater impiety.⁸ Is this simply another example of epic hyperbole, or is there something more to be said for reading one character against another? Flaminius provides an apt example of Silius’ typological characterization, whereby different characters are linked by common features across the Punica in order to offer a sustained examination of a particular type of heroism and its attendant strengths and weaknesses.⁹ These links are not only intratextual but also intertextual as Silius accommodates within his range of characterization allusions to key figures within the preceding epic and historiographical traditions. Because of the difficulty in establishing any relative chronology for the Punica and the Thebaid, however, critics have been reluctant to press the intertextuality between Flaminius and Capaneus.¹⁰ By focusing on the similarities and differences between the two heroes across a range of shared features – valour, impiety and Gigantomachic imagery – the following argument attempts to explain the implications of the intertextuality not only for a reading of Flami-

 I discuss these examples of the topos below. See also Neri 1986, 2016 – 2017; Fantham 2006; Stover 2009.  Neri 1986, 2035 – 2036; Spaltenstein 1986, 345; Ripoll 1998a, 340 – 348; Nau 2005, 170 – 172.  On Flaminius’ flaws see Ahl / Davis / Pomeroy 1986, 2521; Ripoll 1998a, 342– 343. On Capaneus see Klinnert 1970; Leigh 2006; Chaudhuri forthcoming.  Griffin 1985, 183 – 197, discussing Virgil, offers a classic account of the benefits of reading characters typologically. See also Ariemma 2009, on the Punica, which focuses primarily on Varro and his connections to Flaminius and Minucius (cf. Marks 2005a, 19 – 20, 23 n. 29; Tipping 2010, 109 – 110). On exemplarity as a model through which to understand heroism in the Punica see Tipping 2010, 7– 13. On Livy’s similar method of typological characterization see Chapter 3 of Levene 2010, esp. 170 – 172 on Flaminius.  On chronology see Wistrand 1956; Bassett 1963; McDermott / Orentzel 1977; Ahl / Davis / Pomeroy 1986, 2493; Laudizi 1989, 29 – 54. For a refreshingly flexible handling of the relationship between the two epics see Lovatt 2009. I leave open the possibility of direct allusion from one epicist to another, but my argument, like Lovatt’s, will not depend on chronology. In any case, anyone reading the Punica after the Thebaid, as most modern readers tend to do, will have had their approach to Flaminius shaped by their understanding of Capaneus. On the interpretability of various types of intertextuality, some clearly non-allusive, see Hinds 1998, 17– 51; on the theoretical issues underlying discussions of intertextuality see Edmunds 2001.

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nius, but also for his place within the heroic economy of the Punica. I use Capaneus as a foil here, not as a focus of the enquiry in his own right, partly for reasons of scope and partly because the relationship between the two characters is not symmetrical: given his relatively greater importance within the Thebaid, Capaneus informs a larger proportion of Flaminius’ characterization than vice versa.¹¹ I begin by examining two formative examples of the topos from the Iliad and Apollonius’ Argonautica in order to highlight the especially close connection between the two scenes in the Punica and Thebaid. The next section of the essay argues that the intertextuality with Capaneus invites the reader to locate Flaminius along a spectrum of impiety, which has further implications for his relationship to other heroes within the poem. I then argue, in the third section, that identifying the similarities and differences with respect to Capaneus emphasizes Flaminius’ doubleness: on the one hand he represents a pious, Jovian or Herculean Giant-killer and Roman hero, but on the other hand he also represents an impious, Giant-like figure, who bears a disturbing resemblance to a Gaul. This tension between identities, much heightened by the comparison with Capaneus, encapsulates the competing forms of heroism that will dominate much of the rest of the epic, especially of Hannibal and Scipio. I conclude by suggesting that Flaminius’ embodiment of multiple, conflicting characteristics emphasizes the ultimate difficulty of defining and separating particular heroic identities in the Punica.

Topoi and intertextuality The agon is part of a longstanding epic topos, which has certain standard characteristics, such as a disregard for the divine, accusations of cowardice and overconfidence in one’s might. Not all instances of the topos are exactly alike, however, and two canonical examples are worth looking at in order to show how Silius’ and Statius’ versions have a particular affinity. The first example of the type occurs between Hector and Polydamas in Iliad 12 just before the Trojans breach the Achaean wall, an action that will eventually lead to the return of Achilles to the fighting and to Hector’s death. When the Trojans are alarmed by an inauspicious bird omen, Polydamas warns Hector of the dire implications and recommends that they call off the attack on the ships, concluding that ‘this is how a

 Moreover, other characters, such as Virgil’s Mezentius and Ovid’s Lycaon, have considerably greater bearing than Flaminius on Statius’ Capaneus (see Chaudhuri forthcoming).

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prophet would respond, who understood the portents clearly in his heart and to whom the people would listen’ (ὧδέ χ’ ὑποκρίναιτο θεοπρόπος, ὃς σάφα θυμῷ | εἰδείη τεράων καί οἱ πειθοίατο λαοί, Il. 12.228 – 229). Hector replies by setting up an opposition between his own confidence in the support of Zeus and the meaninglessness of bird omens (Il. 12.233 – 243): εἰ δ’ ἐτεὸν δὴ τοῦτον ἀπὸ σπουδῆς ἀγορεύεις, ἐξ ἄρα δή τοι ἔπειτα θεοὶ φρένας ὤλεσαν αὐτοί, ὃς κέλεαι Ζηνὸς μὲν ἐριγδούποιο λαθέσθαι βουλέων, ἅς τέ μοι αὐτὸς ὑπέσχετο καὶ κατένευσε· τύνη δ’ οἰωνοῖσι τανυπτερύγεσσι κελεύεις πείθεσθαι, τῶν οὔ τι μετατρέπομ’ οὐδ’ ἀλεγίζω εἴτ’ ἐπὶ δεξί’ ἴωσι πρὸς ἠῶ τ’ ἠέλιόν τε, εἴτ’ ἐπ’ ἀριστερὰ τοί γε ποτὶ ζόφον ἠερόεντα. ἡμεῖς δὲ μεγάλοιο Διὸς πειθώμεθα βουλῇ, ὃς πᾶσι θνητοῖσι καὶ ἀθανάτοισιν ἀνάσσει. εἷς οἰωνὸς ἄριστος ἀμύνεσθαι περὶ πάτρης.

235

240

If you really say this in seriousness, then the gods themselves have surely destroyed your wits, you who urge me to forget the counsels of thundering Zeus, which he himself promised to me and assented to, while you bid me obey the omens of long-winged birds, which I neither look to nor heed in the slightest whether they fly on the right to the dawn and sun, or on the left to the cloudy west. Let us obey the will of great Zeus, who rules over all mortals and immortals. The single best omen is to defend one’s homeland.

It is important to note that Hector’s opposition to Polydamas is based not on outright impiety, as we shall see in some of the later examples, but rather on a misplaced privileging of his own relationship to the gods, an error of which Flaminius, too, will be guilty. Hector goes on to assert that Polydamas’ true motive for advocating withdrawal is cowardice (Il. 12.244– 250): τίπτε σὺ δείδοικας πόλεμον καὶ δηϊοτῆτα; εἴ περ γάρ τ’ ἄλλοι γε περὶ κτεινώμεθα πάντες νηυσὶν ἐπ’ Ἀργείων, σοὶ δ’ οὐ δέος ἔστ’ ἀπολέσθαι· οὐ γάρ τοι κραδίη μενεδήϊος οὐδὲ μαχήμων. εἰ δὲ σὺ δηϊοτῆτος ἀφέξεαι, ἠέ τιν’ ἄλλον παρφάμενος ἐπέεσσιν ἀποτρέψεις πολέμοιο, αὐτίκ’ ἐμῷ ὑπὸ δουρὶ τυπεὶς ἀπὸ θυμὸν ὀλέσσεις. Why are you afraid of war and battle? If all the rest of us die about

245

250

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the ships of the Greeks, you should not fear to die; for your heart is neither staunch nor warlike. But if you flee the battle or persuading anyone else with words turn them from the war, straightaway struck by my spear you will lose your life.

Hector’s accusations and threats, which are also formative for the topos, do not prevent him from responding more positively to Polydamas’ advice in the following book, namely that the Trojans should re-group before deciding whether to launch another assault or withdraw to the city (Il. 13.723 – 753). The opportunity for a more considered strategy is lost, however, when, with the consent of Zeus, the Trojans advance even to the point of setting fire to the Achaean ships, a success which turns to disaster when the tide of battle turns and the Trojans are caught far from the city. Later in the epic, after Achilles has routed the Trojans, Hector worries that if he retreats to the city he will have to endure Polydamas’ reproaches for not heeding his earlier warnings to be more cautious (Il. 22.99 – 103). It is striking, however, that even when Hector imagines such reproaches, he does not conceive his fault as a misplaced trust in Zeus, but rather overconfidence in his own prowess: Ἕκτωρ ἧφι βίηφι πιθήσας ὤλεσε λαόν (‘Hector has destroyed the army, trusting in his own might’, Il. 22.107). It is this overconfidence in one’s own strength and in one’s individual capacity to determine the course of events that will come to typify the figure of the sceptical or impious hero. The element of impiety appears more emphatically in the agon between Idas and the seer Idmon in Apollonius’ Argonautica. ¹² As Jason sits brooding during a feast, Idas interprets his reticence as cowardice and boastfully explains why there should be nothing to fear (Ap. Rhod. Arg. 1.466 – 471): ἴστω νῦν δόρυ θοῦρον, ὅτῳ περιώσιον ἄλλων κῦδος ἐνὶ πτολέμοισιν ἀείρομαι, οὐδέ μ’ ὀφέλλει Ζεὺς τόσον ὁσσάτιόν περ ἐμὸν δόρυ, μή νύ τι πῆμα λοίγιον ἔσσεσθαι μηδ’ ἀκράαντον ἄεθλον Ἴδεω γ’ ἑσπομένοιο, καὶ εἰ θεὸς ἀντιόῳτο· τοῖόν μ’ Ἀρήνηθεν ἀοσσητῆρα κομίζεις.

470

Let my rushing spear be witness now, with which beyond all others I carry off glory in wars – nor does Zeus aid me so much as my spear – that no grief shall be deadly nor any challenge unfulfilled

 See Clauss 1993, 79 – 80, and, on the scene’s reception in Statius’ Thebaid, Stover 2009, esp. 440 – 443.

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while Idas follows, even if a god should encounter us; such an aid am I whom you bring from Arene.

In claiming to depend on his spear more than Zeus and in promising to overcome even a god, Apollonius locates Idas in a tradition of impious heroes in Greek literature, including Capaneus and Parthenopaeus in Aeschylus’ Septem contra Thebas. ¹³ The seer Idmon responds that Idas’ boasts dishonour the gods and thereby threaten to bring disaster; to illustrate his point he invokes the myth of the gigantic sons of Aloeus (Ap. Rhod. Arg. 1.481– 484): τοῖα φάτις καὶ τοὺς πρὶν ἐπιφλύειν μακάρεσσιν υἷας Ἀλωιάδας, οἷς οὐδ’ ὅσον ἰσοφαρίζεις ἠνορέην, ἔμπης δὲ θοοῖς ἐδάμησαν ὀιστοῖς ἄμφω Λητοΐδαο, καὶ ἴφθιμοί περ ἐόντες. Such boasts, the story goes, the sons of Aloeus poured out against the gods, whom you in no way equal in strength, but they were nevertheless both slain by the arrows of Leto’s son, though they were mighty.

The sons of Aloeus, whose feats were often conflated or confused with the Gigantomachy, provide a well-known paradigm of human over-reaching. In the Iliad, for instance, the goddess Dione cites another story of the Aloidae binding Ares as an example of mortal transgression, though she leaves implicit their later downfall at the hands of Apollo (Il. 5.383 – 391). The dismissal of omens, and by extension of prophetic figures, implies a disregard for the basic sources of authority by which the will of the gods was known in the ancient world. It is a small step from there, passages like Apollonius’ suggest, to an impious disregard for the gods themselves, analogous to mythological acts of theomachy. Idas finally rounds off the agon by casting doubt on the power of prophecy and threatening the seer (Ap. Rhod. Arg. 1.487– 491): ἄγρει νυν τόδε σῇσι θεοπροπίῃσιν ἐνίσπες, εἰ καὶ ἐμοὶ τοιόνδε θεοὶ τελέουσιν ὄλεθρον οἷον Ἀλωιάδῃσι πατὴρ τεὸς ἐγγυάλιξε· φράζεο δ’ ὅππως χεῖρας ἐμὰς σόος ἐξαλέοιο, χρειὼ θεσπίζων μεταμώνιον εἴ κεν ἁλῴης.

490

 Cf. Septem 427– 429 (Capaneus) and 529 – 532 (Parthenopaeus). Wissmann 2000, 453 – 454, argues that Apollonius’ agon alludes to the confrontation of Tydeus and Amphiaraus in the Septem.

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Come now, tell me this in your prophecies, whether the gods will fulfil the same ruin for me too which your father promised to the Aloidae. But consider how you might escape from my hands unharmed if you are caught making a prophecy empty as the wind.

Where Hector had threatened Polydamas neither to flee nor to dissuade the Trojans from battle on the basis of his interpretation of omens, Idas threatens Idmon not for actions consequent upon prophetic interpretation but for the act of interpretation itself. Apollonius’ agon thus offers a starker and more fundamental opposition between attitudes to omens and prophecies, which goes hand-in-hand with an equally sharp contrast in attitudes to the gods themselves. Silius and Statius draw on different aspects of this tradition in their own versions of the topos. ¹⁴ Both scenes describe ill omens pointing to military disaster, which in the Thebaid take the form of an elaborate augury and bird omen figuring the deaths of the Argive champions.¹⁵ An agon then follows in which sceptical dismissals and exhortations to battle (by Flaminius and Capaneus, respectively) militate against the insistence on the validity of omens as signs of divine will (by Corvinus and Amphiaraus). To the extent that Corvinus also offers strategic advice to wait for the other consul (5.92– 100), he combines the historiographical record of disagreement between Flaminius and his aides with the warnings of Polydamas in Iliad 13. What sets the Statian agon apart from the other intertexts as a compelling comparandum for the Silian passage, however, is the combination of language and context. A few passages in particular, laid out in the table below, demonstrate clear overlap in detail and diction between Flaminius and Capaneus (I have deitalicized those Latin words common to, or sharing a similar function in, both sets of passages):¹⁶

 See Juhnke 1972, 83 – 85, 388; Neri 1986, 2016 n. 233, 2035.  Theb. 3.460 – 551. Vessey 1973, 154, Fantham 2006, 155, and Stover 2009, 446, all suggest an intertextual connection between the Statian augury and the competing interpretations of a bird omen by Liger and Bogus at Pun. 4.101– 142. On both scenes see Ripoll 2002, 936 – 960.  For earlier references in the scholarship to these similarities see n. 7 above.

Flaminius’ failure?

Punica

Thebaid

quippe monent superi. similes ne fingite vobis, classica qui tremitis, divos. sat magnus in hostem augur adest ensis, pulchrumque et milite dignum auspicium Latio, quod in armis dextera praestat.

virtus mihi numen et ensis, quem teneo!

Sure, the gods warn us – don’t imagine the gods similar to you, who tremble at the clarion call. The sword is a great enough augur against the enemy, and it is a beautiful omen worthy of a Roman soldier that my right hand shows in arms. (. – )

deforme sub armis vana superstitio est; dea sola in pectore Virtus bellantum viget. For armed men empty superstition is a disgrace; valour is the only goddess that flourishes in the hearts of warriors. (. – )

387

Valour is my god and the sword that I hold! (. – )

tuus o furor auguret uni ista tibi, ut serves vacuos inglorius annos ettuanonumquamTyrrhenustemporacircum clangoreat. quidvotavirummeliora moraris? Let that frenzy of yours augur those things for you alone, that you may preserve your empty years without glory and that the Tyrrhenian clangour not surround your head. Why do you delay the better wishes of men? (. – )

illic augur ego There [in battle] I shall be augur (.)

nam dum vos augur et extis quaesitae fibrae vanusque moratur haruspex … For while the augur and the fibres sought from the entrails and the empty soothsayer delay you, … (. – )

Cf. . – : sunt et mihi provida dextrae | omina Prescient too are the omens of my right hand

Flaminius’ claims about the sword as its own augur, the superstition of omens and the sufficiency of valour as a divine force all have close counterparts in Capaneus’ language.¹⁷ Capaneus also tells Amphiaraus not ‘to postpone the day of battle with veins and the sighting of birds’ (venisque aut alite visa | bellorum proferre diem, Theb. 3.665 – 666), an order which could just as easily be given by Flaminius to Corvinus. Moreover, Flaminius’ indignation at the prospect of being

 Cf. also vanis avibus (Theb. 3.652) and classica (Theb. 3.662) with the Punica passages above, and inertia (Theb. 3.660) with inerti (5.121). Both Capaneus and Flaminius have a common source in Virgil’s Mezentius (cf. Aen. 10.773; Ripoll 1998a, 341– 342), who in turn looks back to Apollonius’ Idas (cf. Harrison 1991, 258).

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forced to hold his position, while Hannibal continues to lay waste to Italy and while the Roman defeat at the Trebia haunts the consul’s dreams (5.121– 129), corresponds to Capaneus’ outrage at the thought of the ambush of Tydeus going unavenged (Theb. 3.653 – 655).¹⁸ This overlap goes well beyond any similarities with the other examples of the topos: by contrast, in the Iliad, Hector does not claim his sword as a substitute for prophecy, nor his valour as a god, and in the Argonautica, where Idas does make similar claims, his argument with Idmon does not concern the interpretation of a set of omens, nor the decision whether to fight. The application to Flaminius of language used of Capaneus, a theomach who will challenge Jupiter to battle in Book 10 of the Thebaid, appears strikingly disproportional even accounting for poetic licence.¹⁹ Yet it is precisely the identification of the intertextuality – whether or not Silius was writing with Capaneus in mind – that invites an enquiry into the nature and extent of Flaminius’ impiety.

A spectrum of impiety When Corvinus and the other Romans pray that Flaminius not ‘struggle with the gods’ (caelicolis contendere, 5.104), they mean that he should not defy the omens.²⁰ The act of disregarding omens before battle recalls other episodes in Roman history, such as Claudius Pulcher’s drowning of the sacred chickens during the First Punic War, all of which are followed by Roman defeat.²¹ This sceptical attitude to omens marks Flaminius as one who defies standard religious practice, and harmonizes with the senatorial criticism recorded by Livy – angered by the new consul’s decision to avoid his religious duties at Rome and enter office at Ariminum they protest that ‘Gaius Flaminius was waging war not only with the senate, but now even with the immortal gods’ (non cum senatu

 For the historiographical source of Flaminius’ rhetoric see Livy 22.3.10; Cic. Div. 1.77 = Coel. fr. 20 P.  For Capaneus’ challenge see his speech at Theb. 10.899 – 906.  5.103 – 104: nunc superos, ne Flaminio, nunc deinde precari | Flaminium, ne caelicolis contendere perstet (‘they pray now that the gods do not fight against Flaminius, now that Flaminius does not persist in struggling against the gods’). Though the Romans do not know it, there is a sense in which Flaminius, far from opposing the gods, actually facilitates their will, for Juno herself is said to have chosen Flaminius to bring about this defeat (4.709 – 710).  On Claudius Pulcher see Cic. Div. 1.29 and 2.20 (both books of the De divinatione discuss several examples of generals ignoring omens, including Flaminius; cf. Nat. D. 2.7–8); Livy, Per. 19; Suet. Tib. 2.6. Among the inauspicious signs described by Silius before the battle of Trasimene, the sacred chickens refuse to eat (5.59 – 62); cf. Cic. Div. 1.7 = Coel. fr. 20 P.

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389

modo sed iam cum dis immortalibus C. Flaminium bellum gerere, Livy 21.63.6). Flaminius’ Capaneus-like rhetoric, however, retrospectively casts the shadow of a greater impiety over the significance of the words caelicolis contendere. ²² Whether Silius directly alludes to Statius or the two heroes simply share a structural and lexical similarity within epic discourse, the phrase caelicolis contendere points to the type of literary role Flaminius is about to play and the likely consequences for the army. The Statian intertext suggests that Flaminius, far from comprehending the metaliterary hint not to act like a theomach, insists on over-assiduously playing the role of impious hero, who might literally fight the gods. And yet, unlike Capaneus, Flaminius’ antagonism to the divine never rises above his dismissal of the omens. So, whereas Capaneus goes as far as to speak of the gods as a human fiction (primus in orbe deos fecit timor!, Theb. 3.661), Flaminius readily acknowledges the gods.²³ Indeed, he even encourages one of his men to carry the spolia opima to the temple of Jupiter (5.167– 168) and another to perform the rites of Apollo on Mt Soracte (5.179 – 181). Analogous sentiments are, unsurprisingly, never voiced by Capaneus. The intertextuality here thus reveals a spectrum of impiety, at the one end of which lie familiar episodes of aristocratic arrogance and rashness, which manifests itself primarily in the rejection of ritual (as with the drowning of the sacred chickens), and at the other end of which lies all-out theomachy. Invoking that spectrum, I suggest, introduces into the Punica an important discourse on impiety and the human relationship with the divine. Silius ostentatiously re-inserts the gods into his historical epic, a narrative choice not just the opposite of Lucan’s, but also, necessarily, much more emphatic than Livy’s, whose divine apparatus, such as it is, responds to the generic demands of historiography rather than epic.²⁴ Silius’ gods, rather, descend from the interventionist gods of Virgil – they have anthropomorphized form, they involve themselves in the action and the plot of the poem, and they have favourites with whom they directly interact,

 Cf. Neri 1986, 2036. Silius subtly foreshadows the episode’s theomachic theme from the aetiology of the lake’s name: ‘for you, Trasimene, could compete in beauty with the gods’ (nam forma certare deis, Thrasymenne, valeres, 5.16). Cf. 5.76: heu fatis superi certare minores! (‘alas for gods unable to contend with the fates!’).  For the apparent inconsistency in Capaneus’ attitude to the gods see Chaudhuri forthcoming. Flaminius’ language can also hint at more radical beliefs: one may read as more than rhetorical, for instance, the claim that Virtus is the ‘only goddess’ (dea sola, 5.126) in the hearts of warriors (cf. Livy 22.5.2); and when telling Corvinus not to ‘imagine’ the gods to be similar to him, the verb fingite (5.117) raises the possibility that gods are simply fashioned to fit human conceptions. On the divinization of virtus in the republic see McDonnell 2006, 209 – 212.  For Livy’s manipulation of religious material to fit the requirements of the genre see Levene 1993. For Silius’ handling of the gods see Feeney 1991, 301– 312.

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whether Juno’s guardianship of Hannibal or Venus’ enfeebling of the Carthaginians at Capua.²⁵ With such a strong divine presence in the poem, the fate of Rome, and thus the course of the epic, hangs in part on the direct connection between actions on earth and in heaven: Hannibal, repeatedly cast as impious, is a threat to Rome; Scipio, repeatedly cast as pious, is its saviour. That Flaminius’ impiety goes hand-in-hand with his jeopardizing of Roman fortunes is part of the historiographical tradition, to be sure, but Silius has clearly gone beyond the parameters of his source. Flaminius’ intertextual similarity to Capaneus encourages us to read his language not as mere epic window-dressing for a historical account, but rather, and more ambitiously, as a component or index of the heroic and theological economy of the Punica. Flaminius’ characterization, in fact, dovetails with the presentation of Hannibal and Scipio, the iconic heroes of the epic – a dualism highlighted by the Statian intertext.

Irony, reversal, and foreshadowing The role of Flaminius as counterfoil or precursor to other characters in the Punica, especially in terms of his relationship to the divine, emerges from the ambivalence of his heroism. In particular, various aspects of his characterization associate him with one side or the other in the mythical Gigantomachy, which suggests further overlap with Capaneus and has deeper implications for the construction of heroism in the Punica. As part of this larger system of associations, Flaminius rhetorically casts the Gallic tribe of the Boii, whom he had defeated in an earlier campaign, as Giants (5.110 – 113): quas ego tunc animas dextra, quae corpora fudi irata tellure sata et vix vulnere vitam reddentes uno! iacuere ingentia membra per campos magnisque premunt nunc ossibus arva.

110

What lives I took with my right hand, what bodies I laid low, born from the angry earth and scarcely giving up their life at one blow! Their huge limbs lay throughout the plains and now they press the fields with their large bones.

Flaminius’ allusion to the Giants primarily rests on the Gauls’ proverbially imposing stature, though it may also hint at the myth of their descent from the

 Juno, for instance, saves Hannibal’s life at Zama at 17.567– 580; Venus intervenes at Capua at 11.385 – 423.

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Giant, Keltos.²⁶ The association is clearly signalled, moreover, by irata tellure sata, which alludes to the myth of the Giants’ origin from Earth.²⁷ Consequently, the rhetorical conceit also represents Flaminius himself as a Hercules or Jupiterlike figure, and in any case as a hero who restores order against the destructive violence of the Giants. Silius, however, goes on to undermine the stability of Flaminius’ self-aggrandizing rhetoric. When the consul readies himself for battle, Silius draws particular attention to the helmet Flaminius had won in the earlier battle against the Boii, in which he defeated their king, Gargenus (5.130 – 139): nec mora iam medio coetu signisque sub ipsis postrema aptabat nulli exorabilis arma. aere atque aequorei tergo flavente iuvenci cassis erat munita viro, cui vertice surgens triplex crista iubas effudit crine Suevo; Scylla super fracti contorquens pondera remi instabat saevosque canum pandebat hiatus, nobile Gargeni spolium, quod rege superbus Boiorum caeso capiti illacerabile victor aptarat pugnasque decus portabat in omnis.

130

135

Now, without delay, amidst his company and by the standards themselves, open to no entreaty, he put on his arms for the last time. The hero’s helmet was strengthened with bronze and the tawny hide of a sea-calf, from the top of which rose a triple crest spreading a mane of Suevian hair; a Scylla brandishing a heavy broken oar stood above and opened the savage jaws of her dogs, the noble spoil of Gargenus, which – unbreakable – the proud victor had put on his head after slaying the king of the Boii, and he bore the trophy in all his battles.

 Spaltenstein 1986, 345. The association goes back to the Great Altar of Pergamum, which depicted the Gigantomachy in commemoration of the defeat of the Gauls (cf. Hardie 1986, 120 – 143).  For the Giants as children of Earth see, canonically, Hes. Theog. 183 – 186. Cf. Virg. Aen. 4.178 – 183, where Earth, angry with the gods (ira inritata deorum, Aen. 4.178), is said to have given birth to Fama, sister of the Giants Coeus and Enceladus. Further hints of the Gigantomachy may also be found in the multiple blows required to kill the Gauls (cf. the deaths of several Giants described in the account of the Gigantomachy at Apollod. 1.34– 38), and in the sound of premunt ossibus, which may allude to the Giants’ piling of the mountains of Ossa and Pelion (cf. e. g. Sen. Thy. 812; Aetna 49).

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The act of putting on an opponent’s arms in epic has several inauspicious precedents, such as Hector’s donning of the armour of Patroclus in the Iliad or Turnus’ wearing of Pallas’ sword-belt in the Aeneid. ²⁸ Silius, too, emphasizes the direct line between Flaminius’ death and his earlier triumph over Gargenus by the repetition of the verb apto before the battle of Trasimene (postrema aptabat arma, 5.131) and after the defeat of the Gallic king (aptarat, 5.139). Furthermore, just before Flaminius’ death, Ducarius bids his fellow Gauls avenge the earlier defeat (5.652– 655): nec vos paeniteat, populares, fortibus umbris hoc mactare caput. nostros hic curribus egit insistens victos alta ad Capitolia patres. ultrix hora vocat.

655

Fear not, my countrymen, to sacrifice this life to the brave shades. This is the man who stood in his chariot and drove our defeated fathers to the high Capitol. The hour of vengeance calls.

By wearing the helmet, Flaminius comes to resemble his erstwhile opponents, and through his disastrous leadership he himself fulfils the vengeance desired by the Gauls. A further consequence of the assimilation of the consul with a Gaul, however, follows from Flaminius’ own rhetoric: his presenting the earlier battle as a Gigantomachy is now turned on its head, as he resembles not only a Gaul, but by extension also a Giant. At this point, the previous Statian intertexts acquire even greater potency, since the Thebaid describes Capaneus as the most Giant-like of epic heroes, who even bears a representation of a Giant on the crest of his helmet.²⁹ In using language in the agon that fits with the characterization of a theomach, Flaminius thus pre-empts and strengthens his assimilation to a

 The ekphrasis of Flaminius’ helmet (5.130 – 139) also hints at further intertextuality with Capaneus, this time with the catalogue in Thebaid 4, especially when the passage is taken together with the two lines immediately following (loricam induitur: tortos huic nexilis hamos | ferro squama rudi permixtoque asperat auro, 5.140 – 141). Compare the diction of the Punica passage with the similar words, cognates and sounds at Theb. 4.165 – 174: vertice, iuvencis, terga, super, aenae (with Silius’ aere), squalet (with squama), triplici, ramosa (with remi), aspera, fulvo (with flavente), auro, torpens (with contorquens), ferro, nexilis. Many of these words represent standard vocabulary for the type-scene, of course, and Spaltenstein 1986, 347– 348, has pointed out other, Virgilian source passages, but the density of overlap with Statius suggests that a more specific connection to Capaneus may be present. On the Statian passage see Parkes 2012, ad loc.  For Capaneus as Giant see, e. g., Theb. 10.849 – 852; 4.175 – 176 (the Giant on his helmet; on this and other Gigantic associations in the catalogue scene see Harrison 1992).

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Giant, a resemblance that itself emerged from his own ambivalent allusions to Gigantomachy. Flaminius’ agon with Corvinus plays on and deepens his complex relations to both Gaul and Giant. Like Flaminius, Corvinus’ role in this regard is encapsulated in the description of his helmet (5.78 – 80): Corvinus, Phoebea sedet cui casside fulva ostentans ales proavitae insignia pugnae, plenus et ipse deum …

80

Corvinus, on whose golden helmet sits the bird of Phoebus, showing the emblem of his ancestral battle, and he himself full of the god …

As his name and the mention of an ancestral battle indicate, Corvinus traces his descent from Marcus Valerius Corvus (or Corvinus, both names are attested).³⁰ Livy records Corvus’ defeat of a Gaul in single combat with the mysterious aid of a raven that suddenly sat on the Roman’s helmet and attacked his opponent during the duel (Livy 7.26.1– 5). In identifying Corvinus in this way, Silius offers the reader two rival claimants to be the most pre-eminent opponent of the Gauls, either Corvinus through his familial legacy, or Flaminius through his defeat of the Boii. In arguing against Corvinus, however, Flaminius already undermines his claim to be a vanquisher of Gauls and thus hints at the multiple roles he will play as both Roman commander and Gaul. The description of the raven as Phoebea ales follows the standard mythological association of the bird with Apollo.³¹ In drawing attention to a divine element, Silius’ periphrasis for corvus recalls that the raven in Valerius Corvus’ duel was viewed as a portent indicating the will of the gods.³² The mention of Phoebus also hints at Corvinus’ prophetic status, especially when Silius states that his speech is inspired by the gods (plenus et ipse deum, 5.80).³³ This seerlike characterization, implied already by the structural role Corvinus occupies within the topos of the agon, and similar to that of Polydamas, Idmon and Amphiaraus, is further strengthened by Corvinus’ explicit regard for the gods (ne  See Volkmann, RE VII A, 2412– 2414, with Oakley 1997, 238 – 239, on Livy’s Corvus.  Cf. Spaltenstein 1986, 342.  Livy 7.26.4: quod primo ut augurium caelo missum laetus accepit tribunus, precatus deinde, si divus, si diva esset qui sibi praepetem misisset, volens propitius adesset (‘the tribune first received this happily as an omen sent from heaven, then he prayed that whoever sent the bird – whether god or goddess – be favourable and propitious’).  Cf. Spaltenstein 1986, 342: “Sil. s’inspire aussi de la réputation prophétique du corbeau, qui justifie la prescience de Corvinus”.

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dedignare secundos | exspectare deos, ‘do not disdain to wait for the favour of the gods’, 5.87– 88). Although Corvinus plays the part of the pious counsellor well, Silius invites the reader to see a profound doubleness entailed in Flaminius’ opposition. On the one hand, and on his own rhetoric, Flaminius appears as the Gaul-killing (and thus also Giant-killing) hero who has regard for Jupiter and Apollo; on the other hand, however, his hostility to Corvinus symbolically places him in opposition to Apollo, as a Gaul/Giant figure whose Capaneus-like speech pits him against Jupiter, and indeed all the gods. Intriguingly, the oscillation between Giant and anti-Giant in Flaminius’ characterization corresponds to the grander, and more explicit, dialectic Statius uses for Capaneus: though much more consistently Giant-like than Flaminius, Capaneus too figures himself as a Giant-killer when he threatens a serpent sacred to Jupiter: at non mea vulnera … | … | effugies … | … | non, si consertum super haec mihi membra Giganta | subveheres (‘ “you will not escape my wounds … not even if you carried a Giant upon those limbs to battle against me” ’, Theb. 5.565 – 570).³⁴ In itself, the double association of an epic hero with Giant and anti-Giant is nothing new: Virgil famously compares Aeneas to Aegaeon, a simile that challenges the reader to reflect on the nature of the hero’s piety.³⁵ But what sets Flaminius and Capaneus apart from that kind of ambivalence is the explicit way in which their own rhetoric, not just the voice of the poet, plays with the theme of the Gigantomachy. Both Flaminius and Capaneus knowingly draw on the imagery of the Giants in order to magnify their own heroism, though they do so without the self-awareness to see the full implications for themselves. Flaminius’ oscillation between Giant and anti-Giant is all the more striking because it reflects a larger dualism fundamental to the heroism of the Punica – the tension between the Gigantism of Hannibal and the Jovian symbolism of Scipio.³⁶ The former, for instance, will come perilously close to theomachy when he attacks Rome in the face of Jupiter’s lightning in book 12.³⁷ Indeed, even his patron goddess, Juno, accepts that the hero has overreached: cede deis tandem et Titania desine bella (‘yield to the gods at last and cease your Titanic wars’,

 On the duality of Capaneus here and elsewhere see Lovatt 2005, 133 – 136. For the common conception of Giants as ‘serpent-legged’ cf. e. g. anguipedum (Ov. Met. 1.184); they are frequently represented as such in art (LIMC s.v. Gigantes).  See Hardie 1986, 154– 156; Kronenberg 2005, 406.  See Fucecchi 1990b; Marks 2005a, 168 – 169; Tipping 2010, 68.  For Hannibal as theomach see 12.605 – 728, Fucecchi 1990b, esp. 31– 32 on Capaneus; Ripoll 1998a, 342– 344, esp. on Flaminius’ similarity to, yet falling short of, Hannibal and Capaneus; and Chaudhuri forthcoming.

395

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12.725). Scipio, on the other hand, claims descent from Jupiter, an old legend that Silius relates through the mouth of Scipio’s mother, Pomponia, in the underworld (13.615 – 644).³⁸ Moreover, the closing lines of the epic not only reiterate and legitimize the story, but also compare Scipio in his triumph to Hercules after the Gigantomachy (17.649 – 654):³⁹ aut cum Phlegraeis confecta mole Gigantum, incessit campis tangens Tirynthius astra. salve, invicte parens, non concessure Quirino laudibus ac meritis, non concessure Camillo. nec vero, cum te memorat de stirpe deorum, prolem Tarpei, mentitur Roma, Tonantis.

650

… or as when the Tirynthian, after he had destroyed the might of the Giants, triumphed over the Phlegraean plains touching the stars. Hail, undefeated father, not yielding to Quirinus in glory or merit, nor yielding to Camillus. And in truth, when she recalls your divine origins, Rome does not lie that you are the offspring of the Tarpeian Thunderer.

With this apparent polarization of Hannibal and Scipio in mind, let us turn back to Flaminius. The defeat at Trasimene suggests two interpretations of Flaminius’ own Gigantism: either it is his impiety – his Giant-like quality – that leads to the disaster, as Corvinus’ warning implies, or he is not quite Giant-like enough and is simply bested by someone who plays that role more convincingly, that is, Hannibal.⁴⁰ We see a similar pattern in the case of Capaneus when in Thebaid 9 he kills Hypseus, son of the theomachic river Asopus; Hypseus may inherit some of his father’s theomachic boldness, but he is no match for the ultimate theomach of the poem.⁴¹ The pattern of being outperformed by a superior instantiation of  Cf. Livy 26.19.6 – 7. The bibliography on the Scipionic legend is extensive, but Walbank 1967 remains seminal.  Cf. Hardie 1997b, 159 – 160, esp. 159: “a resumptive allusion to a hero and a myth central to the imagery of the whole poem”.  Moreover, Hannibal both associates himself, and is associated with, the Gauls: see, e. g., 2.33 – 35 (cf. Tipping 2010, 65, for further references). There is some irony in Flaminius’ warning to the fleeing Roman soldiers that they ‘are giving Hannibal fire and sword against the Tarpeian shrine of the Thunderer’ (vos in Tarpeia Tonantis | tecta faces ferrumque datis, 5.635 – 636) when Flaminius himself has shown qualities that align him with a theomach.  Asopus’ theomachy is related at Theb. 7.315 – 329, Hypseus offers a theomachic prayer at Theb. 7.730 – 735, and Capaneus kills Hypseus at Theb. 9.546 – 559. That Statius is pitting one theomach-type against another in sequence in Thebaid 9 is made clear by Hypseus’ own triumph over the body of Hippomedon (Theb. 9.540 – 546), who had fought the river-god Ismenus (Theb. 9.446 – 539).

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the type is equally applicable to the relationship between Flaminius and Scipio. Flaminius’ description of his defeat of the Gauls as a kind of Gigantomachy suggests a certain Jovian pretension, which is only partially substantiated in Flaminius’ individual feats during the battle itself when his assault is compared to a storm sent by Jupiter (5.384– 391). But if any character can make the case for channelling the authority of Jupiter, however rhetorically, it is Scipio, whose supposed descent from the god is given such emphasis by the poet. Beyond the obvious follies of Flaminius’ military strategy, then, in epic terms his failure seems to consist in not living up to the potential of his own symbolism, which must ultimately be realized by other characters. Such a typological intra- and intertextual approach clarifies the effect of the overlap with Statius’ Capaneus for a reading of Flaminius: first, by sharpening the connection between Flaminius and Hannibal, it emphasizes the former’s impious and destructive nature; and second, by highlighting the differences from the Giant-type that make Flaminius more analogous to Scipio, it also emphasizes Flaminius’ failure to follow through on his Jovian posturing. Separating these implications so neatly, however, is perhaps too clinical a dissection of Silius’ method of characterization. Indeed, such apparently clear distinctions can be a more generally problematic consequence of intertextuality as a reading practice. The tendency to atomize characters by identifying particular local sources for individual elements obscures the more complex intertextual structures that exist in the poem. Seeing the dualism within Flaminius as representing two contrasting types of heroism in the Punica already emphasizes the composite nature of literary characterization and the possibility of separating some qualities from others. It is important to remember, however, that these qualities exist within the unified body of Flaminius, whose identity and attributes should not be differentiated, explained, and evaluated in exclusively atomizing ways. The importance of this point emerges more clearly in light of recent scholarship, which has taken a rather dark view of the significance of Scipio’s triumph at the close of the poem. For these critics, Scipio too has an inherent dualism in his character, and instead of ushering in an era of Roman glory, his supremacy is seen as instrumental in Rome’s decline and as the fulfilment of what Hannibal had failed to accomplish.⁴² This dualism, on the ambivalent reading of the Punica, is not unique to Scipio but rather has an apt precedent in Flaminius, though the relationship between them does not become visible until read as part of a greater discourse on impiety and heroism. That discourse is deepened

 See, e. g., Tipping 2010, 185 – 192 (cf. Tipping 2007, 235 – 239); Jacobs 2010, 137– 139. See, contra, Marks 2005a for a positive account of Scipio.

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by the intertextual links between Flaminius and Capaneus, which – whether or not they involve direct allusion – go well beyond anything in Livy or the earlier instances of the agon topos in emphasizing the scene’s Gigantomachic imagery and Flaminius’ unawareness of the significance of his own impieties. Flaminius thus represents a more intractable problem in the very nature of epic heroism, namely the difficulty of controlling or even harnessing destructive characteristics like Gigantism or impiety. This line of interpretation, then, takes intertextuality not just as a guide to an epic’s composition and narrative structure, but rather as a way of approaching the interface between the microscopic relations among texts and their macroscopic implications.

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Index of names and subjects Acastus (son of Pelias) 108, 144, 149, 163, 218 Achilles 43 – 46, 68, 72, 96, 129, 144, 150, 152, 177, 179, 199 n. 26, 217, 231, 233 n. 19, 247, 249, 252, 255 – 266, 279 n. 4, 280 n. 7, 285, 328 n. 6, 341, 382, 384 Admetus 225 – 226 Adrastus 70 n. 9, 113, 182, 224 – 226, 280, 333, 347 – 348, 354 – 357 Aeetes 31, 108, 220, 232, 241, 266 n. 54, 275 Aeneas 20, 34, 48, 68 – 69, 92, 95 n. 22, 97, 102 – 105, 107 n. 1, 120, 129 n. 18, 132, 138 n. 42, 148, 171, 178, 180, 183, 187, 200, 212, 215, 216, 219 – 220, 222, 224, 226, 247, 255, 264, 280 n. 7, 287 – 288, 290, 294 – 295, 319, 327, 328 n. 8, 365, 367, 394 Aeschylus 198, 210 – 211, 385 Aeson 31, 32 n. 11, 37, 108, 211 n. 71, 217 – 219, 309 n. 42 aetiology 105, 225, 241, 275, 346 – 347, 354 – 356, 359 – 360, 389 n. 22 Agamemnon 150, 159, 199, 209, 279 n. 2, 283 – 285 Alcimede (mother of Jason) 108, 309 n. 42 Alexandrian 108, 114, 122, 136, 166, 232, 259, 276 n. 35 Allecto 129, 136, 304, 306 n. 35, 314 n. 11, 321 – 322 allegory 6, 41, 133, 144 – 145, 313 allusion (see also intertextuality) 9, 14, 16, 19, 30 n. 7, 33 – 34, 37, 41, 46 n. 55, 48, 63 n. 29, 99, 125, 132, 136, 179, 195 n. 5, 203 n. 36, 235, 241, 247 – 266 passim, 267, 268 n. 4, 271, 273 – 274, 276, 283 – 284, 287, 291, 297, 300, 306, 315, 338, 345, 351 – 352, 358, 365 n. 28, 375, 381, 391, 393, 395 n. 39, 397 Alps 17, 46, 133 – 134, 135 n. 32, 137, 153, 236, 298 n. 4, 340 n. 43, 355 Amphiaraus 113, 116, 130 – 131, 137, 151, 175, 225 – 226, 295, 334, 381, 385 n. 13, 386 – 387, 393

Amycus (son of Neptune) 110 – 111, 259 – 260, 353 n. 35 analepsis 215 – 227 passim, 275 Anchises 48 – 49, 180, 290 Andromache 158 n. 4, 177 – 179 Antigone 157, 164 – 170, 172, 198 n. 20, 234, 289, 333, 341 Apollo 19, 24, 32 – 33, 39, 44 n. 47, 47, 55, 57, 67, 70 n. 9, 71, 90, 120, 122, 137, 152, 195, 222, 269, 273 n. 18, 280, 292, 295, 315, 324, 333 n. 19, 334 n. 27, 347 – 348, 352 – 357, 359, 385, 389, 393 – 394 Apollonius Rhodius (see also index of epic passages) 31, 36, 110 – 111, 114, 136 – 137, 183 – 184, 218 n. 14, 220, 231, 247 n. 4, 248 – 250, 256, 259 – 260, 263, 264 n. 49, 265, 270, 274 n. 26, 275, 362 n. 12, 380, 382, 384 – 386, 387 n. 17 apostrophe 53, 72, 74, 76, 80, 91, 145, 173, 229, 235, 237, 317, 323 Appius Claudius Pulcher (cos. 212 BCE) 327 – 330, 338 – 342 Apsines of Gadara 146 – 148 Archemorus see Opheltes Argia (wife of Polynices) 226, 234, 289, 328 – 330, 333, 341 Argive women 80, 147 – 148, 199 n. 27, 321, 331 Argo 33, 34 n. 18, 35, 36 n. 22, 108, 111, 114, 132, 139, 217, 221 – 223, 231, 247 – 249, 252 – 256, 258 – 263, 269 – 270, 273 n. 19, 274, 275 n. 31, 276 n. 35 Argos 80, 82, 88, 112, 114 – 115, 116 n. 19, 117, 146 – 149, 151, 179, 197, 201, 224, 226, 234, 243, 280, 289 – 294, 299 – 301, 302 n. 16, 306 – 308, 310, 312, 315, 330, 333 n. 21, 334, 336 – 337, 347 – 348, 352, 354 – 356, 386 Ascanius 76, 90, 279 n. 4, 285, 294 Asilus (Tuscan soldier) 188 – 189 Atreus 94, 127 – 128, 144 audience 6 – 7, 14, 16, 18 – 22, 25, 29, 31, 33 – 34, 35 n. 20, 36 – 37, 41 – 42, 43

426

Index of names and subjects

n. 45, 49, 54, 88, 95, 98, 104, 108, 112, 114, 115 n. 17, 121, 125, 128, 130 – 131, 133, 137, 140 – 141, 147, 150 – 153, 155, 157, 158, 163, 166 – 167, 169 n. 30, 170, 180, 181 n. 11, 184, 187, 193, 198, 204 – 205, 207, 216, 219, 227, 230, 232 – 234, 236, 239 – 241, 250, 253, 259 – 260, 262, 265, 272 n. 15, 283 n. 14, 298, 313 – 314, 318, 326, 328, 333, 341, 349, 350, 361 – 362, 377, 381 n. 10, 382, 393 – 394 Augustus (emperor) 4, 7, 43, 48 – 49, 54, 56, 58 – 59, 62, 68 – 69, 77, 79, 89, 102, 104, 107, 120, 125, 149, 184, 203 n. 36, 214 – 215, 271 Bacchus 19, 47, 78, 90, 102, 110, 118, 164, 202, 211 n. 71, 262 n. 46, 265, 301, 302 n. 16, 303, 310, 312, 315 Bebryx (father of Pyrene) 346 – 347, 353 belatedness, literary see secondariness Cacus (monster fought by Hercules) 103, 107 n. 1, 129, 134, 287 – 288, 295 – 296, 352 n. 34 Cadmus 61, 198 n. 20, 200 n. 29, 203, 235, 299 n. 9, 300 n. 12, 318, 345 – 346, 364 – 365, 367 – 368, 371 Caesar, C. Iulius 16 n. 7, 30 – 31, 34, 37 n. 28, 39, 43, 49, 54, 69, 93 – 96, 101, 126 – 127, 133, 138, 211, 220, 233, 280 n. 7, 296, 320, 338 – 340 Callimachus (see also Alexandrian) 55 – 56, 62, 103 – 104, 107, 136, 167 n. 26, 234, 259, 263 n. 48, 271 – 272, 274 – 276, 347 n. 14, 352 n. 34, 362 n. 12, 364 Cannae 17, 75, 80, 83, 88, 92, 94, 95 n. 22, 100, 119, 143, 154, 192, 236, 239, 298 n. 4 and 5, 340 Capaneus 9, 41, 42 n. 43, 80, 82, 84 – 85, 112 – 114, 115 n. 17, 117 – 119, 128 – 129, 135, 151, 224, 307, 315, 330, 336 – 337, 339 n. 38, 353 n. 35, 354 n. 40, 355, 359, 366 – 367, 370 – 371, 377, 381 – 382, 385 – 390, 392, 394 – 397 Capitol 18 – 19, 47, 49, 63, 85, 90, 95 n. 22, 119, 121 – 122, 192, 277, 392 Capitoline Games 44, 63, 65

Capitoline War 34, 40, 41 n. 39, 51, 57, 63, 277 Capua 143, 192 n. 30, 269, 273 – 274, 390 Carthage 18, 24, 48, 50, 51 n. 65, 70, 72, 80, 82, 89 n. 2, 93 n. 14, 97, 102, 107, 119, 132 – 133, 143, 154 – 155, 180, 185 – 186, 189 – 193, 216, 218, 220, 236 – 238, 241 – 242, 264, 269, 272 n. 17, 273 – 274, 279, 280 n. 5, 282 – 287, 291, 294, 298, 300 – 303, 307 – 309, 318, 320, 325, 339 – 340, 342 n. 53, 346, 379, 390 catalogue 8, 51, 74 – 75, 166 – 167, 173, 229 – 243, 306, 315, 327 – 328, 331 – 334, 337 – 339, 342, 351 – 352, 392 n. 28 and 29 catasterism 33 – 35 Catullus 56 n. 3, 79 n. 29, 103, 139, 216, 232, 235 n. 28, 247 – 249, 253, 255 n. 24, 259, 261 – 262, 265 n. 51, 266 Centaurs and Lapiths 218, 225 – 226 Chalciope (sister of Medea) 159 – 160 Chiron (tutor of Achilles) 150, 217, 249, 256, 257 – 259, 261 – 263 chronology 2 n. 5, 9, 15, 25, 39, 52 n. 70, 76 n. 22, 79, 107 n. 2, 205, 215, 249 n. 9, 262 n. 47, 297, 328 n. 5, 349, 350 n. 21, 351, 358, 381 Cicero, M. Tullius 24, 26 n. 27, 68, 75 – 76, 77 n. 23, 141, 155, 199 n. 24, 239, 380 civil war 4, 5, 7, 15, 16 n. 7, 25 n. 27, 30 n. 6, 31, 33 – 34, 35 n. 21, 37 – 41, 49 – 51, 63, 91 – 92, 95, 98, 100 – 101, 108, 112, 125 – 126, 130, 141, 167 n. 26, 178, 181, 193, 201, 207, 311, 315, 320, 322 n. 29, 325 – 326, 363 Cleanthes 199 n. 24, 206 n. 47, 207 – 208 clementia 100 – 103, 147 – 148, 152, 313 n. 8, 340 closure 7, 30 – 31, 45, 53 n. 76, 79 n. 27, 87, 89, 91, 93, 97 – 99, 101, 118, 164 n. 19, 189, 243, 279, 311, 316, 320 – 321 Colchis 30, 36, 58, 108, 110, 218, 220 – 223, 250, 265 – 266, 275 comedy 177, 184, 189, 212 n. 74 Coroebus (monster-slayer in Argos) 152, 224, 348, 352 n. 34, 353 n. 35, 354, 359

Index of names and subjects

Corvinus (character in Silius Italicus) 81 – 82, 379 – 381, 386, 388, 389 n. 23, 393 – 395 Crenaeus (grandson of river god Ismenos) 129, 336 Creon 41 – 42, 81 – 82, 97, 101, 117 – 118, 147, 151, 165 – 166, 280 n. 7, 289 – 290, 296, 330 – 335, 336 n. 32, 338 n. 37, 339 – 340, 342 Crispinus (son of Bolanus, protagonist of Stat. Silv. 5.2) 75 – 76 Crotopus (king of Argos) 347 – 348, 353 – 354, 357 Cyzicus 109, 204 n. 40, 270, 273 – 274 declamation 139 – 156 passim Deidamia (daughter of king Lycomedes on island of Scyros) 265 Dido 68, 89, 139, 180, 183 n. 18, 190, 200, 220, 264, 284, 286 n. 19, 305, 307, 319 digression 108, 112, 166, 167 n. 26, 189 n. 27, 229, 346, 348, 354 – 355 Diomedes 141 n. 13, 279 – 280, 284 – 288, 291 – 292, 294 – 295 Dolon 279 – 280, 283, 285, 288, 291 – 292, 295 Domitian (emperor) 3 – 4, 6, 14 – 23, 26, 34, 36 n. 26, 39 – 41, 42 n. 43, 43 – 46, 48 – 53, 57 – 65, 67, 69, 73 – 74, 77 n. 23, 82, 85, 89, 91, 98, 100, 102, 121 – 122, 127, 138, 157, 172, 174, 214, 268 n. 5, 269, 276 – 277, 297, 349 – 350, 371 Dymas (Maenalian fighter in Stat. Theb.) 72, 280, 288 – 291, 292 n. 39, 293 n. 40, 295, 296, 333 n. 21, 337 ekphrasis 8, 48 n. 60, 147 – 148, 158 – 159, 215 – 227, 233, 235, 261, 364, 392 n. 28 emperor 3, 6, 13 – 15, 18 n. 13 and 14, 20, 22, 23 n. 24, 34, 39 – 41, 42 n. 43, 45, 53 – 54, 57, 59, 61, 65, 67 – 68, 77 n. 23, 81 n. 35, 82, 85, 90, 92, 105, 121 – 122, 141, 213 – 214, 268 – 269, 277 n. 37, 350 n. 21 encomium see panegyric ending see closure

427

Ennius (see also index of epic passages) 14, 68, 74 n. 19, 75 n. 19, 133, 136, 239, 270 – 273 Epicurus 74 n. 17, 76, 130 – 131, 133 – 134, 199 n. 24, 206 – 208 epilogue 46, 90, 96, 98, 119 n. 28, 276, 316 – 319, 323 Eteocles 39, 41 – 42, 73, 80, 116, 142 – 143, 169 n. 30, 170, 197, 280 n. 7, 289, 296, 301 – 310, 313, 316 – 317, 323, 325, 333 – 334, 337 – 340 Euripides 101, 152, 157 n. 1, 165, 198 – 199, 211, 223, 305 n. 30, 358 Euryalus 72 – 73, 95, 279 – 280, 286, 288 – 292, 294 – 295, 321 n. 25 Eurydice (wife of Lycurgus) 183 Eurydice (wife of Orpheus) 161, 289, 356 Eurymedon (brother of Lycormas) 304 – 305, 322 n. 26 Evadne 80 – 81, 117, 307, 315, 321, 330, 331, 334 n. 25, 338 Evander 103 – 104, 180 Fabius Maximus Verrucosus (Cunctator), Q. 19, 21 n. 19, 68, 71 – 72, 76 – 77, 80, 82 – 83, 93, 98 – 99, 155, 283 – 284, 286 – 288, 295 – 296, 308 Fama 74, 184, 234, 238, 318, 391 n. 27 fame see glory fate 59 n. 14, 112, 119, 196, 198 – 208, 210 – 213, 253 n. 20, 296 fides 301 – 304, 310 – 315, 317, 319, 323, 326 Flaminius, C. (cos. 217 BCE) 9, 81 – 82, 114 n. 16, 340 n. 43, 379 – 383, 386 – 397 focalisation 130, 134, 216 fratricide 61, 88, 93, 101, 143 – 146, 170, 196 n. 8, 225, 355 funeral 80, 94, 100, 147, 151, 153, 280, 289, 296, 315, 321, 323, 327, 329 – 342 funeral games 183, 189, 225 Furies 110 n. 7, 116 – 117, 148 n. 23, 153, 170, 222, 235, 315, 316 – 317 furor 52, 78, 128, 135, 204 n. 40, 305, 314 – 315, 387

428

Index of names and subjects

Ganymede 220, 226 Gauls 51 n. 67, 82, 98, 107, 114 n. 16, 233, 340 n. 43, 346 – 347, 355 – 356, 382, 390 – 396 gaze 108, 117 n. 21, 157 – 158, 159 n. 5, 162 – 163, 166, 169 n. 30, 170 n. 36, 171 – 173, 218, 222, 256, 287, 313, 320 n. 22, 357 gender 8, 166, 173, 264 Germanicus Iulius Caesar (Tiberius’ adopted son) 44, 149 Germanicus (title of Domitian) 19 – 20, 44, 47 – 48, 51 giant 39, 79, 84 – 85, 90, 95, 107 – 122, 133, 200 n. 29, 225, 337, 370, 373, 382, 390 – 396 gigantomachy 7, 50, 107 – 122 passim, 125, 133, 370, 381, 385, 390, 391 n. 26 and 27, 392 – 397 glory 20, 32, 37 – 38, 47, 50 – 51, 58, 59, 62, 72 – 74, 79, 82 – 83, 89 – 90, 92, 95 – 96, 107 – 108, 111 – 112, 141, 150 n. 42, 173, 175, 179, 181, 237, 241, 271 – 273, 277 n. 38, 288, 312, 317 – 321, 323 – 325, 340, 384, 387, 395 – 396 gods 1, 8, 16, 18 – 19, 32, 34, 39, 41 – 42, 45, 47, 50 – 51, 53 – 54, 58, 59 n. 14, 60 n. 15, 63, 64 n. 34, 69 – 71, 73, 79, 81, 84 – 86, 88 – 91, 94 – 95, 100, 103, 107, 109 – 122, 131, 133 – 135, 145 – 147, 149, 151 – 152, 160 – 161, 163, 172, 192, 195 – 213, 217, 222, 243, 248, 250 – 256, 261 – 263, 265, 272 n. 17, 275, 282, 287, 292, 294, 298, 301 – 302, 304, 306, 311 – 313, 317, 328 n. 8, 330, 336, 343, 345 – 348, 353 – 356, 359, 379 – 380, 383, 385 – 389, 391, 393 – 396 grief see lament Hades 115 n. 18, 116 – 117, 129, 189, 255 n. 24, 341 Hannibal 16 n. 7, 18, 20, 24, 46, 48 – 49, 71 – 72, 77 n. 23, 80 – 83, 88 – 89, 93 – 97, 101, 112, 119, 128, 133 – 135, 137 – 138, 143 – 144, 153 – 154, 172, 175, 186, 190 – 193, 272 – 274, 280 – 287, 293 – 296, 298, 308 – 309, 311, 315, 318 – 320,

323 – 324, 339 – 340, 346, 354 – 356, 359, 382, 388, 390, 394 – 396 Hanno 138, 155, 191, 193 Hasdrubal 185, 340 Hector 48, 72 n. 12, 177, 179, 257 n. 30, 279 n. 4, 285, 291, 341, 382 – 384, 386, 388, 392 Helen 72, 158, 159 – 162, 166, 178, 251 Hercules 19, 68 n. 3, 71, 83 – 84, 90, 97, 103 – 104, 107 n. 1, 109, 111, 117 n. 21, 118, 120 n. 31, 129, 134 – 135, 137, 220, 225 – 226, 243, 250 – 251, 257, 259 – 260, 275 n. 31, 282, 288, 294 n. 41, 295 – 296, 298 – 299, 301 – 303, 310 – 313, 346 – 348, 352 – 356, 358, 364, 367, 370, 391, 395 heroism 75, 84, 100, 103, 112, 153, 183, 286, 294 n. 41, 325 n. 35, 377, 382 – 383, 390, 394, 396 – 397 Hesiod 205, 208 – 211, 213, 235 Hesione 71, 83, 111 Himilce (wife of Hannibal) 191 Hippodamia (wife of Pirithous) 218 – 219 Hippomedon 81 – 82, 112, 129, 335 – 336, 366 – 368, 395 n. 41 historiography 3 n. 12, 18 n. 14, 63, 154 – 155, 236, 238 n. 32, 327, 380 – 381, 386, 388 n. 18, 389 – 390 history 1 – 2, 4 – 5, 9, 14 – 16, 20 – 23, 25 – 27, 42, 48, 53, 56 – 59, 62, 67, 75, 77, 79, 87 – 89, 91 – 92, 98 – 100, 107, 112, 121, 125 – 126, 128 – 130, 132, 138, 140, 147, 149, 153, 155, 171 – 173, 178 – 179, 181, 184, 197, 198 n. 20, 205, 213, 216 n. 6, 221, 223 – 224, 235, 239, 270 – 272, 274 – 275, 277, 281, 300, 312, 389 – 390 Homer (see also index of epic passages) 1 – 2, 9, 14, 20 n. 18, 21, 43, 48, 68, 72, 79, 81 – 82, 96, 108, 112, 120, 129 – 130, 136 – 137, 150, 158 n. 2 and 4, 159, 161, 171 – 173, 179, 195, 198, 199 n. 24, 204 n. 40, 205, 208 – 212, 229 – 231, 238 n. 33, 249, 255, 267 n. 2, 271, 272 n. 15, 280, 282 – 288, 290, 292, 293 n. 40, 294 – 295, 324, 327, 332, 341, 366, 380 Hopleus (Calydonian fighter in Stat. Theb.) 72, 280, 288 – 290, 296

Index of names and subjects

Horace 55 n. 2, 56 n. 4, 58 n. 11, 59 n. 14, 107, 126, 130, 135, 138 n. 40, 247 n. 3, 351, 352 n. 32 Hylas (friend of Hercules) 220, 235, 250 – 251, 260, 276 n. 35, 356 hyperbole 40, 44 n. 47, 91, 102, 105, 107, 125, 129, 136, 138 n. 40, 240, 365, 381 Hypsipyle 73 – 74, 182 – 184, 220, 249 n. 9, 259 n. 36, 265, 333 Idas (Argonaut) 114, 270, 384 – 388 Ide (Argive mother) 307, 321 – 324, 341 ideology 2, 3, 13, 21, 23, 48, 65, 87, 89, 92, 97 – 98, 100, 102 – 105, 120, 125, 127, 155 Idmon 79, 114, 384 – 386, 388, 393 impiety 112, 114, 115 n. 17, 118, 136, 146, 174, 240, 280 n. 7, 281, 289 – 290, 293, 296, 338, 380 – 385, 388 – 390, 395 – 397 Inachus (river) 224, 356 intertextuality (see also allusion) 5, 7 – 9, 14 n. 2, 16, 25, 29 – 30, 31 n. 8, 33 n. 16, 34, 39, 46, 48, 53, 73, 79 n. 27, 92, 98 – 99, 113, 125, 128, 130 n. 24, 135, 140, 151, 161, 211 n. 71, 215, 229, 245, 247, 249 – 252, 254 – 255, 256 n. 29, 258, 261, 264 n. 49, 265 – 268, 276, 281 – 282, 283, 287, 291, 296, 312, 314, 319, 321, 322 n. 26, 327 n. 1, 328, 330, 338, 339 n. 41, 345 n. 6, 352, 361 – 367, 375, 377, 379, 381 – 382, 386, 388 – 390, 392, 396 – 397 irony 29, 35 – 36, 51, 63, 115 n. 17, 190, 216, 223, 227, 252, 266, 291, 354, 390, 395 n. 40 Ismenos (river) 129 Italy 16 n. 7, 18, 42 – 44, 46, 77, 94, 154, 172, 192, 212 n. 75, 215, 223, 239, 286 – 287, 295 – 296, 300, 340 n. 43, 346, 355, 388 Jason 30 – 31, 35 – 37, 70, 79, 108 – 111, 114, 121, 157, 160 – 164, 174, 183, 219 – 223, 231, 251 – 252, 264 – 266, 270, 275, 280, 384 Jocasta 142 – 143, 146, 165, 304 – 305

429

Juno 31, 35, 37, 70, 109, 114 – 115, 117 n. 21, 119 – 120, 129 n. 18, 136, 154, 159, 160 – 164, 193 n. 31, 196 n. 8, 201, 212, 216, 218, 220, 240, 247, 250 – 253, 256, 259, 287, 293, 301, 302 n. 16, 303, 306, 313 – 317, 331, 388 n. 20, 390, 394 Jupiter 4, 16 – 19, 31, 34, 36, 38 – 39, 46 – 50, 55 n. 2, 67 – 68, 71 – 72, 84 – 86, 88 – 91, 94 – 95, 97 – 98, 101, 107 – 122, 129, 133, 151, 172, 174, 177, 179, 191, 195 – 214 passim, 217 – 218, 224 – 225, 250, 253 – 255, 261, 286 – 287, 300 – 302, 310, 312, 315, 321, 331, 337, 346, 370 – 371, 379, 383 – 385, 388 – 389, 391, 394 – 396 Juvenal 137 – 138, 153, 373 katabasis 8, 157 – 175 passim, 233, 289, 327 n. 1 Kronos 116, 119 – 120 lament 30, 42, 69, 79, 129 – 130, 145, 149, 166, 169 – 172, 180, 182 – 183, 185, 222 – 223, 226, 289, 301, 306 – 307, 315, 317, 321 – 323, 328, 333 n. 22, 341, 347 – 348, 355 – 356, 358, 371, 384 Lapiths see Centaurs and Lapiths Latinus 224, 237 Lemnos 83, 183 – 185, 249, 262, 264, 266 libertas 73, 92, 181, 213 n. 78, 324 Livy 53, 133, 154 – 155, 196 n. 8, 281 n. 10, 340 n. 43, 379 – 381, 388 – 389, 393, 395 n. 38, 397 Lucan see index of epic passages Lucretius 74 n. 17, 76, 126, 127 n. 9, 130 – 134, 137 n. 138, 138, 207, 291 Lycaon 115, 195, 200 n. 29, 280 n. 7, 382 n. 11 Lycormas (brother of Eurymedon) 304 – 305, 322 n. 26 Maeon (Theban) 73, 280 n. 7, 309, 322 n. 28, 323 – 324, 333, 334 n. 25, 338 Mago (brother of Hannibal) 192, 283 – 287, 294

430

Index of names and subjects

Marcellus, M. Claudius (cos. 222, 216, 214, 210, 208 BCE) 21 n. 19, 52 – 53, 78, 93, 102, 189 n. 27, 196 n. 8, 340 Mars 76, 78, 90, 97, 109, 116 – 117, 202, 225, 234, 243, 250 n. 10, 299 n. 9, 312, 328 n. 8 Martial 16 n. 10, 21 n. 22, 23, 25, 26 n. 27, 27 n. 29, 34, 50 n. 64, 51 n. 67, 53 n. 74 and 75, 56, 75, 141, 277, 349 – 350 Massilia 133, 320 Medea 30 n. 7, 139, 157, 159 – 165, 168, 170, 172, 183, 196 n. 8, 211 n. 71, 218 – 223, 241, 266 n. 54, 275 n. 30 and 31 Megaera 116, 303 – 304, 314 Menelaus 158, 283 Menoeceus 118, 151 – 153, 165 – 166, 331, 333 metaphor 55 n. 2, 95, 107, 177, 193, 263 n. 48, 281 n. 11, 358 – 359 metapoetics 95 n. 20, 198 n. 19, 213 n. 77, 229, 238 – 239, 243, 263, 276 n. 35, 331, 351, 352 n. 32, 356, 358, 389 Mezentius 115 n. 17, 129, 133, 135, 382 n. 11, 387 n. 17 Minucius Rufus, M. (cos. 221 BCE) 72, 80, 82 – 83, 296, 381 n. 9 monster 71, 83, 97 n. 27, 101, 107, 109 – 112, 114 n. 16, 117, 119 – 120, 134, 136, 174, 193 n. 31, 224 – 225, 281, 295, 336, 347 – 348, 352 n. 34, 353 n. 35, 354 – 355, 357, 359 – 360, 363, 364 – 365, 367, 370, 373 n. 55 mourning see lament Muse(s) 16, 19, 23 – 24, 36 n. 24, 46 – 47, 55 n. 2, 61, 72, 75 n. 19, 95, 229, 231, 235 – 238, 269, 317 myth 1, 7, 61, 63 n. 29, 88 – 89, 93, 99, 100, 103 – 105, 107 – 109, 112, 116, 118, 120 – 121, 139, 142, 144, 146, 178, 183, 195, 205 – 206, 218 – 220, 226, 239, 241, 248, 262 n. 47, 295, 316, 345 n. 6, 355, 385, 390 – 391, 395 n. 39 mythology 9, 15, 41, 56 – 58, 61 – 62, 107, 119, 130, 136, 140, 148, 150, 166, 195, 205, 227, 235, 271 – 274, 276, 347, 352, 356, 385, 393

narrator 16, 18, 71 – 72, 74 – 78, 90, 95 – 96, 98 – 99, 128, 130, 146 – 148, 159, 161 – 163, 165, 180, 207 n. 53, 216, 230 – 232, 236, 243, 256 – 257, 260, 262 n. 44, 315 – 317, 319, 321 – 325, 348, 356, 380 nefas 39, 93, 100, 116 – 117, 127, 168 n. 30, 169, 170, 201, 313, 335 nekyia 99, 157, 327 n. 1, 329, 341 Neptune 35, 70 n. 9, 71, 83, 109, 115 n. 18, 129, 131, 138, 249 – 256 Nero (emperor) 3 – 4, 14 – 16, 18 n. 14, 22, 23 n. 24, 26, 33 – 34, 39, 69, 125 – 126, 130, 137, 213 Nestor 217 – 218, 279 n. 2, 284 – 286, 294 Nisus 72 – 73, 95, 178, 279 – 280, 285, 288 – 292, 294 – 295, 321 n. 25 Nonnus of Panopolis 113, 116 n. 20, 118 n. 27 Oedipus 38, 40 – 41, 61, 100, 116 – 117, 136, 144 – 145, 148, 169 n. 30, 197, 198 n. 20, 296, 305, 333 n. 21 omen 51 n. 65, 115 n. 16, 143, 242 n. 41, 258, 286 n. 19, 294, 379 n. 2, 382 – 383, 386 – 387, 393 n. 32 Opheltes/Archemorus (son of Lycurgus and Eurydice) 182 – 183, 225, 333, 354 n. 40, 355, 357, 375 optimism 4, 6 – 7, 88, 172 Orpheus 9, 19, 161, 259, 267 – 277, 289, 356 Ovid (see also index of epic passages) 1, 20, 39, 54, 63 n. 29, 68, 77, 96, 102, 107, 112, 115, 139, 141 – 142, 157 n. 1, 162 n. 16, 167 n. 26, 177 – 178, 180 – 181, 193, 195 – 198, 200 – 201, 207, 211 – 214, 226, 233 n. 19, 240 n. 39, 247, 265 n. 52, 267 n. 2, 271 n. 12, 274 – 276, 302 n. 20, 314 n. 11, 327, 335, 345 n. 6, 356, 363 – 373, 382 n. 11 Pacuvius (Capuan in Silius Italicus) 143 – 144 panegyric 2, 3, 6 – 7, 18 – 19, 33 n. 15, 41, 43, 48, 50, 52 – 53, 59, 61 – 62, 67 – 68, 70 – 71, 73, 74 n. 18, 77, 79 – 80, 81 n. 34, 84 – 85, 91, 102, 105, 122, 127, 138, 164 n. 19, 276 n. 35, 277 n. 38

Index of names and subjects

Parcae 168, 202 – 203, 211, 252 n. 17, 253, 262, 380 Paris 247 – 253 Parthenopaeus 76, 235, 242, 280, 289 – 291, 292 n. 39, 295 – 296, 333 n. 21, 336 – 337, 385 passions 116, 145, 284, 288 pastoral 286, 295, 356 Patroclus 150, 328 n. 6, 341 – 342, 392 Paulus, L. Aemilius (cos. 219, 216 BCE) 80, 93, 173, 340 Peleus 46, 58 n. 11, 216 – 219, 247, 249, 256 – 257, 261 – 262 Pelias 31 – 33, 36 – 37, 108, 149, 217 – 219, 275 n. 30 pessimism 7, 88, 93, 99, 172, 199, 206 Petronius 126, 128, 135, 140, 180 n. 7 Phorbas (guardian of Antigone) 157, 166 – 169 pietas 144 – 145, 147, 171, 197, 280 – 281, 289 – 290, 296, 302 – 304, 306 n. 35, 312 n. 7, 313 – 315, 321, 324 – 325, 328 – 329, 333, 339 – 340, 342 Pliny 14 – 16, 21 – 22, 25 – 27, 67, 77 – 79, 127, 138, 300, 349, 353 n. 35 Pluto 130 – 131, 333 n. 19, 334 poet 2, 5, 13 – 16, 19 – 22, 25 – 27, 29, 31, 33, 36 n. 22, 40 – 41, 43 – 45, 55 – 63, 65, 69, 72 – 75, 79, 84, 96, 101, 104, 108, 121, 127 – 128, 135, 137, 139 – 141, 146, 149, 167, 196 n. 8, 199, 202, 204 – 206, 211 – 212, 231 – 235, 237 – 238, 243, 248, 259, 268 – 270, 272 – 275, 281, 283 – 284, 288, 291, 303 n. 23, 309, 315, 318 – 319, 324, 326, 339, 343, 346, 350 – 352, 355, 358, 371 – 372, 374, 377, 394, 396 poetics 16, 73, 96, 104, 126 – 127, 151 n. 47, 157, 167 n. 26, 223 n. 30, 234, 260, 271, 276 n. 35 politics 4, 5, 7, 78 n. 26, 113, 125 – 127 Pollux 110 – 111, 259 – 260, 353 n. 35 Polybius 100, 281 n. 10, 363 n. 15, 380 Polydamas (Trojan) 382 – 384, 386, 393 Polynices 39, 41 – 42, 79 – 80, 116, 142, 146, 166, 169, 197, 224 – 226, 234, 289, 301 – 306, 309 – 310, 313, 316, 317, 320, 325,

431

328 – 329, 333, 336 – 337, 339 n. 38, 341, 347 – 348, 354 – 355 Pompey/C. Pompeius Magnus 39, 49, 69, 93, 126 – 127, 138, 181, 232 – 233, 240, 280 n. 7, 338 Priam 158 – 159, 199 n. 26 prolepsis 8, 215 – 216, 219 – 220, 222 – 227, 355 Prometheus 111, 134, 137, 210 prophecy 4, 19, 35 – 36, 46, 48 – 50, 52, 89, 95 – 97, 127, 131, 152 n. 51, 153, 168, 173, 179, 192, 202 n. 34, 211, 219 – 222, 253, 257, 262, 280, 289, 314 – 315, 318 – 319, 324, 333, 371, 383, 385 – 386, 388, 393 Psamathe (daughter of Crotopus) 9, 343 – 360 passim Ps.-Longinus 126 – 129, 133, 135, 138 Punic War 4, 21, 22 n. 23, 25 n. 26, 67, 79, 82, 100 – 101, 132, 153 – 154, 170, 172, 192, 238 – 239, 298, 316, 319, 356, 363, 388 Pyrene (daughter of Bebryx) 9, 343 – 360 passim Python 347 – 348, 352, 353 n. 35, 354, 370 Quintilian 6, 29, 44, 54, 68, 125, 141, 144, 146, 152, 154 recitatio 5, 23, 26, 42, 43 n. 45, 44 n. 51, 63, 297, 349 – 350 recusatio 7, 55 – 65, 67 n. 1, 125, 271, 276 n. 35 republic 6, 89 – 92, 100, 126 – 127, 181 – 182, 185, 271, 389 n. 23 revenge 83, 91 n. 7, 97 – 98, 115 – 116, 119, 192, 195, 220, 282, 285, 287 – 288, 292, 312 n. 6, 319 – 320, 324, 335 – 336, 348, 354, 359, 392 Rhesus 280, 286 – 287, 291 – 292, 295 rhetoric 6, 26 n. 27, 70 – 71, 126, 137, 139 – 156 passim, 170, 190, 232, 249 – 250, 254, 269, 388 n. 18, 389 – 392, 394, 396 river 63, 102, 110 n. 7, 122, 129, 132, 138, 235, 242, 336, 345, 351, 356, 363 – 364, 369, 371, 373 – 374, 395 Rome 2 – 4, 13 – 15, 18, 20 – 22, 25 – 26, 34 – 39, 41, 49, 51 – 52, 53 n. 75, 56 n. 4, 69 –

432

Index of names and subjects

70, 79, 90 – 95, 97 – 98, 100, 104, 107, 112, 119, 121 – 122, 126, 134, 143, 157, 172 – 174, 178, 186, 190 – 193, 196 – 197, 203 n. 36, 208, 231 n. 9, 271 – 272, 287, 293, 295, 298 n. 4, 317, 320, 326, 345 – 346, 361, 388, 390, 394 – 395 sacrifice 69, 118, 140, 151 – 152, 153 n. 51, 203, 240, 280, 282, 287, 291 – 295, 329, 379 n. 2, 392 Saguntum 9, 17, 89, 129, 154, 190, 196 n. 8, 234, 290 n. 32, 297 – 310 passim, 311 – 326 passim Satricus (slave, native of Sulmo, in Silius Italicus) 186 – 187 Scipio Africanus, P. Cornelius 17 – 21, 48 – 49, 51 – 53, 68, 75 – 79, 87 – 93, 96 – 99, 102, 118, 121 – 122, 129 n. 19, 138, 154 – 155, 157, 171 – 174, 189 – 190, 193, 272, 296, 298 n. 4, 320 n. 22, 327 – 332, 335, 337 – 342, 345 – 346, 382, 390, 394 – 396 secondariness/literary belatedness 8, 248 – 249, 254 – 255 Seneca the Elder 141 – 143, 148 – 149, 155 Seneca the Younger 120 n. 31, 127 – 128, 130, 136, 141 – 142, 177, 186 n. 25, 197 n. 15, 198 n. 15 and 20, 199 n. 24, 203, 205 – 207, 213, 223, 289, 305 n. 30, 373 serpent 110 n. 10, 114 n. 16, 153, 182, 193 n. 31, 222, 235, 241 – 242, 299, 343 – 348, 353 – 355, 358 – 360, 361 – 377, 394 Sibyl 49, 91, 99, 122, 172 – 174, 192 siege 93 n. 16, 250 n. 10, 277, 298 – 301, 303 n. 26, 306 – 307, 309, 365 Silius Italicus passim; see index of epic passages simile 76, 85, 97, 109 n. 6, 140, 160, 162 n. 16, 235, 240, 242 n. 41, 265 n. 50, 266 n. 54, 270 n. 10, 280, 290, 292 – 293, 307 – 308, 310, 322 n. 28, 325, 337, 344 – 345, 365, 367, 370, 394 song 33, 38, 40, 45, 47, 55 n. 2, 58 n. 11, 73 – 74, 136, 150 n. 42, 161, 200, 222, 232, 242 – 243, 249, 259 – 262, 269 – 270, 271 n. 13, 273 – 276 Sophocles 198 n. 20, 211, 281, 295, 341

Spain 171, 326, 339, 241, 342 n. 53, 346 – 347, 352, 355 – 356 Statius passim; see index of epic passages Stoicism 104, 186, 197, 198 n. 15, 199 n. 24, 200 – 201, 203 – 208, 212 – 213, 327, 339 n. 41, 364 n. 22, 377 storm 35, 85, 94, 109, 118 n. 25, 119, 129, 132 – 133, 137, 139, 149, 151, 154, 160 – 161, 164, 250 – 256, 266, 308, 370, 396 sublime 7 – 8, 107, 125 – 138, 149 Suetonius 3 n. 12, 17, 18 n. 14, 20 n. 18, 41, 51 n. 67, 82 suicide 130, 151 – 154, 181, 190, 196 n. 8, 290 n. 32, 298, 304 – 305, 307 n. 38, 309 – 311, 315 – 316, 321, 322 n. 26, 323, 328, 334, 337 Syracuse 52 – 53, 78, 102, 189, 196 n. 8 Tacitus 3 n. 12, 6, 26 n. 28, 36 n. 26, 37, 54, 79, 82, 141 Tagus (king in ancient Spain) 185 – 186 Tartarus 120 n. 30, 316 – 318, 323, 325 teichoskopia 8, 157 – 175 passim, 233 – 234, 236, 242 – 243 Teuthras (bard) 269, 271 – 274 Thebes 9, 38 – 39, 41, 79 – 81, 84, 88, 102 – 103, 114 – 115, 118, 147, 151, 166 – 167, 197, 198 n. 20, 201 n. 38, 202, 222, 226, 234, 250 n. 10, 289 – 290, 299 – 303, 305, 307 – 308, 310, 311 – 326 passim, 329, 355, 362, 367 theology 100, 198 n. 15, 200 – 203, 206 – 209, 211 – 213, 380 n. 3, 390 theomachy 120, 131, 224, 381, 385, 388 – 389, 392, 394 – 395 Theseus 41, 42 n. 43, 69, 80 – 82, 85, 87 – 88, 89 n. 2, 97, 99 – 101, 103 – 105, 117 – 118, 121, 147, 152, 199 n. 27, 216, 258 – 259, 261 – 262, 280 n. 7, 290, 315, 330 – 331, 333 n. 21, 338, 342 Thetis 46, 144, 150, 216 – 219, 247 – 266 passim Thiodamas (seer) 131, 280, 286, 289, 292 – 295, 334 Thoas (father of Hypsipyle) 182, 220, 265, 333 Thyestes 127, 142, 199

Index of names and subjects

Tiburna (woman in Saguntum) 190, 305 – 307, 315 – 316, 321 – 323 Tisiphone 116 – 117, 196 n. 8, 299, 303 – 304, 306, 313 – 317, 320, 322 – 323, 326, 336 Titan 93, 95, 107 – 108, 110, 115 n. 17, 116, 119, 122, 125, 128 – 129, 134 – 135, 138, 210, 291, 394 Titus (emperor) 4, 34, 41, 48, 57 – 61, 89, 268 n. 5, 276 n. 35, 277 topos 7, 95, 147, 149, 168, 179, 231, 235, 237, 291, 315, 323, 380, 381 n. 6, 382, 384, 386, 388, 393, 397 tragedy 6, 55, 93, 100 – 101, 103, 127, 141 n. 12, 148, 198 n. 20, 201, 210 n. 68, 211, 223 n. 30, 287 – 288, 333 Trajan (emperor) 26, 50 n. 64, 52 n. 70, 53 n. 75, 67 n. 2, 78, 127, 138, 351 n. 28 Trasimene 17, 81 – 82, 188, 298 n. 4, 340 n. 43, 379, 388 n. 21, 389 n. 22, 392, 395 Trojan War 144, 215 – 216, 223, 238, 249, 253 – 254, 266 Troy 45 – 46, 71, 83 – 84, 159, 179 – 180, 238, 249 n. 8, 265 – 266, 283, 287, 290 Turnus 31 n. 8, 48, 97, 115 n. 17, 138 n. 42, 213 n. 75, 215, 279 n. 4, 285 – 286, 294, 365 n. 28, 367, 392 Tydeus 79 – 82, 112, 224, 235, 240, 280, 289 – 290, 296, 306 – 308, 321, 322 n. 28, 323, 328 n. 6 and 8, 333 – 336, 339 n. 38, 347 – 348, 354 – 355, 385 n. 13, 388

433

Tymbrenus (warrior in Silius Italicus) 304 n. 28, 305 Typhoeus (gigantic monster) 108 – 114, 117 – 120 tyrant 6, 23, 26, 36 – 38, 42, 64, 73, 94, 97, 102 – 103, 110, 115 n. 17, 118, 126 – 127, 191, 198 n. 20, 219, 284, 289, 309, 323 – 324, 338 – 340 underworld 18 n. 12, 48 – 49, 51, 53, 112, 116, 129 – 130, 136, 157, 161, 164, 170 – 171, 173 n. 45, 174, 226, 240, 255 n. 24, 302, 312, 314, 316 – 319, 321, 329 – 330, 334, 339 n. 38, 395 Valerius Flaccus passim; see index of epic passages vates 203 n. 36, 239, 273, 324 Venus 18, 46, 67, 89, 98, 131, 159, 184, 196 n. 8, 200, 202, 203 n. 36, 211 – 212, 250 – 251, 255, 272 n. 17, 301, 390 Vespasian (emperor) 4, 16 n. 10, 26, 33 – 37, 48, 50 – 51, 57, 59 – 60, 67, 85, 89, 277 n. 38 violence 31 n. 11, 49, 93, 107, 116, 125 – 126, 129, 137 n. 38, 145, 153, 171, 237, 260, 282, 284, 304, 309 – 310, 313, 324, 328, 354 – 358, 391 Virgil passim; see index of epic passages virtus 97, 117, 151, 302 n. 21, 303 n. 23, 387, 389 n. 23 voluptas 97, 192 n. 30 Vulcan 48, 222, 296

Index of epic passages Apollonius Rhodius 1.234 – 579 256 1.463 – 471 114 1.466 – 471 384 – 385 1.481 – 484 385 1.487 – 491 114, 385 – 386 1.496 – 511 259, 270 1.545 – 546 263 1.553 – 556 263 1.557 – 558 256 1.609 – 626 220 1.730 – 767 220 1.934 – 935 248 1.996 259 1.1153 – 1272 356 2.38 – 40 110 2.51 – 62 260 2.669 ff. 137 2.894 – 898 36 4.753 – 981 218 Ennius Annales (Skutsch) 105 – 109 68 206 239 363 – 365 68 Homer Iliad 1.4 – 5 1.5 1.12 – 13 1.29 – 31 1.111 – 115 1.498 1.560 ff. 1.565 – 567 1.580 – 581 1.589 2.393 2.486 2.688 – 689 3.125 – 138 3.141

332 253 177 177 177 302 120 208 208 208 332 238 177 158 – 159 159

4.14 – 17 4.29 4.37 – 42 4.55 – 56 5.383 – 391 5.753 6.357 – 358 6.454 – 458 8.12 – 26 8.31 – 32 8.39 – 40 8.379 – 380 9.17 – 28 9.189 9.663 – 665 9.666 – 668 10.1 – 4 10.24 10.25 – 71 10.29 10.44 – 53 10.75 – 78 10.150 – 156 10.157 – 158 10.212 – 217 10.275 – 279 10.329 – 331 10.334 10.382 10.469 – 514 10.485 11.624 – 627 12.228 – 229 12.233 – 243 12.244 – 250 13.723 – 753 13.831 – 832 15.107 – 108 15.128 – 141 16.149 16.441 – 450 17.241 18.32 – 34 19.415

209 209 209 208 385 302 72 177 208 208 209 332 279 72 177 177 283 283 283 283 286 284 284 285 294 294 279 283 291 292 292 177 383 383 383 – 384 384 332 208 208 285 204, 209 332 328 285

436

Index of epic passages

20.61 – 65 21.122 22.99 – 103 22.107 22.181 22.335 22.354 22.395 23.69 ff. 23.71 23.91 23.785 – 796 24.71 24.88 24.412 24.525 – 533 Odyssey 1.32 – 34 1.76 – 79 5.4 6.149 – 185 12.91 12.260 – 425 15.45 17.322 – 323 Lucan 1.1 – 7 1.4 1.33 – 66 1.37 1.38 – 43 1.45 – 52 1.80 1.128 2.2 – 3 2.7 – 13 2.9 – 11 2.12 – 13 2.40 – 42 2.148 – 151 3.342 – 355 3.399 – 452 4.573 – 577 4.581 – 660 4.587 – 655 4.788 – 790

131 280 384 384 209 332 332 72 341 341 341 68 209 210 332 199 199 209 208 68 366 282 285 177

38 – 39 31 33 – 34 39 39 39 101 100 101 203 206 207 69 32 320 133 181 364 363 320

5.92 – 93 5.668 – 671 6.310 – 311 6.395 6.397 6.400 – 401 7.445 – 459 7.617 7.626 – 630 7.796 – 803 7.799 – 801 7.809 – 810 7.845 – 846 7.855 – 859 8.871 – 872 9.471 – 473 9.522 9.536 – 538 9.709 9.980 – 986 9.1010 – 1032 9.1038 9.1063 10.535 – 539 Ovid Metamorphoses 1.78 – 81 1.128 – 150 1.151 – 162 1.161 – 181 1.163 – 167 1.172 – 176 1.182 – 198 1.184 1.187 – 188 1.190 – 191 1.196 – 198 1.209 – 241 1.230 1.233 – 239 1.240 – 243 1.242 – 243 1.244 – 245 1.251 – 252 1.256 – 258 1.260 – 261

202, 206 94 320 36 286 36 50, 91, 100 100 32 280 340 338, 339 338 36 91 137 69 69 363 95 69 69 69 30 – 31

207 302 112 200 115 214 302 394 195, 198 195, 197 115 115 200 200 195 198 196 197 197, 212 195

Index of epic passages

1.262 – 312 1.436 – 451 1.438 – 444 2.392 2.485 3.28 – 94 3.96 – 98 3.185 3.203 3.293 – 295 3.311 3.320 3.333 3.557 – 558 3.659 – 660 3.700 3.701 – 731 4.1 – 4 4.272 – 273 4.390 4.520 4.563 – 603 4.603 4.612 5.234 – 235 5.318 – 331 5.420 – 421 5.532 6.73 – 74 6.213 6.458 – 460 7.150 7.179 – 296 7.433 – 450 8.485 8.612 – 615 8.681 8.721 – 722 9.24 9.65 9.123 – 124 9.134 – 272 9.149 – 151 9.245 9.320 9.419 9.427 – 428

197 352 370 63 200 364 – 370 371 201 200 201 207 240 201 201 207 207 201 201 201, 207 201 207 346 200 207 201 117 201 212 214 201 201 366 211 69 201 207 207 207 207 366 201 363 201 214 201 214 214

9.428 9.434 9.568 ff. 10.28 10.302 11.148 11.180 – 193 11.408 11.739 – 740 11.743 – 744 12.182 – 184 13.935 13.941 14.26 – 27 14.167 – 176 14.311 14.397 – 415 14.418 14.741 15.170 – 172 15.324 – 328 15.346 – 351 15.421 – 452 15.622 – 744 15.725 – 726 15.814 – 815 15.861 – 870 15.871 – 879 Silius Italicus 1.1 – 8 1.10 – 11 1.14 – 15 1.38 1.50 – 51 1.56 1.58 1.74 1.109 – 111 1.153 1.165 – 181 1.196 – 2.456 1.249 – 256 1.271 – 2.707 1.271 – 295 1.271 – 287 1.273 – 287

211 200, 211 180 207 207 201 180 309 207 201 207 207 207 207 69 180 – 181 181 181 181 201 207 207 196 346 364 211 39 96

50 – 51, 92, 273, 318 318 89 119 100 296 281, 294 190 291 340 185 – 186 303 133 – 134 311 299 326 298, 299

437

438

1.288 – 290 1.291 – 293 1.369 1.376 – 534 1.406 1.505 2.44 – 53 2.217 2.251 2.270 – 390 2.366 – 367 2.406 – 450 2.410 – 411 2.437 – 707 2.437 – 474 2.438 2.461 2.475 – 512 2.475 – 492 2.476 2.479 – 514 2.480 – 481 2.481 – 482 2.486 2.487 – 489 2.493 – 512 2.495 2.496 – 506 2.507 – 512 2.507 2.511 – 512 2.513 – 525 2.526 – 579 2.526 – 542 2.543 – 695 2.553 – 579 2.558 – 560 2.571 – 574 2.577 2.595 2.597 – 598 2.609 – 631 2.613 2.614 – 616 2.617 – 644 2.617 – 635 2.645 – 649

Index of epic passages

300 300 299 315 283 299 190 – 191 331 234 155 191 48 286 297 301 283 311 312 301 298, 312 313 302 312 302 312 301 312, 319 302 302 299 312 301, 302, 303, 313 306 196, 303 – 304, 313, 314 299, 304 306, 322 322 190 190 154, 196 154 305 317 322 304, 305 196 304, 305, 322

2.650 – 664 2.665 – 680 2.665 – 670 2.671 – 674 2.675 – 680 2.681 – 691 2.692 2.693 – 695 2.696 – 698 2.697 – 699 2.699 – 707 3.138 – 139 3.150 – 151 3.183 – 213 3.189 ff. 3.222 – 414 3.222 – 230 3.287 – 291 3.301 – 302 3.312 – 316 3.342 – 343 3.346 3.387 – 391 3.415 – 421 3.421 – 422 3.423 – 435 3.437 – 438 3.438 – 439 3.441 3.496 – 499 3.513 – 517 3.525 – 527 3.557 – 629 3.571 – 573 3.573 – 581 3.582 – 590 3.588 3.593 – 629 3.593 – 596 3.594 – 629

3.650 – 651 4.63 – 66 4.115 – 119 4.148 ff. 4.374

305, 315, 317 315 305 – 306, 307, 321, 322 306, 321 304, 307 307 – 308, 322 308 316 290, 309, 317 – 318 323 309, 318, 319, 320, 324 191 191 359 364 229 237 – 238 285 241 241 339 242 283 346, 355, 356 353 348, 353, 354, 356, 358 348 355, 356 355 134 134 – 135 137 203 197 197 18 197 197 89 4, 16 – 19, 46 – 52, 67, 98, 121 – 122, 269, 276 – 277, 361 191 135 51 340 283

Index of epic passages

4.394 – 395 4.396 – 397 4.457 – 458 4.475 – 476 4.638 ff. 4.709 – 710 5.16 5.63 – 65 5.66 – 69 5.70 – 74 5.75 – 78 5.78 – 80 5.82 – 100 5.103 – 104 5.107 – 129 5.130 – 139 5.140 – 141 5.162 – 163 5.167 – 168 5.179 – 181 5.384 – 391 5.633 – 643 5.644 ff. 5.652 – 655 6.140 – 298 6.151 – 285 6.159 6.162 – 165 6.166 – 204 6.169 – 170 6.181 – 184 6.205 – 282 6.212 – 215 6.222 – 223 6.227 – 229 6.247 – 249 6.263 – 264 6.269 – 272 6.279 – 282 6.283 – 285 6.288 – 290 6.595 – 597 6.609 – 640 6.627 – 636 6.677 7.1 – 19

325 325 328 90 129 388 389 379 379 379 380, 389 393 81, 386, 393 – 394 388 82, 114 – 115, 387, 388, 389, 390 391, 392 392 387 389 389 396 82 340 392 363, 364 369 368 369, 373 364 303 370 364 365 368 376 365 368 365 365 371 371 197 71 – 72 352 364 76 – 77

7.34 – 68 7.35 7.78 – 85 7.103 – 105 7.111 – 115 7.113 – 115 7.126 – 130 7.131 – 146 7.219 – 252 7.279 – 281 7.282 – 299 7.304 7.305 – 309 7.321 – 322 7.322 – 324 7.328 7.329 – 330 7.336 – 337 7.340 – 342 7.376 7.409 – 419 7.744 – 745 7.591 – 597 7.727 – 729 7.737 – 745 8.207 8.277 8.349 ff. 8.356 – 357 8.365 – 621 8.404 8.420 8.454 – 455 8.495 – 501 8.508 – 509 8.551 – 561 8.617 – 621 8.656 9.66 – 82 9.292 – 293 9.436 – 437 9.475 9.548 10.347 10.358 ff. 10.521 10.558 – 577

439

71 296 70 – 71 283 82 283 308 280 82 – 83 279 283, 284 – 285, 286, 291 285 283, 284 285 285 285 285 286 285 286 247 72 282, 288, 296 288, 296 80 302 83 231 239 229 75 242 240 241 – 242 232 75 – 76, 79, 98 238 306 186 – 187 298 93 203 203 299 119 80 80, 340

440

Index of epic passages

10.605 – 629 10.640 – 646 10.657 – 658 11.152 11.288 – 302 11.356 – 360 11.385 – 423 11.440 – 480 11.545 – 546 12.387 – 392 12.398 – 402 12.411 12.473 – 478 12.516 – 517 12.605 – 728 12.614 – 615 12.622 ff. 12.622 – 626 12.639 12.659 – 660 12.689 – 690 12.701 – 704 12.719 ff. 12.725 13.281 – 282 13.360 13.385 – 396 13.394 – 397 13.457 – 465 13.467 – 487 13.514 – 515 13.546 – 547 13.601 – 612 13.613 – 614 13.615 – 649 13.692 – 693 13.715 13.806 – 808 13.809 – 830 13.831 – 850 13.864 – 869 13.883 – 890 13.895 14.26 14.148 – 177 14.583 14.617

83 192 93 192 274 143 – 144 390 269, 273 – 274 191 74 – 75 270, 273 273 340 50 394 119 119 50 197 112 93 119 119 394 – 395 303 192 171, 328 – 329 329 329 – 330, 339, 341 327, 331 – 340 99 51 351 172 346, 395 342 340 173 173 173, 174, 361 49 192 174 331 188 – 189 196 196

14.665 – 688 14.670 – 675 14.673 – 674 14.679 – 683 14.679 – 680 14.684 – 688 15.18 – 128 15.77 – 83 15.127 15.278 15.387 – 396 15.435 15.587 – 590 16.33 – 37 16.77 16.303 ff. 16.452 – 456 16.600 – 700 17.191 17.341 – 384 17.361 – 362 17.385 17.465 – 521 17.567 – 580 17.605 – 617 17.618 – 619 17.625 17.626 17.627 17.629 – 654 17.643 – 644 17.645 – 654 17.649 – 654 Statius Achilleid 1.1 – 241 1.1 – 13 1.14 – 19 1.20 – 51 1.23 – 29 1.23 1.41 1.42 1.43 – 46 1.47 – 48

102 196 52 53 102 52 – 53, 67, 78, 100, 102, 351, 361 51 97 – 98 192 299 340 306 192 138 193 341 189 – 190 155 191 18 203 203 97 390 93 – 94, 95, 96, 320 91, 97, 102 96 19, 52 51, 98 19 320 76, 78 – 79, 90, 98 50 – 51, 97 – 98, 395

266 44, 45 – 46, 150, 261 43 – 46, 67 247 247 – 248 249 257 254 250 251, 254

Index of epic passages

1.48 – 51 1.51 – 94 1.61 – 65 1.72 – 73 1.81 – 83 1.84 – 86 1.90 – 91 1.91 – 94 1.95 – 241 1.101 – 102 1.109 – 110 1.118 1.119 1.146 – 148 1.149 – 155 1.156 – 159 1.184 – 188 1.184 – 186 1.188 – 194 1.206 1.232 – 236 1.241 1.242 – 396 1.252 – 257 1.272 – 274 1.560 – 960 1.615 – 618 1.742 – 746 1.823 – 826 1.940 – 942 1.952 – 953 2.23 – 36 2.75 – 77 2.167 Thebaid 1.1 – 34 1.1 – 2 1.15 – 17 1.17 – 33 1.22 1.32 – 34 1.32 – 33 1.35 – 37 1.45 1.47 1.56 – 87 1.126

249, 251, 254 – 255 251 251 252 – 253 253 253 261 253 – 254 256 262 262 257 257 257 258 258 259 262 259 – 262 262 – 263 263 249 264 261 150 264 265 266 266 265 265 265 266 266 37 – 43 31, 314 60 – 61 60 – 65, 67 85 64 73 280, 333 135 302 197, 201 201

1.150 1.178 – 185 1.180 – 185 1.197 1.203 – 206 1.212 – 213 1.214 – 247 1.222 – 223 1.224 – 226 1.227 – 235 1.227 – 231 1.232 1.238 – 239 1.241 – 247 1.250 – 282 1.259 1.266 – 270 1.290 – 292 1.302 1.312 – 313 1.326 – 328 1.561 – 571 1.573 – 574 1.575 1.576 – 581 1.579 – 586 1.595 – 598 1.598 – 600 1.602 – 603 1.605 – 668 1.616 – 619 1.632 1.662 – 664 1.696 – 720 2.20 – 22 2.59 – 87 2.215 – 223 2.462 – 464 2.540 2.628 – 3.168 2.629 – 630 2.630 – 643 2.675 – 681 3.33 – 98 3.45 – 52 3.53 – 113 3.59 – 62

441

39 207 201 214 214 201 302 115, 201 198, 300 197 200, 201 197 197 197, 198 115 114 201 115, 202 202 309, 320 207 347, 348, 352, 353, 370 348, 353 353 348, 353 356 – 357 348, 354 359 357 224 353 354 348, 354 70 207 73 224 – 225 201 207 322 321 321 – 322, 325 308, 322 323 322 307 207

442

Index of epic passages

3.67 – 69 3.97 – 98 3.99 – 113 3.114 – 217 3.133 ff. 3.135 – 136 3.140 – 146 3.163 – 164 3.167 – 168 3.176 – 217 3.179 – 206 3.212 – 213 3.213 – 215 3.229 – 236 3.241 – 245 3.248 – 251 3.304 – 307 3.312 3.460 – 551 3.483 – 488 3.553 – 555 3.607 – 618 3.615 – 616 3.648 ff. 3.648 – 651 3.652 3.653 – 655 3.660 3.661 3.662 3.665 – 666 3.668 4.32 – 344 4.32 – 38 4.39 4.53 4.89 – 90 4.93 4.94 4.95 4.95 – 100 4.145 – 146 4.152 4.153 – 154 4.157

207 280, 334, 338 73, 280, 309, 323, 324, 334 333 333 307, 321 321 321 341 307 201 333 280 116 197, 201, 202, 206, 207, 212 197 207 334 386 207 207 113 – 114 387 113 – 114 387 387 388 387 389 387 387 387 229 234, 238 224 240 226 306 235 240 235 234, 238 234 234 242 – 243

4.165 – 174 4.175 – 176 4.192 – 213 4.246 – 277 4.248 4.261 4.309 – 344 4.345 4.434 – 442 4.640 – 641 4.671 – 672 4.728 4.750 – 752 4.753 4.756 – 758 4.804 – 810 5.28 – 294 5.38 – 39 5.54 5.227 – 228 5.313 ff. 5.505 – 587

6.54 – 248 6.352 – 353 6.368 6.415 – 416 6.531 – 549 6.594 – 595 6.942 – 944 7.145 – 192 7.195 – 198 7.208 – 214 7.216 – 218 7.218 – 221 7.240 – 242 7.243 – 373 7.243 – 253 7.271 7.285 – 286 7.315 – 329 7.354 – 362 7.362 – 373 7.364 – 365 7.373 7.375 – 390

392 370, 392 236 235 302 242 235, 236, 242 235 201 333 207, 302 182 182 182 207 356 220 182 300 304 333 114, 354, 366, 367, 368, 369, 370, 371, 373, 375, 394 333 368 299 263 225 – 226 334 207 301, 302, 312 203, 206, 212, 302 201 197, 312 302, 312 165 165, 229 165 – 166 242 242 395 167 168 201 243 80

Index of epic passages

7.424 – 440 7.483 – 484 7.663 – 668 7.730 – 735 7.776 – 777 7.797 – 799 7.809 – 817 8.4 – 5 8.41 ff. 8.71 ff. 8.72 – 73 8.84 – 85 8.107 – 110 8.114 – 115 8.133 8.136 – 137 8.209 – 210 8.273 – 274 8.303 – 338 8.339 – 341 8.472 – 473 8.502 – 516 8.691 – 694 8.736 – 738 8.761 8.762 9.10 – 11 9.18 9.28 9.49 – 72 9.51 9.60 9.77 9.91 9.158 9.190 – 191 9.255 9.298 9.300 9.301 9.387 9.418 9.446 – 539 9.459 – 460 9.509 – 510 9.517 – 519 9.518 – 519

368 146 81 395 280, 333, 334 137 130, 207 130 116 333 334 131 131 334 334 131 334 375 131 334 333 68 308 280, 333 335 328 334 – 335 335 336 79 334 336 328 129 280, 336 308 299 334 336 336 336 129 395 129 129 89 331

9.519 – 521 9.540 – 546 9.546 – 559 9.547 9.565 9.821 9.898 9.900 – 903 10.15 – 17 10.118 10.162 – 163 10.175 – 176 10.176 – 179 10.192 10.194 – 195 10.195 – 196 10.197 – 198 10.210 – 211 10.241 – 242 10.243 – 244 10.282 – 283 10.288 – 295 10.319 – 320 10.337 – 339 10.347 – 448 10.351 – 353 10.356 10.378 – 380 10.384 – 385 10.414 – 419 10.431 – 438 10.434 10.441 10.445 – 448 10.485 – 486 10.612 – 614 10.636 10.762 – 773 10.780 – 782 10.827 – 831 10.831 – 836 10.849 – 852 10.899 – 906 10.907 – 920 10.927 – 931 11.1 – 11 11.12 – 20

129 395 395 42 336 302 334 337 279 302 207, 293 114 279 289, 295 280 292 280, 333 292 280 292 306 293 286 – 287 292 280 290 290 290 296 292 291 280, 333 337 72 – 73, 288 387 201 302 152 151, 303 41, 135 151, 207 224 – 225, 392 388 84 – 85, 113, 118, 119 113 42, 84 – 85, 114, 337 354

443

444

Index of epic passages

11.57 – 75 11.85 – 87 11.90 – 91 11.97 – 98 11.98 – 99 11.119 ff. 11.134 – 135 11.188 – 189 11.190 – 191 11.296 11.332 11.339 – 342 11.354 – 364 11.372 – 378 11.407 – 408 11.410 ff. 11.457 – 496 11.457 – 473 11.462 – 463 11.465 – 467 11.474 – 481 11.482 ff. 11.482 – 496 11.497 – 573 11.535 11.536 – 538 11.574 – 579 11.607 11.617 – 621 11.634 – 647 11.654 – 658 11.662 – 664 11.738 – 739 12.1 – 59 12.44 – 45 12.56 12.60 – 104 12.97 – 99 12.99 12.119 12.138 12.163 – 165 12.173 – 174 12.177 ff. 12.186 – 193 12.186 12.193

314, 339 339 117 314 303, 314 117 117 207 280, 333 224 225 142 – 143 169 – 170 169 – 170 146 117 302 313 207 145 303, 306, 313 117 201, 304, 313, 314 304 225 316 42, 309, 317, 318 145 201, 207 201, 207, 304, 305 42 280, 334 280, 333 333 328 334 333 331 – 332 338 335 329 – 330 331 331 329 329 289 334

12.214 – 215 12.216 12.328 12.338 12.384 12.394 12.420 – 423 12.429 ff. 12.456 – 457 12.481 – 518 12.494 12.545 – 586 12.553 – 554 12.558 – 561 12.563 – 564 12.569 – 570 12.584 12.608 12.642 12.649 ff. 12.650 – 655 12.696 12.711 12.730 – 796 12.761 – 766 12.768 – 769 12.776 – 777 12.779 – 781 12.782 – 788 12.795 12.797 ff. 12.800 – 802 12.808 12.810 12.811 – 812 12.812 – 813 12.814 – 815 12.816 Valerius Flaccus 1.1 – 23 1.1 – 21 1.1 1.7 – 21 1.12 – 14 1.29 – 30 1.71 – 78

339 334 334 207 289 309, 320 207 337 289 147 – 148 313 80 – 81 117 330, 334 330 331 103 299 101, 118 118 85 151 334 97 81 – 82 118 290 280, 290, 333 101 – 102, 103, 104 – 105 42 342 307, 315 315 96 350 318 42, 43, 46 96

32 – 36 57 274 57 – 60, 67 277 36 37

Index of epic passages

1.112 1.113 – 116 1.117 – 119 1.120 – 497 1.120 – 129 1.130 – 155 1.130 – 139 1.161 1.168 – 169 1.198 – 199 1.259 1.260 – 263 1.264 1.267 – 270 1.277 – 293 1.277 1.294 – 295 1.307 1.351 – 352 1.352 – 483 1.499 – 502 1.506 – 508 1.531 – 573 1.531 – 560 1.563 – 565 1.608 ff. 1.625 – 626 1.627 – 632 1.644 – 646 1.657 – 658 1.667 – 680 1.700 – 850 1.700 – 729 1.806 – 811 1.827 – 851 1.841 2.16 – 24 2.39 – 40 2.41 – 42 2.82 – 93 2.113 – 114 2.132 2.138 2.146 – 147 2.151 – 160 2.165 2.180 – 181

250 251 251, 254 256 276 217 – 219 261 – 262 366 252 109 257 257 257 257 259, 270, 275 273 270 35 242 229 204, 252 255 253 196 – 197, 203 – 204 108, 204 35 132 149 35, 252 252 70 108 149 219 309 306 108 – 109 132 132 204 184 184 184 184 184 184 184

2.183 2.212 2.239 2.242 – 246 2.261 – 278 2.408 – 418 2.422 – 424 2.445 – 583 2.451 – 549 2.485 – 492 2.500 – 501 2.557 – 566 2.585 – 590 3.124 – 137 3.224 – 228 3.250 3.481 – 4.89 3.481 – 597 4.85 – 89 4.146 – 343 4.181 – 185 4.200 4.232 – 238 4.250 – 251 4.320 – 322 4.351 – 421 4.514 4.519 – 526 4.708 – 710 4.711 – 712 5.37 – 54 5.65 – 66 5.154 – 176 5.156 ff. 5.217 – 221 5.343 – 349 5.405 – 406 5.407 ff. 5.415 – 455 5.479 – 489 5.538 – 541 5.548 – 563 5.567 – 618 5.605 – 606 5.673 ff. 5.676 5.692 – 693

184 307 184 73 – 74, 197 265 219 – 220 265 248 363 71 366 83 – 84 248 109 – 110 109 – 110 204 251 356 149 353 353 110 110 260 353 275 – 276 110 – 111 111 36 132 79 36 134 111 136 266 220 220 220 – 223 148 31 149 229 232 31 204 204

445

446

Index of epic passages

6.33 – 41 6.42 – 170 6.92 – 94 6.103 – 104 6.155 – 159 6.168 – 170 6.453 6.454 6.469 – 474 6.482 – 491 6.498 – 499 6.503 – 506 6.575 – 586 6.624 – 629 6.647 – 648 6.657 – 663 6.681 – 682 6.717 – 720 6.752 – 760 7.30 – 31 7.153 – 157 7.172 – 178 7.200 – 209 7.238 – 239 7.254 – 255 7.276 – 281 7.292 – 299 7.309 – 349 7.371 – 374 7.382 – 384 7.462 8.68 8.202 – 317 8.278 8.385 – 396 8.463b–467 Virgil Aeneid 1.1 1.24 – 28 1.27 1.34 – 49 1.39 1.88 – 89 1.97 – 98 1.223 – 296

237 229 242 237 240 – 241 110 196 196 196 159 – 160, 196 196 160 – 161 162 204 280 162 – 163 163 163 164 266 196 196 196 196 196 196 196 196 196 196 196 307 218 306 148 30 – 31

72 216 254 247 253 132 129 203

1.228 1.229 – 253 1.257 – 264 1.278 1.283 – 285 1.286 – 290 1.364 1.446 1.450 – 493 1.459 – 463 1.466 – 493 1.472 – 473 1.595 – 610 1.701 – 706 2.207 – 208 2.223 – 224 2.475 2.577 – 580 2.707 – 712 2.774 3.325 – 329 3.690 – 691 4.178 – 183 4.266 4.391 4.449 4.522 – 524 4.529 4.615 – 620 5.85 – 93 5.249 – 257 5.779 – 826 5.871 6.14 – 34 6.48 6.365 – 366 6.587 6.791 – 805 6.845 – 846 7.1 – 4 7.170 – 191 7.185 7.286 – 322 7.312 7.314 7.409 – 412 7.583 – 584

301 212, 250 200, 202, 212 196 179, 212 68 264 216 223 216, 219 218 287 68 180 375 379 366 178 180 307 179 249 391 264 180 200 284 284 319 344 220, 226 250 334 222 307 58 – 59 306 49, 68 68 178 224 367 247 136 200 300 212

Index of epic passages

7.593 7.641 – 817 7.815 – 816 8.91 – 93 8.107 – 109 8.184 – 275 8.190 – 272 8.249 – 250 8.288 – 289 8.293 – 301 8.359 – 368 8.583 – 584 8.678 – 681 8.714 – 728 8.730 9.59 – 64 9.94 – 97 9.161 – 167 9.185 9.226 9.236 9.246 – 261 9.264 – 274 9.267 – 268 9.306 – 310 9.315 – 319 9.329 – 330 9.339 – 341 9.352

367 229 233 132 132 363 295 367 354 90 104 180 68 68, 102 216 308 212 280 288 291 280 294 294 279 294 280 178 292 – 293 288

9.353 9.354 9.356 9.373 – 374 9.446 – 449 9.580 9.597 9.641 9.758 10.8 – 9 10.34 – 35 10.65 – 68 10.113 10.163 – 214 10.557 – 560 10.622 – 624 10.625 – 627 10.628 – 629 10.632 10.689 10.773 10.791 – 793 11.252 – 293 12.592 12.599 12.684 – 703 12.896 – 907 12.908 – 912 12.921 – 924

286 288, 292 292 288 72, 95, 288 299 375 90 367 212 212 212 212 229 280 213 213 212 212 115 387 96 141 367 120 138 365, 367, 368 367 365, 367

447