sign in sign up
<<
Home , Adrastus, Alcmaeon (mythology), Antigone (mythology), Arae, Argia (mythology), Cydon

Elegy with Epic Consequences: Themes in ’

A dissertation submitted to the Graduate School of the University of Cincinnati in partial fulfillment of the requirements for the degree of

Doctor of Philosophy

In the Department of of the College of Arts and Sciences by

Carina Moss

B.A. Bucknell University April 2020

Committee Chairs: Lauren D. Ginsberg, Ph.D.,

Kathryn J. Gutzwiller, Ph.D.

Abstract

This dissertation examines the role of elegy in the Thebaid by Statius, from allusion at the level of words or phrases to broad thematic resonance. It argues that Statius attributes elegiac language and themes to characters throughout the epic, especially women. Statius thus activates certain women in the epic as disruptors, emphasizing the ideological conflict between the genres of love elegy and epic . While previous scholarship has emphasized the importance of Statius’ epic predecessors, or the prominence of tragic allusion in the plot, my dissertation centers the role of elegy in this epic.

First, I argue that Statius relies on allusion to the genre of elegy to signal the true divine agent of the civil war at Thebes: . Vulcan’s erotic jealousy over ’ affair with leads him to create the Necklace of . Imbued with elegiac resonance, the necklace comes to with corrupted elegiac imagery. Statius characterizes Argia within the dynamic of the elegiac relicta puella and uses this framework to explain Argia’s gift of the necklace to

Eriphyle and her advocacy for Argos’ involvement in the war. By observing the full weight of the elegiac imagery in these scenes, I show that Argia mistakenly causes the death of and the devastation at Thebes as the result of Vulcan’s elegiac curse.

Next, I analyze ’s elegiac role in the text in two distinct ways. I first argue that

Statius uses elegiac vocabulary from multiple points of view to describe Hypsipyle and her narrative. Her depiction of the Lemnian massacre is indebted to the elegiac topos of militia amoris, and her experiences with , leader of the , is characterized by servitium amoris. Then, I examine this elegiac background via Julia Kristeva’s theoretical perspective.

Influenced by the association between the elegiac relicta puella and the Kristevan semiotic chora, I expand Hypsipyle’s connection to this topos vis-à-vis Kristeva’s feminine, counter-

ii

cultural semiotic. Hypsipyle’s engagement with elegiac topoi throughout the Lemnian and

Nemean episodes indicate her oscillation between Kristeva’s semiotic and symbolic orders.

Hypsipyle further exhibits the temporal attitude of the relicta puella—repetition and immobility—and hinders the forward progress of the epic. This affects both the forward progress of the Argive army as they delay in , and the successful conclusion of the epic plot.

Finally, I conclude with Book 12 and analyze the elegiac revision of Polynices’ epic march Argia proposes to . Hippolyta makes an appearance as a foil to Argia and

Hypsipyle and a signal that the destructive repetitions of the Theban saga are far from over.

This project outlines major elegiac influences on the Thebaid. In it, I argue that Statius’ use of the elegiac mode spreads beyond individual allusion to foreshadow, hinder, and construct the very plot and teleological outcome of the epic as a whole. By incorporating multiple theoretical methodologies from intertextual analysis, genre theory, and Kristeva’s post- structuralist perspectives, my research demonstrates the importance of Latin love elegy to

Statius’ epic poem.

iii

iv

Acknowledgments

I have been very lucky to have a lot of support networks in my life and am grateful for this opportunity to acknowledge them. Just over ten years ago, I took a leave of absence from university. On a whim, when I moved home, I signed up for a Latin class at the local junior college. I owe a debt of gratitude to Justin Shannon who taught me many things in that class, and who reminded me that I love learning. That semester also brought me Tim Neal and Edie Barry, who have given me their constant, effortless friendship. I also extend thanks to the rest of my

California crew, especially Kevin Cozart, Kim Savage, Casey Runge, and Mario Trinchero.

When I returned to Bucknell and became a Classics major, I was met and welcomed by kind and caring mentors. I would not have gotten this far if not for their generosity in those years and since. Stephanie Larson first introduced me to Thebes and I am very glad to be back. Kris

Trego has always supported me with endless and monumental confidence.

I would like to thank my faculty at Cincinnati for everything they have taught me, in and outside of the classroom. I want to acknowledge a few people in particular: I have learned so much from Kathleen Lynch starting from my first semester as a graduate student. Steven Ellis always had a pep-talk when I needed it, and made me feel welcome in the office.

Marion Kruse and Calloway Scott offered coffee, advice, and good conversations. Jack Davis always had a snack or anecdote to share. John Wallrodt, Jeff Kramer, Emilie Pierce, Joe

Katenkamp and Lindsay Taylor kept everything running smoothly. All of the staff of the John

Miller Burnam Library, but especially Mike Braunlin and Shannan Stewart offered above-and- beyond care especially in the last few months of this project. I would like to thank my committee: Daniel Markovic for stepping in with timely and thoughtful comments; Kathryn

Gutzwiller for supporting this project from its beginning, and for always asking just the right

v

questions; and Lauren Ginsberg, who I met before either of us came to Cincinnati. Her support for this project, and my graduate career, has been instrumental in all of my successes.

I would also like to thank Alyssa Gockley, Sarah Ray, and Amber Catford for their confident and steadfast friendship. I am grateful to my cohort, Andy Lund, CJ Miller,

Mohammed Bhatti, Jeff Banks, and Chris Hayward for being an amazing team from our first days in Cincinnati. I especially thank CJ for talking through tricky parts in this dissertation, and

Andy for reading drafts, going for coffee, kvetching or problem solving. I thank Sarah Beal and

Simone Agrimonti, as well as Alice Crowe, Haley Bertram, Maura Brennan, Kimberly Passaro,

Allie Pohler, Bill Weir, Chris Motz, Kyle Helms, and Kathleen Kidder for their friendship. I am grateful to all of the graduate students I’ve worked with and next to over the years for their invaluable community, and to Ploy Keener and Sarah Wenner for their endless support and motivation. To my squad: Jessie Wells, Katie Cantwell, Michelle Martinez, Sylvia Czander,

Daniel Clancy, Kyle Collins, Aaron Caffrey, my life is so much brighter knowing you.

For their support and love, I thank the Moss (and Moss-adjacent) family, especially my brother Eliot, my parents Howard and Adrea, my grandmother Tobey, Ken and Pat, and Lindsay.

I would also like to thank my in-laws, Dawn and Andre, for welcoming me into the family.

And finally, my partner Jason, whom I thank for everything. This has been a long road, and I am very glad to have you next to me to navigate it.

vi

Table of Contents

Abstract ...... ii Acknowledgments ...... v Introduction ...... 1 Statius’ background ...... 2 The Question of Genre ...... 4 Multiple Imitation ...... 6 Genre Theory, in short ...... 7 Elegy in Statius...... 10 Outline ...... 15 Chapter 1: Beginning and Origin...... 18 Introduction ...... 18 Elegiac Beginnings: Vulcan’s Jealousy...... 20 Argia...... 36 ...... 59 Competing Paradigms...... 76 Theban Catalogue ...... 83 Rewriting the Origins ...... 91 Agency: What About ? ...... 109 Chapter 2: Elegy in Nemea...... 112 Introduction ...... 112 Perspectives of Hypsipyle’s Character ...... 114 Blurring the Lines ...... 128 Abandonment: the Lemniades ...... 131 Abandonment: Hypsipyle ...... 145 Violence: The Massacre ...... 150 Violence: Jason...... 157 Agency, Divinity, Power ...... 172 Chapter 3: A Theoretical Approach...... 191 Introduction ...... 191 Theory: Kristeva ...... 192 A Semiotic ...... 202

vii

Symbolic Hypsipyle ...... 206 Hark, the Argonauts ...... 212 Repetitions...... 218 Time ...... 233 Semiotic Hypsipyle ...... 240 The Argives: the Symbolic in Nemea ...... 250 Semiotic ...... 254 Boundaries...... 257 Reintegration...... 269 Consequences...... 272 Chapter 4: Elegy at the Limits ...... 278 Introduction ...... 278 Argia and Antigone ...... 278 Setting the Scene...... 289 Generic Conflict ...... 292 Hippolyta...... 296 Parallels...... 305 Epilogue: Afterwards ...... 315 Bibliography ...... 318

viii

Introduction

“Writing means, first of all, coming to grips with tradition,” describes

Gianpiero Rosati.1 He explains this in the context of Statius’ Thebaid, a poem deeply aware of its literary predecessors and its position as their “successor.” He observes that “the Thebaid is a poem about genealogy, about posterity, and the weight of tradition…and posterity is seen as a repetition (the repetition of a series of horrors overshadows the history of Thebes and its ruling family, like a condemnation, an inescapable curse).”2 Statius must situate his epic within a series of contexts: literary, cultural, political, each of which has its own set of rules and expectations. In this dissertation, I focus on how Statius situates the Thebaid within the context of the genre of

Latin love elegy. Concern over the weight of tradition on the shoulders of this poem has prevented a full analysis of elegiac influence on this text: this dissertation aims to understand that influence and how it combines and competes with the other elements that shape the Thebaid.

Primarily, I analyze the network of elegiac references that Statius creates throughout the

Thebaid, and the way that this network interacts with, informs, and hinders the overall progress of the epic. As I will argue over the span of the chapters below, Statius contaminates the generic scope of his epic with motifs and topoi from Latin love elegy in order to highlight the scope, and inevitability, of the destruction that envelops the mythological Thebes. Elegiac allusion becomes a method of distraction and delay while also foreshadowing—and at times causing—devastation throughout the epic. Many of the intertexts discussed throughout this dissertation have been

1 Rosati 2008, 182. 2 Rosati 2008, 182, citing the longa retro series at Stat. Theb. 1.7.

noted by other scholars, yet this project is the first to put them all together into a holistic and sustained argument about the elegiac mode in Statius’ Thebaid.

Statius’ background

P. Papinius Statius, born around 50 CE, was the son of a grammaticus who taught and and composed his own poetry, for which he won prizes.3 Statius directly attributes his learning and skill to his father, and cites him as the reason for the success and quality of the Thebaid.4 Statius indicates his thorough depth of knowledge in the Greek sources of his mythological background, and situates his epic within the larger narrative history of these stories. His erudition on the Roman side is also clearly indicated throughout his works, as I note further below. It seems clear, further, that Statius expected his readers to be familiar with the literary mythological background of the he retells.

The story told in the Thebaid is not a new one, though Statius adds his own innovative twists where he can. Unfortunately, it can be difficult to determine what is Statian innovation and what is recalled from a now-lost earlier source: few of the earlier Thebaids remain extant. The cyclic Thebaid comes to us only in fragments. An epic Thebaid was written by of

Colophon by the 4th century; enough fragments exist to reconstruct a very general overview of plot and topic, but many questions remain open as to the relationship between Antimachus and

3 Cf. Silv. 5.3, a lament at his father’s death. Statius lists the stories and genres his father was familiar with, in reciting and composing, at 5.3.80-103. He won prizes in Italy and the games at , Nemea, and the Isthmus (5.3.133-43). In , he taught Greek poetry including and , , , , Sappho, and among others (146-58, with 191-97). See esp. Gibson 2006 for extensive commentary on this poem, and McNelis 2002 on Statius’ father and his cultural environment. 4 Silv. 5.3.233-37. 2

Statius.5 On the Roman side, references an epic Thebaid written by his friend

Ponticus,6 though no other references to that text, or author, remain. There are plenty of other, though brief, references to the story in Homer, Hesiod, and other archaic sources,7 but our main source for most of the stories that Statius adapts is 5th century Athenian and the iconographic record.8 Often via Athenian tragedy, these Greek myths also provided inspiration for Latin literature. The single fragment of ’ Sabinae has intertextual links to ’

Phoenissae,9 indicating the relevance not only of Euripides but also of the Theban story for

Republican thought.10 ’s covers a miniature “Theban saga” from ’

5 See Matthews 1996, esp. 20-26, 79-206 for the text and commentary; 24-26 with bibliography on the relationship between these two texts. Matthews concludes that while Statius may have read Antimachus, there is too little extant material in Antimachus to prove any deep engagement between the texts. 6 Prop. 1.7. 7 Cf., e.g., the Hesiodic ; fr. 99a provides Argia’s name. Stesichorus’ version of the story, now known from fragments on the Lille Papyrus, offers a different perspective of some facets. On this papyrus, and the role of sheep in the conflict between and Polynices, see Beck 1988. 8 Of the extant works: ’ Seven against Thebes; Euripides’ Phoenician Women, Bacchae, Suppliant Women, and the wealth of fragments of the Hypsipyle; ’ Theban plays: Rex, Oedipus at , Antigone all tell relevant pieces of Statius’ . Other and at least one play (Sophocles’ ) by these three playwrights are known to have covered the direct story of Polynices’ war against Eteocles or relevant adjacent topics. Relevant articles from the LIMC are cited throughout my chapters below. Soerink 2014a uses an innovative methodology to suggest Statius’ engagement with the Cyclic Thebaid; by examining iconographic sources, he proposes that a particular iconographic set-scene—’ debate with in Nemea, as I discuss in Chapter 3—is based on this epic source, which explains its difference from Euripides’ Hypsipyle. Soerink’s argument and methodology is a creative use of iconography to suggest plot details of a lost text. Cf., e.g., the terracotta relief at Pyrgi Temple A depicting eating the brains of (Museo Nazionale di Villa Giulia, Etruscan mid-5th cent. BCE). This story is not directly told in any extant literature; it presumably, however, was known from the broader context of the : on this myth in iconography, including this relief, see Augoustakis (ed.) 2016, xxxiv-xxxvi. 9 La Penna 2000, 247; Enn. Sabinae fr. praet. 5-6 R3 = 379-380 ~ Eur. Phoen. 571-577. Ennius’ highly fragmentary Nemea may have been based on the Euripidean Hypsipyle and thus perhaps relevant for Statius, though the limited material extant prevents any connections from being made. On this see Goldberg and Manuwald 2018, ad loc. 10 quotes Euripides in letters to Atticus, Att. 2.25.1 (cf. Eur. Andr. 448, Phoen. 393) and 7.11.1 (Eur. Phoen. 506); cf. Ginsberg 2017, 58 and 58n1. 3

search for to , , and their son.11 writes on Theban topics in his tragic corpus with the Phoenissae and the Oedipus. The mythos of Thebes is thus represented across a range of genres and authors, in both Greek and Latin.

Statius’ epic must, therefore, situate itself within this wealth of literary and mythological background. His readership can be assumed to have at least a passing familiarity with the story.

As with any author in the mythographic tradition, there are certain rules, or at least patterns to follow: while innovation is an important aspect of marking one’s own version of a story, that innovation must take place within the structure of the known myth. In the story of the fall of

Troy, for example, the Greek forces must win via the . In the broad strokes of the

Theban story, Oedipus and must marry; Polynices must be exiled, and he and Eteocles must face each other to the death in battle. Certain elements of Statius’ story are innovative variation, such as the role of Argia in the story. While it is impossible to know for sure the depth of his novelty, Statius’ account of this story manipulates, recycles, and adapts the mythological tradition within the constraints of his overall plot.

The Question of Genre

For a long time, researchers focused on Statius’ relationship and engagement with his most prominent literary predecessor, .12 In part this is based on the direct relationship

Statius proposes between the Thebaid and the : in a sphragis to his epic, Statius addresses his text and asks that it follow after the Aeneid, but not too closely (Stat. Theb. 12.816-17):

uiue, precor; nec tu diuinam Aeneida tempta, sed longe sequere et uestigia semper adora.

11 Ov. Met. 3.1-4.603. The story actually ends with Cadmus again, as Ovid describes his metamorphosis into a snake along with his wife Harmonia. See also Prop. 2.5.50, 2.8.10. 12 See, e.g., Ganiban 2007. 4

Live on, I pray: but do not make an attempt on the divine Aeneid—but follow at length, and always be a suppliant at its feet.

With this statement, Statius both announces his epic’s distance from the Aeneid while also inviting his readers to compare the texts more closely. Hardie observes that this sphragis also recasts language from Ovid: even at his most straightforward, prima facie, Statius invites intertextual complexity.13 He incorporates structural, thematic, and linguistic elements from a variety of epic predecessors, and integrates material from his Flavian contemporaries as well.14

Virgil’s importance as a literary predecessor is undeniable, but trends in scholarship have more recently looked beyond Virgil to see other, equally important texts in the background of the

Thebaid, especially from Ovid’s corpus. Keith argues for the importance of Statius’ engagement with Ovid’s Metamorphoses, as well as other aspects of Ovidian epic poetics.15 The recent wealth of commentaries on individual books of the Thebaid indicate not only Statius’ prominence in contemporary scholarship, but also the relevance of his engagement with literary predecessors.16 These commentaries are filled with notations of Statius’ allusive practice, from

13 Hardie 1993, 110; Ov. Am. 3.15.19-20, Tr. 3.7.49-54, Met. 15.878-79. See also Pollmann 2004 ad loc. 14 The relationship here is more complex, but scholars generally agree that the Flavian epicists , Statius, and Silius Italicus all knew each other’s works, even if they did not live to see every epic fully published. On Statius and Valerius, see esp. Lovatt 2015 with Parkes 2014. On Silius, see Lovatt 2010; articles by Marks, Walter, van der Keur, Hulls, Soerink, and Chaudhuri in Manuwald and Voight 2013. On the Flavian epics as a unit with similar aesthetic goals, see, e.g., the recent volumes organized by theme within the Flavian epics: Nauta, van Dam, and Smolenaars 2006; Smolenaars, van Dam, and Nauta 2008; Manuwald and Voigt 2013; Augoustakis 2014; Augoustakis 2016; Manioti 2016; Bessone and Fucecchi 2018; Ginsberg and Krasne 2018. Brill’s Companion to Statius 2015 is still a key starting point for Statius’ interactions with his contemporary literary milieu. 15 See, for example, Keith 2002; 2004-2005; 2007; in addition, Newlands 2004; Parkes 2009b. 16 I highlight, among others, the Oxford series: Parkes 2012 on Book 4, Augoustakis 2016 on Book 8, and Gervais 2017 on Book 2. Other notable recent commentaries include Pollmann 2004 on Book 12 and Smolenaars 1994 on Book 7. 5

notes of direct intertext to outlines of prolonged engagement with a particular text, trope, or genre.

In addition to Statius’ epic background, scholars have also noted the importance of tragedy as a generic model for the Thebaid. The story covered in the Thebaid has been told in

Athenian tragedy; Amphiaraus in particular is encoded as a “tragic ,” 17 and Jocasta looks like her “familiar” tragic figure.18 In Book 12, Statius’ Antigone comes to bury Polynices in a revision of the Sophoclean plot.19 Bessone argues that Argia becomes a tragic figure when she meets Antigone on that battlefield.20 Soerink discusses the “epic potential of [Statius’] tragic heroine” Hypsipyle, as her character is adapted from Euripides’ tragedy.21 This generic inheritance adds to the richness of Statius’ epic plot, but also complicates the presentation of his characters and confuses audience expectations for how the story will progress and, ultimately, end.

Multiple Imitation

While Statius’ epic and tragic predecessors left their mark on the Thebaid, his allusive program is complex. Recent scholars continue to emphasize the fact that Statius in particular

(and imperial poetry broadly) practices a complex and multi-layered intertextual program.22 A significant aspect of this, as Smolenaars describes, is the role of “multiple imitation:” the manner

17 Fantham 2006, quote from 148, cf. Augoustakis 2016, xxvii-xxx. 18 Dietrich 2015, quote from 310. 19 As in all of these examples, Statius adds unique variation: Antigone comes to Polynices’ body only to find Argia already there. I discuss the burial of Polynices in Chapter 4. 20 Bessone 2010. I discuss Argia’s generic signals further in Chapters 1 and 4. 21 Soerink 2014b, quote from 32. 22 Cf. Gervais 2017, xxxv: “Statian allusivity rarely comprises a simple link between his text and a single passage in a source text, but instead multiple resonances with several passages in a source, or several different sources.” Beyond the commentary tradition, cf. Hardie 1990, esp. 3-5; Smolenaars 2004; van Dam 2006 (on multiple imitation in Statius’ ); Hulls 2011; Thomas 1986 and Hinds 1998 remain foundational for the theoretical background of this topic. 6

in which Statius alludes, in a single section, to multiple models.23 For example, Smolenaars examines the death of Jocasta in Thebaid 11 with respect to thematic and verbal parallels to the similar scenes in both Sophocles and Seneca at the same time. Yet Statius also incorporates elements from ’s suicide, serving to enhance the pathos of the scene as well as enhance a

“tragic” reading of Jocasta’s death.24 Here and elsewhere, Statius alludes at once to more than one text, story, or generic background using individual words or generic topoi. This is a key aspect of Flavian poetic practice, and deeply informs my reading of Statius.

Genre Theory, in short

It is worthwhile here to briefly note the relevant terminology from modern genre theory, as it has been adapted in Classics scholarship, which serves as a theoretical underpinning of this project.25 Genre theory is not new, nor is it new to Classics. I emphasize here the aspects of theory that are relevant to the role of generic intertexts; that is, an author’s use of a clear signal to a theme, trope, or topic from a genre other than what the text purports to be. Broadly speaking, I follow Fowler in considering the make-up of genres to fall into a categorizable repertoire: “the

[generic] repertoire is the whole range of potential points of resemblance that a genre may exhibit…. Every genre has a unique repertoire, from which its representatives select

23 Smolenaars 1994, xxvi-xxxi. See in addition Gervais 2017 ad 94-133 and passim; ’ speech to Eteocles incorporates allusions to the “divine epiphanies” of Allecto to starting at Aen. 7.456 and Venus to , Aen. 1.402, but also incorporates language from Virgil’s Jupiter (ad Theb. 2.100-1) and Seneca’s (ad Theb. 2.102), among others. Following Smolenaars, commentators on Statius frequently note his complex allusivity: Augoustakis 2016, 3.iii, xxxvii-xlii; Gervais 2017, 4.b, xxxv- xxxvii; Parkes 2012, IV, xxix-xxxiii; Steiniger 2005, I.7.1-2, 50-53. In addition to Statius, scholars note this pattern in : Roche 2009 on Lucan, 4.b esp. 20-24; Zissos 2008 on Valerius Flaccus, esp. xxxvii. The pattern is also called “complex” or “combinatorial allusion.” 24 Smolenaars 2004, esp. 232-33. 25 On ancient genre theory, which I cite in the dissertation where relevant, see esp. Harrison 2007a, 2-10; Farrell 2002, 39; 2003, 383-91; 2004, e.g., 44. 7

characteristics.”26 In a similar vein, Volk describes the concept of “mode:” mode is an

“abstraction of genre,” that is, “reminiscent of a [text in the genre] by exhibiting characteristics typical of [that genre].”27 In other words, certain constitutive programmatic elements of Fowler’s repertoire can be used to suggest a particular genre. Genres are made up of modes, but modes can appear outside of genres as a way to signal that genre. For example, individual words can carry the weight of a generic mode with them, such as arma, signaling epic poetry.28 Beyond individual words, type-scenes or stock imagery can programmatically signal a generic mode, such as an epic Catalogue of Heroes.29 These elements of the repertoire are immediate, strong signals of the genre, while other aspects symbolize a genre only in combination. Conte recognizes this combination as a “constellation” where single elements reflect upon on another creating “a totality of reciprocal, structured relations.”30

Stephen Hinds observes that the “constellation” that is Roman epic poetry remains unchanging, despite the regular inclusion of “un-epic” elements: “each new Roman writer reasserts a stereotype of epic whose endurance is as remarkable as is its ultimate incompatibility with the actual plot of any actual epic in the Greek or Latin canon.” He suggests that there are certain elements that “make” a Roman epic (i.e., epic “modes”), and certain elements that, while they appear as regular features, “are systematically treated as threatening the essence of the genre rather than as helping to constitute it.”31 Epic was never “pure:” it always included so-called

26 Fowler 1982, 55; Volk 2002, 40-43. 27 Volk 2002, 43. My ellipses in this text provide a generalized definition of Volk’s analysis of the specific didactic mode. 28 Cf. Virg. Aen. 1.1; Conte 1994, 109. 29 Cf. Reitz 2013; Reitz 2012 analyzes the Council of the as an epic type-scene. 30 Conte 1994, 108. 31 Hinds 2000, 223. 8

“non-epic” themes such as “women and love—and women in love,” yet these often appear as elements that connote “surprise” when they appear: although they regularly are part of an epic poem, they are “not supposed” to be included.32

In observing the pattern of generic intertexts, Stephen Harrison uses the term “generic enrichment” to describe the effect of “guest” generic material in a “host” text. Specifically, generic enrichment is “the way in which generically identifiable texts gain literary depth and texture from detailed confrontation with, and consequent inclusion of elements from, texts which appear to belong to other literary genres.”33 Harrison’s “enrichment” is a variant on a wider theme of “interaction” between generic material in a single text. Elsewhere, this can be called “a kind of contaminatio, with parts of one story being woven into another.”34 While contaminatio has a more clearly negative connotation than “enrichment,” both terms indicate the same basic concept: a foreign generic mode integrated (or not) within a text. I use both of these terms throughout this dissertation. I also further enrich the language of contamination: in discussing

Ovid’s complex generic program in the Metamorphoses, Gildenhard and Zissos analyze “how

Ovid emplotted tragic material within the matrix of his own formal and cultural resources of signification,” picking up the term “emplottment” from Hayden White to mean the way that elements of a story are encoded as a story.35

32 Hinds 2000, 223. On the “purity” of epic, or any ancient genre, see Kroll’s famous (and famously eugenicist) Die Kreuzung der Gattungen, 1924, 202-24. Required reading alongside Kroll now is Barchiesi 2001a, which outlines the original merit of Kroll’s argument while also taking into account the historical background of the text. Barchiesi cautions against using Kroll’s language of “crossing” due to the racism inherent in the biological metaphors of his argument. Modern scholarship has moved past Kroll’s argument: one finds a rich vocabulary of generic interaction in contemporary work. 33 Harrison 2007a, 1. References to a distinct generic paradigm do not then turn the “host” genre into the “guest” genre, as Volk (2002, 70) explains via ’ didactic mode: “the fact that Lucretius is imitating Ennius and Homer does not make his work an epic.” 34 Larmour 1990, 132, on Ovid’s use of tragedy in the Metamorphoses. 35 White 1973, 7-11; Gildenhard and Zissos, 1999, 164. 9

In this dissertation, I analyze the role of the elegiac mode within Statius’ epic Thebaid. I use the language of generic enrichment and contamination to discuss the effect of how Statius emplots elegiac material within the structure of his epic poem. In the Thebaid, Statius’ elegiac program is focused on the female characters that drive the progress of the epic plot while at the same time hindering its teleological development. I argue throughout that elegiac tropes give this epic its flavor.

Elegy in Statius

It is not new to observe that Statius draws intertextual references from the Latin elegiac corpus. Commentaries regularly note the linguistic and generic parallels as they appear.36

Scholars such as Bessone, Micozzi, and Falcone especially have observed some extended engagement with elegiac topoi and form an important preface to the present dissertation.37 These few extended analyses of elegiac topoi focus on Statius’ use of allusion to generic topoi to characterize Argia and Hypsipyle in the epic. I expand upon their analyses of individual characters and scenes to explore a wider pattern of Statius’ elegiac elements.

There is a complex relationship between epic and elegiac poetry. The Latin love elegists like to claim that epic and elegiac poetry are, at their core, incompatible. They frequently stress the fact that they avoid (or are unable) to write epic poetry, and they cast elegy as its polar opposite. For example, Ovid programmatically begins the claiming that he had attempted to write epic, but prevented him from doing so, and turned his epic hexameters into

36 To offer a bare-bones list of elegiac references in the most recent Oxford commentaries, cf., e.g., Gervais 2017 ad 2.102-3, 104, 231-32, 269-70, 351; Augoustakis 2016 ad 8.491-94, 536-9, 561-62, 641- 42, 649-50; Parkes 2012 ad 4.24-30, 200-10, 318-40, 326-27. 37 See esp. Bessone 2015, 2010, and 2002; Micozzi 2002, and Falcone 2011. References to these works appear especially in Chapters 1 and 2. 10

elegiac couplets.38 Literary theorists of the ancient world considered poetic genres to fall into a hierarchy of forms.39 At the top, the grandest and most “serious” genres were epic and tragedy. 40

The list continued down to the “lower” genres such as comedy and mime. 41 As Farrell summarizes , “genre is thus an expression of character rather than a choice to be made among several freely available kinds of action or literary forms. A of serious character will produce serious poetry, which will involve the imitation of serious actions; a poet of less noble character will produce less exalted poetry that imitates baser actions.”42 Among the “lighter” genres was elegiac poetry: not as serious as epic, but not as “low” as the others. Elegists often pride themselves on writing in a “light” genre.43 This hierarchy is on display with Ovid’s famously metapoetic declaration of his type of poetry (Ov. Am. 1.1.1-4):44

Arma gravi numero violentaque bella parabam edere, materia conveniente modis. par erat inferior versus—risisse Cupido dicitur atque unum surripuisse pedem.

I was getting ready to publish arms and violent war in weighty meter, material appropriate to its manner. the lesser verse was equal—but Cupid is said to have laughed, and stolen one foot.

38 Ov. Am. 1.1.1-4, see below. 39 See discussion at Harrison 2007a, 8-10; Arist. Poet. 1448b. 40 Harrison 2007a, 7, cites Aristotle on the “hexameter [as] the ‘weightiest of meters’ (ὀγκωδέστατον τῶν μέτρων, Arist. Poet. 1459b).” He goes on to note Propertius (2.1.39-42) and Ovid (Fast. 2.125-26) “rejecting epic subject matter as too ‘big’ for elegy,” or (Odes 3.3.69) “where the material is getting to ‘heavy’ for lyric.” 41 Cf. Arist. Poet. 1448a, 1449a-b; Hor. AP 73-92, with Farrell 2003, 383-86. 42 Farrell 2003, 384; see also Harrison 2002. 43 As do authors of other “light” genres, cf. 1.4, see also Farrell 2012, 19, citing Prop. 2.1, 3.3; Ov. Am. 1.1. 44 Parallel to this is Prop. 3.9.4. See also Ov. Am. 2.1.21, where Ovid identifies his poetry as elegos levis. I return to this poem in Chapter 2. 11

Ovid programmatically declares that his plan to write epic poetry in hexameters, gravi numero

(1.1.1), was foiled by Cupid stealing a metrical foot. This theft jokingly refers to the shorter, now

“inferior” pentameter of the elegiac couplet. Along with the metrical change, Ovid had to change his themes. While war and weapons were appropriate for the hexameter, materia conveniente modis (1.1.2), the elegiac meter requires different, lighter subject matter.45 Thus when Ovid identifies himself in the Amores as an elegiac poet, he situates himself against the epic genre.

Propertius, too, references fact that he cannot write epic poetry: he claims that he is not cut out for it, he does not want to, and insists that he would write the wrong thing.46 This recusatio is a rejection of epic poetry in favor of elegy, and serves as a rejection of everything that epic stands for: serious, heavy topics are cast aside in favor of “light” love poetry. Yet the rejection of theme, via the rejection of meter, is a poetic conceit in the recusatio and elsewhere: elegy often plays with epic themes, and epic poetry often engages with erotic and romantic themes.

Recent scholars have emphasized Roman epic’s engagement with the elegiac mode. For example, scholars have examined elegiac traits, especially the role of amor, in Lucan’s Bellum

Civile;47 others explore Virgil’s use of elegiac language and motifs; especially, but not exclusively, in characterizing Dido and her relationship with Aeneas.48 These scholars all discuss

45 Though see Farrell 2003, 388: “With time one finds an ever-greater sense of adventure until, by the Hellenistic and Roman periods, it comes to seem that testing and even violating generic boundaries was not merely an inevitable and accidental consequence of writing in any genre, but an important aspect of the poet’s craft.” 46 Cf. Prop. 2.1, 3.9. Relevantly, he also particularly speaks against Theban stories: cf. McNelis 2007, 20; Braund 2006, 261, 265. McAuley 2016, 328, observes that Propertius even elegizes the war between Polynices and Eteocles, “compar[ing] it to erotic rivalry over a puella” re: 2.9.49-52. 47 E.g., Burns 2016; Celotto forthcoming and 2017, especially chapters 3 and 5; McCune 2013-2014. 48 E.g., Newton 1957, 31-43; Saylor 1986; Cairns 1989, esp. 129-50; Keith 1997 on Dido and Sulpicia; McCallum 2012. An edited volume, including articles by Pandey and Celotto, is in preparation by Alison Keith and Micah Meyers on Virgil and elegy, based on their 2017 Symposium Cumanum. 12

the significance and impact of generic enrichment practiced by these Roman authors. As much as claimed that their genres were inviolable, in practice this was not at all true.

The conflict between elegy and epic is one of ideology: epic poetry, from its earliest iterations, features the klea andron, the deeds of men in warfare.49 Roman elegiac poets reject or political glory. These poets claim to prefer lovers and poetry to war and politics, and their entire aesthetic idea is based around these preferences. Yet even while they reject the ideology of epic poetry, they adapt epic and military language to describe their erotic achievements. The elegiac trope of militia amoris derives from this idea. Developed from themes in Hellenistic poetry, this trope defines the elegiac lover as a soldier for his puella.50 As Ovid puts it, militat omnis amans (Ov. Am. 1.9.1). As a soldier, the lover follows the commands alternately of his beloved and Cupid or Amor. The elegist refuses to be a soldier for , and instead parallels military activity with his role as a lover.51 Propertius references fighting battles with his lover.52 The elegist may benefit from military activity, yet—as Propertius phrases it— this will be by watching a triumph from the lap of his lady.53 Within this trope, military activity

49 As any text on genre theory begins, since it is the most straightforward-seeming ancient definition of genre. On the apparent masculinity of epic, see esp. Keith 2000, 1-7, though note Aristodama, a Hellenistic epic poet from Smyrna (ποιήτρια, IG IX2 62.4), who was granted citizenship of in honor of her epic compositions of local history. On Aristodama, see esp. Rutherford 2009. This single point of known evidence for female epic poets can only change so much of gender-based assumptions about epic poetry; it is unknown if Aristodama was unique or representative of a group of itinerant female epic poets, or even if female epic poets were known outside of where she traveled. Further, even if female poets were common, and commonly known, epic poetry never references them. The difference between reality and poetic trope suggests that “epic is masculine” just as the presence of Sulpicia’s corpus doesn’t change the fact that elegiac poetry is usually considered a “male-centered” genre. 50 Murgatroyd 1975 presents a straightforward outline of this trope and how the Roman elegists develop militia amoris from the (minor archaic and) Hellenistic traditions into a full trope. 51 Propertius describes following in Cynthia’s camp as if she were his general, 2.7.15. 52 E.g., Prop. 2.1.45. 53 Prop. 3.4.13-16. As Sharon James phrased it concisely on Twitter, “Epic or tragedy = no girls = no sex. Slender elegy = girls = sex” (@NEHRomanComedy, April 26, 2019). 13

is something to be avoided and shamed, while the honor and glory that traditionally derive from being a soldier in war are transferred to the erotic realm.

Despite this apparent ideological conflict between elegiac and epic poetics, their generic repertoire often overlaps. In epic poetry, elegiac tropes and language can disrupt the epic, or can be used to characterize and add color to a particular figure or situation. Yet the telos of elegy is not the same as epic. When elegiac poetics are incorporated into epic, they create a locus of tension, as elegy conflicts with epic teleology (and ideology). However, since elegiac topoi are at times adapted from epic tropes—such as militia amoris—the re-insertion of such a trope in epic poetry can serve as a realignment of a conflicting program. As I quoted from Hinds above, epic poetry often incorporates elements that are “antithetical” to the generic form, yet that incorporation itself, and the tension that carries along with it, become itself a part of the generic form.

As I argue throughout this dissertation, Statius uses particular elegiac topoi to characterize particular figures in the epic to show how elegiac forms can exist in and interact with an epic poem: that is, Statius uses elegiac language as a starting point to show how elegy, when taken out of its “natural” context, becomes destructive and deadly. In particular, Statius uses the language of the elegiac relicta puella, as well as militia and servitium amoris. I discuss and define each of these topoi when they are relevant in my chapters below. Because I emphasize Statius’ active engagement in using these elegiac modes, it is more appropriate to define each in the context in which it first appears below. Elegiac moments in Statius’ epic provide sources for disruption and delay. Statius further uses elegiac topoi to illustrate particular female characters in the epic. These women, as a result, threaten the teleological progression of the poem. As elegiacally-coded characters, they make the reader question how the epic program

14

will be fulfilled. They delay the progress of the epic: narrative attention is focused on them as

Statius highlights their thoughts, actions, and motives. Yet even with this tactic of delay and the potential for disruption, these are the same figures who activate the ongoing nature of the plot: embedded with elegiac resonance, they enforce and fulfill the progress of the epic. Elegy, in the

Thebaid, becomes a source of complex and contradictory poetics.

This dissertation also suggests that Statius uses elegiac motifs throughout the epic to highlight the instability of genre, on the one hand, and of human nature, on the other. Statius’

Thebaid covers one small slice of the Theban saga and is self-consciously reflective of the larger mythos it exists within. The story of Thebes is one of destruction by accident and by intent, of punishment and crime and horror. One small mistake leads to devastating consequences, and such mistakes are irrecoverable. It is into this saga that the Thebaid inserts itself: a vision of humanity that is represented by endless cycles of violence and horror, irrecoverable and unforgivable. Federica Bessone summarizes the Thebaid as an epica del nefas; Antony

Augoustakis recalls this in suggesting that the text “completes the lessons learned from tragedy.”54 I argue that while “tragic overtones” color the outcome of the epic, the poem begins each new level of nefas with elegiac motifs. Elegy does not represent generic conflict for Statius; rather, in the Thebaid, elegy is the means by which epic conflict is played out.

Outline

The project of this dissertation is to expand our understanding of Statius’ engagement with his literary predecessors, specifically in terms of the Latin love elegists. He had a deep grasp of this corpus that he used and incorporated in creative ways throughout the epic. In this

54Bessone 2011, 25-29, 86-101; Augoustakis 2015, 391-92. 15

dissertation, I analyze Statius’ use of elegiac themes, topoi, and language. I start from either specific intertexts to a particular elegiac poem, or a clear reference to an elegiac topos. I examine how this elegiac moment acts within the text on multiple levels: in connection with other intertexts in a scene, in connection to the overall illustration of a character, and in terms of the overall plot and progress of the epic.

In Chapter 1, I set the stage for Statius’ use of elegy throughout the text. I examine the elegiac language Statius uses to describe Harmonia’s necklace and the circumstances of its creation. I argue that this resonance proceeds to contaminate the women who wear the necklace, as they are characterized within elegiac topoi. In particular, Argia resonates with the theme of the relicta puella, while Eriphyle can be compared to the “greedy girl.” I argue that these topoi quickly turn from elegiac origins into disastrous consequences, as Argia and Eriphyle instigate the deaths of their husbands later in the epic.

In Chapter 2 and 3, I discuss the role of the elegiac mode to describe Hypsipyle in the extended Nemean episode. In Chapter 2, I argue that Hypsipyle is characterized within competing elegiac paradigms by her different focalizing perspectives. In Chapter 3, I incorporate a new theoretical model, Julia Kristeva’s theory of the semiotic and the symbolic, and her conceptions of gendered time, to more deeply explore the disruptive role Hypsipyle plays in the text.

In Chapter 4, I conclude by discussing the role of elegiac language to determine how it effects teleological progress at the end of the epic. I argue that Argia is still encoded with elegiac language, especially in her interactions with Antigone during their attempt to bury Polynices. I note further elegiac topoi at play in Statius’ characterization of the Amazon queen Hippolyta,

16

and discuss how she acts as a foil to Argia and Hypsipyle and serves to foreshadow the complex ending of the epic and its aftermath.

17

Chapter 1: Beginning and Origin

Introduction

When Statius first introduces the necklace of Harmonia, a wedding gift from Polynices to his new bride Argia, daughter of the Argive king Adrastus, he identifies it as a “new gift”

(novum donum, 2.268).55 While the necklace is certainly new to Argia, Lovatt notes that it is a new gift to the reader.56 Statius is the first extant author to describe this necklace with an ekphrasis, and this “epic refashioning” of the necklace is a gift to the reader as much as the necklace itself is a gift to Argia.57 In this chapter, I suggest that Statius further marks the innovative originality of this necklace in two ways: first, that he describes the necklace and its creation with language and imagery from elegiac poetry; second, that he innovates by expressly connecting the relationship between Mars and Venus to the destruction of the house of Thebes.

Statius is thus the first extant author to draw together the disparate stories of the Theban household into a single narrative thread of cause and agency.58 The necklace, belatedly, shows

55 Theb. 2.268, unde novis tam saeva potentia donis, “from where such a cruel power came from this new gift.” 56 Lovatt 2002, 85. Gervais 2017, ad loc considers novus in the sense of “strange,” given the unusual form of the necklace and of the Theban history involved. 57 Lovatt 2002, 85-86. Statius signals his innovation through references to newness: cf., e.g., Cicero’s identification of the poetae novi (Cic. Orat. 161). See also statements of innovation via novus or primus: Hor. Ep. 1.19.23-24, Prop. 3.1.3. While this mark of innovation is prominent in the late Republic, see Barbiero (forthcoming) on the same theme in . Fantuzzi and Hunter 2004 esp. 1-17 describe the situation in the as one of refined innovation from an earlier model, rather than in terms of “novelty.” Novelty is important for innovation, but the terminology is not as literal as in the Roman period; though also note Callimachus as a “new Hesiod” at 49-60. 58 The elements of the story are all known from earlier sources. The closest parallel to linked agency in the way that Statius evokes this is Ov. Met. 4.416-511, esp. 469-71, where asks to punish Athamas and Ino because of their family’s disrespect for her (i.e., Semele’s relationship with Jupiter and Bacchus’ power). Yet even here, the curse and causality are instigated much later in the history of Thebes. Earlier sources for these individual stories include, e.g., Ovid’s Metamorphoses, especially Books 3-4, Aeschylus’ Seven against Thebes; Sophocles’ , Oedipus at Colonnus, and Antigone; Euripides’ Suppliants, Phoenician Women, and the now-fragmentary Antigone. Brief references abound elsewhere, e.g., to Venus and Mars’ relationship, Lucr. DRN 1.32-40; Harmonia’s necklace, Pind. Pyth. 18

the true catalyst for the destruction of the house of Thebes. Statius uses this piece of jewelry as his guide in the story: in the Thebaid, the necklace of Harmonia is a cursed object designed to destroy the offspring of this illicit relationship, and the curse acts through elegiac paradigms brought to epic conclusions.

At Argia’s wedding,59 the necklace is marked out as a cursed object.60 Its appearance is heralded by bad omens, and Statius identifies the necklace as their origin. 61 Statius describes the necklace in an ekphrasis, but focuses on the materials involved rather than the visual image they create: unlike other ekphrases, Statius fails to describe what the necklace actually looks like. 62 In

3.88-92, Paus. 3.18.12; Apollod. 3.25, Thgn. 15-18, Parth. 25; Harmonia and Cadmus’ metamorphosis, Ov. Met. 4.563-603, cf. Šašel Kos 1993; Semele’s destruction, Eur. Bacchae and Ov. Met. 3.253-315. Statius is the first to clearly identify a pattern of connectivity through the necklace, directly linking these events. As Gervais 2017 ad 267-68 comments, “St[atius’] appeal to tradition with nota malorum (and 269 ut prisca and 294 perhibent) belies the fact that most of the details of his version of Harmonia’s necklace are found nowhere else.” 59 Argia may, in fact, be a significant Statian invention. While her name is known from earlier sources (e.g., [Hes.] Cat. fr. 192 MW= 135 Most), she does not appear as a fully fleshed character in any of the extant sources. It is likely that she appeared in Euripides’ lost Antigone and Accius’ lost tragedy of the same name. While the story of Antigone’s burial of Polynices was, apparently, told in Callimachus’ (fr. 4.105, Pfeiffer), the extant fragment bears no trace of Argia’s name, and she does not appear in Sophocles’ version of that myth. Antimachus’ and Ponticus’ lost epics on this story of the may have also included her; cf. Bessone 2010, 69n20. 60 Harmonia’s necklace has been well-discussed, especially in recent work. Scholars often note the necklace’s destructive nature, elaborate design, and allusive strategies, yet neither the holistic effect of the necklace’s presence on the epic, nor its particularly elegiac resonance, have been noted. See, e.g., Vessey 1973, 138-39 (though he considers the option that Statius modeled the necklace on a real object he had to describe); Feeney 1991, 363-64; Keith 2000, 97-98; Lovatt 2002, 84-85; McNelis 2007, 52-63; Coffee 2015. As I discuss below, the necklace appears in prior literature in two significant ways: as a bribe given to Eriphyle, or as part of Harmonia’s dowry. See Parkes 2012, ad 190-213 on the necklace separate from Eriphyle’s bribe, cf. Apollod. 3.4.2; Pherecyd. 89, Fowler; Hellanicus 98, Fowler; Diod. Sic. 4.65.5, 4.66.2, 5.49.1; schol. Pind. P. 3.167; Vat. Myth. 2.78. 61 Theb. 2.256-64; a bronze shield falls from a temple statue to extinguish the wedding torches, and the sound of a trumpet echoes from within the temple. 62 Compare the visual nature of, e.g., the Hellenistic ekphrases: the drinking cup (Theocr. 1.26-60); Europa’s basket (Mosc. 28-62); Jason’s cloak (Ap. Rhod. Arg. 1.730-67). All of these combine visual descriptions of items with the elements of construction: the items are described both in terms of the materials used and the image of what was created. Contrast Nonnus’ ekphrasis of the necklace of Harmonia (Dion. 5.135-189), which is clearly visually oriented. Koopman 2018, 12, generalizing Greek ekphrasis, notes that “the narrator is interested in what the work of art represents, rather than in merely 19

doing so, he emphasizes the destructive potential of this object: it is made because of significant emotional pain, and it contains elements of sorrow and destruction, including personifications of destructive forces.63 Statius describes the necklace moving from woman to woman throughout the generations of Thebes, leaving destruction and death in its wake: from Harmonia herself to

Semele and Jocasta, Statius shows the fall of the house of Oedipus originating from the moment of Vulcan’s creation of this piece of jewelry.64 Throughout this chapter, I argue that this necklace was designed because of elegiac jealousy to curse its wearers to act out elegiac tropes. Scholars have noted moments of oddness in Statius’ description of the necklace, 65 in Argia’s characterization,66 and the means by which Argia delivers the necklace of Harmonia to

Eriphyle.67 My reading suggests that these elements are connected to each other, and to a wider program of destruction in the epic, due to their shared elegiac origin. The necklace, therefore, provides the impetus not only for the war that overtakes Thebes, but also for the poem itself.

Elegiac Beginnings: Vulcan’s Jealousy

Statius introduces the necklace of Harmonia by attributing its creation to a specific cause:

Vulcan’s erotic jealousy over Venus’ betrayal of their marriage by her continued sexual

registering its physical qualities or properties.” On ancient ekphrases broadly, see esp. Webb 2009, and Elsner 2002. Miguélez-Cavero 2017 88n86 provides further bibliography. 63 I discuss in more detail below the inclusion of elements from the (2.278) and the fury Tisiphone (282-83), and the influence of the personifications Luctus, Ira, Dolor, and Discordia (287-88). 64 McNelis 2007, 60: “The description of this inheritance [the necklace] as an ordo advertises its linear orientation and affirms that the necklace is a synecdoche for the linear narrative of Theban violence.” I suggest that the necklace is not just symbolic of the destruction of Thebes, but directly foreshadows and causes that destruction. 65 E.g., McNelis 2007, 52-55, 62, after Feeney 1991, 364; see also Gossage 1972, 198; Lovatt 2002, 84- 85. 66 E.g., Bessone 2010 and 2015, as I discuss below; Georgacopoulou 2005, 184 on Argia as a unique monologuing voice in the text, and a “new protagonist” of the story after Dominik 1994a, 170, 172; Panoussi 2007, 125 on Argia as an example of “sexual transgression.” 67 E.g., Parkes 2012, ad 190-213. 20

relationship with Mars. Statius orients Vulcan’s jealousy specifically within the context of elegiac erotic jealousy, using key words and topoi to encode Vulcan’s emotional response within elegiac paradigms (Theb. 2.269-70):

Lemnius haec, ut prisca fides, Mauortia longum furta dolens…

The Lemnian, as the old story goes, grieving for a long time at Mars’ stolen moments…

Using only epithets (Lemnius) and adjectives (Mavortia), Statius summarizes the story, known from the , of Venus and Mars’ affair. He notes that the tale is ancient: ut prisca fides

(269). In , the bard Demodocus sings the tale of and ’ relationship and the trap devises for them.68 Statius provides enough detail to orient the reader, relying on their external knowledge of the story. Venus is not named, despite her integral role in the plot. Within this brief introduction to the myth, Statius signals two key elegiac themes in the construction of his plot and of the necklace.

First, Statius identifies the relationship between Venus and Mars as haec furta, using a noun common in the elegiac corpus to refer to illicit relationships.69 Furta is certainly not exclusive to the elegiac corpus, yet among the elegiac poets it has a specific connotation.70 While

68 Hom. Od. 8.266-366. The song is designed to provoke laughter from and the rest of Demodocus’ audience within the text, much as the sight of Ares and Aphrodite trapped together prompts laughter from the rest of the assembled Olympians. 69 OLD s.v. furtum §2b. Cf. Gervais 2017, ad loc. 70 Furtum also appears in the , though I separate this text from the rest of the elegiac corpus. These letters depict a different manner of elegiac relationship: while the core elements (jealousy, complaint, overwhelming desire, etc.) are consistent, the pair of lovers described in each letter are often married, and are imported from literary sources in other genres. Despite the differences, Ovid uses the same set of elegiac themes and vocabulary to characterize these relationships: Hypsipyle claims that her relationship with Jason was not secret (furtum), but instead was a marriage, Her. 6.43; encourages Helen to come to him by comparing their relationship to the furta of both Jupiter and Venus (Her. 16.291, 300). Helen replies by accepting this name for their relationship (Her. 17.141, 265). Finally, Leander describes his relationship with Hero as furta: Her. 18.54, 64, 109. 21

words such as stuprum or adulterium have technical legal definitions, furtum often refers to the affairs committed by the elegiac poet-lovers or by their lovers with a rival. In general, among the elegists, furtum and its correlated adjective furtivus refer to the secrecy demanded by the elegiac relationship. The word is used especially for the elegists sneaking to their lovers. 71 clearly denotes this context as he describes his affair as furtivi lecti (Tib. 1.5.7, “secret bed”),72 and reflects on Venus’ role in keeping the elegiac affair secretive: celari vult sua furta Venus

(Tib. 1.2.36, “Venus wishes her thefts to be secret”). In both of these examples, Tibullus refers to his relationship as furta, emphasizing its hidden nature. In the second, Tibullus adds that the affair is secretive because of Venus’ injunction. The elegiac relationship relies on rivals, jilted husbands, and sneaking around. This web of secrecy appears throughout the elegists: Cynthia, when she returns as a ghost to berate Propertius, summarizes their relationship (Prop. 4.7.15-6):

iamne tibi exciderunt vigilacis furta Suburae et mea nocturnis trita fenestra dolis?

Have our thefts in wakeful Subura already slipped your mind, and my windowsill worn down by our nocturnal tricks?

In this monologue by her ghost, Cynthia recalls her relationship with Propertius and uses programmatic vocabulary to describe their attachment. She references the secrecy of their affair with furta, and suggests that Propertius was accustomed to sneak into her bedroom through the window. Her language reinforces the fact that their relationship was manufactured through tricks and sneaking around.

71 Prop. 1.16.20, 2.9a.42, 2.23.22, 3.13.33; Tib. 1.2.10, 1.5.75; [Tib] 3.11.7; Ov. Am. 1.11.3, 2.2.15, 2.19.39. 72 Tib. 1.5.7, parce tamen, per te furtivi foedera lecti; “yet spare me, by the bonds of our secret bed.” 22

Furtum also appears when the elegist describes his infidelity to his mistress. Ovid uses this indication of secrecy to describe his affair with Corinna’s hairdresser Cypassis after Corinna has learned of their tryst (Ov. Am. 2.8.1-4, 8):

Ponendis in mille modos perfecta capillis, comere sed solas digna, Cypassi, deas, et mihi iucundo non rustica cognita furto, apta quidem dominae, sed magis apta mihi… 4 furtivae Veneris conscia signa dedi?

You are perfect in hairdressing in a thousand ways, but, Cypassis, you are worthy to arrange only the hair of . In our stolen delight, I have found you not to be simple, you who are fit for your mistress, but more fit for me…Have I given signals that gave away our stolen love?

Ovid first describes the affair as iucundo furto (2.8.3), indicating that part of the pleasure of the affair is in its secrecy. Second, he specifies the affair as furtivae Veneris (2.8.8) as he questions how Corinna discovered it. This phrase emphasizes the secretive and sexual nature of the affair.

Ovid uses two different forms of furtum to connote the clandestine nature of his relationship with

Cypassis because he sleeps with her behind Corinna’s back. Ovid’s affair with Corinna is already secretive: as he has described elsewhere, they use her slave Nape to pass secret messages to each other.73

The word is not exclusively reserved for the elegist: the puella also secretly comes to the elegist or his rival.74 Tibullus describes Venus teaching the puella how to slip away to her lover: illa docet molli furtim derepere lecto (Tib. 1.2.19), and Ovid gives instructions to his lover on

73 Ov. Am. 1.11.3, Nape / inque ministeriis furtivae cognita noctis / utilis. 74 Prop. 2.22b.50, 2.32(31+32).17; Tib. 1.2.19, 1.6.5, 1.8.35, 1.9.55, 2.1.75, 2.6.45; [Tib.] 3.9.21; Ov. Am. 1.4.18, 1.4.52, 1.4.64, 2.5.6; Ars 3.640. Aside from Sulpicia, the elegiac poets are writing from a male perspective. Even while these examples indicate the secrecy of a woman sneaking away to a lover, it is from the perspective of the elegiac amator. These examples should not be taken as indicative of female agency. 23

how to deceive her own husband at a dinner party which Ovid also attends (Ov. Am. 1.4.18, 52,

64). The word is also used for the gods; Propertius twice references Jupiter’s furta, while

Tibullus describes Mars’ rape of Ilia as furta.75 In every instance, furtum is used because it describes a relationship reliant on secrecy and theft: secrecy, in order to avoid notice, or theft, because the lovers are ‘stealing’ each other away from a rival, a husband, or another lover.76

In the Thebaid, Statius identifies Venus’ affair further as the Mavortia furta (Theb. 2.269-

70), which stresses Mars’ role as the seducer.77 Further, he fails to name Venus at all: the blame for the affair is on Mars as the seductive rival. By identifying the affair as furta, Statius suggests the elegiac connotation of the relationship: Mars is in the role of the elegist, Venus is like the puella, and Vulcan is the jilted husband who is unable to prevent his wife’s affair. Second,

Statius identifies Vulcan primarily with his emotional response to Venus’ infidelity; dolens,

2.270. Statius emphasizes Vulcan’s distress at Venus and Mars’ elegiac furta in order to describe

Vulcan in terms that clarify his role as the elegiac jilted husband. At first, Vulcan’s emotional range recalls Homer’s language in the Odyssey. There, Hephaestus hears the “heart-wrenching story” (Hom. Od. 8.272, θυμαλγέα μῦθον) of Aphrodite’s affair from . In Statius, Vulcan

75 Prop. 2.2.4, 2.30b.28; Tib. 2.5.53. 76 More specifically in the context of “theft,” the word can connote the elegist stealing the sexual property of another man. This is relevant when the elegist describes stealing his lover away from her husband, such as Ov. Am. 1.4. Other generalized uses of the word to refer to the elegiac relationship include: Tib. 1.5.65, 1.8.57; Ov. Ars 1.33, 1.275, 1.619, 2.246, 2.389; Rem. 212. 77 In the Flavian context of the Thebaid, Vulcan would be legally within his rights to bring a charge of adulterium. led a program of renewing Augustan moral legislation, in particular ’ marriage and adultery laws. The Lex Iulia was renewed in 89 CE, cf. McGinn 1998, 106-16; Zeiner 2007, 168; Dietrich 2015, cf. Juv. 6.38. While the law was passed in 89 CE, it is likely that—as with Augustus’ original laws—there was cultural awareness of the topic before 89. While the gods do not need to obey human laws, the contemporary relevance of this legislation suggests that Statius’ readers would be familiar with these distinctions, and perhaps be sympathetic to Vulcan’s situation in this text. 24

grieves with a verb, doleo, that appears extensively in the Roman elegiac corpus referring specifically to the grief of an amator’s falling-out with his puella.78

Erotic jealousy, as Ruth Caston outlines, is a key aspect of Latin love elegy. As she explains, the elegiac relationship is as much about the amator and domina as it is the constant threat—real or imagined—of a rival. The pain caused by this erotic jealousy is a driving force in the creation of elegiac poetry. As Caston describes, “...dolor emphasizes the pain caused by jealousy and the thought that affection that is owed to oneself is now being given to another.” 79

Vulcan “grieves” in exactly this manner: he is in pain over the jealousy of knowing Venus’ affair with Mars, now a sexual rival to Vulcan.

Erotic jealousy drives the elegiac relationship and becomes a motivating force for conflict and tension between the elegiac lover-poet and his mistress. No other emotion provides as much background for the elegist, since his relationship is tied to issues of ownership and possession.

As I noted in the discussion of furtum, the elegiac relationship is often hindered by the need to sneak around a husband or a rival. This need for secrecy and “stealing time” with a beloved is intimately connected with jealousy. The elegist’s “most profound desire is that their love be mutual and exclusive and that they be united in both love and death,”80 to the extent that this relationship is both the elegist’s reason for writing poetry as well as an expression of his way of life in its entirety.

78 Prop. 2.16.31-32, nullane sedabit nostros iniuria fletus? / an dolor hic vitiis nescit abesse tuis? Cf., e.g., Prop. 1.16.35, 1.18.3, 2.8.36, 3.8.23; [Tib] 3.16.5. 79 Caston 2012, 65. Caston further suggests that Roman elegiac poetry also features the first time that erotic jealousy is fully explored and articulated in Greco-Roman literature (Caston 2012, 15). 80 Caston 2012, 23. 25

Without love, the elegist has nothing. Propertius defends his lifestyle in 1.6: when asked by Tullus to travel with him, Propertius rejects the offer by claiming that his lover demands he stay (Prop. 1.6.11-18):

his ego non horam possum durare querelis: ah pereat, si quis lentus amare potest! an mihi sit tanti doctas cognoscere atque Asiae veteres cernere divitias, ut mihi deducta faciat convicia puppi 15 Cynthia et insanis ora notet manibus, osculaque opposito dicat sibi debita vento, et nihil infido durius esse viro?

I am not able to endure these complaints for an hour: ah let him die, the man who is unmoved by love! Is it worth that much for me to acquaint myself with learned and to see the ancient wealth of , if Cynthia would then make a scene when my ship sails and claw at my face with raging hands, and say that she owes kisses to the winds that oppose my sailing, and that there is no one more cruel than a faithless man?

Propertius is given the opportunity to sail with his patron and acquire knowledge and wealth on their travels (13-14). He responds by citing Cynthia’s reaction if he were to go: she would offer complaining lament (querelis, 11), at which his will to leave would cave, but she would further cry, wail, and attack him physically for leaving her (15-18). Propertius notes twice in these lines that a different kind of man would leave without concern (12, 18). With these comparisons,

Propertius identifies the kind of man he is: someone who is bound by his lover’s concerns to do as she bids, who cannot endure her complaints, who promises to be faithful rather than abandon her for a chance at wealth. Propertius shows his commitment to Cynthia by rejecting this chance to leave her. Propertius stays with Cynthia for the promise of their continued relationship. In much the same terms, when Cynthia considers leaving Propertius in 1.8a, he responds with threats of curses and abuse (1.8a.11-16). This time, however, Cynthia is tempted by an erotic

26

rival (1.8a.3-4). When Cynthia changes her mind and agrees to stay Propertius rejoices that his jealous reaction served him well (Prop. 1.8b.39-40):

Hanc ego non auro, non Indis flectere conchis, Sed potui blandi carminis obsequio,

Not with gold do I bend her, nor Indian pearls, but I am able to do this by the obsequities of my flattering song.

Propertius’ blandi carminis (40) is to be understood as the entirety of 1.8a: the poem he crafted as a threat and a promise if Cynthia were to leave him. The jealousy sparked by this rival’s offer to Cynthia resulted in the poem: jealousy is not just a key emotion in the elegiac relationship, but also a motivating force for the creation of elegiac poetry.

The amator and the domina both express jealous feelings, ranging from anger to threats to outright violence against their partner.81 The elegist also expresses grief over this jealous feeling.82 Propertius even defines dolor as a necessary component of the elegiac relationship

(3.8.23, 33-4). Yet each of these poems expressing jealousy and the other emotions prompted by it also show the power of jealousy in driving the elegiac relationship and the production of elegiac poetry. Jealousy provides opportunity for the elegiac lovers to show the depth of emotion they inspire in each other: the love that is threatened by a rival, but also the pain and hurt caused by betrayal, the anger when the betrayal is discovered, and sorrow when the betrayal seems

81 Anger and threats, e.g., Ov. Am. 2.5.13-16, 45-47, Prop. 2.5.3; violence, e.g., Ov. Ars 2.451-52, 533-34, Am. 1.7.43-48. Caston 2012, 93-112 argues that there is a gendered difference between the violent reactions, that while the domina can target the amator with physical violence, he merely threatens her. Gardner 2013b rightly pushes against this reading: while there may be differences in the types of violence that the different genders participate in, both the male lover and the female beloved react with outright physical violence in some cases of erotic jealousy. See, e.g., Tib. 1.10.53-58. 82 Prop. 1.16.35, 1.18.3, 2.8.36, 3.8.23; [Tib] 3.16.5. 27

permanent.83 Many of the powerful emotions of elegiac poetry are derived from erotic jealousy.84

Jealousy is such an integral aspect of the elegiac relationship that praeceptor amoris persona offers advice on how the amator should deal with his jealousy.85 Yet because jealousy is a necessary component of the elegiac relationship, both the threats and promises of the elegist are ultimately proven impotent. Their anger may result in violence, but that violence is never fatal.86

The elegiac lovers, especially Propertius, complain of violence and destruction, but that destruction is metaphorical.87 The elegists say that their lovers will cause their deaths, and they imagine their own deaths and the tears their lovers will weep over their body. This imagined scenario provides an opportunity to describe the emotional connection they have with their lovers, or their fear for its lack. The elegiac poet hopes to be his lover’s only partner, and this jealousy over real or imagined partners is a major driving force in their poetic production.

83 Propertius fears that Cynthia has been sleeping around, 2.24a.1-2. 84 Caston 2012, 158, “But what makes these kinds of scenes paradigmatic is that they depend on jealousy: jealousy gives elegy its distinctive form.” 85 Caston 2012, 71: “Lovers feel all the possessiveness and jealousy over the beloved, yet they must endure the fact that their claim of possession is unsupportable…without jealousy, there can be no real love.” Ov. Ars 2.435-36: some women grow uninterested in a man without a romantic rival; cf. Ov. Ars 2.555-60; ignore signs of infidelity, repeating a sentiment from Prop. 2.18a.1-4. 86 Unlike, for example, the erotic jealousy that is expressed in Greek and Roman [Senecan] tragedy: Atreus kills and cooks ’ sons for him to eat, motivated by jealousy over ’ adultery with Atreus’ wife. Theseus’ curse against his son can be seen as motivated by erotic jealousy for Hippolytus’ alleged attack on Phaedra. ’s erotic jealousy over /Glauke, and her sense of betrayal by Jason, motivates her dual attack against the new wife and her own children. 87 See, e.g., Prop. 2.1.47, laus in amore mori, and 2.1.78, huic misero fatum dura puella fuit. Propertius complains that Cynthia will cause his death, but this is a metaphor for his suffering and her obstinacy. Propertius in particular often imagines his death and describes Cynthia’s reaction to losing him; e.g., 1.6.27-28, 1.14.14, 1.17.8, 12-13, 19-24, 1.19.11-12, 2.1.55-56, 2.13.17-36 with Maltby 2006, 160-64, but all of the elegists imagine their own deaths and write their own epitaphs; cf. Tib. 1.1.59-68, 1.3.5-10; Prop. 1.17.19-24, 2.13.17-42, 3.16.21-36; Ov. Am. 2.10.35-38, with Houghton 2011. 28

Their frustration is delivered in poetic writing, and for as many times as they threaten to leave their lovers, they return to them.88 Statius’ Vulcan expresses his grief at Venus’ erotic betrayal. His jealousy over her affair with Mars is encoded in elegiac language, and sets the precedent for elegiac paradigms throughout the story of Harmonia’s necklace.

It is in this frame of elegiac erotic jealousy that Statius describes Vulcan’s creation of the necklace of Harmonia. Statius identifies Vulcan first as Lemnius, 2.269. With this epithet, Statius complicates his portrayal of Vulcan through a chain of intertextual references that add to the significance of the elegiac vocabulary in these lines.89 In Demodocus’ tale, Hephaestus pretends to go to Lemnos, his favored island, while he waits for Aphrodite and Ares to spring his trap.90

The epithet recalls Hephaestus’ positive association with the island, whose inhabitants had a history of helping the .91 Following this association, Virgil was the first extant Roman author to call Vulcan by this epithet. Its rarity in later texts indicates Statius’ significance in using it here.92

88 While Propertius “wins” Cynthia from the Illyrian in 1.8, the praetor’s return in 2.16 shows that the elegist’s “victory” and allure is impermanent. Ovid’s pleading letter sent to Corinna (Am. 1.11-12) also fails to result in an invitation for him to come over. Cf., e.g., Tib. 1.5.67-68; Prop. 1.18, 2.8.1-8. In 2.10, Propertius suggests that he abandons the genre of love elegy entirely (2.10.1-2) and turns instead ad proelias, 2.10.3, yet 2.12 and 2.13 return to the love theme (on the debate over these poems as a “proem in the middle” versus the dividing line between two separate books, see, e.g., Wyke 1987); similarly, Propertius seems to bid farewell to Cynthia (e.g., 3.25.9, valeant), but returns to the topic in Book 4; Ovid too postures attempts to abandon the genre, Am. 2.18, 3.1, 3.12, and 3.15. 89 McNelis 2007, 62 also notes that “by calling Vulcan ‘The Lemnian,’ Statius foregrounds the affair between Mars and Venus,” though he does not see the elegiac nature of this affair. 90 Hom. Od. 8.283, 301. 91 Hom. Il. 1.590-94. McNelis 2007, 62 notes that “Lemnius” foreshadows the retelling of the Lemnian massacre by Hypsipyle later in the narrative. There is much debate over the interaction between Statius and Valerius Flaccus especially regarding the Lemnian episode and the direction(s) of contact between the versions. See summary and citations at Gervais 2017, xlv-xlvi. I discuss Statius’ version of the Lemnian massacre in Chapter 2. 92 Lemnius is the standard adjective for a man from Lemnos, and as such is used throughout Latin literature. Its use to refer to Vulcan specifically, however, is much rarer. According to the PHI Latin Database, after Virgil, Ovid uses the epithet for Vulcan, then only Statius. Statius uses this epithet for 29

Virgil uses the epithet in the context of another example of Venus’ infidelity, yet this time it does not prompt Vulcan’s jealousy. Virgil calls Vulcan Lemnius as he switches the narrative point of view away from Vulcan’s initial progress on Aeneas’ shield. Vulcan makes the shield for Aeneas after Venus coaxes him to do it by seducing him. 93 Virgil describes Vulcan’s willingness to help Venus, even while the shield actually benefits Venus’ son from another relationship. While Statius’ Vulcan is caught up with jealousy over Venus’ relationship with

Mars, Virgil’s Vulcan is unbothered by Venus’ affair with .94

Statius uses this same epithet at the introduction to the ekphrasis of Harmonia’s necklace, an item designed as a curse to destroy the house of Thebes as much as the Aeneas’ shield is designed to protect him as the founder of the .95 Through this connection both to

Virgil’s ekphrasis and the initial Homeric version of this story, Statius complicates his picture of

Vulcan. The smith-god is both the jilted lover and the maker of Aeneas’ shield; the husband who waits for proof of Venus’ infidelity and also the one to create a master piece of craftsmanship— at her seductive request—for the son of another of her erotic betrayals.

Ovid also uses this epithet in the Metamorphoses as Vulcan opens the doors for the gathered Olympians to witness Venus and Mars trapped by his net. 96 For Ovid, the epithet recalls

Virgil and Homer, linking his epic to the greater generic tradition. When Venus and Mars come

Vulcan a second time; at Silv 4.6.29, again in connection to artistic production and his assistants the and the . 93 Virg. Aen. 8.454. 94 Though perhaps a distinction should also be stressed over the duration of the affair: there is no indication that Venus and Anchises spent more than a night together, while Vulcan’s concern over Venus’ affair with Mars rests in part on its length. 95 McNelis 2007, 62 notes the epithet’s recollection of Homer, Virgil, and Ovid, noting only that in doing so “Statius foregrounds the affair between Mars and Venus.” 96 Ov. Met. 4.185. See Keith 2004-2005, 192-96 on Statius’ engagement with the full Ovidian episode, Met. 4.171-89. 30

together to the entrapped bed, they are called coniunx et adulter (4.182), solidifying the kind of relationship at hand: Mars, the seducer, betraying the marital bed of Vulcan and Venus.

Statius’ repetition of Lemnius taps into this network of epic responses to Venus’ infidelity. Statius links his Vulcan to Virgil’s and Ovid’s to confirm the epic precedent of this story.97 Yet by noting Virgil and Ovid directly through this allusion, Statius invites us to see a wider program of engagement with these two authors, since these allusions to Vulcan’s epithet are not the only times they tell this story of erotic betrayal.

In the Georgics and the , Virgil and Ovid both encode the same story with elegiac themes, providing a precedent for Statius’ own use of elegiac background. In Georgics 4,

Aristaeus interrupts his mother listening to a telling of Martisque et dulcia furta

(Vir. Georg. 4.346).98 This version emphasizes an elegiac twist to the narrative through the use of particularly pointed language. Playing with audience expectation, dolos foreshadows Vulcan’s response with the dolus of the net. Yet Virgil actually refers here to the tricks Mars uses to steal time with Venus. Their relationship is called furta, this time with the elegiac undertone of the word reinforced with dulcia, another word often used by the Roman elegists for their relationships.99 We have already seen Cynthia refer to her relationship with Propertius as furta, but in the same couplet she also describes their romantic trysts as nocturnis dolis (Prop. 4.7.16).

In the monologue by her ghost, Cynthia uses programmatic vocabulary to describe her affair. Her language reinforces the fact that their relationship was manufactured through tricks and sneaking

97 Statius’ epic follows and diverges from these two poems as literary predecessors in general, as is well noted. See, e.g., Keith 2002, Newlands 2004, Keith 2004-2005, Ganiban 2007. On Statius’ connection to Ovid, see the bibliography at Gervais 2017, xlii. 98 Boyd 2017, 235-36. 99 E.g., Prop. 2.30b.28, with furta, 3.8.1, 3.10.25; Tib. 2.6.47; Ov. Am. 1.4.48, 2.8.21, 2.9b.26. 31

around, much like Mars and Venus in the Georgics. Virgil’s description of the affair, though brief, structures it as an elegiac relationship reliant on secrecy and sneaking around.

Ovid’s Ars Amatoria also includes an elegiac rendition of this tale, following Virgil’s brief suggestion and providing further precedent for Statius’ retelling. Ovid calls the affair fabula narratur toto notissima caelo (Ov. Ars 2.561, “the most famous story told in all the heavens”).100

Appearing in Book 2 of the Ars, Mars is called an amator (2.564), the typical word the love elegists use to describe themselves. Like the elegiac poet, his love is overwhelming; he is insano

Veneris turbatus amore (2.562, “struck with insane love for Venus”). In Ovid’s elegiac scenario,

Vulcan is the husband endlessly mocked by the amator and domina (2.567-70).101 Ovid ends the story in his praeceptor persona scolding Vulcan for acting on his erotic jealousy. Now that the affair is known, Ovid claims, Venus and Mars can shamelessly continue it. 102

Statius proves Ovid’s prediction to be true. Vulcan has lamented for a long time, longum

(Theb. 2.269), past his initial punishment.103 The fact that the affair –and Vulcan’s grief—has been going on for a long time emphasizes Vulcan’s emotional state. Vulcan reacts in this

100 Boyd 2017, Ch. 9 also discusses Ovid’s play with Venus’ and Mars’ proximity in the , implicitly drawing on the Homeric background but also engaging with elegiac tropes. See also Farrell 2004-2005, 43. In addition, Piazzi 2013, 229 provides useful language in her discussion of the elegiac reframing of Homeric women as elegiac characters: they are “assimilated into the paradigm…Propertius develops some of the Homeric text’s ‘elegiac potential’, giving abundant space to what in Homer is only a detail.” In this same pattern, Statius expands on the “elegiac potential” of Venus and Mars’ relationship. 101 Like the husband in Ov. Am. 1.4; 2.2.11-14, 33-34. Boyd 2016, 53-54, discusses Venus’ mockery of Vulcan’s limp, Ars 2.569-70 in connection with Ovid’s description of elegy itself; at Am. 1.1.3-4, with its truncated pentameter, and at Am. 3.1.9-14 where Ovid describes Elegia herself walking with a limp. Boyd connects limping Elegy to Venus’ fake limp which here emphasizes Venus’ status as a “willing partner, eager to entertain her lover at the expense of her husband,” 54. It is worth questioning if the lame Vulcan can also be linked to Elegia in Ovid’s subtext, though there are no clear indications that this is the case. Vulcan’s lameness also contrasts with the stereotype of the burly soldier, and of Mars as the (presumably physically fit) god of war. 102 Ov. Ars 2.589-92. 103 Gervais 2017, ad loc: “In previous versions, the Sun and Vulcan/Hephaestus grieve at the discovery of the affair; here, Vulcan grieves at its continuation.” 32

moment not to the initial discovery of the affair, but to the ongoing nature of the relationship. 104

Statius explores and expands the ramifications of casting this relationship in an elegiac mode.

Vulcan’s initial attempt as the betrayed husband to end the affair was an utter failure: as Ovid suggested would happen, Venus and Mars have continued their relationship more openly. The ending of Ovid’s version informs how Statius begins his retelling. Statius’ use of the epithet

Lemnius, recalling Ovid’s Metamorphoses as well as Virgil’s Aeneid and Homer, indicates that he brings the elegiac frame of erotic jealousy, as well as the tradition of seeing Venus and Mars in an elegiac relationship, into an epic world. The Thebaid thus presents the epic implications of

Ovid’s scolding, and the ramifications of seeing this relationship within the dynamics of elegy.

I argue that Statius shows what happens when the elegiac vir retaliates in an epic setting as Vulcan acts a second time against Venus and Mars. The erotic triangle present in elegy takes a somewhat different form in epic, where the revenge taken by a wronged husband has consequences that last generations. After setting up the elegiac background to Vulcan’s jealousy,

Statius clarifies the need for a second response by outlining the failed first attempt at punishing

Venus and Mars (Stat. Theb. 2.270-71):

…capto postquam nil obstat amori 270 nec ultrices castigauere catenae

Since no punishment stood in the way for their captured love, nor were the avenging chains chastising…

In describing Vulcan’s initial plot to chain Mars and Venus together, Statius also suggests why this failed. He uses military language for the trick. Capto amori (270), describing the actual trap,

104 Based on longum dolens, it seems clear that Vulcan does nothing for some time after the initial trap, and in fact, for the necklace to be a wedding present for Harmonia, many years must have passed between the initial reveal of the affair and Vulcan’s secondary reaction. 33

also connotes violent activity in the action of “capturing.” Obstat, poena, and castigavere (270,

271) also suggest violence.105 The trap fails, however, because Vulcan tries to use Mars’ own tricks against him: not only is the trap described in military language, but it recalls the elegiac trope of militia amoris. As the ideal soldier and here, also a lover, Mars looks like elegiac lover who would be accustomed to the lifestyle demanded by militia amoris.106

The trope of militia amoris describes the elegiac lover like a soldier, as Ovid concisely puts it: militat omnis amans, et habet sua Cupido.107 His “general” is his lover, and he would follow her through the harshest weather and terrain.108 For the soldier-lover, love and sex become analogized to war: Propertius fights his battles with Cynthia, preferring erotic contests to those of warfare.109 Within the elegiac trope of militia amoris, Mars’ status as the god of war and therefore the ultimate soldier is sublimated to the elegiac role of the soldier-lover. In this role, Mars’ violent nature is balanced by his devotion to Venus.110 Returning to Ovid, the elegist

105 The reference to chains, catenae (2.271), while most obviously recalling the net Hephaestus traps Aphrodite and Ares with, may also hint at the elegiac trope of servitium amoris and the chains that bind the elegiac lover to his mistress: for the elegiac lover accustomed to this trope, these chains are not a burden but instead the obligation of a lover committed to his mistress. Cf., e.g., Prop. 1.5.11-30; Tib. 1.1.55-58, 1.6.3-5, 2.5.109-12. See also discussion in McCarthy 1998, Farrell 2003, 398; Caston 2012, 23. Capto is also reminiscent of Ovid’s elegiac rendition in the Ars, where the Homeric trap is again referred to with this participle (Ars 2.562). Ov. Ars 2.585-86. McNelis 2007, 63n47 notes that Statius’ use of catenas follows Valerius (Arg. 2.100) as well as Ovid (Met. 4.176), while Boyd 2017, 225 notes that vincla at Ars 2.586 suggests “the cliché of servitium amoris that is common in elegiac imagery.” See also Keith 2004-2005, 193-94. 106 Statius may also be intentional with the use of ultrices (2.271) to describe the chains that, of course, cannot take vengeance against Mars Ultor. 107 Ov. Am. 1.9.1, “every lover is a soldier, and has Desire in his camp.” For overview of the trope, see Murgatroyd 1975. In Propertius, see Maltby 2006, 158-60. 108 Ov. Am. 1.9.10-20. 109 See esp. Prop. 2.1.45, 3.5.1-2. 110 Setting a precedent for the elegiac image, Lucretius describes Mars in Venus’ lap, “conquered by love” (1.34) and “greedy” (1.36) for Venus; Lucr. DRN 1.32-40. Cf. O’Rourke 2014, who discusses how Lucretius “anticipates much that is characteristic of the elegiac genre” in his depiction of Venus and Mars. 34

recalls that great heroes of the epic cycle were caught in love’s bonds; , , and

Agamemnon were all both lovers and soldiers.111 Even Mars, Ovid continues, became a lover.112

Despite his warlike attitude, Mars can just as easily become an elegiac lover: militia amoris enables the soldier to become a lover as it parallels military activity with love.

This is exactly the scenario that Statius describes. Vulcan’s plan to trap Venus and Mars to shame them out of continuing their affair fails because Mars has been described as if he were an elegiac lover. Engaged in the trope of militia amoris, the military language Statius used to describe Vulcan’s chains continues the elegiac paradigm already established by the lovers.

As the jilted husband, Vulcan takes a second revenge against Venus and Mars in an escalated response to the continued overwhelming jealousy from this betrayal. While his first reaction was a dolus, his second is a curse that punishes Venus, Mars, and their descendants

(Theb. 2.272-73):

Harmoniae dotale decus sub luce iugali struxerat….

[Vulcan] crafted a dowry gift for Harmonia on her wedding day.

This curse takes the form of a necklace, given as a wedding gift to Harmonia at her marriage to

Cadmus. Vulcan has chosen to react this second time in accordance with his epic setting, promising devastating consequences for his elegiac jealousy.113 Vulcan created the necklace during a time of specific erotic, emotional conflict caused by sexual betrayal. 114 By aligning the

111 Ov. Am. 1.9.33-38. 112 Ov. Am. 1.9.39-40. 113 Gervais 2017, ad loc: “Having failed with one type of catenae, Vulcan will now turn to a different sort, forging the destructive links of Harmonia’s necklace.” 114 The general themes of the necklace have been noted; i.e., Newlands 2002, 217: “Harmonia’s necklace is an artefact intimately connected with sexual jealousy, deceit, violence, and the treacherous politics of 35

creation of the necklace with elegiac emotions, Statius indicates the elegiac starting point of the curse connected to the necklace and prefaces how it will wreak its havoc through the Theban house.

Argia

Now that we have seen the elegiac origins of the necklace, it is time to examine the necklace’s catalytic effects on the women who own it, as they likewise find themselves playing out elegiac topoi under its influence. Through the manifestation of the necklace’s curse, elegy is perpetuated beyond the standard bounds of the genre, into a realm where destruction and violence are literal and cause bodily harm and death. In other words, the elegiac origins of the cursed necklace turn elegiac tropes of metaphorical destruction at the hands of a lover into reality.115

The second, and last, time that the necklace of Harmonia appears in the epic, it is surrounded by elegiac allusion. I suggest that the necklace curses Argia to act within elegiac paradigms. Argia has been in possession of the necklace for some time now, and its influence on her is displayed throughout the scene. In Book 4, Argia deliberates giving the necklace to

Eriphyle, wife of the Argive seer Amphiaraus. In her brief speech, Theb. 4.200-210, Argia speaks with elegiac language as she characterizes herself as a relicta puella.

As I will argue, Statius uses specific allusion to Ovid’s and Propertius’

Arethusa in order to mark wider generic contact between his epic and the elegiac specifically, and the elegiac relicta puella more broadly.116 The literary figure of the abandoned

the divine.” See also Lovatt 2002, 84n64. The particularly elegiac resonance of these emotions, however, has not been articulated. 115 As I discuss above; e.g., Prop. 2.1.47 and 2.1.78. 116 Ov. Her. 13, Prop. 4.3. 36

woman has a long history.117 Mythical heroines such as Homer’s and Catullus’ create the character type of the abandoned woman: a woman whose lover or husband leaves her behind due to war,118 a new lover,119 forgetfulness,120 or the demands of fate.121 The reactions of these women follow a few general patterns: they all lament in some fashion, either alone or to a nurse or other trusted advisor.122 In addition to lament, some of these women curse their partners, commit violence against them, or decide to commit suicide.123 Ovid looks to these abandoned women as the inspiration for his Heroides, letters sent by mythological women to the men who left them. While Ovid, and Propertius, in his own literary letter by an abandoned woman, 124 take inspiration from this wide range of generic affiliations of these heroines, both poets elegize their characters. While lament is still a major aspect, their focus and ideology fits into the elegiac code.

The most significant paradigm for the elegiac version of the relicta puella is Catullus’

Ariadne—the maiden who, through no fault of her own, is left behind by her lover Theseus. 125

117 Lipking 1988 and Hagedorn 2004 outline some of the major characteristics of this trope and how it is used throughout ancient and medieval literature. 118 E.g., Odysseus, Protesilaus. 119 E.g., Hercules, leaving Deianeira for Iole, Soph. Trach. and Ov. Her. 9; Jason leaving Medea for Creusa/Glauke, Eurip. and Sen. Med., Ov. Her. 12. 120 E.g., Theseus leaving Ariadne, Cat. 64, Prop. 1.3. 121 E.g., Aeneas leaving Dido, Virg. Aen. 4. 122 E.g., Dido to her sister Anna, or Medea to her nurse. 123 Curse: Ariadne (Cat. 64.192-201), Dido (Virg. Aen. 4.621-29); violence: Medea (Creusa/Glauke and her father, Eur. Med. 1185-1205, her children, 1236-50, 1271-79); Deianeira (Soph. Trach. 680-704, 739- 43, albeit accidentally; cf. Bacchyl. 16.23-35); suicide; Dido (Virg. Aen. 4.663-66). 124 Prop. 4.3. 125 Ariadne is frequently cited as a paradigmatic figure of the abandoned woman, whether for her iteration in elegy or elsewhere: cf. Conte 1986, 60-63; Lipking 1988; Gardner 2007. In general, Catullus is a paradigmatic figure for contextualizing themes from Hellenistic (and earlier) poetry, especially the erotic and romantic poetry from Hellenistic elegy (Antimachus’ Lyde, Callimachus’ Aetia), epic (Medea in Apollonius’ ), and the subjective point of view from epigram. Catullus is the significant mediator between the Hellenistic erotic traditions and Latin love elegy. The elegists adapt and continue from Catullus’ starting points to develop their signature relationship dynamics. On this broad topic see, 37

When she discovers his absence, she laments her situation and curses him for his faithlessness.

This model moves into the elegiac repertoire in a variety of ways, particularly through the repetition of the image of Ariadne alone watching Theseus’ ship sail away. 126 Beyond her direct image, Ariadne’s curses become the vocabulary used in elegy: Theseus’ faithlessness is behind the elegiac use of perfidus (or perfida) to describe a lovers’ faithlessness.127 Ariadne’s helplessness and frustration, illuminated throughout her extended lament, also becomes paradigmatic for the elegiac experience.

Using Ariadne’s model, the elegist himself can take on attributes of the relicta puella.

Most prominently in 1.8, Propertius describes himself alone after Cynthia has sailed away, cursing her departing ship (Prop. 1.8a.11-17):128

nec tibi Tyrrhena solvatur funis harena, neve inimica meas elevet preces 12 et me defixum vacua patiatur in ora 15 crudelem infesta saepe vocare manu!

e.g., Luck 1969, 56-69; Rubino 1975; Gold 1985-1986 and 1993; Greene 1998, 38-42; Miller 2007; Gardner 2007; Gutzwiller 2012. Further, or perhaps more broadly on the difficulty in isolating what is “elegiac” about the elegiac plot, see Conte 1986, 121n22 on the Latin love elegy’s relationship with the pre-Hellenistic corpus: “Here one need only recall the active, even if not always direct, relationship linking many of the motifs of Greek tragedy with Latin love poetry. The ἐρωτικὰ παθήματα (erotic anguishes), which take on the dignity of tragic performance in Euripides, never ceased to exert a fascination over the elegiac poets (in some cases via Alexandrian mythological fiction, which was particularly fond of giving free play to the thoughts of its heroes and heroines in soliloquies). The story of Phaedra and the two tragic versions by Euripides seem to have been a favorite starting point for the concentration, expansion, and development of some of the major themes in Latin love poetry: (1) - nosos: sickness of love, a destructive force capable of enslaving lovers and exhausting them, (2) eros- anikētos: unconquerable love, which ruthlessly overpowers anyone who tries to oppose its divine power and only restores those who bend their necks to its yoke (see, e.g., Euripides, Hippolytus 5f., 443-46; Tibullus 1.8.7-8, …; Ovid, Amores 1.2.7-18), and (3) ‘eros-didaskalos’ love, the teacher, which instills strength into lovers and teaches them how to go through any test (see Euripides, Hippolytus Kalyptomenos, TGF fr. 430; Tibullus 1.1.19-20 …; Ovid Heroides 4.10; Amores 1.6.7; 3.1.49).” 126 E.g., Prop. 1.3.1-2, Ov. Her. 10. Ariadne also appears in Ovid significantly at: Met. 8.172-82 and Fast. 3.459-516. 127 Ariadne names Theseus perfide twice to start her lengthy monologue; 64.132, 133. The word also appears in the elegists, against both the amator and the puella, at, e.g., Ov. Am. 3.3.10, Ars 1.536 (spoken by Ariadne); Tib. 1.8.63, [Tib.] 3.6.55-56; Prop. 1.11.16, 1.15.2, 2.5.3, 4.7.13. 128 I follow Heyworth’s text, which prints lines 13-14 after 18. 38

sed quocumque modo de me, periura, mereris

[…and would that] your rope not be released from the Tyrrhenian sands, nor a hostile wind carry my prayers away and leave me to endure, fixed on an empty shoreline, to often cry against your cruelty with an angry hand! But with whatever means you deserve from me, faithless one, …

Propertius imagines himself after Cynthia sails to Illyria. He would watch her leave and curse both her departing ship (15-16) and her faithlessness (17), wishing that the winds take his curses to her ears rather than let them dissipate (14). This visually mimics Ariadne watching Theseus sail away (Cat. 64.56, desertam in sola miseram se cernat harena). Ariadne calls him perfide, as

I noted above, which is paralleled in Propertius’ periura (1.8a.17), though Ariadne also references Theseus’ devota periura (Cat. 64.135). Ariadne curses Theseus by calling the

Eumenides upon him (64.192-201), similar to how Propertius threatens Cynthia with his infesta manu (1.8a.16). Propertius takes on the imagery of the relicta puella, but as the elegiac amator he emphasizes the complaintive aspect of Ariadne’s lament. His whining threats do not result in a harmful curse: instead they become an elegiac poem, and Cynthia is convinced to remain with him in Rome.129

While Propertius takes on the imagery of the relicta puella, Cynthia does as well: in

Propertius 1.3 she is directly compared to Ariadne, and takes on thematic similarities to her by the end of the poem.130 While the term relicta puella typically refers to female figures whose

129 Similarly, Ovid Am. 3.3 details the poet’s lengthy complaint against his mistress’ perjury (periura, 3.3.10). The poem does not express Ovid’s curse, however, but rather his complaint against the gods for their failure (in his eyes) to punish her. While Ariadne takes direct action, the elegiac lover merely complains and exhibits empty threats. 130 Prop. 1.3.1-2; just as Theseus abandoned Ariadne, Cynthia has been abandoned by Propertius (and just as Bacchus rescues Ariadne, Propertius himself returns to Cynthia), as she laments, 1.3.35-46. See discussion at, e.g., Caston 2012, 56. 39

lovers abandon them, Propertius and Ovid in particular redefine and broaden the definition.

Cynthia was abandoned by Propertius in 1.3 only in that he failed to come home before she fell asleep: this is not on the same level as Theseus sailing away from Ariadne.

Gardner in particular explores the way in which Catullus’ Ariadne serves as a significant literary precedent for the elegiac repertoire.131 In addition to the thematic elements noted above,

Gardner also stresses the symbolic characterizations of Ariadne that become significant for both the elegiac amator and his puella. Catullus’ Ariadne is trapped in a repetitive motion, always watching for Theseus and lamenting while he is able to sail away in “linear motion.” 132 In the same manner, the elegiac relictae puellae, especially in Ovid’s Heroides, can only lament their abandonment and are unable to move beyond “circularity and repetition.”133 The epistolary form and elegiac background constricts their actions.134

The elegiac puella, especially as an abandoned woman, also has the ability to affect the world she is separated from. Ariadne’s “potential for disruption” is explored through verbal echoes between Ariadne’s ekphrastic depiction and the wider narrative frame: when the poem moves away from Ariadne, she refuses to be left behind, and this allusive repetition “ultimately intrudes upon any notions of teleological closure.”135 Ariadne, as an abandoned woman,

131 Gardner 2007; cf. Conte 1986, 60-63. 132 Gardner 2007, 172-74; cf. Lively and Salzman-Mitchell 2008, 2. 133 Lively and Salzman-Mitchell 2008, 2. Consider, e.g., the literal circularity represented by the pair Prop. 4.7 and 4.8: Cynthia’s “death” does not limit her voice or her interaction with the elegist, as her ghost speaks a lengthy monologue. Yet her death also does not “end” her story: 4.8 loops the reader back to the beginning of her relationship with Propertius. 134 Lively and Salzman-Mitchell 2008, 4: “…where readers of elegy look for consistency of viewpoint or voice, for unity of time, place or action, for plot and progress, for time passing and movement toward a final telos, we find inconsistency and disunity, inconsistency and incongruity, fragments of self and work and love and story.” 135 Gardner 2007, 174. Gardner notes parallels between Ariadne’s comparison to a bacchant (64.61-62) versus the actual bacchants accompanying Bacchus, 257-59. This crowd’s noise is ciebant, 262, repeating a description of Ariadne’s weeping: cientem, 131. The Fates speak with clarisona voce, 320, again 40

represents a woman who is out of sight but not out of mind: she is, on the one hand, trapped in her repetitions and her lament, but on the other, about to be brought out of this symbolic state into a marriage to Bacchus. Her lament in Catullus 64 is therefore significant for Ariadne’s relationship with Theseus, but also can be read with reference to the promise of her

(mythological) future. The elegists, when they use Ariadne’s image either for their own poetic personae or for their puellae, use Ariadne for her liminality: her lament emphasizes her solitary position on the shore, but she is also in a liminal phase between these two male figures and outside of societal expectations. She has left behind her family and, abandoned by Theseus, is without any connections to the world.136 The elegiac poet too is without a family, alone except for his lover, and intentionally separated from political or social obligations.137 The elegists see

Catullus’ Ariadne as an ideal model from which to develop the elegiac code.138 Her characterization becomes the foundation for how the elegists discuss themselves, their lovers, and their role in society.

The elegiac character of the relicta puella is developed from Catullus’ Ariadne, but is influenced from a wider mythological range. Boyd discusses the “elegiacization of Homer,” 139 analyzing some of the processes through which the elegiac authors bring Homeric myths and characters—and literary tropes—into the elegiac repertoire. Ovid uses this pattern to “elegize” the heroines of his Heroides. Using Ariadne as a model, Ovid brings women from tragic and epic

repeating from Ariadne herself: clarisonas voces, 125. Similarly, Lipking 1988, esp. 1-31, explores in detail the role of the abandoned woman as a disruptive figure on structure and plot. 136 Gardner 2007, 175. 137 This is, of course, an affectation put on by the elegiac narrator. Propertius states it clearly in an attempt to lure Cynthia home from Baiae: 1.11.23, tu mihi sola domus, tu, Cynthia, sola parentes. Cf. the recusationes of political involvement; e.g., Prop. 2.1, 3.1, 3.9; Ov. Am. 1.1, 1.9; Tib. 1.1. 138 As I noted above; I return to this topic in Chapter 3. 139 Following the terminology from Benediktson, 1985. 41

myths into the world of elegy. Discussing the elegiac background of the Heroides, Farrell notes that these “letters conform fully to the requirements of the elegiac predicament. The writer suffers from being in love; she can never be cured; only the attention of her beloved offers any hope of relief; the only other option is death; her elegiac subject position dictates her view of the entire world.”140 He examines Ovid’s heroines as elegiac figures: they may be drawn from other generic backgrounds, but they are written with the same motives and ideology as the elegist himself.

An important element to the elegiac characterization of these heroines is that their new generic form does not change the plot of their mythological narrative: that is to say, their stories are imported from other genres, and it is only their internal motives and thoughts that change, not their actions. For example, Deianeira still puts Nessus’ blood on Hercules’ cloak,141 and Medea plans the murder of her children, though she has not fully committed to it yet.142 These figures follow the same story: Ovid, like all poets, can innovate in certain ways but cannot change how the story progresses. Therefore, the elegiac injunction against marriage is invalidated by the narrative requirement of marriage for these characters. Penelope may be “elegized” in her response to Odysseus’ absence, but they are still married; as are Laodamia and Protesilaus. Ovid imports elegiac themes into these marital contexts.143 Similarly, Propertius uses mythological references throughout his poetry that impart elegiac ideas into mythological marriages: Penelope and Odysseus are a common elegiac parallel alongside figures such as Achilles and and

140 Farrell 2003, 401. 141 Ov. Her. 9.143-46. 142 Ov. Her. 12.211-12. 143 In the typical elegiac relationship as described by Propertius, Tibullus, and Ovid, marriage exists for the elegiac lover to intrude upon: the elegiac mistress is often (but not always) married to another man. 42

Paris and Helen. The mythological “fact” of marriage becomes compatible with the elegiac relationship, despite the elegist’s inability to accept marriage for himself.

In addition to mythological marriage, women in elegy unconnected to the elegiac poet can also incorporate elegiac themes into their marital contexts.144 Galla, the wife of Propertius’ friend Postumus, is described in the language of a relicta puella as Propertius scolds his friend for abandoning her when he goes to war. While Galla does not speak with her own voice in the poem, Propertius describes her with the same set of characteristics as the elegiac abandoned woman, which are also similar to the elegist himself: she weeps and laments while her husband is away at war (plorantem…Gallam),145 she is pale (illa tabescet),146 but she also remains faithful

(casta …Galla).147 The poem closes with Propertius comparing Galla to Penelope, with the balance tipping in Galla’s favor.148 Galla is concerned, as Propertius describes, with the possibility of Postumus’ death but also, and perhaps more so, with the possibility that he would sleep around.149 Just as Galla is compared to Penelope, Postumus is described like Ulysses, and his delays with Circe and are directly mentioned.150 Despite their marriage, Galla and

Postumus are described in elegiac language and share the concerns of an elegiac relationship.

Propertius and Ovid’s heroines incorporate a mix of married and unmarried women, and women abandoned for a variety of reasons.151

144 Later reception of elegiac themes further adapts these ideas to a marital context: Pliny uses elegiac language in his letters to and about his wife Calpurnia (cf. Baeza Angulo 2015). 145 Prop. 3.12.1, cf. line 4: ne faceres Galla multa rogante tua? 146 Prop. 3.12.9, illa quidem interea fama tabescet inani. 147 Prop. 3.12.15, ter quarter in casta felix, o Postume, Galla!; cf. 19-22. 148 Prop. 3.12.37-38, …vincit Aelia Galla fidem. 149 Prop. 3.12.10-14, 16. 150 Prop. 3.12.27, 31. 151 E.g., Odysseus and Protesilaus leave to fight in a war. Jason leaves Hypsipyle and Medea for new lovers. Aeneas leaves Dido because of the demands of fate and the gods. Phaedra thinks she is abandoned by Hippolytus even though he was never with her in the first place. 43

Marriage, for the elegists, represents an unattainable ideal of commitment, fidelity, and stability. For as much as the elegists thrive in their relationships driven by jealousy, frustration, and sorrow, they also glorify a woman like Galla or Penelope: a wife who is happy to sit at home and be faithful even when her husband has disappeared. Even when they recognize that this relationship is not possible for them, they still idealize it for others.152 The elegiac ideal of the abandoned woman intersects with the trope of the “good wife.” This idealized woman remains faithful to her partner and is able to use her partners’ absence to highlight and emphasize her own fidelity.153

Statius characterizes Argia within the same paradigms as these elegiac abandoned women through direct intertexts and thematic engagement with the trope in order to signal the presence of the necklace’s curse. Argia signals her specific connection to the tradition of the abandoned woman through concrete intertexts to two examples, Laodamia from Ovid Heroides 13, and

Arethusa from Propertius 4.3. Both of these young women see their husbands go off to war and leave them behind.154 As abandoned women, they both proclaim long laments that describe their

152 Cf. Propertius’ praise of Galla, at Prop. 3.12. In addition, see Corbeill 2005 and Racette-Campbell 2012-2013 on the language of elegy intersecting with the language of marriage and marital fidelity. 153 Bessone 2010 suggests that the best way for a woman to show her virtue is if her husband is in dire straits. Only in such a circumstance does a woman have the opportunity to speak or take action that would prove her faith and devotion to her husband: esp. 65-66, Bessone uses as the prime example of a woman whose excellence is only known through the misfortunes of her husband; cf. Penelope, , Evadne as others. In Ovid’s exilic poetry, he speaks often of his wife’s fidelity and virtue, highlighting the fact that it is only with the opportunity of this loss—the man’s misfortune—that the woman can truly show her honor: Bessone 2010 65n4, Ov. Pont. 3.1.93-96, Trist. 5.14.21-34. We see this idea expressed in the historical record as well: the idealized status of women like ‘Turia’ from the so- called Laudatio Turiae inscription (cf. Osgood 2014). Appian (BC 4.3.15, 23) notes other generalized examples of wives who—successfully or not—attempted to save their husbands during the proscriptions, thus proving their fidelity for their risk of bodily harm to protect their proscribed partners. 154 James 2012 suggests that Arethusa is not actually married to Lycotas, but that Propertius employs the vocabulary of marriage to denote this elegiac relationship. The distinction here is not necessarily relevant, as either way Arethusa is abandoned by Lycotas, and is described with elegiac characterization. 44

emotional state due to their separation from their husbands. They are afraid of the future, both in terms of their husbands’ safety and for his continued fidelity. They are characterized as “good wives” in that they advertise their virtue and fidelity to those around them. Despite their marital status, both women use elegiac language to describe their situations.

Statius shows the effect of the necklace’s curse by characterizing Argia with the imagery and language of the elegiac relicta puella. I suggest that the curse is manifested as Argia’s engagement with this elegiac trope: she can only properly be an abandoned woman if her husband leaves her for the war. Argia is not just an intertextual agent, but rather a character who is shown to actively engage with the tropes brought along with her language. By seeing her through this lens, we see the full range of the curse and how it acts through her to continue the destruction of Thebes.

The narrator has Argia speak with Laodamia’s language in order to identify herself as an elegiac character. As she begins her monologue, Argia compares Polynices’ military outfit to her in jewelry, drawing an intertextual parallel to Laodamia (Stat. Theb. 4.204-6):

Scilicet (infandum!), cum tu claudare minanti casside ferratusque sones, ego divitis aurum 205 Harmoniae dotale geram? …

Surely (unspeakable!), when you are closed up in a threatening helmet and, armed, you resound with clatter, shall I wear the wedding gold of splendid Harmonia?

Argia notes first her astonishment at considering not giving up the necklace, scilicet infandum

(4.204), then goes on to describe a vision of Polynices in battle: his head is enclosed in a

“threatening helmet” (204-5 minanti casside), and his weaponry makes him noisy (205, ferratus sones). Argia scorns the thought of wearing Harmonia’s jewels while Polynices is in such a

45

situation.155 Her refusal of adornment quotes Laodamia, referencing an identical sentiment after

Protesilaus has left for . In replicating these words, Argia styles herself as another

Laodamia: another young bride whose husband leaves soon after their wedding (Ov. Her. 13.37-

40):156

Scilicet ipsa geram saturatas murice lanas, Bella sub Iliacis moenibus ille geret? Ipsa comas pectar, galea caput ille premetur? Ipsa novas vestes, dura vir arma feret? 40

What, am I to wear wool soaked in purple dye, while he wages war beneath the Trojan walls? Am I to comb my hair, while his head is pressed by a helmet? Do I wear new clothes, while my husband wears hard armor?

Argia’s use of scilicet to mark her outrage parallels Laodamia’s, though Argia also reinforces the incredulousness of scilicet with the exclamation infandum.157 The strong visual connection between Argia and Laodamia’s concern over their husbands’ heavy helmets links these two women and their lament.158 Argia repeats Laodamia’s examples in condensed form, shortened due to the compressed length of Argia’s speech.159

155 She had expressly noted this earlier: Theb. 4.200-1, non haec apta mihi nitidis ornatibus…tempora. Micozzi 2007 ad loc notes that this reflects a commonplace elegiac trope reflecting the moralizing idea of war being an improper time for wearing jewels. This idea, however, likely also intersects with the elegiac amator’s concerns over the potential infidelity of the puella: if he is away on a campaign, then—from his perspective—she only dresses up in order to attract a new lover. Thus, these concerns over dress and appearance also connect to the elegiac tropes of jealousy, and how separation from one’s lover can act as an invitation for infidelity. Parkes 2012 ad loc, following Helzle 1996, 165, also notes that this refusal parallels ‘good’ Roman moral status and support for the morality of the Lex Oppia. 156 Bessone 2002, 187-88, cf. Bessone 2010, 68. 157 Cf. OLD s.v. scilicet §4 and §4b for the nuance between Argia’s outrage and incredulousness. 158 Propertius depicts Postumus in a similar, uncomfortable position: 3.12.7-8, tu tamen iniecta tectus, vesane, lacerna / potabis galea fessus Araxis aquam. 159 Argia speaks for 11 lines here in Book 4; contrast Prop. 4.3 (Arethusa), 72 lines; Ov. Her. 13 (Laodamia), 166. 46

Argia also recalls Arethusa in her rejection of finery.160 These three women establish a pattern of rejecting lavish dress while their husbands are in armor, abroad at war (Prop. 4.3.51-

2):

nam mihi quo Poenis nunc161 purpura fulgeat ostris crystallusque meas ornet aquosa manus?

For what reason now should purple shine for me from Phoenician cloth, and shining crystal adorn my hand?

Arethusa, like Laodamia, specifies the type of expensive finery she rejects (purple cloth, murice lanas ~ purpura ostris). Although this statement is intended to reflect Arethusa’s modesty and willingness to reject extravagance while her husband Lycotas is on campaign, it actually serves to reinforce how much finery Arethusa has: she is already prominent in Tyrian purple and crystal rings. She highlights her modesty even while showing off her adornment. Argia, on the other hand, references only the necklace, her sole adornment.162 Argia reinforces her willingness to look like a relicta puella by rejecting her finery while Polynices is away, while also suggesting that the necklace is lavish enough to compare to Arethusa and Laodamia’s Tyrian purple and gems. Argia’s rejection of finery is specifically connected to the necklace. She emphasizes its power even as she decides to give it away.

Argia also references her sorrowful beauty, tapping into another elegiac network of ideas.

When she begins her speech, she references her miserae…formae, 4.201. The elegists regularly

160 See also Cynthia at 3.6.9-18; Propertius hears of Cynthia’s distress after an argument, and is told that she is constantly weeping (3.6.9-10), her hair is uncombed (9), and she was without jewelry (12). 161 I follow Housman’s emendation here for the manuscript’s te or tibi; Heyworth 2007 includes the following in the ap. crit.: nunc, Housman; te, N; tibi, Π Λ A*; ter, Palmer; sine te stola fulgeat, Damste. 162 This sentiment is also echoed Ov. Her. 15, the letter from Sappho to Phaon. ‘Sappho’ claims that without her beloved, there is no point in adornment: ille mei cultus unicus auctor abes, 15.78. 47

refer to their mistresses in terms of their formae, their physical body and, by extension, beauty.163

Miser is a paradigmatic word among the elegiac poets to signify their main emotional range.

Propertius signals this at the start of his first book, announcing his love interest and his wretchedness: Cynthia prima suis miserum me cepit ocellis (Prop. 1.1.1).164 The elegiac poets are famously miserable in love, and in turn glorify when their women are miserable as well. The elegiac amator is proudly pale and scrawny—signs of emotional hardship, and the mistress is more beautiful when she is upset.165 Borrowing the Homeric tradition of Penelope lamenting

Odysseus’ absence with frequent weeping and lack of concern about her beauty,166 the elegists refer to relictae puellae showing the strength of their emotional connection to their far-off partners through their similar constant tears.167 Statius further aligns Argia with the broad program of this elegiac figure through this physical description.

The curse has already infected her actions: she is linked to these elegiac heroines, and will continue to follow them even if she gives away the necklace and removes herself physically from its power. By alluding to this sentiment from these elegiac heroines, Statius connects Argia ideologically to the elegiac code.

Beyond this direct intertext, Argia also mirrors general themes from Laodamia and

Arethusa throughout her speech. She seeks to look the part of the relicta puella and reject finery

163 See, e.g., Prop. 1.2.8, 2.3.32, 2.5.28, 2.28.14, 3.2.18, 3.10.17; Tib. 1.8.24, 2.4.35; Ov. Am. 1.5.20, 1.8.25. At Am. 3.1.9, Ovid describes his Muse Elegia by her forma. 164 Cf. Ov. Am. 1.1.25, 1.4.59, 2.5.8; Prop. 2.33b.35, 3.23.19; Tib. 2.3.78 heu miserum. For male elegiac sorrow and lament, cf. James 2003a, esp. 103-4. 165 E.g., Ov. Am. 1.7.11-13, 2.5.44; Prop. 3.6. I discuss the idea of beautiful grief further in Chapter 2 and 3, regarding Hypsipyle. 166 Cf. Hom. Od. 17.101-4; 18.171-74, 178-81; 19.124-25. 167 Cf. James 2003a. 48

to physically show her grief and loss, but she also strives to act like her. In a compressed couplet,

Argia relates several key themes (Theb. 4.202-3):

…sat dubium coetu solante timorem fallere et incultos aris adverrere crines

It is enough to deceive my hesitant fear with companionable consolation and to sweep the altars with unkempt hair.

In these lines, Argia describes her plan for what will happen when she gives up the necklace:

Polynices will leave for the war and she will, at last, become an abandoned woman. She will be afraid (timorem, 4.202) but she will seek comfort in her companions (coetu solante, 202). She will attempt to trick herself into hope (timorem fallere, 202-3). Finally, she will stop tending her hair (incultos crines, 203) and instead tend the altars in prayer (aris adverrere 203). Argia takes inspiration from her elegiac predecessors, and these actions she plans reflect what Laodamia and

Arethusa themselves had done.

Laodamia and Arethusa both reference the female companionship that lends them emotional support. Laodamia emphasizes the women who keep her company after Protesilaus has left for Troy (Ov. Her. 13.35-36):

conveniunt matres [Phylaceides] et mihi clamant: “Indue regales, Laudamia, sinus!”

The [Phylacian] women gather around and cry out to me, “Take up your regal garments, Laodamia!”

The women of her household attempt to cheer her after Protesilaus departs for Troy. While she rejects their advice, their presence and conversation is an attempt to distract her from her sorrow.

Arethusa, too, mentions the female companionship that distracts her mind (Prop. 4.3.41-

42):

49

assidet una soror, curis et pallida nutrix peierat hiberni temporis esse moras.

My sister alone sits beside me, and my nurse pale with fear swears with a lie that your delay is caused by winter weather…

Arethusa’s sister and nurse stay with her during Lycotas’ long campaign to keep her company.

Argia follows these precedents in looking for companionship to keep herself occupied while the war rages in Thebes.168

Finally, Argia plans to complete the visual representation of her sorrow at Polynices’ absence and let her hair go untended while she prays in a gesture of performative female grief.

As Micozzi notes, Argia’s sweeping the altars with her hair, (Theb. 4.203) is typical behavior of a relicta puella, modeled by Laodamia and Arethusa.169 Micozzi further notes that this abandoned woman often shows the strength of her emotional connection to a far-off lover through constant tears, “elegizing” the model of Penelope.170 Cynthia in particular, expressing her grief over a separation from Propertius, offers a long lament on her lack of adornment and hairstyle.171 Propertius’ Galla, although not in direct speech, shares many of these concerns, as I

168 Argia also hopes deceive her fear, fallere (4.203). This verb connects Argia to Cynthia, as she attempts to stay awake and complains of Propertius’ absence: Prop. 1.3.41-44 nam modo purpureo fallebam stamine somnum / rursus et Orpheae carmine, fessa, lyrae; / interdum leviter mecum deserta querebar / externo longas saepe in amore moras. Cynthia uses this same verb for her actions as she distracts herself from worry over Propertius’ potential infidelity. Ovid’s Penelope uses this same verb to reflect her own attempt to stay awake at night weaving: Ov. Her. 1.9-12 nec mihi quaerenti spatiosam fallere noctem / lassaret viduas pendula tela manus. See also Laodamia’s “lying dreams,” Ov. Her. 13.107, and other expressions of her fear: 13.51-52, 123-24. Galla also fears for Postumus’ safety, Prop. 3.12.9-10. 169 Micozzi 2007, ad loc, with Prop. 4.3.53-62 and Ov. Her. 13.112. 170 Micozzi 2007, at 4.200: “…il prototipo del rifiuto del cultus è già nella Cynthia vagheggiata da Properzio secondo il modello di una pudicizia disadorna in 3, 6, 9-18 e 1, 2, 26…. L’archetipo è forse Penelope che rifiuta la cure di bellezza quando il marito è lotano,” cf. Hom. Od. 17.101-4; 18.171-74, 178-81; 19.124-25. 171 Prop. 3.6.9-18. See Ov. Met. 11.577-82, , and Prop. 1.15.11 on unkempt hair as representation of female grief for absent lover. Arethusa and Laodamia also describe other religious actions done to safeguard their lovers; Prop. 4.3.57-58; Ov. Her. 13.49-50, 111-14. 50

note above. Propertius highlights her chastity multiple times in the poem, even while expressing her fear for Postumus’ safety.172 Argia accesses this same vocabulary of and response to abandonment, affiliating herself with this tradition.173

Despite all of the similarities based on linguistic and thematic parallels that are signaled between Argia and these abandoned women, I argue that her connection to the trope of the relicta puella is marred by two significant factors. In her speech, Argia outlines her plan of action once she gives away the necklace and Polynices goes to war. She will finally be the relicta puella, and is prepared to act in a manner befitting the trope. Argia’s primary connection to this trope, however, is limited by the fact that as much as she tries to look and sound like the abandoned woman, she has not been abandoned yet. I suggest that Argia’s preemptive association with this trope, which leads to her actual engagement with it after Polynices leaves for the war, is part of the necklace’s curse and destructive power. Further, Argia’s association is known to be preemptive because of the myth: Statius foreshadows the end of the story to the audience who already knows the destruction that will characterize her future. Statius presents

Argia’s speech in the catalogue of Argives when Amphiaraus marches out in the war party. This

172 Chastity: 3.12.6 (fido toro), 15 (casta Galla), 19 (gallam non munera vincent), 22 (Galla pudica), 37- 38 (casta uxor, vincit Penelopes). 173 See in addition Ovid’s Briseis, Her. 3: Briseis promises that she has been faithful to Achilles while comparing him to an elegiac amator, who fell in with another woman as soon as she was taken to ’s tent; 111-20, he is playing music (113), embracing a mollis amica (114), taking delight in music and sex (116), and rejecting warfare in favor of this pleasure (117-20: tutius est iacuisse toro…quam manibus clipeos et acutae cuspidis hastam, / et galeam pressa sustinuisse coma), using the same imagery that Laodamia, Arethusa, and later Argia will reflect, but in reverse. Achilles seeks to avoid having his hair pressed by a harsh helmet, while the other women fearfully imagine their lovers in such a state. Briseis uses programmatic elegiac vocabulary elsewhere, confirming the nature of her relationship with Achilles: 3.42 (quo levis a nobis tam cito fugit amor?), 69 (victorem captiva sequar). Briseis swears that Achilles is her only family (Ov. Her. 3.45-52), mirroring how Propertius describes his relationship with Cynthia (e.g., Prop. 1.11.23), as I noted above. 51

scene is clearly a flashback to an earlier point in time. Before her speech, Argia considers that

Amphiaraus’ presence could greatly increase Polynices’ success (Stat. Theb. 4.196-98):

…nam regum animos et pondera belli hac nutare videt, pariter si providus heros militet…

…for [Argia] saw that the spirits of the rulers and the balance of the war would lean in this direction, if the foresighted hero should fight at their side.

Statius does not specify the process by which Argia giving the necklace to Eriphyle would result in Amphiaraus joining the battle, but we know from other sources that Eriphyle took the gold as a bribe exactly for this purpose.174 Since Amphiaraus’ involvement in the battle is predicated upon Eriphyle’s acquisition of the necklace—and Amphiaraus is marching with the Argive army—it is clear that this speech where Argia decides to give the gold to Eriphyle must happen before Amphiaraus marches with the army.175 Indeed, Book 4 begins with the statement that three years have passed.176 This gap leaves plenty of time for Argia to have deliberated, given the necklace to Eriphyle, and for Eriphyle to have convinced Amphiaraus to fight. When Argia speaks in Book 4, therefore, she is looking to her future as an abandoned woman and preparing for the role, but has not yet stepped into it.

I further argue that the role of this speech as a flashback is emphasized by a connection to

Laodamia and Arethusa that runs deeper than verbal parallels. I suggest that Argia’s speech also

174 I discuss this in more detail below. 175 The necklace is in the seer’s house when he leaves: uetitoque domus iam fulgurat auro, Theb. 4.191; further, at the end of the speech, the gold enters the house: sic Eriphylaeos aurum fatale penates / inrupit, Theb. 4.211-12. 176 tertius horrentem Zephyris laxaverat annum / Phoebus (4.1-2). Parkes 2012, ad loc: “Statius slips in the fact of the three-year delay with pseudo-nonchalance, thereby making it more startling.” See Parkes here for a continued discussion of the timeframe and the ambiguities of identifying when this three-year delay began. 52

contains formal similarities to the literary letters of the elegiac relicta puella. Argia’s speech is not a letter, but shares similarities to epistolary conventions. Through these formal parallels, we can further see the connections between Argia and her elegiac predecessors through the influence of the necklace. She directly includes second-person pronouns referring to Polynices throughout her monologue, but his presence is unclear.177 These apostrophes have confused readers of

Argia’s monologue, but when we recognize the parallels to epistolography, questions about

Polynices’ presence become irrelevant. It is common for letters to refer to their addressees through the second person pronoun: these addressees are not present during the letter’s writing, but are its direct audience.178 Further, Argia’s speech also fails to specify its setting, a gap which can again be resolved by recognizing the speech’s similarity to a written letter (Theb. 4.198-99):

… ipsa sacros gremio Polynicis amati exuerat cultus haud maesta atque insuper addit…

She, without sadness, had taken the awful ornament, given by her beloved Polynices, from her breast, and moreover she adds…

This introduction describes Argia’s possession of the necklace, here called sacros cultus (198-

99). She is not upset to give it up (haud maesta, 199), which sets up her argumentative strategy

177 tu, 4.204; te, 4.202, 208. Cf. Dominik 1994a, 310n108: “Although Argia makes reference to Polynices by using the personal pronoun tu (4.204) or te (202, 208), the surrounding narrative does not make it clear whether Argia is actually soliloquizing, apostrophizing Polynices in his absence, or addressing him directly in person. The circumstances of her speech show, however, that she is not speaking face to face with her husband, since he is already departing with the Argive army for Thebes 4.74-92).” 178 See example from Theophrastus, on a bad letter-writing associate (Char. 24.13) in Rosenmeyer 2001 31: “In his letters you do not find ‘you would oblige me,’ but ‘my desire is this, or ‘I have sent to you for that,’ or ‘be sure that you do the other,’ and ‘without the least delay.’” See further Rosenmeyer 2001, 33- 34. Cf, e.g., Ov. Her. 1.13, 37, 60, 110, 113; 2.1, 11, 13, 17, 23, 28; 4.1, 4, 27, 77, 85, 146; 5.4, 9, 21, 103, 109, 154. In non-elegiac letters, cf., e.g., Cic. Fam. 1.1.1; 1.6.2; 2.5.2; 3.2.1; Att. 1.5.1, 5, 7; 1.11.1, 3; 2.14.1; Plin. Ep. 1.2.5; 1.3.3, 5; 1.14.10; 4.15.9, 12, 13. Rosenmeyer 2001, 63 also adds that for dramatic significance, a letter as a plot device “only works in certain specialized contexts. There must be an element of distance between correspondents” to explain why a letter is used. 53

throughout her speech: the relicta puella ought to look impoverished. Polynices’ role as Argia’s interlocutor is under debate: as Dominik notes, Argia cannot be speaking to her husband, since he has already marched out to war.179 However, as I discuss further below, it is clear that this speech takes place in a flashback. Argia seems to speak (insuper addit, 199; present tense) at a different time than when she takes hold of the necklace (exuerat, 199; pluperfect tense): thus,

Polynices could in fact be present, but his presence is also not necessary nor guaranteed.

Georgacopoulou, following Dominik recognizes this speech as a soliloquy: that is, a speech delivered by a single individual with no immediate audience: as such, both consider this speech to be delivered by Argia alone, without an audience.180 Parkes maintains a vague—that is, literal—translation for atque insuper addit (199), while Joyce adds: “saying to him.”181

Shackleton-Bailey takes a different manuscript reading for the beginning of line 199: deposuit nexus from ω instead of Parkes’ preferred reading from P, as I print above. With this change of verb, Shakleton-Bailey prefers to understand gremio as referring to Polynices. He translates,

“[Argia] herself put the accursed chain in the bosom of her beloved Polynices nothing loath, and adds to boot…”.182 Polynices’ presence in this moment is unclear, as shown by this variety of unprovable assumptions, and I suggest that this is intentionally designed to set up the epistolary

179 Dominik 1994a, 310n108, as I quote just above. 180 Georgacopoulou 1996, 350 [=2005, 84], who adds that this soliloquy emphasizes the “new status” that Statius gives to the character of Argia. Dominik 1994a, 169-70 defines the soliloquy as a speech given by an individual character which “traditionally serve[s] to explain the conduct of characters and to furnish them with motives for their action.” He expands that the poet uses a soliloquy to relate “the inner thoughts and feelings of important characters in critical situations without the dramatic inexpedience of engaging in a long narrative description.” 181 Parkes 2012 ad 198: “she herself without unhappiness had taken off from her bosom the accursed ornament of her beloved Polynices and added besides…”. Joyce 2008, 90: “Argia freely removed from her breast beloved Polynices’ accursed ornament, saying to him…”. 182 Shackleton-Bailey 2003, 221, with Parkes 2012 ad loc. Parkes adds that this reading may allude to the tradition of Polynices’ role in the bribe, but I see no evidence for Polynices’ involvement elsewhere in the text and thus do not see a need for his role to be included here. 54

parallel in Argia’s speech. He is unquestionably her primary intended audience, just as

Protesilaus is for Laodamia’s letter, and Lycotas for Arethusa. The insignificance of his direct presence shows the connection of her speech to a literary letter.183

Seeing the parallel to epistolography in Argia’s speech adds to the dramatic irony of the situation. Part of the role of the flashback in Argia’s speech is to provide a sense of inescapability: even if Argia were to recognize the problematic aspects of her elegiac models, it is too late for her to change anything. Epistolography offers a similar dramatic setting: there is a necessary temporal gap between the writing and reading of a letter.184 The events described in a letter, even if they are written in the present tense, have “already happened” for the dramatic setting of the reader. Laodamia does not know that Protesilaus has died when she writes her letter to him, and does not recognize that the phantom she sees in her dream is his ghost (Her.

13.109-10). The external readers know that Laodamia’s letter will never reach Protesilaus, and her prayers and wishes for his safe return are helpless. Dido begs Aeneas to stay in her letter

(Her. 7), and vows to commit suicide should he go: the reader knows that these events will happen, and cannot change Dido’s threats or promises. By the time the letter is read, Aeneas has already left and Dido has committed suicide: the letter represents a moment that has already passed. In much the same way, Argia’s speech, in its role as flashback akin to a letter, expresses what has already happened at the time it is delivered in Book 4: Polynices already marches to his death, Eriphyle already has the necklace, and Amphiaraus is already destined for death.

183 “The reception of the letter is rarely limited to a single reader….we may find ourselves confronting a crowd of interpreters: the letter’s intended recipient, an interceptor who reads a letter not intended for his or her eyes, an eavesdropping chorus [for a dramatic or staged letter], the external reader. Each reader offers yet another perspective on the events….” Rosenmeyer 2001, 67. 184 Rosenmeyer 2001, 69-71, 74-75; “The built-in time gap between the acts of writing and reading all epistolary verbs with potential multivalence” (quote from 74). 55

Argia’s intertextual connections to Arethusa and Laodamia in Book 4 are not the first time she is preemptively linked to the trope of the relicta puella. I argue that these connections show the effect of the necklace’s curse even when it is not directly mentioned. Even from the moment Argia puts on the necklace, she starts speaking as if she were an abandoned woman, preparing for Polynices to leave and continue the fatal impact of the curse. Soon after her wedding, Argia expresses an elegiac complaint to Polynices (Theb. 2.351-52):185

…quo tendis iter? ni conscius ardor ducit et ad Thebas melior socer….

Where does your journey pull? Or does some conscious passion and a better father-in-law lead you to Thebes?

Argia here references the common fear and jealousy of the elegiac relicta puella that her partner will leave her for another woman. This fear is especially prominent among the relictae puellae, who cannot keep watch over their far-away lovers.186 Argia’s fear reflects the same erotic jealousy that drove Vulcan to create the necklace in the first place. Arethusa also displays elegiac jealousy (Prop. 4.3.25-28):

haec noceant potius, quam dentibus ulla puella 25 det mihi plorandas per tua colla notas! diceris et macie vultum tenuasse: sed opto e desiderio sit color iste meo.

Better that these [breastplate and spear] hurt you than that some girl should mark your neck with her teeth for me to lament. It’s said that your face is thin and pale: but I hope that this pallor of yours comes from your longing for me?187

185 Gervais 2017, ad 363 calls this an “elegiac, delaying speech.” I address these lines in more detail in Chapter 4. 186 Briseis takes Achilles’ unfaithfulness as an assumed fact, Ov. Her. 3.111-20, as I note above; cf. Her. 1.75-80, 2.103-4. 187 Transl. Goold 1990, modified. 56

Arethusa pictures Lycotas and hopes that his armor is the only thing causing him pain. She imagines, in typical elegiac fashion, a rival for his affection. She describes his pallor, suggesting that it is the paleness typical to elegiac lovers.188 While she acknowledges that this color may be due to the conditions of battle, she hopes that it instead confirms that his deep love for her endures, and not that he has found a new lover.189 Arethusa’s jealous reaction follows the pattern set out for jealous elegiac lovers: she complains, expresses her fear and concern, and demands his affection and fidelity.190 Argia, just shortly after her marriage, exhibits this jealous reaction.

She expresses her fear that Polynices seeks Thebes not for revenge, or for the throne, but for a lover.191 Argia’s response, in language familiar to the elegiac puella, indicates the elegiac themes that will continue to provide the background of the necklace’ presence in the text.192

188 Cf., e.g., Prop. 1.1.22, 1.9.17, 3.8.28; Ov. Am. 2.7.9-10; on Propertius’ pallor in particular, cf. Maltby 2006, 155. 189 This same concern is also reflected at Prop. 4.3.69-70 as she demands that Lycotas return to her only if he has remained faithful. See also Cynthia’s concerns at Prop. 1.3.35-38. 190 Propertius’ Galla does not deliver her lament in her own words, but Propertius’ narrator notes that while Galla is faithful and chaste, Postumus is not: 3.12.16, and see—as I discuss above—his comparison to Odysseus. 191 Gervais 2017 ad loc: Argia “turns his lust for power into lust for a woman.” 192 Bessone 2010, 67-69 also notes that Argia’s prayer as she convinces Adrastus to give Polynices an army in Book 3 contains elegiac undertones: nescis, pater optime, nescis, / quantus amor castae misero nupsisse marito (Theb. 3.704-5). This parallels Arethusa: Prop. 4.3.49-50, omnis amor magnus, sed rapto coniuge maior: / hanc Venus, ut uiuat, uentilat ipsa facem (as Heyworth prints line 49; the manuscript reads aperto, suggesting a relationship that is publicly visible). Bessone discusses this line in relation to Arethusa’s desire to become like an Amazon; a woman warrior who could fight alongside her partner in battle; cf. Rosati 1996. Arethusa attempts to justify her desire to go beyond the limits placed on her by gender and follow her partner to war, referencing the elegiac trope of following the beloved even into danger or death: e.g., Prop. 2.26b, [Tib.] 3.9. Arethusa threatens to reject her status as relicta puella with this statement. In repeating it, however, Argia uses it to validate her own (impending) role. Argia seeks to perform her role as a faithful wife, and to experience this great love that comes with being an abandoned woman. Laodamia also references the grief that comes with separated love in terms of physical pain: Ov. Her. 13.30, pectora legitimus casta momordit amor. Protesilaus’ absence causes this feeling. Her great love causes her pain, yet she prides herself on her chastity (casta pectora) while Protesilaus is far away. Bessone argues that Argia’s inclusion of misero to describe Polynices pushes the paradigm of this line away from the elegiac into the tragic, as she moves closer to modelling Antigone (as will become literal in book 12). Yet, miser is also a programmatic word in the elegiac tradition for the emotional range of the elegiac amator. Thus, while Polynices is certainly miser due to his exile, Argia here also reinforces the 57

All of these women refer to their chastity in love: they claim to be the ideal wives of elegy, preserving their chastity and probity for the return of their husbands from war. Argia uses

Arethusa and Laodamia’s words as justifications to her father to let her become a relicta puella, promising that she will be a good, chaste, and faithful one. Despite the fact that Polynices’ war is far in the future for Argia, she already suggests an elegiac role for herself. Within the frame of the necklace’s elegiac curse, she casts herself as a woman ready for her husband to leave her behind. Argia shows herself to be like this idealized elegiac woman as she models her sorrow about Polynices’ absence before he even leaves.193

The second way in which Argia does not fully fit the pattern of the relicta puella is that she is actively pro-war. After her wedding and the birth of her son, Argia goes to her father to

elegiac metaphor by casting herself as the relicta puella to a miser amator: a classic elegiac relationship. All of this emphasizes Argia’s perspective. According to the elegists, separation from a lover provides an opportunity for the puella to be unfaithful, not just the amator; cf. Prop. 1.11, Propertius’ fear while Cynthia is in Baiae. Argia relies on the paradigm of the good wife to protect her reputation as she promises to be faithful like Penelope while abandoned. 193 Micozzi 2007 ad loc and Bessone 2002, 205-212 note that the moment of Polynices’ actual departure, where Argia becomes in truth the relicta puella, also incorporates elegiac imagery. Polynices turns back to look at Argia as he marches out of Argos, while she stretches her arm out to him from a tower window (Theb. 4.89-91). Bessone notes that the gesture originates with Hector’s farewell to Andromache, Hom. Il. 6.496, though there it refers to her turning back to Hector, reversed from Statius’ context. After she enters the house, Andromache laments Hector preemptively, convinced with her handmaids that Hector will not return (Hom. Il. 6.500-2; with Kirk 1990, ad loc.). From Andromache, this backwards turn repeats in Virgil as turns back to look at (Virg. Geo. 4.491; Stern 1979 suggests the gesture is filtered to Virgil via Phanocles’ elegy on Orpheus, fr. 1 CA). In a development significant for its appearance in love elegy, Orpheus gender-swaps the motion as he turns back to see his wife for the last time. With the same emotional range as Andromache and Orpheus, the elegists reflect this latter motion as the male narrator (or internal character) is the one to turn back to the woman he leaves behind: Bessone (2002, 208) goes so far as to call it “modello per l’amante elegiaco”. The gesture appears in Prop. 2.7.10 as he imagines betraying and leaving Cynthia, and Ov. Her. 18.17-18 as Leander leaves Hero each night. The Andromache-model presents dire foreshadowing to all who mimic the gesture: just as Andromache presages Hector’s death by mourning him “still alive” (Hom. Il. 5.500, ἔτι ζωὸν), the figures who repeat her gesture are also ultimately separated from their partners due to death. Polynices’ turn back to Argia engages in a series of visual callbacks to Andromache through a line of ill-fated, abandoned lovers. The gesture at the moment of the couples’ separation marks Argia as a relicta puella as she is abandoned by a man who will die by the end of the war. 58

plead for an army on Polynices’ behalf to march against Thebes.194 Scholars have noted the oddity of this interaction; as I discussed earlier, Argia’s character seems to be invented by Statius for this text. In the Thebaid, however, she is the one to take active agency in starting the war. Her arguments to Adrastus may be logical, but I suggest that they are part of the wider program of the necklace’s curse. The curse seeks to destroy Thebes and Harmonia’s descendants by having

Polynices and Eteocles fight each other alongside their respective armies. What better way to destroy a city than cause its inhabitants to go to war? I suggest that the curse pushes Argia to instigate military action. Bessone argues that Argia’s action in requesting troops for Polynices, and being a key driving force in starting the Theban civil war, suggests her tragic nature. 195

While her character does engage with tragic themes especially in her later interactions with

Antigone, Argia’s elegiac resonance in these early scenes signals to the reader a particular motive behind her actions.196 Her manifestation of the curse is to be the one to cause her husband’s death: he would not have fought Eteocles had she not provided troops to support him.

In this elegiac reading, Argia could not become the relicta puella if Polynices did not actually leave; thus, to fulfill the curse’s consequences, Polynices needed to leave for war.

Eriphyle

Just as the necklace makes Argia into an elegiac relicta puella, it also acts upon Eriphyle, setting the two women against each other. I suggest that the necklace casts Eriphyle’s greed in elegiac terms and casts her within the paradigm of the elegiac “greedy girl.”

194 Stat. Theb. 3.678-710. 195 Bessone 2010, 69, 87. 196 I discuss this further in Chapter 4. 59

Eriphyle is famously known as a woman who trades her husband’s life for gold. This is how Homer identifies her, in the earliest literary evidence of her character. Odysseus describes seeing Eriphyle in the underworld (Hom. Od. 11.326-27):

…ἴδον στυγερήν τ᾽ Ἐριφύλην, ἣ χρυσὸν φίλου ἀνδρὸς ἐδέξατο τιμήεντα.

And I saw hated Eriphyle, who took costly gold for [the life of] her dear husband.

Odysseus’ brief reference in the Nekyia provides little character or motivation for Eriphyle. She has betrayed her husband for gold, but we are not given a reason or explanation for the situation.197 These bare details carry through her description in the later extant record.

Unlike Argia, Eriphyle appears in the later mythographic tradition after Homer, often as a negative example of a betrayer or wicked wife.198 She appears in the material record in this same manner: there are a number of 5th century vases that depict Eriphyle being offered a bribe.199 In

197 Eriphyle appears at the end of the Nekyia in a short list alongside Phaedra, Procris, Ariadne (in an alternate version of the myth where she is killed by on Dia), , and , Hom. Od. 11.321-26. After the lengthy mythologies provided for, e.g., Tyro (235-59) and (=Jocasta) (271- 80), this short succession of names is somewhat of a surprise. Ariadne and Eriphyle are the only ones of this group to have any description alongside their names. 198 Eriphyle as betrayer: Hom. Od. 11.326-27, 15.245-47; Soph. El. 837-41; Pind. N. 9.29-65; Cic. Inv. 1.94, Ver. 2.4.39; Virg. Aen. 6.445-46; Prop. 2.16.29-30, 3.13.57-58; Ov. Ars 3.13; Juv. Sat. 651-56; Hyg. Fab. 73; Apollod. Bib. 3.6.2; Diod. Sic. Bib. 4.65.5-9. 199 According to the LIMC, the majority of visual representations of Eriphyle are either a scene of Amphiaraus’ departure for a battle (indicated by his military outfit): e.g., LIMC Amphiaraus 1-17; or a depiction of Eriphyle being bribed with the necklace. These follow the same pattern of a male figure (left) taking the necklace from a box and handing it to Eriphyle on the right: e.g., LIMC Eriphyle 1-11, all dating to the fifth century BCE in Attic red figure. Depictions of Eriphyle fell out of fashion in the Greek world after the 4th century and the iconography instead emphasized Amphiaraus, especially as a prophet or healer. Amphiaraus is generally depicted on 6th and 5th century vases as a warrior either in combat or in a stock departure scene. While there is more evidence for the Greek period, see in addition Amphiaraus on an Antonine sarcophagus from Corinth, cf. Young 1922, esp. 438. See Edelstein 1945, 89-94 on Amphiaraus as a healer esp. his transition from warrior/prophet to healer/divinity, as well as the discussion in LIMC: Krauskopf, LIMC I.1, 706-13; on Eriphyle, Lezzi-Hafter, LIMC III.1, 846. Eriphyle’s necklace appears on a surprisingly large number of dedicatory inscriptions or temple inventory lists at Delos, usually a variant of ὅρμος ὁ Ἐριφύλης χρυσοῦς; e.g., IG XI2 161, 164, 199, 223; ID 103, 298, 338, 442, 461, cf. Constantakopoulou 2017, 197n144 and Prêtre 2012, 175-76 on the attribution. 60

the literary sources, the gift is almost always gold; on pottery, it is usually a necklace. Where given, its prior history changes from author to author.200 Unfortunately, while we know of tragedies about Eriphyle which likely provided further exploration of her character, they are all lost.201 The extant sources that provide specifics regarding the bribe represent divergent, but parallel details: either Polynices or Adrastus supply the necklace to Eriphyle in order to get the reluctant Amphiaraus to fight in the war.202 Amphiaraus wants to avoid the conflict because he

200 This necklace may be connected to the gift gives to Europa at [Hes.] Cat. fr. 141.1-6 MW = 90.1- 6 Most, but it is unspecified and since the passage is fragmentary, it is impossible to determine if Zeus’ gift is in fact a necklace (as it is explained in the Suda, [Hes.] Cat. fr. 142 MW), and if it has any connection to the later gifts to Harmonia. Adrastus’ bribe in Hyg. Fab. 73 is a necklace, as is Polynices’ in Apollodorus, though here it is strongly suggested to be the same as that made by Hephaestus for Harmonia’s wedding (Apollod. Bib. 3.4.2). In Diodorus (4.65.5-9), the necklace Polynices gives to Eriphyle was a wedding gift to Harmonia, from Aphrodite. It is a necklace again in Cicero (Ver. 2.4.39), but without the briber named, and in Servius’s commentary on Aen. 4.412. 9.41.2, post-dating Statius, identifies Eriphyle’s bribe also as a necklace originally belonging to Harmonia, but rejects the view that this necklace was made by Hephaestus; cf. 3.18.12 and 8.24.8-10, which continue the story of the necklace to Eriphyle’s son ; see Duffy 2013. The necklace also features prominently in Nonnus’ Dionysiaca, which includes the only other extant ekphrasis of Harmonia’s necklace (Dion. 5.135-89), though with very different themes; see Miguélez-Cavero 2017. 201 Aeschylus, Sophocles (Cf. Lightfoot 1999, 513n309; Soph. fr. 108-10 Radt, Eur. fr. 65-87 Nauck), Nikomachos of Alexandria () (cf. Suda ν 396.), Carcinus (Amphiaraus known from Aristotle’s mockery of it, Poet. 1455a22-29), Astydamas the Younger (Suda α 4265), and Accius all wrote tragedies called either Eriphyle or Epigonoi. Based on that title, they must have covered the plot of Eriphyle’s betrayal of Amphiaraus, and how that led to the sons of the Seven marching to their own war against Thebes, also in Thuc. Hist. 2.102.5. This plot was also likely covered in Stesichorus’ now-lost Eriphyle (title from Sext. Emp. Math. 1.261; SLG 148-150), and perhaps—though with no evidence— in the epics by Antimachus of Colophon (on which see Matthews 1996, though his index notes only one reference to Amphiaraus: fr. 198.ii.1 (dubious), and cites no extant fragment on Eriphyle—she is unnamed in the index of this work) and Ponticus (Prop. 1.7). 202 E.g., Polynices gives Eriphyle the necklace in Apollod. Bib. 3.6.2 and Diod. Sic. Bib. 4.65.5-9; Adrastus gives it in Hyg. Fab. 73. While Eriphyle has the necklace in the other sources, or the bribe is generally referenced, the instigator of the gift is not specified. Parkes 2012 ad 187-245 suggests that Statius transfers has Argia deliver the bribe perhaps from a desire to avoid casting a bad light on Polynices or Adrastus for their involvement, and instead maintaining a negative focus on only Eriphyle. In the vase painting type-scene, all of the male figures are assumed to be Polynices, based on an inscription with his name in LIMC Eriphyle I.2. Polynices is also named in LIMC Eriphyle I.15, and 16- 19 also depict a variant on the bribery. Despite Adrastus being the instigator of the bribe according to Hyginus, LIMC identifies all of these 5th century figures as Polynices. Polynices’ role in the bribe is not reflected in extant literary sources, so perhaps reflects either a disparate iconographic tradition, or the plot of a lost literary source. LIMC Amphiaraus 69 (Beazley ARV2 511.2 and 1657) shows a woman standing 61

had foretold that only Adrastus would survive.203 Statius adopts and adapts Eriphyle’s story in his presentation.

Statius follows a variant within the larger tradition of Eriphyle and the necklace. His major innovation is in two parts. First, Argia directly gives the necklace as a bribe to Eriphyle, with no apparent input from Polynices or Adrastus. Second, I suggest that the elegiac character of Vulcan’s emotional motivation in creating the necklace continues to play a part in the story, as the necklace draws Eriphyle to act within elegiac paradigms. While Argia sought to become a relicta puella and, in doing so, send Polynices to his death, Eriphyle takes on the characteristics of the elegiac greedy girl who desires gold and jewels above all else.

At first glance, Statius’ Eriphyle seems to replicate her Homeric character. Statius summarizes her role when Argia debates giving her the necklace (Theb. 4.193-94):

…perfida coniunx / dona viro mutare velit

The faithless wife desired to exchange her husband’s life for a gift.

This concise explanation of her character is a translation of Odysseus’ description of Eriphyle from his journey to the underworld, which I discussed above. A closer look at her appearances in the Thebaid, however, belies the simplicity of this description. I suggest that the necklace acts directly on Eriphyle, and it causes her to look and act like the elegiac greedy girl.

between two warriors, assumed to be Eriphyle between Adrastus and Amphiaraus, based on the literary tradition and their familial connection (as brothers). 203 In Statius as part of Amphiaraus’ augury before the battle is agreed upon: 3.537-47, with Fantham 2006, 152-53; cf. Aesch. Sept. 587-89. 62

In elegiac poetry, the amator often complains about the woman who does not care about love, and only seeks lovers because they bring her gifts. This idealized figure is what Sharon

James calls the greedy girl. She defines the trope:

The puella demands gifts and money from her lovers…, the wealthy rival meets her demands, and the elegiac lover complains, arguing both that he has no means of paying her, since he is an impoverished poet, and that poetry is a better exchange for her favors than either concrete goods or coin. Underlying this set of demands and counterarguments are, first, the puella’s material needs, which her lover-poet attempts to ignore or to overcome with elegiac persuasion…, and second, the lover-poet’s generic voluntary poverty. Since nothing so crude as actual money is mentioned, the lover can characterize his beloved’s demands for gifts as deriving not from inevitable necessity, given her profession and social class, but from her personal avarice—in other words, not from need but from greed.204

This intentional misrepresentation of the puella enables the amator to deride her through this rejection of her needs. Because he sees her as greedy, constantly seeking wealth and gifts, he can claim that what she wants is gold rather than a lover.205 For example, Tibullus offers a lengthy complaint about Delia’s apparent greed in poem 1.5. As James outlines, Tibullus first tries to shame Delia out of her request for material wealth (1.5.59-60), then describes “virtues of the impoverished lover—service rather than material goods,” (1.5.61-66) in an attempt to convince

Delia that his poetry is more valuable than material wealth.206 When this too fails, the lover acknowledges that only a plena manu (1.5.68) will unlock her door: his poetry will not get him access to his lover in the same way that gold or jewels will.207

204 James 2003b, 71. 205 James 2001, 240; cf., e.g., [Tib.] 3.1.7: carmine formosae, pretio capiuntur avarae; Tib. 1.5.67-68, 2.4.14; Prop. 2.16.11-12. 206 James 2003b, 86-87. 207 See also James 2003b, 87-91, on as greedy girl in Tib. 2.4. 63

The elegiac poets intentionally confuse the reality of the puella’s financial situation through their portrayal of her as a greedy girl. On one hand, the elegiac puella is “professionally motivated” to seek gifts from her lovers.208 In the point of view of the elegiac amator, however, greed becomes “a character flaw of a specific woman rather than a professional obligation.”209

I suggest that Statius describes Eriphyle in similar terms as this elegiac figure. The elegiac puella must decide between the elegist’s love and the rival’s wealth, like Delia in

Tibullus’ poem 1.5; similarly, Eriphyle can either have the necklace, or her husband. 210 The elegiac poet complains of the puella’s lack of emotional attachment;211 Argia expresses confusion that Eriphyle would choose the necklace over Amphiaraus: nunc induat illa … bellante potest gaudere marito (4.209-10, “now let her wear it, she who can rejoice in a war- waging husband”).212 I argue that Eriphyle represents the worst idea of this trope: she not only takes gold over Amphiaraus, but also lets her husband die. Reading the trope of the greedy girl into Eriphyle’s actions helps to explain her characterization in the Thebaid.

208 James 2001, 226. James adds that the character of the lena, e.g., Dipsas, Ov. Am. 1.8; Acanthis, Prop. 4.5, supports this. These women compel young women to seek gifts to support their lifestyle. By portraying these lenae as revolting witches or witch-like figures, the elegiac poets attempt to take a moral high-ground against wealth. The puellae who ask for gifts, therefore, become women unfortunately “corrupted” by the influence of these wretched women. 209 James 2001, 226; James 2003b, 84: “the lover-poets vociferously protest what they depict as the relentless demands of their mercenary sweethearts for needless, useless luxuries.” Ovid compares a lover asking for gifts to a ruthless prostitute, Am. 1.10.21-24. 210 Cf. Prop. 2.16, Ov. Am. 3.8; on the elegists’ attempted negotiation for rates, cf. Tib. 2.4, Prop. 1.3.24, Ov. Ars 2.261-70, 3.533, with James 2003a, 105. 211 James 2003b, 111 includes a chart of the “topoi of querela” including the following poems on elegiac complaints over the mistress’ deceit: Tib. 1.6, 1.8; Ov. Am. 2.5, 2.9, 3.3, 3.8; cruelty: Tib. 1.8, 2.6; Prop. 1.7, 2.22b.43, 24.47; capriciousness: Prop. 2.22; and faithlessness: Tib. 1.6; Prop. 1.15, 2.5, 2.9, 2.16, 2.17, 2.32, 3.14; Ov. Am. 3.8, 3.1, 3.14. Elsewhere, James 2003a, 107 notes that “elegiac tears are a coin of the genre—they provide proof of passion,” in that weeping and emotional intensity prove the depth of love that the elegist hopes for. 212 Compare also Ov. Am. 1.10 with James 2003b, 72: the elegist “promises to be generous if the puella will stop asking, aims not only to save the lover from requisite gift giving but to make her stop asking.” 64

For all that Argia seems to offer the necklace to Eriphyle willingly and freely,213 she also references the fact that Eriphyle desires to possess the necklace. This signals Eriphyle’s affiliation with the trope of the greedy girl. When Argia first decides to give Eriphyle the necklace, she justifies her action by explaining that Eriphyle had asked for the necklace (Theb.

4.209-10):

…nunc induat illa quae petit et bellante potest gaudere marito 210

Now let her wear it, she who seeks it and is able to rejoice in a war-waging husband.

Argia explains that Eriphyle can wear the necklace (nunc induat illa, 209), which she would refuse now that she becomes a relicta puella. She explains only now at the end of her monologue that Eriphyle had requested the necklace in the first place: quae petit (210). This single phrase belies the mythological history that, to this point, Statius has let the reader assume: while the mythological tradition holds that Eriphyle was bribed with the necklace to send Amphiaraus to war, Statius instead shows a different situation. Eriphyle asks Argia for the necklace, and in exchange, Amphiaraus will go to war. This suggests that the bribe did not originate with Argia

(and certainly not Polynices or Adrastus, as in the traditional versions). Instead, Eriphyle sees the necklace and asks for it, expressing her greed and desire for this alluring object. This phrase emphasizes the active nature of her greed. Earlier in the text, when she first saw the necklace, it immediately began to act upon her and drive her greedy nature.

Eriphyle had an immediate emotional reaction to the necklace. The first time Eriphyle appears in the text is when she sees the necklace, and the audience knows that Vulcan’s cursed

213 libens, 4.196; cf. Georgacopoulou 1996, 350. 65

gift still has its power. Eriphyle is consumed by greed for the necklace at the moment she sees it at Argia’s wedding (Theb. 2.299-302):

uiderat hoc coniunx perituri uatis, et aras ante omnes epulasque trucem secreta coquebat 300 inuidiam, saeuis detur si quando potiri cultibus,

This [necklace] the wife of the doomed seer had seen, and before the altars and all the feasting she secretly was stewing a devastating envy, if ever there would be given a chance for her to possess the savage ornament…

Instead of introducing her as a character, Statius introduces her greed. The description begins with the moment of connection between the woman and the necklace: viderat hoc (299). As is standard for the text, Statius does not name Eriphyle.214 Amidst the celebratory wedding feast (et aras ante omnes epulasque, 299-300), Statius describes her “cooking” her envy (trucem secreta coquebat inuidiam, 300-1).215 She immediately desires to possess the necklace (potiri cultibus,

301-2).216 The immediacy of her desire for the necklace is indicated by the changing verb tenses: she saw the necklace (viderat, perfect) and at once began cooking her envy (coquebat, inchoate

214 Amphiaraus, like the Statian narrator throughout the poem, never names Eriphyle, but instead refers to her with various negative adjectives. She is called perfida coniunx at 4.193, which indicates that Amphiaraus knew of her treachery even while he was caught up in it: again, Statius does not specify how Eriphyle’s acquisition of the necklace led to Amphiaraus’ involvement in the war. She is regularly called coniunx with a negative adjective: the first time she is introduced in the epic, she is coniunx perituri vatis (2.299). In addition to perfida (4.193), she is described by Amphiaraus as nefanda (7.787, 8.121) and by the narrator as impia (12.123). Parkes 2012 (ad 190-91) follows Smolenaars 1994 (ad 7.787-88) in rejecting metrical constraints as an explanation for Statius’ refusal to name her. These epithets stress her connection to the trope of the “bad wife.” 215 Gervais 2017 ad loc compares this to Virgil’s Amata: Aen. 7.344-45, [Amata] quam…ardentem curaeque iraeque coquebant. He notes correctly, however, that while these emotions cooked Amata, Eriphyle is the active subject of coquebat in Statius. There seems to be a clear pun here of Eriphyle “cooking her envy” while surrounded by cooked food. 216 While her envy is active, her hope to gain the necklace itself is passive and hypothetical (detur si quando, 301). 66

imperfect).217 Her greed is an overpowering, driving force, and is the major theme of her character in this initial introduction.

But it is the necklace which drives Eriphyle’s greed. Statius outlines her emotional attachment to the necklace by describing the destruction that her possession of it will cause

(Theb. 2.302-5):

…heu nihil auguriis adiuta propinquis. quos optat gemitus, quantas cupit impia clades! digna quidem: sed quid miseri decepta mariti arma, quid insontes nati meruere furors? 305

Alas! She benefited not at all from her husband’s augury. What lamentations she desires, how much death she, impious, lusts for! But she at least is worthy of them: but what did the deceived arms of her wretched husband deserve, what the guiltless madness of her son?218

Statius uses strong language to convey Eriphyle’s desire for the necklace: optat, cupit (303). She does not passively admire the necklace, but actively seeks it out. Her greed is overwhelmingly powerful. These lines also imply that Eriphyle knows the price of her desire for the necklace, in a similar manner to how the elegists claim their greedy puellae know what they reject when they take gold from a rival.219

217 Invidia (2.301) appears throughout the elegists and describes another important emotion in the elegiac repertoire; the envy associated with desire and unattainable objects of desire. Unlike the jealousy that drove Vulcan to create the necklace, Eriphyle’s invidia is the envy of a woman who seeks something she has no right to own, Argia’s necklace. 218 As a result of this, as is foreshadowed every time Eriphyle is mentioned in connection to the necklace, the necklace is able to continue wreaking havoc with Eriphyle’s son. Alcmaeon leads the against Thebes, causing further destruction to the object of Vulcan’s hatred, and also kills Eriphyle and continues the direct cycle of violence perpetuated by the necklace. 219 In addition, Statius suggests that Amphiaraus knew the price (heu nihil auguriis adiuta propinquis, 302) and had, perhaps, warned her away from the necklace. 67

Eriphyle’s language takes on military metaphors as Statius describes the power of her greed. Seeking the necklace from Argia, she focalizes her desire and refers to the necklace as the spoils of battle (Theb. 4.194-95):

…spoliisque potentis inminet Argiae raptoque excellere cultu.

And she is intent upon the spolia of powerful Argia and [seeks] to be eminent in stolen adornment.

No longer is Eriphyle merely “cooking her envy,” now she plans to overpower the “powerful

Argia” (194-95) and take the necklace from her as a victory prize. Eriphyle seeks to “steal” the necklace from her enemy: rapto (195). In lusting after the necklace so intently, Eriphyle shows the lengths to which she will go for it—like the greedy girl, Eriphyle’s desire for gold is overwhelming.

Eriphyle’s role as the greedy girl defines her interactions with the necklace, but Statius has specifically set her up for this role. The necklace is described to be specifically enticing to this elegiac figure. The first items Statius incorporates into the necklace are shining emeralds, which are a poetic shorthand for female greed (Theb. 2.276-77):

…ibi arcano florentes igne zmaragdos cingit …

There he bound emerald blossoming with concealed flame…

These zmaragdi are the first material items in the necklace, and hold an emphatic placement at the end of the metrical line. They appear to be in the shape of flowers (florentes, 276) and glitter from within (arcano igne, 276). At no point in the ekphrasis does Statius describe the overall form of the necklace. What exactly these emeralds look like, and where or how they are bound

68

into the design (cingit, 277) is unknown.220 Throughout the ekphrasis, Statius fails to describe what the necklace actually looks like. The items he incorporates into it are, as I note below, mythological or metaphorical. These emeralds are one of the few real materials incorporated into the necklace.221

In Roman literature, emeralds represent luxury and greed due to their exotic origin. 222

Pliny the Elder describes Lollia Paulina, wife of Caligula, bedecked in a fortune’s worth of inherited pearls and emeralds.223 Pliny calls her jewelry avitae opes: the kinds of material wealth that corrupt governors take from their provinces.224 He notes broadly that mankind has progressed from needing only the products from trees to be content, to seeking out marble, silks, pearls, and emeralds.225 He goes on to describe how it was not enough to simply wear jewelry as necklaces, hair ornaments, or rings; his contemporaries now even make wounds in their ears

(aurium vulnera) to carry more gems.226 In both of these examples, emeralds are key on his list of extravagant, material displays of wealth.

The Roman elegists emphasize that greed, especially female greed, poses a threat to

Roman society. A greedy woman lacks inhibition, and represents a threat to the Roman way of

220 Compare, e.g., Nonnus (Dion. 5.135-89), in the only other extant description of this necklace, where he specifies it as a gold necklace designed to look like a two-headed amphisbaena with an eagle at the center. 221 This short list also includes adamant (2.277). The necklace contains part of the (2.281), but gold is not actually included in the list of items. See Gervais 2017 ad loc for more. 222 McNelis 2007, 55; Gervais 2017, ad loc; cf. Juv. 6.457-58. See discussion of emeralds in relation to elegiac greed also at Keith 2015, 141-44, 150-52. 223 Plin. NH, 9.117, smaragdis margaritisque. 224 Plin. NH 9.117; nec dona prodigi principis fuerant, sed avitae opes, provinciarum scilicet spoliis partae. 225 Plin. NH 12.2; quo magis ac magis admirari subit his a principiis caedi montes in marmora, vestes ad Seras peti, unionem in Rubri maris profunda, zmaragdum in ima tellure quaeri. The placement of zmaragdi at the end of this list shows its significance. 226 Plin. NH 12.2; ad hoc excogitata sunt aurium vulnera, nimirum quoniam parum erat collo, crinibus, manibus gestari, nisi infoderentur etiam corpori. 69

life.227 In Latin elegiac poetry, emeralds appear in poems decrying female greed, and particularly epitomize this negative emotion and the risks greed poses to a successful elegiac relationship.

Tibullus laments the fact that wealthy men with gifts have “spoiled” his lover into expecting expensive gifts. He seeks access to her with the usual elegiac gift: a carmen (2.4.19), but this is not enough. He goes on to curse those who have brought greater gifts: o pereat quicumque legit viridesque smaragdos (2.4.27), particularly emeralds, because these make women wicked: haec fecere malas (2.4.31). The placement of emeralds as the first item on this list indicates their significance as high-status, greed-inducing gifts.228

Propertius specifies the propensity of emeralds to prompt greed and cause destruction. In

Propertius 2.16, emeralds are key examples of what a greedy, demanding puella desires.

Propertius here emphasizes emeralds as the quintessential gifts offered by a potential elegiac rival (Prop. 2.16.43-46):

sed quascumque tibi vestes, quoscumque smaragdos, quasve dedit flavo lumine chrysolithos, haec videam rapidas in vanum ferre procellas: 45 quae tibi , velim, quae tibi fiat aqua.

But whatever gowns he has given you, whatever emeralds, whatever chrysolites of golden ray, may I see them swept into empty space by swift storm-winds: may you find them turned to earth and turned to water.229

Like Tibullus, Propertius offers only brief examples of the tempting offers of a wealthy rival: vestes, smaragdos, chrysolithos (43-44). And like Tibullus, the first gemstone—again in a

227 Cf., e.g., Prop. 1.2.8, 21-24, 2.16.13-42, 3.13, 3.24. 228 The list also includes Tyrian purple, Coan silk, and pearls; Tib. 2.4.27-30. Cf. Tib. 1.1.51, where Tibullus notes emeralds and gold as the two quintessential luxury gifts. In addition, Ovid compares Corinna’s parrot to the color of emeralds, indicating the exotic value of the bird through the connection; Ov. Am. 2.6.21. 229 Transl. Goold 1990, modified. 70

prominent, line-ending metrical position—is emerald. Here, Propertius attempts to scare Cynthia out of accepting gifts from the Illyrian praetor, returned from poem 1.8. Propertius clearly outlines the stakes: either Cynthia has these gifts, or Propertius’ affections. This same black-and- white exchange is at the heart of Eriphyle’s possession of the necklace.

Alongside emeralds, gold is often the material used to describe dangerous female greed.230 Statius’ necklace specifically contains emeralds, and is regularly called gold. 231 I suggest that this necklace was intentionally designed to contain the epitome of greed-inducing material: emeralds and gold. As such, it was designed to catch the eye of a greedy girl: Eriphyle.

She is drawn to this piece because it was made for her to be attracted to it.

Statius uses established elegiac tropes to describe Eriphyle’s greed. Amplifying this is the fact that in Propertius’ elegiac poetry, these same tropes already use Eriphyle as the paradigmatic example of the dangerous greedy girl. I cited Propertius’ poem against Cynthia’s wealthy rival above. In a couplet that most editors transpose to immediately following Propertius’ complaint against emeralds, he threatens Cynthia by comparing her to two mythological women who accepted gifts and were punished (Prop. 2.16.29-30):

aspice quid donis Eriphyla invenit amari, arserit et quantis nupta Creusa malis. 30

See what bitterness Eriphyle obtained from her gifts, and in what agony the bride Creusa burned.

230 Parkes 2012, ad 4.191, citing Stat. Silv. 5.1.58-59, Prop. 3.13 esp. 47-50, Ov. Met. 7.465-66. Among the elegists, gold represents the threat of a wealthy rival, the dives amator, who, with gifts, can tempt the puella away from the elegist: cf. Tib. 1.5.47, 60; 2.3.49-60; Prop. 1.8. 231 E.g., vetito auro at 4.191, aurum exitiale at 4.192, aurum / Harmoniae dotale at 4.205-6. 71

Just as the emeralds were prominently the first example of greed-inducing gems, Eriphyle is the first example of a woman laid low by her greed. Propertius alludes to, but fails to explain the story beyond the basics: Eriphyle acquired a gift (donis, 29) and in exchange, received a bitter reward (amari, 29). Similarly, Propertius draws a parallel to Creusa’s unfortunate end upon receiving the poisoned gift from Medea.232 Eriphyle here acts as a paradigmatic figure who symbolizes Propertius’ threat against accepting gifts. Even if one does not accept the transposition connecting these lines with the description of the praetor’s gifts (cloth, emeralds, and crystals, 2.16.43-46), the presence of emeralds in this poem is still closely connected to

Eriphyle and her greed.233

This is not the only time that Propertius uses Eriphyle as exemplary model for the greedy girl. In 3.13, foreign luxury goods are the arma that captures even chaste women, turning them into greedy girls (Prop. 3.13.9-10):

haec etiam clausas expugnant arma pudicas quaeque gerunt fastus, Icarioti, tuos. 10

These weapons fight even chaste, confined girls, and whoever bears your disdain, Penelope.

The arma Propertius refers to are gold, dyes, and perfumes.234 Their allure is enough to corrupt even “good” girls, women who are “properly” confined and chaste (clausas…pudicas, 9). Once these women acquire the corrupting goods, they proudly wear them as spolia opprobria (12,

232 This is an unexpected pairing, as Creusa is more often considered an innocent victim of Medea’s rage. However, the parallel works for Propertius’ argument: she sought a gift beyond her reach, and was punished with severe violence for it. Her innocence connects her further to an idealized Cynthia—even a “good” woman can accept a gift wrongfully. 233 McNelis 2007, 55n23 notes this link and caveat. 234 Prop. 3.13.5-8: aurum, concha Erycina, ostinos colores, cinnamon, multi odoris. 72

“spoils of disgrace”). The military metaphor here is striking: women who would, normally, be far from the battlefield, these clausas pudicas or idealized chaste girls, are in fact attacked and besieged by the most dangerous kind of weapons. Later in the poem, Propertius again calls out the dangers of accepting gold with a mythological exemplum (Prop. 3.13.57-58):

tu quoque ut auratus gereres, Eriphyla, lacertos, delapsis nusquam est Amphiaraus equis;

So that you, too, Eriphyle, could wear gold on your arms, Amphiaraus is gone, his horses drawn below.

Once again, Eriphyle is Propertius’ go-to example for a woman who accepts gold and, as a result, shows her lack of emotional attachment to her lover by causing his death. Propertius’ arma conquer these women just as Harmonia’s necklace conquers Eriphyle. Just as the gold and jewels of the necklace have captured her, she sought to capture it from Argia in turn. 235

I suggest that Statius alludes to Propertius’ Eriphyle in his characterization of this figure.

Statius’ emeralds in the necklace of Harmonia are connected to the emeralds that Propertius uses to describe Eriphyle’s greed. Propertius’ emeralds and flavo lumine chrysolithos (Prop. 2.16.44) combine into Statius’ arcano florentes igne zmaragdos (Stat. Theb. 2.276): the gleaming light from the chrysoliths are attributed to Statius’ emeralds, since emeralds are more attractive to the greedy girl than crystals.

The elegist’s Eriphyle is the ultimate paradigm of female greed which causes destruction, representing the deep-set fear of the elegiac poet that gifts can corrupt a woman to the

235 As Keith 2000, 28-29 notes, it was ’s desire for spoils that led to her death on Virgil’s battlefield (Virg. Aen. 11.778-82). By attributing a moment of greed for spolia (that were, as Keith notes with reference to 34.7.8-9 legally denied to women) as the cause of Camilla’s death, Virgil prefigures Eriphyle’s military metaphors in Statius. This connection further foreshadows Eriphyle’s death as a result of the ill-gained gift. 73

destruction of her amator, whether lover or husband. By specifically describing the necklace of

Harmonia with gold and emeralds, a piece of jewelry that is designed to be attractive to Eriphyle,

Statius confirms Propertius’ suggestion that gold and emeralds can only lead to destruction.

In this reading of the necklace of Harmonia, I propose bringing these disparate pieces together to observe how they not only work together, but amplify each other in doing so.

Eriphyle’s greed has been noted, as has the prominence of emeralds in Statius’ necklace.

Eriphyle’s greed for the elegiac emeralds turn around and amplify an elegiac reading of her own character. She becomes, therefore, almost an elegiac transplant in this epic poem. The elegiac poets intentionally mischaracterize their puellae as greedy girls. It is this mischaracterization that

Eriphyle adapts into actual destructive greed. She embodies an imagined elegiac paradigm, and

Statius follows through the logic of her representation. As the elegists fear, Eriphyle’s desire for gold and emeralds causes her to seek out the necklace of Harmonia, a piece of jewelry that was specifically designed to attract her eye. Upon receiving it, she sends her husband to his death.

Her greed directly causes the death of Amphiaraus, and the elegists are proven right to fear the greedy girl.

Statius confirms Eriphyle’s elegiac characterization by specifically linking her and the necklace to erotic jealousy and betrayal. When her husband Amphiaraus in battle, as he knew would happen when he left for Thebes, he calls out to , his patron deity (Stat. Theb.

7.787-88):

deceptum tibi, , larem poenasque nefandae coniugis et pulchrum nati commendo furorem

I entrust to you, Phoebus, my deceived home and the punishment of my unspeakable wife, and the beautiful furor of my child.

74

Amphiaraus asks Apollo to punish Eriphyle, since he himself cannot, for her betrayal of their home and marriage. He also indicates that this will happen via matricide by their son

Alcmaeon.236 Amphiaraus does not mention the necklace itself here, only its effects: his deceptum larem, his house deceived.237 The verb decipio often refers to erotic betrayal or deception, such as adultery or other similar situations.238 Statius has already used this meaning:

Bacchus pleads with Jupiter against the destruction of Thebes, and makes an appeal to Jupiter’s connection to Semele (Theb. 7.155-57):

excindisne tuas, divum sator optime, Thebas? saeva adeo coniunx? nec te telluris amatae deceptique laris miseret cinerumque meorum?

Greatest savior of the gods, do you destroy your Thebes? Is your wife indeed so cruel? Do you not feel pity for the land you loved, the house you deceived, and my own ashes?

Bacchus asks Jupiter to reconsider destroying Thebes for the sake of Bacchus’ own mother,

Semele, one of Jupiter’s many extra-marital affairs.239 In the same context of erotic betrayal, using deceptum to refer to sexual escapades is also common in the elegists. Propertius uses the

236 Cf. Theb. 2.305. With Amphiaraus’ death as the impetus, Alcmaeon and the other sons of the seven leaders of this expedition venture to Thebes to avenge their fathers’ deaths. This story was told in now- fragmentary sources: Sophocles’ tragedy Epigoni (alt. Eriphyle), and a poem of the Epic Cycle linked to the Theban saga, which doubtfully attributes to Homer (Hist. 4.32.1). The events of the saga are referenced elsewhere; cf., e.g., Hom. Il. 4.403-10, Pind. Pyth. 8. Later, Alcmaeon kills Eriphyle and is driven mad by the Furies. This part of the myth was likely told in the sources cited above on Eriphyle. 237 McNelis 2007, 127 also notes that Amphiaraus recalls the necklace at his death, suggesting through it that Amphiaraus’ death engages with ‘Telchinic’ narrative strategy (i.e., anti-Callimachean, violent and bellicose epic promoted by the Telchines via Callimachus’ Aetia prologue). I discuss McNelis’ conclusions further below. 238 TLL s.v. decipio §1b.α. 239 Jupiter slept with many Theban women, including , wife of Amphitryon and mother of Hercules, and Antiope mother of and Zethus. We may also think here of Europa, who was stolen by Jupiter in order to start Cadmus’ story in the first place. Ovid highlights Jupiter’s relationship with Semele as a significant point in the fall of Thebes, as Juno, frustrated by Bacchus’ power even after Semele’s death, calls upon Tisiphone (Ov. Met. 4.416-511). 75

word with reference to Jason deceiving Medea, leaving her for Creusa/Glauke,240 and Tibullus in describing a “faithless woman,” fallax puella, as she prepares liaisons with other men.241 For

Eriphyle and Amphiaraus, the rival for which Amphiaraus is betrayed is not another man, but rather the gold of Harmonia’s necklace.242 Statius links these two scenarios through the repetition of this verb to show this elegiac-erotic rivalry between Amphiaraus and the necklace. We may also recall Statius’ description of Eriphyle’s initial greed, as the narrator alludes to the destruction her possession of the necklace will bring: quid miseri decepta mariti / arma (2.304-

5).243 The repetition of this verb of sexual betrayal suggests that Eriphyle has deceived

Amphiaraus in much the same way that another woman might betray her lover with another man, such as Venus leaving Vulcan for Mars.244 In this account, Eriphyle betrays her marriage for gold much as the elegiac lovers betray each other for other partners.

Competing Paradigms

I have shown so far that Eriphyle needs to get the necklace in order to fulfil the next stage of the curse: Amphiaraus’ death. Yet despite Eriphyle’s endless greed and desire for the necklace, Argia must give it up for her to get it. As I explored above, Argia is at first willing to

240 Prop. 2.21.11, Colchida sic hospes quondam decepit Iason. See also Prop. 1.13.5, 2.16.54. 241 Tib. 1.6.19, at tu, fallacis coniunx incaute puellae, / …neu te decipiat nutu…, cf. Ov. Am. 3.3.21-22. 242 This gold is both vetito (4.191)—perhaps by Amphiaraus, attempting to prevent fate (Parkes 2012, ad loc)—and rapto (4.195) although Argia gives the necklace over willingly. 243 “But what did the deceived arms of her wretched husband deserve…” 244 Eriphyle, as the last-named bearer of the necklace, thus mirrors Venus herself, who betrayed Vulcan’s marital trust to instigate the entire curse (and plot). Amphiaraus seconds his request for further punishment in Book 8, as he defends his presence in the underworld to . At 8.104, Amphiaraus repeats the cause of his death: coniugis insidiis et iniquo venditus auro. At the end of his plea, he reaffirms her agency with a direct request for her punishment: si quando nefanda / huc aderit coniunx, illi funesta reserva supplicia: illa tua, rector bone, dignior ira (8.120-22). Alcmaeon’s involvement has already been foreshadowed, of course, in both earlier discussions of the necklace (2.303-5, 4.211-13), as discussed above. Amphiaraus attempts to involve Pluto, not realizing that Eriphyle’s betrayal was already due to a curse. 76

give up the necklace in order to deepen her engagement with the trope of the relicta puella: it befits an abandoned woman to avoid wearing luxury goods in order to physically display her sorrow and grief at being alone. Argia does not, however, limit herself to this excuse. Instead, she slips into the paradigm of the greedy girl.

We have seen throughout this chapter that Statius’ allusive practice often rejects simple readings. Each layer of allusion recalls other intertexts to create a complicated network of connections via “multiple imitation.” Statius often engages with a single source on multiple levels, or with multiple sources in a single line or scene. In the present discussion, I suggest that

Statius incorporates a secondary model for the reader to see in Argia’s actions: the greedy girl.

To do so, Statius layers references to multiple tropes, as necklace provides the nexus for Argia’s combined and combative elegiac topoi.245

Argia notes the fact that when the war is won, she will be a queen and have accessories befitting her new status (Theb. 4.207-8):

Argolicasque habitu praestabo maritas cum regis coniunx…

I shall outshine the Argive matrons in my queenly splendor246 when I am wife of a king.

She suggests here that if she gives away the necklace now, the loss will be immaterial in comparison with what she will gain in the end. The necklace has, throughout these passages,

245 The form of the necklace provides a metaphor for Statius’ complex network of connections: just as the necklace is a series of links in a chain, and each item melds with the next to create a whole that is greater than its parts. 246 Note the wide-ranging definition of habitus (OLD): “demeanor, posture, style of dress, physical character or makeup.” 77

been emphasized as an object of exotic wealth and material attraction. Argia’s willingness to lose it indicates that what she hopes to gain will be even greater.

We have, in fact, already seen Argia use her habitus to outshine a companion, indicating her pleasure at the necklace’s beauty and the beginnings of her greedy desire for more. She wears the necklace of Harmonia at her wedding, and with it outshines her sister (Theb. 2.297-

98):

tunc donis Argia nitet uilesque sororis ornatus sacro praeculta superuenit auro.

Then Argia gleams with the gift, outdoing the cheap trifles of her sister, she stands out in cursed (sacro) gold.

With a similar comparison to her future against the other Argive women, Argia stands out

(supervenit, 298) and outshines (praeculta, 298) in comparison to .247 It is merely the jewelry that allows this: when the women are first introduced earlier in the book, they are equal in beauty: egregiam Argian nec formae laude secundam / Deipylen (2.203-4, “eminent Argia and

Deipyle, not second in praise of her beauty”). They are in fact described in close connection throughout, until the omens, caused by the necklace, interrupt the wedding. 248 Yet as Argia wears the necklace, her sister is wearing “mere trifles” (vilesque sororis, 2.297).249 If the necklace

247 This verb is very rare. As a participle, it appears only three times in extant Latin: here, Cic. Part. 80, and Quint. Inst. 11.1.31. I suggest that Statius uses it here to emphasize Argia’s adornment as the key to her habitus through the compounded form cultus. 248 Their initial introductions, by Adrastus at 1.394: gemino natarum pignore fultus, and 2.158, geminae mihi. While they are named distinctly at 2.203-4, they are linked in thought. At the start of the marriage ceremony, they are grouped together as virginibus (2.228) and in plurals throughout the rest of the description of their wedding day (2.226-64). 249 Gervais 2017 ad loc notes that this sibling rivalry reminds the reader of the greater sibling rivalry that shapes the plot of the Thebaid, but also “allows us to wonder if seeds of rivalry between the sisters are planted here, only to be stifled by the all-encompassing sibling rivalry of the Theban war.” He further notes that viles here, a “surprisingly strong word, [is] most naturally focalized through the greedy Eriphyle.” Eriphyle appears immediately after this description for the first time, as if the presence of the 78

could already make her outshine her sister, previously her equal, then, the logic goes, the other jewels Argia would wear as wife to King Polynices would surely be greater. Argia is the daughter of a king, and when Polynices wins his war, he will become the king of Thebes. Argia aims to inherit both kingdoms. Polynices himself had suggested this soon after their wedding

(Theb. 2.361-62):

fors aderit lux illa tibi, qua moenia cernes coniugis et geminas regina per urbes

Perhaps that day will come to you when you see your husband’s walls, and you will go as a queen of two cities.

In the time that has passed since the wedding, the necklace has had time to entrench her in its curse. Argia has fully embraced the opportunity to not only visit Thebes, but, more importantly, to be its queen. She seeks to send Polynices away so she can become the relicta puella, and also hopes that he returns, victorious, so that he can adorn her with the spoils of war. In this light,

Argia sounds rather similar to the elegiac woman who would do anything for gold—the greedy girl herself. Argia would see Polynices go to war just for her to be queen and get the material benefits that come with such a position.250

necklace also invoked her presence at the ceremony. Her point of view focalizing these lines can be reasoned in two ways: first, the following line begins viderat hoc (2.299), and the vague hoc can suggest not only the necklace, but also Argia in her full wedding outfit. Second, Eriphyle’s known greed clearly influences her perspective, and the “surprisingly strong” viles is unexpected from the otherwise calm newlywed, Argia. I suggest, however, that Eriphyle’s greed at the sight of the necklace does not exclude Argia’s own greed, and in fact by reading viles as focalized through Argia’s perspective we can see the alluring power of the necklace amplified as these two women, outstanding in their desire for the jewelry, immediately express their devotion to the necklace and their commitment to the trope of the greedy girl. 250 Alison Keith, describing the elegiac greedy girl, emphasizes that this trope often appears in connection with the elegiac puella herself. She argues that Cynthia, Corinna, Delia, and Nemesis all exhibit aspects of this topos in various ways throughout each elegists’ corpus. While Keith does not directly connect the relicta puella, she suggests that the greed of the elegiac puella for exotic material wealth “explains her support for Roman military adventurism abroad” (2015, 149). Thus, the puella, already a product of Roman imperialism (2015, 153-54) as a foreign-born enslaved sex worker, continues to promote warfare 79

While the necklace is especially captivating to Argia and Eriphyle, the Statian narrator also emphasizes its power. All three of these focalizing perspectives emphasize the greed- inducing power of the necklace. In her monologue, Argia highlights the necklace’s visual allure: it is nitidis ornatibus… insignia… aurum Harmoniae dotale… (Theb. 4.200, 201, 205-6). These repeated descriptors of the necklace signal that Argia sees the necklace as a luxury item. In the entire 27-line digression, Argia and the narrator specify the necklace’s gold four times (4.191,

192, 205, 211), and describe it in other terms denoting its visual power another four (cultus, 195,

199; nitidus ornatus, 200; insignia, 201). These frequent descriptors indicate the trap that the necklace represents. Even while it is specifically designed to entrap Eriphyle, she is not the only one who is captivated by its greed-inducing charm.

Argia intends to give up the necklace in order to gain wealth and power in the future, but she miscalculates at every opportunity. In doing so, she becomes a catalyst for the devastation of the civil war at Thebes. Argia first indicates that she knows that Amphiaraus will join the war if

Eriphyle acquires the necklace.251 As I discussed earlier to show how Amphiaraus’ speech was a flashback, Argia believes that Amphiaraus’ presence on the battlefield will be a benefit to the

Argive troops (4.196-98). This benefit, she thinks, will come in the form of provide moral support to the soldiers (regum animos, 196) as well as military aid (pondera belli, 196). This is in recognition of Amphiaraus’ dual role as warrior and seer.252

and military conquest. Keith emphasizes that this ideology is spread not only by the puella, but the amator himself: “in addition to the inanimate spoils of war that flowed into Rome as a result of her Mediterranean hegemony, access to the mistress’ bed and the enjoyment of a day spent idling in love— and the love elegies themselves—can also be viewed as fruits of Roman imperialism” (2015, 154). 251 This does not suggest that Argia thinks—or knows of the prophecy—that Amphiaraus will die in the fighting, only that he will go to war. 252 Amphiaraus participated in the voyage of the Argonauts, though Statius elides this fact. According to Apollodorus, Amphiaraus was also involved in the with Tydeus’ brother 80

Argia drastically misreads this situation. The narrator asks the reader to view Argia through the lens of the relicta puella, but Argia herself is unaware of the paradigms she follows.

Her desire to send Polynices to war for future glory combined with her greed for the wealth of two kingdoms leads her to these bad decisions that cause death and destruction. 253 She follows elegiac paradigms without recognizing that they foreshadow and result in devastating consequences. Amphiaraus does go to war because of the necklace, and he dies in the battle for the same reason: the combined greed of Argia and Eriphyle.254 Further, in the same way that she drew on poor models for her role as the relicta puella, Argia also brings Amphiaraus into the war unaware that his death will have a greater negative effect on the army’s morale.255 Statius spends over 200 lines detailing the lament of the Argive army, as well as their debilitating after the seer’s death.256 This delay in the progress of the war is a direct result of the necklace of

Harmonia.

(Apollod. 1.67-68). Cicero does not identify Amphiaraus specifically as a vates, but repeatedly includes him in lists of other famous seers: e.g., alongside Mopsus and at Leg. 2.33.7, with as well at Nat. 2.7.5 and with Tiresias alone at Div. 1.88.4. For Pliny, Amphiraus is a seer: ignispicia, NH 7.203. For a recent overview of the development of Amphiaraus’ characterization as a warrior and a prophet in , and his status a cult figure especially in comparison to , see Piguet 2017. Statius uses vates to describe Amphiaraus when Eriphyle is first introduced (Theb. 2.299) and again when he addresses Pluto in the underworld (8.1). On the status of the vates in Statius particularly, see Lovatt 2007, with bibliography on the Augustan and pre-Augustan significance of the term. Lovatt discusses the difference between Statius’ use of vates to refer to the seers Amphiaraus and Tiresias in the Thebaid, and the poet Orpheus (as well as himself) in the Silvae. 253 In addition, Thebes seems to be impoverished, especially in comparison to the wealth of Argos; see discussion at Gibson 2015, 125-28. 254 Statius fails to specify, again, the agency or process of the bribe, but does attempt to defend his unexpected appearance in : (8.104-7) coniugis insidiis et iniquo uenditus auro / Argolicas acies… / non ignarus ini, as I discuss briefly above. 255 The “battle books” are each marked at the end with an aristeia and death of a major Argive hero. The first of these, in the first book of the battle, is Amphiaraus. Book 8 features the horrific death of Tydeus after he cannibalizes the head of his killer Melanippus; 9 ends with the death of , 10 with . 256 When the news of his death spreads, the army is shocked; 8.127-37. The Argive troops fall back without waiting for a command, and are saved from a rout only with the coming dusk; 8.150-61. Lines 162-217 are spent with an extended lament for the seer, as the army weeps and expresses their fear and 81

Argia also plans poorly for her own future. She hopes to become the queen of two cities and gain status, both personal and material, in doing so. Polynices’ death at the end of the battle prevents this from happening. Argia is described as a queen at the end of the epic, however

(Theb. 12.111):

prima per attonitas nigrae regina catervae

First through the stunned women, queen of the black company…

As she leads the Argive widows to the wreckage at Thebes to find their fallen soldiers, Argia is described as the queen of this sorry group. As their leader, she is both prima and regina. The women are stunned (attonitas), in shock that so many of the men are dead, and described with the unique phrase nigra caterva. Caterva, while more commonly used for groups of men including non-Roman troops, does have a precedent to refer to women. In Ovid’s

Metamorphoses, the battle of the and begins with the wedding of Hippodame and .257 As Hippodame enters, she is surrounded by women: matrum nuruumque caterva (Ov. Met. 12.216). These women are soon violently seized by the drunk centaurs as the battle begins. This precedent for Argia’s nigrae catervae reinforces the horror and violence of the situation.

Nigra in particular of the words for dark or black has a negative, fatal connotation. It can directly mean fatal or funereal,258 mournful,259 unlucky,260 or wicked.261 Here, the women are

concern for the future. Statius does not continue the narrative of the battle until line 395, and this is prompted by a reinvocation of a nova (373-74) to help recover after Amphiaraus’ death. 257 Ov. Met. 12.210-535. 258 Hor. Carm. 4.12.26; Tib. 3.5.5; Prop. 2.19.19; Sen. Her. O. 1705. 259 Stat. Silv. 5.1.18; V. Fl. Arg. 3.404. 260 Hor. S. 1.9.72; Prop. 2.21.38. 261 Cic. Caec. 10.27; Hor. S. 1.4.85. 82

nigrae because they are mournful and unlucky, as well as marching to a series of funerals. 262 As the queen of this company, Argia may stand out like she hoped (prima, 12.111 ~ praestabo,

4.207), but that is because her husband Polynices was the leader of the fallen troops, so she is set to lead the mourning women.

By giving Eriphyle the necklace, Argia becomes the cause of these later destructive events, and the necklace’s curse shows its power. Both women become entangled in the growing trap of the necklace’s curse: Eriphyle is consumed with greed for it, but Argia’s greed is both to lose the necklace and to gain future wealth. As the necklace moves, it entraps not only these women, but the men around them in its web of destruction.

Theban Catalogue

The necklace targets Argia and Eriphyle but they are not its first victims. Statius illuminates the destructive potential of the necklace’s curse by outlining its initial actions after its creation. As the necklace moves from woman to woman in Harmonia’s family, Statius uses the same set of vocabulary to describe it. While scholars have noted the terrible tone of Statius’ descriptive phrases for the necklace and their influence, the depth of the interconnections Statius builds with the repetition of this vocabulary has not been fully explored.263 This network of linked descriptors connects the women to each other and build up the cursed nature of the piece and its destructive ability.

262 The epic ends with Statius giving up on the task of describing all of the laments these women give for their fallen men: 12.797-809. I discuss this further in Chapter 4. 263 Most references to the necklace in contemporary scholarship emphasize the negative connotation of its descriptors, as I note at the start of this chapter; cf., e.g., Vessey 1973, 138-39; Feeney 1991, 363-64; Keith 2000, 97-98; Lovatt 2002, 84-85; McNelis 2007, 52-63; Coffee 2015. 83

Statius describes the movement of the necklace by calling it a gift, donum. As a gift, it is seemingly irresistible: we have already seen how Argia and Eriphyle are attracted to its aesthetic appeal. Statius’ “Theban Catalogue,” his description of the necklace’s cursed actions against

Harmonia, Semele, and Jocasta, adds to our understanding of the necklace’s irresistibility. The necklace’s status as a gift suggests, first, the actual process of how each woman acquires it, but also elides the agency of the transference.264 Statius does not make clear who gives the necklace each time it is given, nor why. Second, by calling it a gift each time it moves to a new woman,

Statius reminds the reader of its cursed nature. Vulcan initially created the necklace as a gift for

Harmonia to curse her lineage.265 Within the elegiac context of the necklace’s origin, it is possible to see reflections of the pattern of elegiac gift-giving, and the stereotypes of gifts as destructive agents from that genre. The elegiac lovers compete with wealthy rivals for the love of their mistresses. While the elegists can offer poetry, the rival offers money, jewelry, or other gifts.266 Elegiac gifts come with expectations of favor: if the elegist gives a gift, they expect their puella’s attention and affection.267 This is also why they fear the gifts sent by their rivals: the

264 Lovatt 2002, 85: “Given by one woman to another, inherited down the female line, it is a symbol and realization of greed, desire and destruction.” Lovatt here emphasizes the fact that the necklace is a gift, and assumes—because the details of the process are unspecified—that it is an inheritance. James 2003b, 39, emphasizes that, in an elegiac setting, “gift giving elides the commercial nature of the relationship between courtesan and suitor.” 265 Stat. Theb. 2.266-67, 272. 266 I discussed some of these, particularly emeralds and gold, above in relation to the greedy girl. See in addition Ov. Am. 1.10. Here, the puella has asked for a gift and Ovid replies lamenting such a request (including a reference to Eriphyle’s punishment for a gift, 51-2). The ending of the poem suggests that the poem itself is the only gift he will give; cf. Prop. 1.8b. The emeralds from Propertius’ poem warning Cynthia away from the Illyrian praetor are called donis (Prop. 2.16.29), providing a further elegiac connection to this word and Eriphyle’s greed for the necklace. 267 James 2003b, 39: “payment rendered by way of gifts allows two things: first, the woman in question retains her independence; and second, the lover can suggest that she owes him informal, spontaneous, genuine gratitude, to be expressed both sexually and socially, as part of a more equal and truly loving relationship. In this respect, as in others, the world of elegy, unlike the world of comedy, is deeply 84

gifts from that dives amator lure the puella away from the elegist.268 In this reading, the necklace of Harmonia is like such a gift from the wealthy rival, and is designed to corrupt the puella who wears it.

This necklace moves from woman to woman multiple times as a gift. Each time it is given and received, it causes irreparable harm to its new owner, as shown through the repetition of key vocabulary and imagery. When we first see the necklace at Argia’s wedding, Statius describes it with programmatic vocabulary (Theb. 2.265-68):

nec mirum: nam tu infaustos donante marito 265 ornatus, Argia, geris dirumque monile Harmoniae. longa est series, sed nota malorum persequar, unde novis tam saeva potentia donis.

It is no wonder: for you, Argia, wear the ill-omened ornaments from your giving husband, a wretched necklace of Harmonia. The tale is long, but I shall follow the known evils, from where such a cruel power came from this new gift.

I have already discussed the symbolic connotation of novis (2.268) as a signal for Statius’ elegiac innovation surrounding the necklace. The necklace is identified as a gift twice donante marito

(265) and donis (268).269 It is called a “gift” again later when Argia wears it alongside her sister, as we have already seen: tunc donis Argia nitet (2.297). I have already discussed how the

unrealistic: there are virtually no details about external material and social practices, which might put pressure on either member of the love affair.” Cf. Zagagi 1980, esp. 119-20. 268 Cf., e.g., Tib. 1.4.57-60 with Miller 2003, 99-100; 1.5.57-66; 1.9.11-12, 51-52. 269 The ablative phrase donante marito marks the only time the gift’s giver is explicitly noted. Even Vulcan’s initial gift to Harmonia is unclarified: he is only said to Harmoniae…decus…struxerat (2.272- 73), and even this can be taken either as “he crafted the adornment for Harmonia” or, because of the title it later acquires, “he crafted the adornment of Harmonia,” matching how we are to understand the genitive Harmoniae at 2.267. 85

necklace corrupts Argia’s actions and influences her to send away her husband, causing a ripple effect of destruction.270

When the necklace comes to Semele, it is also called a gift, and also results in death and devastation (Theb. 2.292-93):

improba mox Semele uix dona nocentia collo induit, et fallax intrauit limina Iuno.

Soon insolent Semele scarcely put the harmful gift upon her neck, and deceptive Juno crossed her threshold.

Semele puts on the necklace and the curse is effective immediately (vix …induit …et): Juno arrives at her doorstep to deceive her into her own death. Statius emphasizes the necklace’s destructive potential by calling it nocentia (292). The result of this is known from the mythological tradition: Juno convinces Semele to look at Jupiter’s divine form, which her mortal body cannot handle. As a result, she is utterly destroyed.271 Statius links Semele’s destruction directly to her possession of the necklace. Yet while the necklace promises to cause harm, Statius calls Semele herself improba (292). Gervais reads the adjective to proleptically refer to Semele’s insolence in seeking to see Jupiter in his divine form.272 This adjective, however, also adds to the elegiac character of the necklace’s curse. Improba can be read as not only proleptic, but also to characterize Semele in this moment before Juno has planted the idea in her head. At this point, she has not thought to see Jupiter’s true form—but she is his mortal lover, and thus a female rival

270 The necklace is again a gift to Eriphyle; one that, as discussed above, causes the death of her husband: dona viro mutare velit (4.194). 271 Cf. Eur. Bacch. 2-3, 6-9, 87-102, 519-29; Ov. Met. 3.256-315. 272 Gervais 2017 ad loc: “improba: proleptic: it is the curse of the necklace that causes her to ‘insolently’ desire to see Jupiter’s true form (‘voti fuit immodica,’ Lactantius). The epithet is used throughout the epic of those who take on challenges too big for themselves, most often with tragic consequences.” 86

to Juno.273 Semele is destroyed literally by Jupiter, but the only reason this happens is because of

Juno’s interference and her erotic jealousy over being supplanted by a mortal. 274 In Juno’s eyes,

Semele is improba for her relationship with Juno’s husband.275 This characterization maps onto another dynamic of the elegiac mode: the female rival, who competes with the domina for the amator’s affections.276 Juno’s elegiac reaction to her erotic jealousy towards Semele as a rival directly results in Semele’s death.

At Argia’s wedding, the first description of the necklace uses a variety of negative words to describe the cursed object, each of which returns in its later appearances. The necklace is first called a dirum monile (2.266) when Argia wears it at her wedding. Statius recalls this adjective in the ekphrasis of the necklace, as he describes a strand from the Golden Fleece: dirum Phrixei velleris aurum (2.281). Dirum connects the internal components of the necklace to its wider program of destruction. The description here is both anachronistic and proleptic. First, Phrixus is the stepson of Ino, herself a daughter of Harmonia and Cadmus. It is therefore anachronistic to reference the fleece in connection to him, a grandson from a marriage that has not yet occurred.

Second, dirum foreshadows the famous events that take place later around the fleece: Helle’s death as she and Phrixus flee from Ino,277 and, of course, Jason’s quest for the fleece that leads to

273 Improba would thus be focalized through Juno; cf. Juno’s focalized reactions to female rivals in Ovid, Goldman 2018. This adjective itself adds to the elegiac flavor of this passage, as it is a common epithet for a faithless lover; cf., e.g., Prop. 1.1.4-6, amor improbus, picked up in Cynthia’s cry of “improbe” at 1.3.39 against Propertius. 274 Compare, for example, Juno’s appearance in Book 12, as I discuss in Chapter 4. There, she uses a reminder of Jupiter’s infidelity as an argument to benefit Argia. 275 In addition, the speed with which Juno acts against Semele (mox…induit, et…intravit, 2.292-93) mirrors the immediacy of Eriphyle’s reaction to the necklace: she saw it and was at once driven by envy (2.299-301). 276 In elegy, see for example Prop. 1.18.10, 4.8: Cynthia’s jealousy against Propertius’ other (feared or intended) lovers leads her to violence. 277 Helle falls from the ram’s back as she and Phrixus ride it to safety; Apollod. 180-82; Ov. Fast. 3.851- 76; Hyg. Fab. 1-3. The Hellespont is named for the location of her fall. 87

widespread destruction in and, later, in Corinth. The golden fleece is surrounded by death in these later myths, and it is this proleptic association that Statius brings into the creation of the necklace. The repetition of this adjective connects the tragic associations of the fleece to the destructive power of Harmonia’s necklace. Similarly, the necklace is called ornatus infaustos at 2.266. Infaustus repeats in the ekphrasis to describe adamantine figurines worked into the necklace.278 The repetitions of these words for evil intensify the tone of this passage.

Statius immediately verifies that the necklace is a curse. After the narrator describes the necklace with repetitive vocabulary of evil, Harmonia puts on the gift and confirms its destructive ability (2.289-91):

prima fides operi, Cadmum comitata iacentem Harmonia uersis in sibila dira querelis 290 Illyricos longo sulcauit pectore campos.

The first proof of the work, Harmonia, accompanied by Cadmus, lying down, with her complaints turned into terrible hisses furrowed the Illyrian plains with her long breast.

Harmonia’s possession of the necklace verifies its cursed nature, as it proves its power (prima fides operi, 289) by transforming her and Cadmus into snakes. The necklace specifically targets

Harmonia, we were told above, but Cadmus is named first in the passage. Even this first action by the necklace, therefore, emphasizes that its destructive power causes additional collateral damage.279 This serves to foreshadow even at the beginning how Argia’s possession of the

278 Theb. 2.277, infaustas percussum adamanta figuras. 279 Scholars have emphasized the femininity of this curse: it centers on a necklace made as a wedding gift for a woman, and centers its destructive efforts within the domestic sphere. Yet even while doing so, it causes damage to the men around it. By the time Argia receives it, the necklace is ready to instigate a war. McNelis 2007, 62 calls the necklace “an appropriate emblem for the fundamentally domestic nature of Theban strife;” while the conflict is domestic in that it is between brothers, Polynices’ and Eteocles’ conflict envelops two full cities. Dominik 1994b, 127 cites the necklace’s “seductive influence.” Cf. Lovatt 2002, 84. 88

necklace will not hurt her alone. Harmonia’s actual transformation draws attention to her voice: versis in sibila dira querelis (2.290).280 Instead of speaking words, she hisses like a snake. The adjective dira, used to describe her sibilant sounds, duplicates the necklace’s description as a dirum monile. The use of this adjective confirms that Harmonia’s transformation is caused by the necklace’s curse.281

Other repeated vocabulary deepens the network of connections built by the necklace.

Statius describes the necklace’s power as its saeva potentia (2.268) at Argia’s wedding. We have seen this hold true not only in wreaking havoc across the Theban women, but also in the savagery with which Statius describes Eriphyle’s desire for the jewels. The connection to

Eriphyle is validated as she “cooks her envy” for the saevis cultibus (2.301-302). This repetition of saevus forms another ring in the composition of the wedding scene.282 Cultus, used here to describe the necklace, is itself repeated with its related verb, colo (colebas, 2.295), as Jocasta

280 Querela is a significant word in the elegiac corpus to denote the elegiac lover’s frequent complaints. Querela is the most significant word used for these complaints, and becomes a programmatic term in elegy for the particular type of whining complaint of these lovers: Saylor 1967; Baca 1971; Caston 2012, 52; Trinacty 2014, 101n134. Cf., e.g., Prop. 1.3.43, 1.6.11, 1.18.29, 2.18.1, 4.8.79; Tib. 1.2.9; [Tib] 3.4.75. While querela here does not have the same context, its programmatic use in elegy enables it to be seen as a nod towards the elegiac background of this passage. 281 These lines are reminiscent of Ovid’s version of this metamorphosis (Ov. Met. 4.593-603), where Ovid emphasizes Cadmus. It is he who turns first, and has enough humanity left to speak during his transformation to call out to Harmonia. In Statius’ version, however, the emphasis is entirely on Harmonia. She has full grammatical agency (nominative, while Cadmus is accusative), and is the primary target of the transformation. Cadmus here is cast as an unlucky casualty in the necklace’s effort to punish Harmonia. Compare further another reference to this metamorphosis in Statius: Manto’s necromantic divination begins by describing Cadmus and Harmonia as snakes: primus sanguineo summittit inertia Cadmus / ora lacu, iuxtaque uirum Cythereia proles / insequitur, geminusque bibit de uertice serpens (Stat. Theb. 4.553-55). Here, from Manto’s point of view, Cadmus is grammatically and syntactically prominent. He is nominative and Harmonia is identified only as the “Cytherean offspring.” This emphasis on Cadmus again makes Statius’ emphasis on Harmonia in the Theban Catalogue significant. 282 Cf. Georgacopoulou 2005, 79-80, on the linked apostrophes to Argia (2.266) and Jocasta (2.294) as a framing device. I suggest here that while these apostrophes are certainly linked, they do not frame the passage: the apostrophe to Jocasta does not mark the end of the necklace’s influence. 89

wears it.283 Eriphyle seeks to take it from Argia, rapto cultu (4.195), and Argia hands it over as sacros cultus (4.198-99).284 Further entangling the language of the necklace and entrenching its curse with each of its bearers, sacer itself is repeated from Argia’s wedding, where the necklace is sacro auro (2.298).

These interlinked and interlocked repetitions confirm the power of the curse. Once the necklace begins to take action against Harmonia’s lineage, its destruction is far-reaching and inescapable. As Statius repeats each adjective and description of the necklace throughout the

Theban catalogue, Argia’s wedding, and Eriphyle’s acquisition of it, he solidifies the connective power of the curse. It passes from hand to hand, each time building its power like the links of a

283 As with querela, cultus is a significant word for the elegiac corpus, and that significance—while not directly relevant here—plays a part in the generalizing elegiac backdrop of the curse’s destruction. With its attractive power, the necklace is connected to negative conceptions of luxury and female beauty. Cultus became programmatic in Latin literature for female adornment, both in terms of its corruptive power against women and to symbolize female beauty as one of the most significant aspects of a woman’s attractiveness. The elegists highlight the learnedness of their partners, famously docta puella (cf. esp. Prop. 1.7.11, 2.11.6, 2.13.11, 2.28.28; [Tib] 3.12.2), but it is their beauty above all that draws the elegist; Watson 1982, 238. For as much as the elegists find their lovers physically attractive, they also fear that her make-up and adornment signal her effort to find another lover. See Prop. 1.2 for his paradigmatic statement against adornment (esp. line 5, mercato perdere cultu: “destroy yourself with purchased ornament.”). For Propertius and Tibullus, as Watson argues, cultus represents either the “moral laxity” of the woman who wastes time and money with artificial enhancements, and the financial concerns of the poor elegist who is expected to provide lavish gifts in order to maintain the relationship. These concerns hide the fear of the puella’s infidelity. Cf. Prop. 1.2.8, 2.18.25-26; Tib. 1.8.9-16. See Johnson 2016, esp. 6-8, 28-31. Lowe 2015, 24: “[Ovid’s] watchwords of mutatas formas and cultus celebrate not only mutation and mutability, but the power of human skill (ars, remedia, medicamina) to adorn and enhance everything, including the self.” In line with the elegiac view of adornment, this cultus makes Jocasta artificially attractive through its beauty, transferred to its wearer. These elegiac concerns are not at play for Jocasta, given that she is making herself attractive with the necklace (hac laude, 2.295) for the sake of her husband (placitura toris, 296). Even so, the concerns behind cultus—whether of erotic betrayal or immoral greed—are emphasized in Statius’ depiction of Jocasta, given the repeated emphasis on the necklace, the narrator’s direct expressions of concern (the apostrophe to infelix Iocasta, 294 and the exclamation heu, heu at 296), and the fact that the necklace is called decorum nefas, 294-95. These phrases all confirm the necklace’s curse even as they play with the elegiac trope of adornment as deception: artificial beauty tricks an elegiac amator just as the beauty of the necklace disguises its cursed power. 284 In addition, as Argia considers leaving it behind, she imagines herself with incultos crines, “unkempt hair” (4.203), suggesting that she would lose her cultus as she loses the necklace. 90

chain. The curse “infects” the wider epic narrative through this repetition of key vocabulary. The necklace does not just symbolize the violence of the narrative,285 but sets it up and defines it: each time the necklace’s imagery repeats, Statius reminds the reader of the curse and its compelling power.

Rewriting the Origins

As scholars have noted, Statius explicitly connects the ekphrasis of the necklace to the proem of the Thebaid.286 I emphasize this connection and argue that it indicates not only a thematic similarity, or the typical role of an ekphrasis to relate to the broader trends of its wider text, but that this ekphrasis in particular demonstrates the actual origin of the epic. I argue that the ekphrasis of the necklace of Harmonia characterizes Venus’ infidelity as the catalyst for the destruction of Thebes, and that the elegiac narratives embedded in the curse plot out the elegiac pattern that this destruction follows throughout the Thebaid.

Introducing the flashback to the mythological origin for the necklace, Statius defines the scope of the necklace’s power, as I discuss above, Theb. 2.265-68. In these lines, Statius recalls the proem of the Thebaid and directly links the necklace to the epic as a whole (Theb. 1.7-9):

longa retro series, trepidum si Martis operti agricolam infandis condentem proelia sulcis expediam penitusque sequar…

The tale goes a long way back, were I to recount the farmer hesitant at hidden war, burying battles in nameless furrows, and pursue to the uttermost what followed…

285 E.g., Feeney 1991, 363: “an internally bound miniature of pettiness and vice, a catalogue of lust and madness.” Lovatt 2002, 84: “it is a symbol and realization of greed, desire and destruction.” McNelis 2007, 55: “it seems that Vulcan’s work is not only a harbinger of evil, but also impetus for war.” 286 Lovatt 2002, 85; following Newlands 2002, 217, and McNelis’s 2000 dissertation, which becomes McNelis 2007, 59-60. 91

The proem describes a longa series (1.7) of Theban evils; the necklace’s pattern of destruction is described with the same phrase (longa series, 2.297). Statius will describe this pattern of destruction: persequar unde (2.268), following the proem (penitus sequar 1.9).287 As McNelis describes, “the subject matter of the poem proper and the ekphrasis is thus the same.”288 By defining the scope of the necklace with the similar language as the scope of the whole epic,

Statius suggests that the necklace is both representative of the epic in miniature, but also a driving force for the poem as a whole.289 While the proem of the epic orients the reader to see

Oedipus as the instigator of conflict, the necklace’s ekphrasis instead re-frames the action of the epic by focusing audience attention on this earlier moment: Venus’ affair and the spark of

Vulcan’s erotic jealousy.

Statius therefore signals that the destruction of the Theban race has its ultimate origin in this moment of Venus’ infidelity, long before Thebes was founded, and distinct from any motive of Jupiter, much less Oedipus himself. This alternate origin for the Theban conflict thus removes

287 In addition, Statius describes Vulcan crafting the necklace with the verb struxerat, 2.273. This verb can mean to compose a work of literature, using a similar metaphor as other verbs for weaving or crafting (OLD s.v. §3a). Statius thus describes Vulcan “composing” the cursed necklace as if it were a poem; cf. McNelis 2007, 62: “Indeed the verb struxerat, emphasized by its enjambed position, often takes as its object underhanded activity (Theb. 2.273).” See also Ganiban 2010, 81-82 on Silius Italicus’ use of componere to describe Juno “setting against” fate but also composing a new epic poem, cf. Sil. Ital. Pun. 1.38-39. 288 McNelis 2007, 59. McNelis 2007, 61: “in the case of the Thebaid, the synecdochic relationship between necklace and narrative suggests that the makers of the necklace are also responsible for the poem’s narrative.” 289 Gervais 2017 ad loc, following Lovatt 2002, 84-85; McNelis 2007, 57-75. Statius’ longa est series, sed nota malorum (2.267) also reflects how Ovid describes Cadmus’ journey as a serieque malorum, Ov. Met. 1.564; cf. especially Keith 2002; Keith 2004-2005. Yet, as Keith notes, Statius highlights what Ovid neglects and skips over what Ovid emphasizes. In Ovid, the series malorum describes Cadmus’ trials, while in Statius they reflect the necklace’s progression through a family of women. 92

the agency of Jupiter and Oedipus in instigating the war, as was shown earlier in the epic.290 The epic begins with a dual aetiology for Polynices and Eteocles’ antagonism: Oedipus’ curse and invocation of Tisiphone, and Jupiter’s statement that the time of Thebes has ended, as he reifies and furthers Oedipus’ curse.291 Rather than attempting to prioritize one source over the other,

Statius in fact presents both of these as invalid origins for the brothers’ conflict, nullifying the debate—for it was Vulcan who instigated this conflict as just one in a long chain of events set out to destroy the Theban line.

As the catalyst for the action, therefore, the necklace resets the beginning of the epic:

Vulcan crafts the necklace to instigate the entire story, just as Statius crafts the poem to tell the story. Without Vulcan and the necklace, we learn, belatedly, there would be no story. The epic is, of course, of the Oedipodae confusa domus (1.17), yet—as this introduction explains—there is no domus Oedipodae without Venus’ transgression in the first place.292

Vulcan’s jealousy, I suggest, not only provides the impetus for the cursed necklace, but also for the entire epic poem. Vulcan designs the necklace to have far-reaching consequences. I suggest that Statius describes Vulcan intentionally using two groups of assistants to craft the piece of jewelry: the Telchines and the Cyclopes. Both of these mythological groups help to set up the epic end game of Vulcan’s elegiac jealousy, and are specifically chosen in order to do so.

290 Contrast Keith 2004-2005, 196, who suggests that Jupiter and Vulcan (and Tisiphone) reinforce Oedipus’ agency of his initial curse. The chronology of this does not match, however, and the initial agency must fall upon Vulcan, the first agent in the sequence. 291 Oedipus, 1.56-87; Jupiter, 1.214, 240-47. 292 Venus often refers to Thebes and its people as her progeny, reinforcing throughout the epic her status as Harmonia’s mother and the Theban genetrix; i.e., Theb. 3.269-72, 9.821. 93

The Telchines appear rarely in Roman literature, and are recognizable primarily from the opening of Callimachus’ Aetia, where Callimachus responds to the Telchines’ insults against his type of poetry.293 Here in Statius, they are described in different terms (Theb. 2.274-76):

…notique operum Telchines amica certatim iuvere manu; sed plurimus ipsi sudor.

And the Telchines, well-knowing their skills, helped aggressively with friendly hand; but most of all the sweat was his own.

Although the Telchines are famous for their critiques of Callimachean style, Statius describes them here as assisting (iuvere, 2.275) Vulcan’s project.294 Their description plays with audience expectations throughout. First, they are described as noti operum (2.274), knowledgeable of their craft, which directly contrasts with Callimachus’ description of them as “ignorant and not friends of the .”295 Statius begins to describe their helpfulness, amica (2.274), yet puts this word in an enjambed position to the adverb certatim, separating amica from its noun and governing verb, iuvere manu (2.275). As with noti, amica manu is unexpected for these hostile figures. Yet instead of fully re-characterizing the Telchines to be wholly beneficial to Vulcan, he also describes them as certatim; combative, seeking to outdo either each other or Vulcan.296 Statius emphatically centers the Telchines’ combative nature: literally, certatim is the middle word in the clause. Metaphorically, this competitive, combative nature helps frame the ekphrasis as one of competition and hostility in metapoetic terms.

293 Call. Aet. fr. 1.1-20. 294 For the Telchines as critics of style, rather than content or meter, cf. Harder 2012, II.10, I.32-33. 295 νήιδες οἳ Μούσης οὐκ ἐγένοντο φίλοι, Call. Aet. fr. 1.1-2. 296 Gervais 2017 ad loc: “certatim: not necessarily suggesting competition with the Cyclopes (pace Mulder), but perhaps merely enthusiasm.” The Telchines are not competitive with the Cyclopes specifically; this adverb rather denotes their general state of being. 94

By receiving help from the Telchines, Vulcan is immediately marked as working within a separate, and contrasting, paradigm from Callimachus. Statius is fully aware of the tensions between Callimachean or aetiological versus martial epic that are presented with this reference.297 I argue, following Lovatt, that Vulcan’s status as master craftsman is connected to

Statius’ role as the poet.298 Vulcan designs and crafts the necklace just as Statius crafts the poem, and Vulcan’s active agency in constructing the necklace is key to understanding the tension elicited by the presence of the Telchines. I suggest that this tension is driven by Vulcan as both the master crafter and the poet-analogue, and creates a deeper level of emotional hostility surrounding the necklace’s ekphrasis. Instead of attempting to solve the generic tensions illuminated by the Telchines’ presence, Vulcan relies on them. 299

First, I follow McNelis’s assertion that the presence of the Telchines here creates a level of generic tension. I suggest that this tension, however, is not simply between the Callimachean aesthetic of elegiac “slender verses” versus martial epic.300 The Telchines are famously hostile to

Callimachus’ generic program, and are thus associated with hostility and epic poetics. I argue

297 McNelis 2007, 70: “The Telchines’ assistance aligns the martial narrative that Vulcan designed with Callimachus’ poetic enemies, and thus the narrative interest in war is anti-Callimachean.” Cf. Ash 2015, 212. 298 Lovatt 2002, 85, who sees Vulcan as an “all too powerful poet figure.” 299 The Telchines are particularly reminiscent of Callimachus’ elegiac aetiological poetry. This section of the ekphrasis’ introduction is an explanation for the cause of the bad omens at Argia and Deipyle’s wedding—an aetion—that rests on a foundation of (Roman) elegiac paradigms, and an explanation for the guiding narrative of the entire epic that focuses on the dangers and damage of female passion. The phrase nec mirum (Theb. 2.265) at the start of this section helps signal to the reader that this will begin an explanatory digression. For nec mirum introducing an aetiological explanation, see, e.g., Prop. 1.13.29, Stat. Sil. 5.1.44, 5.2.15; Cat. 62.3. 300 McNelis 2007, 15-37 emphasizes Statius’ generic play in the construction of his epic in relation to Callimachean poetics. I consider Statius’ generic engagements rather in service of the plot, narrative structure, and characterization. 95

that Statius relies on these participants specifically to incorporate tension and aggression in the crafting of the necklace.

As a result, I further suggest that Vulcan specifically uses these epic craftsmen to make his elegiac curse. Vulcan brings the Telchines into the milieu of his elegiac jealousy in order to bring about non-Callimachean conclusions. Vulcan relies on epic craftsmen to make his elegiac curse, thus ensuring that the curse’s destructive telos has capabilities beyond the scope of elegy.

Statius intentionally plays with audience expectations for the tensions that the Telchines elicit, yet relies primarily on their ability to evoke tension at all. This predisposes the reader to see tension and conflict throughout, both in terms of content (the curse itself ), and genre (elegiac themes). By referencing the Telchines here as co-creators of Harmonia’s necklace, Statius links the necklace with epic craft. Yet the presence of the Telchines reinforces the fact that Vulcan finds elegy limiting: while his emotions have their basis in elegiac tropes, the curse he lays on the necklace requires a more destructive paradigm. The Telchines, with their anti-Callimachean associations, provide the bridge for Vulcan from an elegiac starting point to epic conclusions.

The generic complications suggested by the presence of the Telchines as both antagonistic and helpful do not necessarily prioritize one poetic genre over another, but instead signal a moment of generic transformation and sublimation: epic and elegiac paradigms feed into one another to create an epic narrative that is formed from elegiac beginnings.301

Vulcan’s other helpers in making the necklace, the Cyclopes, also create this generic conflict (Theb. 2.273-74):

…hoc, docti quamquam maiora, laborant

301 Cf. Farrell 2012, 19: “the elegists tend to use Callimachean ideas and images to promote the cause of elegy at the expense of epic.” Here, Statius reverses this process to re-apply elegiac ideas and images in an epic setting. 96

Cyclopes.…

This [necklace] the Cyclopes worked at, although they had learned greater crafts….

These famed metalworkers are described as knowledgeable in maiora (2.273), greater things.302

While this certainly references the types of works the Cyclopes are more usually attributed to, such as Jupiter’s thunderbolts,303 the word also refers to distinctions between types of poetry. As

I discussed in the Introduction, maiora can signal the “weighty” hexameters of epic in contrast to the “light” meters of other genres. And yet, the Cyclopes are famous as craftsmen in more than just epic poetry: Vulcan again uses his resources well. Vulcan looks to the Cyclopes for their skill in making maiora, greater things, in order to ensure the epic destructive potential of the curse. And yet, because the Cyclopes are also renowned throughout the literary record for making all sorts of items, they are the perfect helpers for this task. Vulcan seeks to build the curse from elegiac backgrounds into epic conclusions, so these multi-generic craftsmen, whose skill has made jewelry,304 weaponry (for male and female figures),305 Jupiter’s thunderbolts,306 baskets,307 even a horse-trough,308 are just the right ones for the task.309 The Cyclopes are frequent characters in epic poetry, but their diverse generic background makes them fitting figures for Vulcan’s transgressive generic curse. The presence of the Telchines and the

302 Cf. Lovatt 2002, 84-85; McNelis 2007, 57-63; Chinn 2011, 98n13; Chinn 2015, 175n10 on the metapoetic significance of this ekphrasis. 303 The Cyclopes make thunderbolts elsewhere in Statius: Theb. 1.217-18; cf. Hes. Theog. 139-40, Virg. Geo. 4.170-75, Aen. 8.424-28. 304 Pandora’s diadem, Hes. Theog. 578-84. 305 E.g., Artemis’ bow and arrows; Call. Hymn 3.9-10; the shields for Achilles (Hom. Il. 18.478-608), Hercules ([Hes.] Sc. 139-320), and Aeneas, Virg. Aen. 8.424-25. 306 Cited above. 307 Europa’s, in Moschus: Mosc. 28-62. 308 Call. Hymn 3.49-50. 309 The Cyclopes were also involved in making people: both Hephaestus’ metal maidens, Hom. Il. 18.417- 20, cf. Francis 2009; and Pandora: Hes. Theog. 565-93; WD 53-105. 97

together indicates the tension Statius aims to bridge between elegy and epic. These co-craftsmen help to renegotiate the relationship between these genres. By showing them working together,

Statius marks the connection as one of mutual negotiation: elegy and epic feed into each other, instead of being mutually exclusive.310

The curse Vulcan sets into the necklace of Harmonia is designed to take elegiac situations and bring them to epic, destructive conclusions. In order to accomplish this, Vulcan incorporates specific items into the necklace designed to bridge this generic gap. Keith, in her key study of women in Latin epic poetry, notes that, in the Aeneid and the epics that follow, “the very voice of violence and war is female.”311 She points in particular to the roles of Juno, Helen, and Dido, as well as the feminine forces of the Furies and the Dirae, in instigating war and civil discord throughout the Aeneid.312 In the Thebaid, Keith notes that “Statius achieves the most fully integrated and innovative reuse of the Virgilian imbrication of the gender system in the structure of war in Flavian epic.”313 She emphasizes the central role of the Furies, Argia, and Jocasta in driving the violence of the war, as well as the Argive women’s actions in bringing Theseus to

Thebes, where he causes more death before the final is settled.314 Throughout the epic, violence is delivered and demanded by female characters. I suggest that the necklace specifically targets women, and lets this epic predilection for female violence help move the curse from

310 Cf. Farrell 2012, 17. 311 Keith 2000, 69. 312 Keith 2000, 67-70. In Lucan, Julia’s death catalyzes the war, and she later appears in the guise of a Fury (86-87). Silius Italicus’ features the driving forces of Juno, Dido (through her ultor Hannibal), Anna, and Tisiphone: 91-93. 313 Keith 2000, 95. 314 Keith 2000, 95-100, esp. 98-100. This “final” peace, moreover, is noted by the lament of the Argive women, which is compared to preparing nefas; 12.789-93: “Statius’ closing lines hint that no occasion is immune from women’s violent summons to war,” 99-100. See in addition Dietrich 1999. 98

elegiac precedents into epic destruction. Further, I argue that Vulcan incorporates specific female-coded items in order to facilitate this destruction. In doing so, he shows active agency in turning these items towards the masculine realm of epic destruction.

Near the end of the ekphrasis of the necklace, Statius describes Vulcan adding power from the very woman who is the cause of his emotional toil: Venus herself. He incorporates into the necklace certain vague powers attributed to the of Love: quae pessima ceston / vis probat (2.283-84, “the pernicious influence which demonstrates the power of the cestos”315). The cestos is known primarily from Homer’s , when borrows it from Aphrodite to seduce and thus distract Zeus.316 In the Iliad, Hera asks first for the “love and desire”317 from Aphrodite

“by which [she] overpower[s] all immortals and mortal men.”318 The narrator further describes the abilities of the cestos: within it are enchantments for love and desire, and the connections that drive these emotions.319 The power of the cestos includes the close interaction of conversation and pleasure, but also desire and sex as well as the all-encompassing obsessive nature that

315 Translated by Gervais 2012. 316 Hom. Il. 14.197-223. It is otherwise rare. The word appears significantly in Greek at Call. Aet. fr. 43.53 Pf (P. Oxy. 2080.53); and AP 5.120 and 6.88, for which see below. In all instances it refers to Aphrodite’s accoutrement that has some love-related magic or power inherent in it, which can be transferred to a woman if she wears the item. There is debate over what the cestos actually is, though it is now commonly translated as ‘girdle’. For the sake of its undefined aspect, I refrain from translating it. Later authors Martial and also name the cestos with respect to its inherent power to enchant or bewitch an observer (Mart. 6.13, 14.206, 14.207; Luc. DDeor. 10). See also Faraone 1990, 220-29. 317 Hom. Il. 14.198; φιλότητα καὶ ἵμερον. 318 Hom. Il. 14.198-99; ᾧ τε σὺ πάντας/ δαμνᾷ ἀθανάτους ἠδὲ θνητοὺς ἀνθρώπους. 319 Hom. Il. 14. 214-17; ἦ, καὶ ἀπὸ στήθεσφιν ἐλύσατο κεστὸν ἱμάντα / ποικίλον, ἔνθα δέ οἱ θελκτήρια πάντα τέτυκτο: / ἔνθ᾽ ἔνι μὲν φιλότης, ἐν δ᾽ ἵμερος, ἐν δ᾽ ὀαριστὺς / πάρφασις, ἥ τ᾽ ἔκλεψε νόον πύκα περ φρονεόντων, “and she [Aphrodite] released from her breast the craftily-made cestos; within it were made all enchantments: therein it was love, therein it was desire, therein it was fond conversation, persuasion; and it steals the mind often, even of the wise.” 99

Aphrodite’s power of love can entail: described by both Hera’s use of the verb δαμάζω, 320 and of the extended description of the object’s ability to steal the minds of even a wise man. 321

The cestos appears in later sources with the same influence. In one of the many that showcases themes which the Latin love elegists will later develop into the constitutive elements of that genre, AP 6.88 describes Aphrodite herself giving the cestos to a woman so she can ensnare her lover, the narrator.322 Using the same verb as the Iliad, this epigrammatist references the overwhelming power of the cestos to overpower (δαμάζῃς, 6.88.3) as well as enchant (θελξινόοισιν, φίλτροισι, 6.88.3).323 All of these descriptions build the concept of the cestos as an item of sexual power that can be used to corrupt and enchant someone completely.324 It is exactly this set of erotic emotions that the elegists tap into to describe their relationships. Love in elegy is a bewitching enchantment.325 The elegiac narrators are devoted to their lovers; they often consider themselves trapped or enslaved.326 Like love driven by the

320 δαμνᾷ, Hom. Il. 14.198. This verb inherently implies an imbalanced power dynamic wherein the subject overpowers the object. Violence is not necessitated within the definition, but is often involved (whether physical or implied violence of overpowering an individual or forcefully, through persuasion, changing one’s mind towards a situation). Significantly, δαμάζω also appears as one of the initial descriptors of Eros in Hesiod: ἠδ’ Ἔρος, ὃς κάλλιστος ἐν ἀθανάτοισι θεοῖσι, / λυσιμελής, πάντων τε θεῶν πάντων τ’ ἀνθρώπων / δάμναται ἐν στήθεσσι νόον καὶ ἐπίφρονα βουλήν (Hes. Theog. 120-22). 321 Hom. Il. 14.217, νόον πύκα περ φρονεόντων. 322 = Antiphanes 1 GP Garland, αὐτή σοι Κυθέρεια τὸν ἱμερόεντ᾽ ἀπὸ μαστῶν, / Ἰνώ, λυσαμένη κεστὸν ἔδωκεν ἔχειν, / ὡς ἂν θελξινόοισιν ἀεὶ φίλτροισι δαμάζῃς / ἀνέρας: ἐχρήσω δ᾽ εἰς ἐμὲ πᾶσι μόνον. 323 These words are also commonly used to refer to magic or magical effects. They appear in conjunction at Eur. Hipp. 509 as the Nurse considers preparing a love spell for Phaedra to use on Hippolytus. on Demosthenes (at 19.281) reference a woman Ninos who was put to death for preparing φίλτρα, cf. Faraone 2001, 10. See also Xen. Mem. 2.6.10; Gorg. Hel. 10. 324 In fact, in another life the cestos itself is used against Harmonia: in Nonnus’ Dionysiaca, Aphrodite puts on the cestos before manipulating Harmonia into marrying Cadmus (N. Dion. 4.67-68, 177-78). For discussion of the power of the cestos in Nonnus, cf. Miguélez-Cavero 2017, 189-90. 325 The elegists use language of witchcraft especially to describe the lenae: Prop. 4.5, Ov. Am. 1.8. Other references to magic, e.g., Prop. 2.1.51-70. 326 The trope of servitium amoris. 100

cestos, elegiac love is overwhelming and all-encompassing, and affects every aspect of the lover’s existence.327

These references to the power of the cestos indicate that it was understood as holding both positive and negative power: its capability was too vast, too overwhelming, to be universally approved. With it, Hera can seduce and entrap even Zeus; if a god cannot resist its influence, surely a mortal would be powerless against it. Thus, Statius refers to the power of the cestos only vaguely as quae pessima (Stat. Theb. 2.283). These pessima are the ability to overwhelm with sexual attractiveness, to corrupt and enchant so entirely that the victim does not know that they have been overpowered in the first place. While the cestos is used to entrap lovers in a relationship, the powers Vulcan adopts in the necklace are specifically the evils: the binding nature of the connection the cestos forms between people, and its erotic undertones. With this foundation, it is no wonder that the necklace’s curse can act with the power it has shown. As

Gervais notes, Vulcan adds these powers from Venus in order to corrupt Venus’ own daughter,328 but the smith-god usurps and appropriates this aspect of Venus’ divine power without her even knowing.

Venus’ power is not the only female power Vulcan usurps in the creation of the necklace.

At the same time the power of the cestos is added, Statius describes another feminine attribute woven into the necklace: a strand from Tisiphone’s head. Tisiphone featured prominently in

327 Love is often described as madness, furor, cf. Prop. 1.1.7, 1.4.11; Ov. Am. 1.2.35-36; Tib. 1.6.73-74. Along with the trope of servitium amoris, mentioned above, the elegiac lover also describes the physical and mental effects of the relationship: the lovers are pale (e.g., Prop. 1.1.22, 1.9.17), weak (e.g., Ov. Am. 1.2.19-22), poor (e.g., Prop. 2.13.19-26); sad (e.g., Prop. 1.1.1, 1.5.13-18; Ov. Am. 1.1.25). 328 Gervais 2017, ad loc. 101

Ovid’s Metamorphoses, especially in his section on Thebes.329 This connection to a particularly

Theban Fury also adds to the complexity of Tisiphone’s presence in the necklace. Through

Vulcan’s inclusion of her snake here, Statius recalls her presence in Ovid’s version.330 There, she was tasked by Juno to punish the house of Thebes for Jupiter’s adulteries. Statius uses her for similar purposes here: to avenge the jilted lover (Vulcan) through punishment of innocent bystanders (the women of Thebes, and Argos).

The presence of the Fury in the epic as a whole is unsurprising, as the poem begins with

Oedipus’ invocation of Tisiphone in his curse against Polynices and Eteocles, and Jupiter’s command bringing her from the underworld. Her presence in this ekphrasis, however, does not match her role throughout the rest of the epic. Vulcan incorporates part of Tisiphone’s snaky hair into the necklace: raptumque interplicat atro / Tisiphones de crine ducem (Theb. 2.282-83).331

This is generally assumed to be a strand of snaky hair from the top or front of her head. 332

329 Ov. Met. 4.420-511; Keith 2002, 395: “By specifying the intervening Erinys as Tisiphone, however, Statius follows Ovid, who is the first extant classical author to identify the Theban Fury by this name— when she agrees to punish the descendants of Cadmus for Jupiter’s adulteries with Europa and Semele at Juno’s request.” On Tisiphone’s role in the text as a whole, see Dominik 1994b, 33-35. 330 Of course, Tisiphone appears in Ovid’s version chronologically after Harmonia’s marriage to Cadmus. 331 “the chief strand stolen from the black hair of Tisiphone.” 332 Gervais 2017, ad loc assumes that Vulcan here adds the lead snake from Tisiphone’s head. The line parallels Tisiphone’s use of dux ille comae, a snake used to help draw her sister ’s attention and presence to help finish off the battle (Theb. 11.66). If Tisiphone still has her dux-snake near the end of this battle, it is unclear what Vulcan took from her to make the necklace. Tisiphone’s hair is black (ater) only here, and in Propertius and Ovid, Tisiphones atro si furit angue caput, Prop. 3.5.40; re: all three Furies, deque suis atros pectebant crinibus angues, Ov. Met. 4.454. Later, though, Tisiphone is identified specifically with grey hair: canos…capillos (4.474). She is more often pallida (Virg. Geo. 3.552, Aen. 6.555, 10.761; Petr. Sat. 121.1.120; Sen. Her. O. 1012), or specified with snaky hair. Silius Italicus (Pun. 2.530) calls her black (atram / Tisiphonen), though without specifying her hair. Interestingly, of the three Furies, Tisiphone, Allecto, and Megaera, only Tisiphone is named by all three of the elegists. They all reference furor and the Furies as a group, but none of them name Megaera and only Ovid names Allecto. Tisiphone, however, is named once by Propertius, once by Tibullus, and four times by Ovid. This by no means suggests reading Tisiphone as an elegiac character; rather, that she is the Fury specifically chosen by the elegists. Statius’ use of Tisiphone in particular likely draws primarily on Ovid’s emphasis on her over the Virgilian Allecto. 102

By directly incorporating a part of Tisiphone’s tresses into the necklace, Statius alludes to

Allecto corrupting both Turnus and Amata in the Aeneid.333 While the imagery of the snaky necklace wrapping around Harmonia’s neck visually parallels Allecto’s snake wrapping Amata’s neck as if it were a necklace, I suggest that Statius makes a slight, but significant change with

Tisiphone’s role. Tisiphone’s snake is used by Vulcan here, rather than being put into play by the

Fury herself. It is Vulcan, the male divine jilted husband, who uses this aspect of Tisiphone’s power for his own purposes to take vengeance on Harmonia, a woman guilty only of her parentage. Just as Vulcan takes Venus’ cestos to perform his own act of vengeance, Vulcan usurps Tisiphone’s agency in the use of her vengeful powers. In doing so, Statius shows that the role Tisiphone plays throughout the epic can, in fact, be retrojected back to this moment of

Vulcan’s curse. This Fury acts as the divine agent of vengeance in the Thebaid, but these actions are prefaced by Vulcan’s use of her powers in the necklace. Her later actions, therefore, can be seen as a direct result of this action in the necklace. Tisiphone acts as the divine agent of vengeance in the Thebaid, but these actions are prefaced by Vulcan’s insertion of her powers into the necklace.

Later, we see Tisiphone’s power in action: Tisiphone rejoices as the necklace finds its way to Eriphyle, because she did not have to put effort into this destruction. After Argia finishes her monologue confirming that she will give Eriphyle the necklace, Statius focuses on the necklace itself to show its immediate destructive power. In three lines, the necklace appears in

Eriphyle’s home, where her family’s destruction is foreshadowed (Theb. 4.211-13):

333 Amata, Virg. Aen. 7.341-57 (346-47: caeruleis unum de crinibus anguem); Turnus 7.415-20, 445-67. Gervais 2017, ad loc: “here, then, the snake woven through Harmonia’s necklace focuses the manifold intertextual resonances of the snake references in this ekphrasis, putting Argia’s wearing of the necklace in the Virgilian frame of Allecto’s assault on Amata.” 103

sic Eriphylaeos aurum fatale penates inrupit scelerumque ingentia semina mouit, et graue Tisiphone risit gauisa futuris.

Thus fatal gold burst into the Eriphylaean house and moved the great seeds of the crimes, and somber Tisiphone, laughing, took delight in the future.

As I discussed above, Argia’s monologue is told in a flashback. As soon as she finishes speaking, the verb tenses, all perfect, indicate that the flashback has ended (inrupit, movit, and risit, 212-13). The process through which Argia gives Eriphyle the necklace is unstated; she decides to do it, and the necklace appears in Eriphyle’s home.334 The ominous tone of fatale

(211), scelerum (212), and grave (213) is contrasted by the unexpected laughter (risit gavisa,

213) of the Fury. Tisiphone’s joy is, I suggest, two-fold. First, it is caused by promise of destruction that Eriphyle’s possession of the necklace evokes. Amphiaraus will soon die, then

Alcmaeon will kill Eriphyle, then the Epigoni will march against Thebes again, all because of this moment.

Second, and perhaps more importantly, I suggest that Tisiphone rejoices because the necklace’s entry into Eriphyle’s home has accomplished the task of instigating this destruction.

334 The necklace here shows active agency. It is clear that Eriphyle physically brings the necklace into her home, but the necklace is the grammatical subject of an active verb, inrupit (4.212). This verifies that Tisiphone did not take direct action. Adding to this, as I discussed above, the necklace is identified as saevus twice: with potentia, 2.268, and defining its cultibus with Eriphyle, 2.301. Both times the adjective can be read proleptically, referring to the situations of the wearers, but it can also be seen to represent the necklace’s agency and emotional background. The curse itself is cruel, despite the impossibility of an inanimate object being cruel or even holding power, potentia, as it is first introduced. In addition, the necklace’s appearance with Jocasta in the Theban Catalogue may also subtly suggest its agency. The grammatical ambiguity of the accusative-infinitive construction may let the reader see two meanings in teque etiam, infelix, perhibent, Iocasta, decorum / possedisse nefas (Theb. 2.294-95): its standard translation, “they say that you as well, unfortunate Jocasta, possessed the beauteous curse,” but also one in reverse order: “they say that the beauteous curse possessed you as well, unfortunate Jocasta.” This latter reading would suggest the necklace’s own agency in “possessing” Jocasta as she prepares for her marriage to Oedipus. On the agency of objects, see Mueller 2015, though the distinction between stage and page prevents these theories from being fully applicable to the necklace’s epic role. 104

Unlike, for example, the direct effort Allecto puts in to infect Turnus and Amata in the Aeneid,

Tisiphone has the necklace to do the work for her. Her dux-snake, despite being disconnected from her in the necklace, still works for her goals. Tisiphone causes destruction throughout the epic later as a fulfilment of Jupiter and Oedipus’ demands on her, but she is invoked here directly as a result of Vulcan’s curse. Tisiphone’s joy here, I argue, is caused by the fact that she is already—and has, for a long time—been causing destruction against the house of Thebes.

Vulcan’s preestablished power in the necklace’s curse sets up all of the later destruction.

Vulcan’s agency in adapting dangerous feminine powers for his own destructive ends is not limited to Venus and Tisiphone. He adds Gorgon eyes (Gorgoneosque orbes, Theb. 2.278), turning the typically apotropaic imagery of the Gorgon from curse-averting to curse- enhancing.335 The Gorgon’s power derives in part from her status both as a female and as symbolic of ’s ultimate resting place: on the aegis of /. By including aspects of the Gorgon in the necklace, Vulcan further appropriates feminine power for his epic destruction. The apples of the (flebile germen / Hesperidum, Theb. 2.280-81) perform a parallel function within the necklace. The Hesperides are identified as lamenting female victims. The first word in the clause, flebile (280), emphasizes the sorrow and lament in their mythological backstory: the theft of the apples and the murder of the snake-guardian.336 Female lament is a prominent theme throughout the epic, and its presence here emphasizes the necklace’s role in instigating it.337 Gervais suggests that the adjective flebile refers to the

335 Gervais 2017, ad loc, following McNelis 2007, 58. 336 2017, ad loc; the story is told especially in Ap. Rhod. Arg. 4.1396-409, as well as summarized in Apollod. 2.5.11 and Luc. BC 9.357-67. 337 Cf. Dietrich 1999, Fantham 1999, 226-32; Panoussi 2007 esp. 131-32; Augoustakis 2010, esp. 30-91; Bernstein 2015. 105

Hesperides’ sorrow after the apples were stolen and their guardian snake killed. I suggest that this adjective can at the same time be read as proleptic, referring to the lament that the destructive necklace will cause after its completion.

Statius further adds to the layered allusive matrix of the necklace through direct links between Vulcan’s creation of the necklace and one of the most famous mythological witches,

Medea. Mulder, following Legras, observes that Vulcan’s necklace includes the following items matching Seneca’s Medea as she creates the poisoned robe for Creusa: a snake (Theb. 2.279,

Sen. Med. 771-72, 731-32), part of a lightning-bolt (Theb. 2.279, Med. 826-27), part of the

Gorgon (Theb. 2.278, Med. 831), and poison itself (Theb. 2.285, Med. 834).338 Through the allusion, Statius makes Vulcan look like a witch brewing a destructive, cursed potion.339 Medea’s erotic jealousy, resulting in Creusa’s destruction, thus adds to the power of Vulcan’s curse, itself derived from erotic jealousy. Tim Stover adds to this connection with Medea by noticing a more sustained engagement between Statius’s necklace and Valerius’ Argonautica.340 He suggests that

Statius uses references to the Golden Fleece and Venus’ cestos in particular to recall Jason and

Medea’s marriage in the Argonautica, and the devastation that marriage causes.341 These

338 Mulder 1954 ad loc; Legras 1905, 43. Lovatt 2002, 85, notes that Vulcan is “mixing ominous materials like a witch.” 339 Chinn 2011, 81, calls the necklace a “witch’s brew,” cf. Stover 2018, 110. 340 Stover 2018; cf. 112, “Medea as an agent of nefas in the Argonautica.” 341 Stover 2018, esp. 111-21. The necklace of Harmonia includes a piece of the Golden Fleece: Phrixei velleris aurum, Theb. 2.281. This reference emphasizes the Fleece as “a symbol of internecine conflict,” which makes it appropriate for inclusion in the necklace of Harmonia (Stover 2018, 112). Further, this particular phrasing also recalls Jason and Medea’s wedding ceremony, which foreshadows the destructive and deadly end of their marriage in the same way, Stover suggests, that Argia and Polynices’ wedding foreshadows and sets up the war against Thebes (Cf. V. Fl. Arg. 8.257-58, Stover 2018, 112-114). Stover also further links Jason, on his wedding day, and Mars coming to Venus to set off this entire plot: qualis sanguineo victor Gradivus ab Hebro / Idalium furto subit aut dilecta Cythera (V. Fl. 8.228-29). Statius’ preface to the ekphrasis provides the background to this moment, showing why Mars comes in secret to Venus, and how that leads to destruction. In reading this passage “through a Statian lens, the seemingly positive simile designed to highlight Jason’s attractiveness and impressive physique instead assumes an 106

allusions, he argues, are designed to remove any positivity or ambiguity from the Argonautica and emphasize the destruction and harm wrought by its central characters.342

Statius utilizes combined allusions of both Seneca’s and Valerius’ versions of Medea to set the background of this ekphrasis as particularly heavy with elegiac undertones. This deliberate use of Medea as a backdrop serves two goals. First, her status as a witch creates a parallel between her destructive witchcraft—especially as it too is centered on women’s wear— and the witch-like “potion” that Vulcan crafts as the necklace of Harmonia. Second, Medea’s erotic jealousy over Creusa/Glauke and her status as a prominent elegiac exemplum suggests an easy elegiac reading of her character: that is, her regular use as a character in elegiac (or elegy- adjacent poetry)343 indicate that the elegiac poets thought of Medea’s characterization in elegiac terms, and that her motivation could be easily made to fit elegiac topoi.344 Elegiac themes are in

ominous connection” (Stover 2018, 115). I add further that the elegiac reading of Statius’ passage lends an elegiac connotation to Valerius’: victor and furto now suggest Mars’ role as an elegiac lover. It is also worth noting here that, as Stover discusses, Juno uses the cestos to force Medea to fall in love with Jason (cf. V. Fl. 6.469-74, 6.668-71, with Stover 2018, 117-21). The connections, as Stover outlines, between this section and the Thebaid are manifold: the description of the necklace’s negative effects are similar; Venus happily lends the cestos to Juno to cause harm to Medea, in order to take revenge against for catching her affair with Mars (elsewhere in the Argonautica and the Thebaid linked with the Lemnian Massacre); and finally, uniquely, the cestos is described as a necklace (monilia, 6.471) as Medea puts it on, directly linking its form to the necklace of Harmonia. Stover argues that Statius used specific references from Valerius “to find material suitable for his own epic constructions” (Stover 2018, 119) but I think the elegiac connections in all of these references further explain their repetition across these epics. Statius recalls these moments in particular to affirm that elegiac origins can swiftly turn destructive and fatal. 342 Stover 2018, 110, after Lovatt 2015, 422-23. 343 By which I mean Ovid’s Metamorphoses and the lost tragedy Medea. While the Metamorphoses is in epic hexameters, Ovid imbues the poem with elegiac themes and tropes; see discussion and up-to-date bibliography in Blanco Mayor 2017, esp. 3-34. The Medea, while lost, likely did the same between tragic and elegiac topoi. 344 Medea appears both as a mythological exemplum—both as a witch and a relicta puella (e.g. Prop. 2.1.53-54, 2.24b.45; Tib. 1.2.53, 2.4.55; Ov. Ars 2.101, Trist. 3.9.9) and a speaking character (Ovid’s Heroides 6, from Hypsipyle’s point of view, and 12, a letter from Medea to Jason). Ovid also writes on Medea in the Metamorphoses (7.1-424) and, of course, the lost tragedy Medea. 107

the background of Seneca’s and Valerius’ Medea, and I suggest that this background is also reflected in Statius’ allusion to that character.345

In addition to the background reflection of Medea’s erotic witchcraft, other elements of magic can be seen in the necklace. For example, the apples of the Hesperides are reminiscent of the use of apples in love spells.346 Lunar foam, spumis lunaribus (2.284), and poison, veneno

(2.285), are especially common as ingredients in magical potions.347 The ekphrasis thus seems to be at once the description of a necklace as well a list of ingredients for a potion. 348 Statius makes

Vulcan look not only like Medea crafting her magic to destroy Creusa, another victim of erotic jealousy, but also elegiac witches, the lenae who appear in the elegiac corpus using their spells to corrupt the puella and entrap the amator. Vulcan’s appropriation of this magical erotic imagery confirms the cursed nature of the necklace and its capabilities. Statius lets destructive female voices lead the curse from elegiac beginnings to epic conclusions. These mythological figures are themselves loosely connected to elegiac poetry,349 but it is the presence of their gifts in the

345 On Seneca’s Medea and elegiac tropes, see esp. Trinacty 2007 and Battistella 2015. Both discuss the “specter” of the lost Ovidian Medea. On Valerius’ engagement with elegiac tropes in his characterization of Medea, cf. Stover 2003, Fucecchi 2014. Any discussion of erotic or elegiac imagery in Valerius’ Argonautica of course follows Apollonius’ version, which intentionally frames Medea’s entrance to the text with erotic imagery ( is invoked as the muse of choice to start Book 3, and Eros shoots Medea with his arrow to enchant her into love with Jason). On Apollonius’ Medea as an erotic figure, see esp. Zanker 1979, Fantuzzi 2008. 346 Cf. Ogden 2002, 236 on “apple spells,” which use acceptance of the fruit to bind someone as a lover; Faraone 1990, 230-36 (= 2001, 69-75), for apples as wedding gifts and a potential magical connection to love potions. Gervais 2017, ad loc also considers the apples to be reflective of Harmonia’s wedding as the impetus for the necklace, as apples are a typical wedding gift. The specifically erotic context of apples in magic also add to the elegiac and erotic connotation of the curse. 347 Cf. Ap. Met. 1.3; Luc. BC 6.500-6; Ogden 2002, 236-40. 348 I noted above how this ekphrasis is unique for failing to describe the physical appearance of the necklace. 349 As I note above, Venus is an important goddess for the elegist and his lover, and Tisiphone is the only Fury named by Ovid, Tibullus, and Propertius. The Hesperides and the Gorgon come up on occasion as mythological exempla in Propertius and Ovid’s elegiac work, but not in programmatic ways. I discussed the elegiac resonance of Medea above. These tenuous connections to elegy and elegiac themes add to a 108

necklace that bring the curse to its full destructive power. Vulcan’s appropriation of these gifts confirms his agency in creating the curse and deciding its devastating path through the doomed house of Harmonia.

Agency: What About Jupiter?

Vulcan creates the necklace and its curse, instigating the fall of the house of Thebes by usurping the violent agency of divine female figures. In contrast, Jupiter and Oedipus both falsely believe that they initiate the war at the second half of the epic. Specifically, Jupiter believes Argia’s wedding to be the origin point for the civil war between Polynices and Eteocles

(Theb. 1.241-45):

…noua sontibus arma iniciam regnis, totumque a stirpe reuellam exitiale genus. belli mihi semina sunto Adrastus socer et superis adiuncta sinistris conubia….

I will incite new wars against these guilty rulers, and I will pull up from the root the entire deadly race. Let Adrastus’ status as a father-in-law and a marriage supported by baleful gods be the seeds of my war.

In calling this moment semina belli, Jupiter identifies Polynices’ wedding to Argia as the starting point for the civil war that will envelop Thebes.350 His causality is clear: this wedding will make

Adrastus a father-in-law (socer, 244), and is supported by divinities who are overtly hostile to

general sense of the connection between female characters and elegiac themes in this passage, but more importantly affirm the fact that Vulcan uses feminine power to drive the curse of the necklace. That these feminine powers can be loosely connected to elegiac themes further deepens the connection I have argued for between the curse and programmatic elegiac topoi. 350 The phrase also suggests a possible historicization of this moment, as it appears before Statius only in Lucan (BC 1.158-59, 3.150, both in context of support—or lack of open resistance—to the civil war) and Livy (40.16.3.4-5, 51.18-19). Afterwards, it appears occasionally in ’ . See brief discussion at Augoustakis 2010, 36. 109

the situation (superis adiuncta sinistris, 244). Jupiter is clear in his desires for the outcome of this war: that the entire race of Thebans will be destroyed (totumque a stirpe reuellam / exitiale genus, 242-43). By specifying the wedding as the catalyst for war, Statius suggests several models, all related to the . and ’ wedding prefaces the war at Troy through the birth of Achilles, as the end of Catullus 64 makes clear.351 Similarly, Helen’s wedding to in the Hesiodic Catalogue of Women marks another significant starting point and catalyzing action.352 Throughout this myth, weddings provided the impetus for war.353

Jupiter confirms the importance of weddings for military action, identifying Argia’s wedding as the origin for his war. The success of his achievement is both foreshadowed and undercut at the same time. Jupiter describes his need to destroy the Thebans based on their status as an exitiale genus, and this adjective is repeated in the description of Harmonia’s necklace as it enters

Amphiaraus’ home.354 Thus even as Jupiter is proclaiming his agency in causing the war to come at Thebes, Statius undermines it by linking Jupiter’s destruction with that caused by the necklace of Harmonia.

The marriage of Argia and Polynices provides Jupiter’s opportunity to finally take action against the house of Cadmus,355 but the wedding also provides the narrative locus for the true origin of the conflict: the flashback and ekphrasis of the necklace literally interrupt the wedding

351 Esp. Cat. 64.323-83. 352 Cf. [Hes]. Cat. fr. 204.94-103 MW = 155.94-103 Most. 353 This is, in fact, the same pattern that appears in Herodotus Hist. 1.1-4. In addition, the reader may be reminded that Vulcan used the wedding of Harmonia and Cadmus as the impetus to make the curse in the first place, as the necklace is a dotale decus sub luce iugali, 2.271. 354 Theb. 4.192-93; hoc aurum uati fata exitiale monebant / Argolico. 355 Cf. Theb. 7.207-8, Jupiter complains that he has taken so long to destroy “the seed of Labdacus and the sons of ’ line,” Labdacios uero Pelopisque a stirpe nepotes / tardum abolere mihi. 110

scene in Book 2. This narrative digression acts as a clear reminder that Vulcan’s agency in destroying Harmonia’s lineage predates what Jupiter believes to be the “origin” of the conflict.

The appearance of the necklace in this wedding serves not only to interrupt Jupiter’s agency in constructing the war, but also the action of the story. As a cursed item, the necklace serves to disrupt its epic setting with elegiac language and themes. The delay and digression of the necklace’s ekphrasis disrupts the epic and threatens to destabilize it and shift the focus away from traditional epic themes. Similarly, the second appearance of the necklace with Argia’s monologue interrupts the catalogue of heroes in Book 4, another epic trope. 356 It is unusual for direct speech of this length to interrupt a catalogue, but what is more unusual is the frame of

Argia’s monologue and the emphasis on this exchange of jewelry. The necklace once again disrupts the epic narrative.

Statius emphasizes the necklace as a guiding force in the fall of Thebes. In doing so, he prioritizes Vulcan’s emotional reaction and the power of erotic jealousy to cause wide-reaching destruction. The curse on the necklace spreads Vulcan’s elegiac emotions to the women who wear it, corrupting them to act with elegiac motives. At each step in the destruction of

Harmonia’s lineage, Statius shows Vulcan to be the master plotter, indicating that the power of his initial curse with its elegiac motivation is greater than any later action, whether by a mortal woman, a Fury, or even the king of the gods himself.

356 This may parallel Camilla’s presence in the Aeneid’s catalogue of heroes, which Keith 2000, 27 calls a “disruption.” 111

Chapter 2: Elegy in Nemea

Introduction

About halfway through the Thebaid, the Argive army is forced to delay their progress to

Thebes to wage war against Eteocles. Stranded in Nemea by the influence of Bacchus and stricken by thirst, the army is rescued by Hypsipyle, the exiled queen of Lemnos, who delays the

Argive progress over the span of two books of the epic poem. In an episode that has been called an “epic within an epic,”357 the Argive army listens to Hypsipyle’s tale of her past life on

Lemnos where she witnessed the infamous Lemnian Massacre and the arrival—and departure— of Jason and the Argonauts. The Argive leaders then come to her assistance after the accidental death of her ward, Opheltes, and join her and the royal family of Nemea in celebrating the infant with funeral games. During this sequence, Hypsipyle is fortuitously reunited with her twin sons whom she had been forced to abandon when she fled Lemnos.358 Hypsipyle is the primary character for the majority of the episode and narrates, in an embedded monologue, her experiences on Lemnos that led to her arrival in Nemea. Scholars have noted the complex ways in which Statius invokes multiple generic modes in this episode: Heslin calls the episode an epyllion and compares it to Book 4 of the Georgics and to Callimachus’ Hecale;359 McNelis considers it particularly Callimachean;360 following Brown, Soerink notes the tragic effect of the episode.361 Despite an easy connection to elegiac narratives through Ovid’s Hypsipyle in

357 Vessey 1970, 44. 358 The episode spans from 4.646 through the end of Book 6, though Hypsipyle’s last appearance is on the façade of a new temple to Opheltes, now called Archemorus, at 6.248. 359 Heslin 2016. 360 McNelis 2007; his thesis throughout the book is Statius’ Callimachean resonance, which, he argues, is particularly visible in the Nemean landscape; see esp. Chapters 3-4, pages 76-123. 361 Soerink 2014b, 32-36, with, e.g., Brown 1994, 57-59. 112

Heroides 6, fewer scholars have explored the prominent invocation of the elegiac mode in this episode.362

Over the next two chapters, I analyze Statius’ use of elegiac tropes and figures to characterize Hypsipyle’s role in the Thebaid. In this chapter, I focus on Hypsipyle’s internal narrative: her description of the Lemnian massacre and of Jason and the Argonauts. 363

Specifically, I examine the conflicting elegiac representations at play in these scenes: her similarity to elegiac figures, the importance of the imagery of the relicta puella, and the means by which the elegiac topoi of militia and servitium amoris are exaggerated out of their elegiac contexts with violent and fatal consequences. Hypsipyle’s competing elegiac paradigms foreshadow the complex generic program of her embedded narrative.364 In the following chapter,

I reexamine Hypsipyle’s position in the text through the perspective of a Kristevan reading of the elegiac puella’s temporal status and place within, or disruption of, the socio-symbolic order.

These two chapters together examine the role of elegiac language, topoi, and figures in

Hypsipyle’s characterization, as well as the continuing influence of this generic framework on the epic as a whole.

362 Soerink 2014b, 31 dismisses elegy as a backdrop for Hypsipyle. 363 Hypsipyle’s involvement in the Theban saga is known from Euripides’ (now-fragmentary) Hypsipyle; see Pache 2004, 100. Here and elsewhere, she features in the story of the Argonauts: (Arg. 1.620-914), Valerius Flaccus (Arg. 2.242-425) and Ovid (Her. 6). On the differences in Lemnian episodes, cf. Vessey 1973, 172-73. Hypsipyle’s involvement with Jason is also referenced in Propertius (1.15.18-19), and Ovid (Am. 2.18.33), among others. It is impossible to know how indebted Statius is to the lost Argonauticae of Varro of Atax or Antimachus, or if Hypsipyle made an appearance elsewhere in the archaic epic cycle. Hypsipyle is not named in any extant fragment of the Catalogue of Women. 364 In the following chapter, I use Kristeva’s theory of the semiotic and the symbolic in order to propose a new reading of Hypsipyle’s role on Lemnos and in Nemea: Hypsipyle’s transition between Lemnos and Nemea maps onto a progressive development from Kristeva’s symbolic order to the semiotic, further linking Hypsipyle with elegiac tropes. 113

Perspectives of Hypsipyle’s Character

Hypsipyle’s embedded speech to the Argive army is an uninterrupted 449 lines, the longest inset speech of any character in the Thebaid.365 This explanatory flashback to

Hypsipyle’s past on Lemnos serves as an embedded story, and Hypsipyle is its internal homodiegetic, or secondary, narrator.366 In other words, Hypsipyle tells the story of her past and thus serves both as storyteller and as character. For clarity, I will refer to Hypsipyle as the

“storyteller” or “internal narrator” to distinguish her from the external or primary narrator of the epic, Statius.367 Statius adds elegiac markers to this speech, providing cues for the reader to recognize the elegiac themes and motifs embedded within the Lemnian narrative. Hypsipyle’s role as storyteller is characterized in a few distinct ways, by both internal and external figures in the text. In what follows, I will argue that these characterizations portray Hypsipyle’s storyteller persona in elegiac terms: that is, Hypsipyle is characterized at multiple levels—by herself, by

Statius the narrator, and by her Argive audience—using language and tropes from elegiac poetry.

I argue that these characterizations conflict with each other and with the epic narrative frame, signaling the conflict inherent in her narrative.

Statius is not the first to encode the Lemnian episode with elegiac themes: as Antoniadis shows, Valerius Flaccus also incorporates elegiac language into his version of this story. 368

365 5.48-498. Hypsipyle’s speech is also longer than all other female speech in the epic combined (Nugent 1996, 46). Overall, Hypsipyle speaks for almost 500 lines. This is more direct speech than any other character in the epic (closest to her are Adrastus at 296 lines and Tydeus, 186): Dominik 1994b, 92-93. 366 I follow De Jong in preferring Bal’s “secondary” over Genette’s “homodiegetic” terminology: cf. Genette 1980, 227-34; Bal 2009, 48; De Jong 2014, 20n4. On the narratological significance of embedded narrators, see Bal 2009, esp. 56-63. 367 I recognize that this elides the distinction between Statius-the-Author and Statius-the-Narrator. 368 Antoniadis 2017. He argues, however, that Valerius uses elegiac themes in his Lemnian episode in order to prioritize the generic conventions of epic. Statius’ engagement with elegy is not clear-cut. Feeney 1991, 322-28 prefaces this type of discussion, on the broader generic tensions in Valerius, including 114

Antoniadis concludes that Valerius introduces elegiac themes to show the supremacy of epic over elegy. Statius uses Valerius’ Lemnos as a model for his own, and also incorporates elegiac themes, yet to very different ends.369 Statius’ generic mixing is not for the purpose of competition and one-upmanship;370 he is concerned with genre more broadly, and the questions that generic complications can ask and answer.371 Despite the apparent incompatibility of elegiac and epic poetry, they are combined within this episode in ways that highlight thematic overlap.

Programmatic generic language is often incorporated in new loci for various purposes, and as much as elegiac poets reject epic themes, as I noted in my Introduction, this rejection often functions as a praeteritio: by claiming to reject military topics in their poetry, they repeat them.

Similarly, the “weighty” hexameters of epic are not foreign territory to love or relationships.

Even so, Statius characterization of Hypsipyle incorporates programmatic elegiac signals.

Hypsipyle’s speech is in some ways comparable to other embedded epic flashbacks, such as Aeneas’ description to Dido of his flight from Troy and Odysseus’ story to Alcinous. 372 Like

elegy. He notes the pervasive influence of elegiac themes especially in the massacre. See also Buckley 2014 passim on connections with elegiac topoi throughout the epic. 369 See especially Lovatt 2015 on the relationship between Valerius and Statius’ texts. 370 Such as Antoniadis, cited above, as well as Heerink 2007, on Valerius Flaccus. 371 Contrast McNelis 2007, 66: “In Ovid’s Fasti, for example, Mars is closely aligned with epic, and his literary interests clash with Venus’ elegiac and amatory orientation. A similar literary dynamic is at work in the Thebaid, though Statius is not concerned with generic issues. Venus construes delay as an alternative to war.” Cf. Augoustakis 2015, 391-92: “Thus what emerges at the end of the Thebaid is a mingling of genres in a game where, however, epic is ultimately privileged.” Augoustakis argues further that Statius’ epic poetics are derived from, and act as a completion of, Seneca’s tragedies. Following Ripoll, he suggests that epic poetry, and the Thebaid in particular, can “complete the lessons learned from tragedy.” In his 2010 monograph, Augoustakis noted the symbolic significance of elegy in the Hypsipyle episode, as he calls the digression in Nemea “an extensive Herois, borrowing a well-known script from Ovid” (2010, 32). In this view, the military epic of the Thebaid is itself “invaded” by Hypsipyle’s elegiac interference. While Augoustakis emphasizes Hypsipyle’s status as a failed vs. successful mother (from the death of Opheltes to her reunion with her sons), I focus on Hypsipyle’s elegiac role as both narrator and participant in the events on Lemnos. 372 Cf. Heslin 2016, 93. Heslin argues that the digression on Hypsipyle best matches the generic conventions of the epyllion, using Callimachus’ Hecale, Catullus 64, and Book 4 of Virgil’s Georgics as 115

Odysseus, Hypsipyle has endured a lengthy journey—her meeting with Adrastus in Nemea takes place twenty years after the events on Lemnos373—and I note some of Hypsipyle’s parallels to

Aeneas below. Yet in spite of these similarities, Statius sets Hypsipyle apart from such epic storytellers by constructing her as a narrator who tells her story through an elegiac lens. This is underscored by Hypsipyle’s incorporation of elegiac tropes and themes into her account of the events on Lemnos. I argue that the language portraying her as a narrator is specifically encoded with elegiac themes, topoi, and vocabulary. The prominence of comparisons to Aeneas and

Odysseus emphasize Statius’ position as a latecomer in the epic tradition, but while other scholars analyze Statius’ manipulation only of epic tropes and figures, I argue that elegy is integral to that manipulation. Statius frames Hypsipyle’s narrative with elegiac language, and she tells her own story using themes drawn from Augustan love elegy. These allusions therefore influence not only her characterization as a narrator but also the content of her extended narrative.

I suggest that Hypsipyle’s own language at the beginning of her embedded narrative signals her affiliation with elegiac tropes. Statius constructs this programmatic introduction to highlight the significant role that elegiac themes will play throughout the Lemnian episode. In

primary models. He suggests that Hypsipyle’s extended narrative, her status as a “sub-heroic” figure, the complex mythological subject matter, the connection between the inset narrative and the larger epic frame, and the reversals of fortune, all point to the necessity of reading this digression in Nemea as an epyllion (Heslin 2016, esp. 91-92). Heslin’s argument is based on the entire Nemean episode, from the Argive army’s quest for water in Book 4 to the end of the funeral games for Archemorus that close out Book 6. This argument is convincing, but ultimately irrelevant to the wider themes of this chapter. See Dominik 1994a, 163, for a description of Hypsipyle’s speech in comparison with other extended epic speeches. He cites in particular Odysseus’ speech to Alcinous, mentioned above, as the longest of its kind in the Homeric epics, and Aeneas’ to Dido as the longest in the Aeneid. Ovid’s Metamorphoses and Lucan’s Bellum Civile also feature lengthy inset speech. Hypsipyle’s narrative here is the longest of its kind among the Flavian epics, though Dominik notes similar inset speeches in Valerius Flaccus and Silius Italicus (these are, respectively, 70 and 175 lines long, by his count). 373 As she tells us: 5.466, iam plena quater quinquennia degunt. 116

particular, the introduction characterizes Hypsipyle’s narrative role within competing elegiac and epic topoi. She begins her monologue with a widely recognized intertextual link to the start of

Aeneas’ description of his flight from Troy (Stat. Theb. 5.29-32):374

…inmania uulnera, rector, integrare iubes, Furias et Lemnon et artis 30 arma inserta toris debellatosque pudendo ense mares…

Great wounds, my lord, you command me to refresh; the Furies and Lemnos and arms inserted into narrow beds and men subdued by shameful sword…

Hypsipyle’s direct address to Adrastus and her concise summary of the events she will soon explicate parallels the introduction of Aeneas’ embedded narrative of the fall of Troy at Aeneid 2

(Virg. Aen. 2.3-5):

Infandum, regina, iubes renovare dolorem, Troianas ut opes et lamentabile regnum eruerint Danai; 5

Unspeakable pain, queen, you command me to re-suffer; how the Greeks destroyed the wealth of Troy, and that kingdom, full of sorrow.

Hypsipyle’s immania vulnera parallel Aeneas’ infandum dolorem. Just as Dido commands him

(iubes, Aen. 2.3) to suffer his fate again by telling it, Adrastus, with the same verb, (iubes, Theb.

5.30), commands Hypsipyle to renew her wounds with her own tale. 375 Through these parallels,

374 Cf., e.g., Nugent 1996, 49-51; Ganiban 2007, 73; Heslin 2016, 12-13. 375 This connection has been noted since at least Henry 1878, 15. On integrare, see Nugent 1996, 50-51, 69; Augoustakis 2010, 45-46. Augoustakis notes that integrare “signals a new beginning” and is a promise to complete her story started in Ovid’s Heroides. Nugent points out that Aeneas begins his story with renovo, which, with the prefix re-, signals repetition and would therefore be an appropriate word for Hypsipyle to use. Instead, integrare implies the “re-opening and healing one’s wounds,” which is the aspect of story-telling that Hypsipyle stresses. Further, Nugent adds that Hypsipyle does use renovare later in the episode: claims that the massacre will lead to renovanda Venus (5.110). Later, as I discuss in Chapter 3, Hypsipyle “repeats” her father’s name, , in naming one of her twin sons 117

Hypsipyle is set to be received as an epic figure like Aeneas.376 The connection is, perhaps, unsurprising: like Aeneas, Hypsipyle is an exile, having fled her homeland after rescuing her father. Hypsipyle uses language like that of Aeneas to start her narration and gives it the same epic tone as Aeneas’ rendition of the fall of Troy. In a minor reversal of the Aeneid plot, however, Hypsipyle has rescued the Argive army, to whom she tells her story in Nemea.377

The references to the Aeneid at the start of Hypsipyle’s speech mark her nuanced appropriation of Aeneas’ language and her complex engagement with both elegy and epic throughout the Lemnian episode. Statius begins her narrative by characterizing her as the narrator of an epic story, but the insertion of elegiac language and erotic themes contaminates her generic affiliations. I suggest that she is identified as the narrator of a story that intentionally mixes elegiac language with epic,378 since in the midst of this markedly epic parallel,

Hypsipyle’s speech adds another level of generic engagement through an intertext to Propertius.

Her Lemnian tale repeats the erotic and sexualized elements that have always been an aspect of the myth, yet Statius’ version is encoded with specifically elegiac language and themes.

Hypsipyle’s narrative begins with erotic language that reflects the elegiac trope of militia amoris.

She summarizes the events on Lemnos leading to her arrival in Nemea (Stat. Theb. 5.30-31):

(5.465). Nugent argues here that, for Hypsipyle, renovo does not suggest repetitive “telling” as for Aeneas, but acting (killing, in the massacre, and naming, for her son). 376 Cf. Heslin 2016, 93 with bibliography. Heslin specifically draws a connection between Hypsipyle and Aeneas as internal narrators. 377 In Aeneas has been rescued by Dido, the ruling queen, who then listens to his tale of hardship. The parallels are close, but not exact: the audience for Hypsipyle is the warmongering Argives, far from their homeland: for Aeneas, it is Dido, at home in her queen city. The speaker in both is an exiled ruler, but while Hypsipyle has saved the Argives from their thirst, it is Dido who saves the Trojans. Gruzelier 1994 analyzes the similarities and differences between Hypsipyle and Dido throughout the Lemnian episode; cf. Nugent 1996 and Henderson 1991, esp. 55. 378 Virgil’s own use of elegiac themes and language in the Aeneid has been noted; see, e.g., McCallum 2012. On elegiac themes and language in Virgil’s Dido episode, see especially Cairns 1989, 129-50; O’Hara 1996, 111; Nelis 2001, 67; and Harrison 2007a, 210-14. 118

…artis / arma inserta toris…

Arms inserted into narrow beds.

Hypsipyle describes the massacre in mixed terms of war and erotic encounters, and yet her

“narrow beds” is a direct allusion to Propertius’ description of his poetic aesthetic (Prop.

2.1.45):379

nos contra angusto versamus proelia lecto

We, however, fight our battles in a narrow bed.380

Propertius describes the proper tasks suited to a man’s skill: sailors, farmers, soldiers, and shepherds all have the talent that best fits their ars.381 As an elegiac poet, Propertius programmatically declares that his life is best suited for sexual activity, with military engagement only as a metaphor. He declares that he will fight with his lover, but that these fights will be sexual in nature.382 Through elegiac poetry the poet can aspire to sexual relations with women; epic poetry provides only violence and sorrow. The elegiac poet, whenever he praises his poetry for its access to sexual favors, tends to ‘forget’ that elegiac poetry rarely ends with joy. The elegist frequently laments as his puella shames him, rejects him, or outright leaves.

The importance of Propertius’ narrow bed is explicit in its appearance in Book 1, where the poet describes his relationship with Cynthia (Prop. 1.8.33-34):383

illa vel angusto mecum requiescere lecto

379 Gervais 2008, 63-64. 380 Versamus may also suggest the idea of translating; OLD s.v. verso §1.24.a; Plaut. Asin. 11, Maccus vortit barbare; cf. Lucr. 5.337; Cic. Fin. 1.7; Hor. Ep. 2.1.64, Liv. 25.39.12; Suet. Aug. 89.1. 381 Prop. 2.1.43-44. 382 Angustus is also connected to the aesthetics of Callimachean poetry, exemplified by Callimachus’ Μοῦσα λεπταλέη, Aet. fr. 1.24. 383 Gervais 2008, 62-64. Gervais has generously made his unpublished Master’s thesis available online. 119

et quocumque modo maluit esse mea,

She preferred to lie with me in my—albeit narrow—bed, and, in whatever way she could, to be mine.

In this poem, Propertius rejoices that Cynthia did not follow through on her threat to leave him for the riches of the Illyrian praetor, and instead was convinced by his poetry to stay at his side.

Propertius’ angusto lecto reflects not only the poverty of his poetic persona, contrasting the wealth of this rival, but also this poetic ideal.

Hypsipyle’s artus torus is the only other instance of a “narrow bed” beyond Propertius’ poetry.384 With this phrase, Hypsipyle not only uses the imagery of military activity to stand for for sex taking place in the bedroom, but also literally inserts arma, a paradigmatic word for epic poetry, into Propertian and elegiac poetics.385

Continuing to encode epic themes with elegiac language, Hypsipyle makes another reference to competing epic and elegiac poetics (Theb. 5.31-32):

…debellatosque pudendo / ense mares

And men subdued by shameful sword.

384 I have confirmed, through the use of the PHI Latin Database, Gervais’ note that these three instances, Propertius 1.8b, 2.1, and Statius, are the only times a word for “narrow” (artus, angustus, contractus) is paired with a word for bed (torus, lectus, cubile); Gervais 2008, 63n49. 385 Given the references to the Aeneid in this section, these arma easily recall Virgil’s arma virumque (Aen. 1.1) and, therefore, the literal insertion of Virgil’s poem into Statius’ text. Arma more broadly is a signal for epic poetry among the elegists; for example, Propertius uses arma to summarize his friend Ponticus’ Thebaid (Prop. 1.7.2) and to reject the idea of writing an epic for Maecenas (2.1.18). Martial, after the Priapea, uses arma as a phallic image: cf. Adams 1982, 16-17, cf. Mart. 6.73.6. 120

This short description repeats the erotic and military imagery of the first example in more explicit terms: the nature of the arma at the start of line 31 is specified here, ense. The erotic connotation of artis toris is countered by the epic and military register of debellatos mares.386

I suggest that these lines foreground Hypsipyle’s speech within a complex matrix of epic and elegiac language, signaling that the rest of her speech will feature competing levels of these two registers. At first reading, this line explains the massacre simply: men were killed by a sword, and it was shameful because these men were killed by their wives. Hypsipyle does not provide a moral judgment on her subjects—they are mares (32), a word for men that simply notes biological sex. While they are not judged, their means of death is; the sword is pudendo, shameful (31). This shameful sword kills men who are conquered, debellatos, but not by war: the erotic metaphor is barely hidden in Hypsipyle’s words. The massacre she describes here involved women murdering their husbands during sexual intercourse, and Hypsipyle’s own narrative describes other victims in erotically charged language. Hypsipyle, although a frightened young woman—the typical object in love elegy—during the events of the massacre, becomes the

“author” of a destructive epic in this elegiac retelling of the story. As I will argue further below,

Statius imports the elegiac trope of militia amoris into depictions of death and violence. In the introduction, this sexualized military metaphor is encompassed in a short phrase, connoting the

“reverse intercourse” of men conquered not by an enemy but by a sexual partner: it is a summary of militia amoris, the erotic metaphor for sex-as-war, which here proves fatal. The act of penetration by the sword connotes both sex and death in a phrase that links the two explicitly. I suggest that, as with the Propertian intertext above, the careful blend of epic and elegiac

386 Gibson 2004, 158, connects this line to Aen. 6.853, parcere subiectis et debellare superbos, to further deepen the epic connection at the beginning of Hypsipyle’s speech. 121

language encodes Hypsipyle’s story within both of these generic paradigms. If, as I have argued, the Thebaid is a poem where elegiac themes result in epic consequences, on Lemnos, elegiac militia amoris results in death and devastation far beyond the limits of elegiac convention.

In addition to Hypsipyle’s self-identification, Statius also describes Hypsipyle’s narrative voice from the point of view of his external, primary narrator.387 As I will argue, Statius’ narrator characterizes Hypsipyle’s speech itself in elegiac terms, reinforcing the elegiac tropes of her own narrative introduction. Just before Hypsipyle’s extended description of the affairs on Lemnos,

Statius adds a final framing aside that doubles as an effective summary of elegiac poetry (Stat.

Theb. 5.48):388

dulce loqui miseris ueteresque reducere questus.

It is sweet for the wretched to speak, and to come back to their old and tired complaints.

Like the introduction, this description defines how the audience should receive the speech. The narrative will be composed of veteres questus, and the speaker will “feel better” having said it, though they are wretched now: dulce loqui miseris. I noted the elegiac register of miser already in Chapter 1; now the word is compounded with the theme of poetry as a remedy for misery. 389

Through poetry, the miser can become happy again—or at least have a moment of sweetness.390

Elegiac poets are miserable and often complain of wounds caused by their lovers, yet they also

387 In Genette’s terms, the heterodiegetic narrator. 388 There is debate over the actual speaker of this line, as it is ambiguously positioned between two direct speakers (Adrastus and Hypsipyle). I follow recent scholars who consider the line to be Statius’, as the narrator setting up Hypsipyle’s speech; cf. Hill 1983, 108; Nugent 1996, 50n12, Gervais 2008, 59n37. 389 This theme has its origins before Latin love elegy, and finds prominence in the Hellenistic period; e.g., Theocr. Id. 11. 390 I read loqui as referring to poetry because it not only appears in an epic poem but also serves as the introduction to an extended poetic narrative. Hypsipyle’s status as a narrator assimilates her, to some degree, to a poetic persona; cf. Vessey 1986, 92-93. 122

promote poetry as an attempted cure for the sorrow of their relationships.391 As the introduction to Hypsipyle’s speech, this line implies that she is misera, that she told her story often, and that she found the telling beneficial, just like the elegiac poets. In this preemptive summary of

Hypsipyle’s embedded narrative, Statius draws a parallel between her speech and the idea of poetry as a cure.

At the end of her speech, Statius repeats the same idea, reinforcing his characterization of

Hypsipyle through ring composition. Two main elements of her characterization are emphasized: she has repeated her story in an attempt to remedy her situation, and the story itself is shaped by elegiac themes (Theb. 5.499-500):

talia Lernaeis iterat dum regibus exul Lemnias et longa solatur damna querela 500

While the Lemnian exile repeats such things to the Lernaean kings and consoles her losses with her lengthy complaint…

Here, Statius’ lines transition the reader away from this embedded tale back to the main narrative taking place in Nemea. This brief summary of her story after the fact is reminiscent of its summary beforehand, and affirms many of the same concepts: the speech has in fact helped her emotional state by consoling her injuries. Statius calls Hypsipyle’s speech a longa querela (Theb.

5.500), a variant of his earlier phrase veteres questus (5.48). Statius emphasizes the duration both

391 Poetry is medicine for the hardships of love. The elegiac poets adopt and adapt this idea as a trope for their sorrow. The poet (especially Ovid) as praeceptor amoris metapoetically uses poetry to heal love. Cf. Ovid Remedia Amoris; see in addition Prop. 1.9.11-12, being of more use than Homer to the love-struck poet. Prop. 2.1.57-58 notes that love has no true cure, but elegiac poetry eases the pain. Scholars generally consider the elegiac quest for remedia or medicina amoris to be a relic from Gallus’ elegy; cf. e.g., Ross 1975, 66-68, 71-74, 116; Du Quesnay 1979, 61; Cairns 2006, 100-1, 136-40; and Fabre-Serris 2008, 56-57. 123

of Hypsipyle’s grief and her tale of it: her complaints are longa and veteres.392 The verb of her repetition is iterat (5.499) in the place of reducere. As Statius shifts the focus away from

Hypsipyle’s storytelling, he reminds the reader that the miser for whom it is sweet to complain is in fact Hypsipyle, the exul (499) consoling herself far from home in Nemea.393 As I discussed in

Chapter 1, querela has an inherent elegiac double meaning; its sorrowful nature is countered by its frequent use in elegiac poetry for the reductive complaints of elegiac lovers and their puellae.

This entire speech is a querela, both a lament and an elegiac complaint, just as elegiac poetry itself is a querela, albeit one on an epic scale with epic consequences.394 With this repetition,

Statius thus has his narrator frame Hypsipyle’s narrative “digression” with elegiac markers. 395

As I have shown, both Hypsipyle’s own storytelling voice and Statius’ authorial framing signal the elegiac influence on Hypsipyle’s character. Her narrative will insert elegiac paradigms into epic settings in such a way that her narrative itself is similar to an elegiac poem: a complaint by a miserable, lonely figure hoping to feel better for saying it. The third point of view that characterizes Hypsipyle’s narrative voice is from within the story. I suggest here that

Hypsipyle’s internal audience, the Argive leaders, also understand her in elegiac terms and particularly in terms of Ovidian paradigms.

392 This emphasis on duration is also reminiscent of Vulcan’s long endurance of the pain caused by Venus’ marital betrayal, 2.269-70. 393 Exul perhaps also reminds the reader of Hypsipyle’s similarity to the epic hero Aeneas, as well as reflecting the theme of exile in the Thebaid: Thebes was founded by Tyrian exile Cadmus, and of course Polynices’ exile leads to the plot of the poem. 394 Gervais 2008, 106, who also discusses the significance Hypsipyle’s elegiac allusion: “querela invites us to regard Hypsipyle as an elegiac poet, as in Ovid’s Heroides (cf. esp. Ov. Her. 6.17, queror), and her narrative as elegiac poetry – which it certainly is not. She may be an elegiac character, displaced in Statius’ epic world, but she has become a skilled epic poet.” 395 See Gibson 2004 on Hypsipyle’s repetitive language and the connections this repetition makes to Valerius Flaccus’ Hypsipyle. 124

When the Argive troops come across Hypsipyle as they wander through Nemea seeking water, Statius introduces her with a key piece of information that signals her elegiac resonance

(Stat. Theb. 4.746-52):

tandem inter siluas (sic Euhius ipse pararat) errantes subitam pulchro in maerore tuentur Hypsipylen; illi quamuis et ad ubera Opheltes non suus, Inachii proles infausta Lycurgi, dependet (neglecta comam nec diues amictu), 750 regales tamen ore notae, nec mersus acerbis extat honos. tunc haec adeo stupefactus Adrastus:

Then, wandering through the woods (as Bacchus himself had planned), they see her, with beautiful grief, suddenly appearing—Hypsipyle; although Opheltes hangs at her breast, who was not her own but the ill-omened offspring of Inachian Lycurgus (her hair is neglected, and her clothing not rich), nevertheless royalty is recognizable on her face, her honor stands out, not overwhelmed by bitterness. Then, stunned, Adrastus spoke the following.

Scholars often focus on the parallels to epic meeting scenes recalled in this moment: the Argive army comes upon Hypsipyle in the forest just as, for example, Odysseus comes upon

Nausicaa.396 The emphasis on such parallels has elided the fact that Statius also incorporates elegiac language into this meeting scene. I argue that Statius not only introduces Hypsipyle’s appearance with language borrowed from Ovidian elegy, following Gervais, but also that this passage—and its elegiac language—is focalized through the Argive leaders.

The first time Adrastus and his army see Hypsipyle, she is subitam pulchro in maerore tuentur / Hypsipylen.397 This phrase recalls the elegiac—particularly Ovidian—tendency of eroticizing female grief. Gervais, in his unpublished master’s thesis, is the only previous scholar

396 Or Aeneas coming across his mother Venus; cf. Ganiban 2007, 72, following Vessey 1970, 73. 397 Theb. 4.747, “the [Argives] see Hypsipyle, sudden in her beautiful grief.” 125

to have noted the elegiac background of this line.398 Hypsipyle’s beauty marks her first as an eroticized character, but Statius illustrates that it is her sorrow that drives her erotic appeal. As

Gervais observes, pulchro, despite often being taken as a transferred epithet, when taken properly with maeror, suggests the elegiac trope of a woman’s beauty enhanced by her sorrow.399

Ovid frequently refers to women who have been beaten or sexually abused as attractive:

Gervais compiles references to the Sabine women, Lucretia, Europa, , Leucothoe, Ilia, and Ovid’s own mistress compared to Ariadne and , all described as attractive in their disarray and grief.400 This trope is common within the elegiac corpus, and Hypsipyle is expressly connected to this set of elegiac, sorrowful (and abused) women. I suggest that this phrase does not just set an erotic tone to the passage, but in fact marks Hypsipyle as an eroticized, elegiac character.

On one level, pulchro is simply a transferred epithet with maerore, as it is usually translated. And yet, taken literally, I suggest that pulchro serves to aestheticize and, as a result, eroticize Hypsipyle’s grief: it is her sorrow that is attractive, not her person. Specifically, I suggest that this phrase, as written, signals the focalizing perspective of the Argive army. Our understanding of Hypsipyle’s elegiac introduction is therefore tied to this perspective. Statius

398 Gervais 2008, 53, 59-62. 399 He cites the Loeb editions by Mozley (1928) and Shackleton Bailey (2003), to which I add: Ritchie, Hall, and Edwards (2007 [vol. 2]), Joyce (2008), and Parkes (2012). 400 Gervais 2008, 59n38: “This motif is most common for the women in Ovid’s rape narratives (cf. Richlin 1992: 162): Ars 1.126 (the Sabine women), Fast. 2.757 (Lucretia), 5.608 (Europa), Met. 1.525-30 (Daphne), and 4.230 (Leucothoe). In the Amores, Ovid likens his mistress, whose hair is disheveled by a beating from him, to Ariadne and Cassandra, beautiful in their distress (1.7.12-18). Cf. Am. 3.6.47f., where Ilia, her hair and cheeks rent by fingernails in the aftermath of her rape, pleases the river Anio…. Cf. also Catull. 64.50-75, whose description of the distress of Ariadne, abandoned and naked on , in markedly erotic.” 126

signals this focalization first by his word order: because her name is enjambed, her identification is delayed (errantes subitam pulchro in maerore tuentur / Hypsipylen, 747-48). The reader, of course, knows who she is already, as Statius described Bacchus setting up the whole affair lines earlier.401 This delay is for the sake of the Argives. Before her name, Hypsipyle is identified visually, pulchro in maerore tuentur. The Argives see her with a present tense verb, tuentur, and immediately identify her by her beauty. I suggest that this verb marks the Argives as the focalizing perspective: when they see Hypsipyle, they see the alluring grief of a mysterious woman, as yet unknown to them. Furthermore, the use of subitam, 747, confirms that this line describes the perspective of the Argives. Often mistranslated as if it were the adverb subito, subitam properly modifies Hypsipyle. The Argives do not “suddenly” come upon Hypsipyle; instead, they see her “unexpected” in her grief.402 As with the delay of Hypsipyle’s name, the effect is unnecessary: we, the readers, know who and where Hypsipyle is. The surprise is from the point of view of the Argives, who perceive Hypsipyle in language similar to an Ovidian puella.

These three perspectives, namely Hypsipyle’s elegiac-cum-epic introduction, Statius’ framing of Hypsipyle’s speech as if it is an elegiac poem, and the Argive’s perception of

Hypsipyle herself, indicate the clash of elegiac language in epic Nemea. As Hypsipyle’s speech begins, this conflicting representation of elegiac paradigms infects the language of Hypsipyle’s description of the massacre, the presence of the Argonauts, and the role of Venus on Lemnos.

401 Theb. 4.652-730 (Hypsipyle named at 728); 746. 402 In addition, this word plays with the epic expectation of the scene: unlike Nausicaa or Venus, Hypsipyle is neither a young woman and potential love-object, nor is she divine. Subitam thus further signals Statius’ twist on the expectations set up at the start of this scene. 127

Blurring the Lines

After the end of Hypsipyle’s speech, Statius describes the accidental death of the infant

Opheltes, killed by a passing snake in the Nemean underbrush. During Hypsipyle’s lament over her ward, she repeats the language that Statius had used to describe her speech and confirms that her story is a querela (Theb. 5.615-16):

…quotiens tibi Lemnon et 615 sueta loqui et longa somnum suadere querela!

…How often was I accustomed to speak to you of Lemnos and the Argo, and to comfort you to sleep with the long complaint!

As external narrator, Statius framed Hypsipyle’s embedded narrative by stating that miserable people like to speak of their miseries (loqui miseris veteres questus, 5.48) and by noting that

Hypsipyle was accustomed to repeat her own speech (longa solatur damna querela, 5.500).

Now, mourning Opheltes, Hypsipyle herself uses this same language to refer to her own storytelling. Hypsipyle says that she has told this tale multiple times, quotiens (615), for its beneficial purposes (suadere, 616), and repeats, in her own voice, Statius’ narratorial language from earlier: loqui (48; 616), longa querela (500; 616). While Statius asserted that she told the story to console herself, Hypsipyle adds that she used it also to calm Opheltes (somnum suadere,

616).403

403 The repetitions of this phrase reinforce the fact that the speech itself was repeated, which adds to the meta-literary point that Hypsipyle’s character is imported from other literary sources, and that her tendency to repeat herself is likely also imported from Euripides’ Hypsipyle. Hardie 2012, 154-62, discusses Hypsipyle’s role as a singer, and her repeated songs, in Euripides. There has been some debate over whether Statius knew of this now fragmentary play. Vessey 1970, 51 is one of the first scholars to seriously consider that Statius did know it. Soerink 2014a argues that Euripides is an influential and significant model. Without Euripides as a model, Hypsipyle’s repetitions are purely meta-literary. Acknowledging this additional background, Statius’ Hypsipyle is repetitive but also allusive. 128

I suggest that these lines blur the distinction between Statius’ and Hypsipyle’s narratorial voices. Within Hypsipyle’s narrative, Statius grants her knowledge that is beyond her possible realm of awareness as an internal character, indicating this narrative blur.404 On that basis,

Gibson and Heslin have suggested that Hypsipyle is given characteristics of an epic narrator during her extended speech.405 Gibson specifies that, “while she is speaking, Statius’ Hypsipyle is in control of the whole narration even to the extent of having similarity with the overall epic narrator of the Thebaid.”406 Both Gibson and Heslin cite moments when Hypsipyle seems to provide information about contemporary Rome, the epic cycle, or other moments which indicate knowledge beyond her narrow view.407 This narrative slippage complicates the presentation of the Lemnian tale. Yet even as Statius seems almost to give authorial agency to Hypsipyle’s narrative voice, such agency is mere poetic fancy. By presenting the Lemnian episode from

Hypsipyle’s internal point of view, Statius is able to present a limited worldview within the monologue: Hypsipyle’s narrative voice controls, and by default limits, the information presented to the reader.408 Any information Hypsipyle provides for her audience is not “vetted,” as it were, by Statius’ narrative authority.

404 Feeney 1991, 339-40 identifies “fragmentation of authority” as a major theme throughout the Thebaid; I suggest that this extends, in part, to Statius’ narrative authority as it is subverted by Hypsipyle’s language. 405 Gibson 2004, Heslin 2016, 93, 107-9; Hypsipyle “displays an almost Olympian knowledge of events on heaven and earth,” page 107. 406 Gibson 2004, 163, with Heslin 2016; Nugent 1996; Frings 1996; Ganiban 2007, 71-95. 407 Gibson 2004, 160: Hypsipyle uses similes throughout her narration that “involve anachronistic references to the Roman present” such as references to the animals in the arena or “a range of geographical reference more suited to a Roman epic poet than to a woman of the heroic age” including North (Theb. 5.332) and Scythia (5.423-24). Hypsipyle introduces a simile about the Argonauts with the phrase arcana sic fama (Theb. 5.426), “as if Hypsipyle is acknowledging the epic tradition.” As an internal character she cannot know the epic tradition. She emphasizes her autopsy of events, but then describes the death of Helymus during the massacre with intimate knowledge of the murder, even though it takes place in a (presumably locked) bedroom; cf. Gibson 2004, 159. 408 This contrasts, for example, Valerius’ parallel episode, which is told in direct speech by the narrator. 129

In Valerius’ version of the Lemnian massacre, Venus drives the Lemnian women to commit murder out of her own jealousy, destroying the men of the island specifically because of the Lemnians’ connection with Vulcan. When the Lemnians discover that Venus slept with Mars behind Vulcan’s back, they stop worshipping her out of respect for the smith-god.409 As a result,

Venus plots against the population of the island.410 In Statius, Hypsipyle offers in passing the excuse that the women had failed to worship Venus properly,411 and although, as I have already discussed, Statius directly recalled Venus’ affair with Mars in Book 2, he avoids the Valerian motive of Venus’ punishment. By focalizing the perspective of the massacre through Hypsipyle,

Statius is therefore able to “ignore” this alternate version, even if it lines up well with the plot of the wider epic. Hypsipyle’s narrow viewpoint makes the severity of Venus’ reaction seem unprompted and excessive, even if Statius’ reader is able to supply this alternate motive.

Here, as elsewhere, such narrative distance sets Hypsipyle up as a fallible narrator.

Statius even models how the reader might to react to this information: the rulers of Nemea,

Lycurgus and Eurydice, later refer to Hypsipyle’s repeated narrative as a lie or tall tale (omnis fabula Lemni / et pater et tumidae generis mendacia sacri, 5.658-59),412 and refuse to believe the story of Hypsipyle’s filial piety in saving her father. Yet Statius shows that it is Lycurgus and

Eurydice who are in fact wrong in this assumption: Bacchus comes to Hypsipyle’s rescue as a gesture of forgiveness for having abandoned her earlier when she fled Lemnos, demonstrating

409 V. Fl. Arg. 2.98-100. 410 V. Fl. Arg. 2.101-6. 411 Theb. 5.57-59; I discuss this further below. 412 “Every tall tale about Lemnos and her father and the lies of her divine race, making her over-proud.” See also Eurydice’s doubt, Opheltes’ mother: 6.149-59. 130

that Hypsipyle’s story was true all along.413 Thus Hypsipyle’s narrative grows ever more complex: her narrative is both distanced from and assimilated to Statius’ narrating persona, and her elegiac characterization both separates her from and integrates her with the Nemean frame.

This speech is therefore an important site of generic tension in the Thebaid.

Abandonment: the Lemniades

Within Hypsipyle’s narrative, there are three major elegiac topoi that come into play: the figure of the relicta puella, and the tropes of militia and servitium amoris. An important aspect of

Hypsipyle’s description of the Lemnian women is their similarity to relictae puellae, and in showing this she excuses their actions during the massacre. When the Lemnian men sail to

Thrace, Hypsipyle describes their wives in the same terms as elegiac relictae puellae (Theb.

5.75-84):

cura uiris tumidos aduersa Thracas in ora 75 eruere et saeuam bellando frangere gentem. cumque domus contra stantesque in litore nati, dulcius Edonias hiemes Arctonque frementem excipere, aut tandem tacita post proelia nocte fractorum subitas torrentum audire ruinas. 80 illae autem tristes (nam me tunc libera curis uirginitas annique tegunt) sub nocte dieque adsiduis aegrae in lacrimis solantia miscent conloquia, aut saeuam spectant trans aequora Thracen.

The men had a care to root out the boastful Thracians on the adverse shore and to break that fierce race through fighting. And though their houses stood opposite and their children stood on the shore, it was sweeter to endure Edonian winters and raging Arctos, or, at last, after battle, in the silent night, to hear the sudden ruin of a broken torrent. The women, however, upset—for at that time virginity that freed me from cares and my age protected me—by night and by day, sick with constant tears, mix comforting conversation or look across the sea at cruel .

413 See Theb. 5.710-14. Contrast Heslin 2016, 112-17, who suggests that Hypsipyle constructs the entire narrative to hide the fact that she sets Opheltes up to die and fulfil the prophecy of becoming Archemorus. His argument is complex and entertaining. 131

The Lemnian men unceremoniously leave their wives and children to go to war against Thrace.

Hypsipyle describes the scene with loaded terminology: after the men leave, their children stand on the shoreline (5.77) and look to Thrace. The wives, sad (tristes, 81) and love-sick (aegrae,

83), weep all day (82-83) and alternately attempt to comfort themselves with companionship through conversation (83-84) and gaze out across the waves to “cruel” Thrace (saevam, 84).

As I discussed more extensively in Chapter 1, the relicta puella has strong ties to love elegy. The Latin love elegists often used this figure as a mythological exemplum in their poetry, or as a topos informing the character of the puella or the amator himself. The elegiac relicta puella engages with the same set of dynamic emotions central to the figure of the elegist himself: she features laments, complaints, curses, threats of violence, betrayal, and misery. The abandoned woman, after both the frequency of her appearance in this corpus and the strong thematic connections built between her character and the elegiac lover, becomes an important figure in love elegy. The Lemnian women are described here behaving in a manner typical of the relicta puella: Laodamia, like Ariadne, stands on the shore to watch her beloved sail away.414

Just as Argia looks forward to having female companionship to help her bide the time without

Polynices,415 the Lemnian women attempt to soothe each other through their own companionship and conversation.416 In their constant weeping, they are like Ariadne and Laodamia.417

414 Laodamia: Ov. Her. 13.17-24; Ariadne, Cat. 64.52-57; see in addition Dido, Virg. Aen. 4.584-88. Cf. Micozzi 2002, 65-66. 415 Stat. Theb. 4.202-3. 416 This also parallels the companionship used by Laodamia (Ov. Her. 13.35-36), and Arethusa (Prop. 4.3.41-42). 417 Ariadne; Cat. 64.124-31. Laodamia, Ov. Her. 13.23-26. 132

Thrace, their husbands’ new location, is called saeva, adding another layer of elegiac resonance to this scene of abandonment. The adjective saevus has additional elegiac associations in this context. In an expression of lament, Tibullus introduces a poem on the trope of servitium amoris by calling his lover a saeva puella (Tib. 2.4.5-6):

Servitium sed triste datur, teneorque catenis, Et numquam misero vincla remittit Amor, Et seu quid merui seu nil peccavimus, urit. 5 Uror, , remove, saeva puella, faces.

But sorrowful slavery is assigned to me, and I am bound by chains, and Love never removes my bonds, and whether I deserved it or I have done no wrong, slavery burns me. I burn, ah! Take these torches away, cruel girl.

Tibullus laments that his girl is constantly girl cruel, whether he acts inappropriately or not.

Trapped by her chains (catenis, 3; vincla, 4), Tibullus cannot escape the emotional reaction he has to his lover. He goes on to complain that because she seeks material gifts and he cannot please her with his poetry, she has rejected him.418 Similarly, when Propertius comes in late from a night out, he hesitates to wake Cynthia, recalling her pattern of cruelty: expertae metuens iurgia saevitiae (“fearing the abuse of her cruelty, which I had experienced before,” Prop.

1.3.18). Early in the Monobiblos, Propertius characterizes Cynthia by this cruelty, and is proven correct as she does curse him and complain when he wakes her.419 Later, Propertius complains that the winds themselves support her: aspice, quam saevas increpat aura minas (“see how the wind itself resounds in cruel threats,” 1.17.6), paralleling his description of Cynthia’s own

418 Tib. 2.4.19-22. Cf. Tib. 1.8.62, an inset speech by Marathus who also complains of a saeva puella rejecting him. 419 Prop. 1.3.35-46, the end of the poem, is her uninterrupted direct speech, including the insult improbe at line 39. 133

complaints against him, saevas querelas (1.17.9).420 Saevus is also applied to Amor himself.

Ovid Amores 1.6 is a speech against his lover’s doorkeeper, who refuses to let him in. In his attempt to convince the ianitor to open the gates, Ovid references saevus Amor (Ov. Am. 1.6.34) who is his constant companion, whether he wants the company or not. For Ovid, cruel love has made him scrawny (1.6.5), prone to weeping (1.6.18), but also ready to lay siege to reach his lover (1.6.56-57). All of the elegists use saevus to characterize the hardship of their relationship and to describe that which causes their emotional agony: future threats, current circumstances, or, for Ovid, the simple fact of being in love. Hypsipyle’s use of saevus to describe Thrace, where the Lemnian men now wage war, is laden with these elegiac connotations; she personifies

Thrace as if it were a rival lover luring the Lemnian men away.421

Hypsipyle takes the standard story of the men leaving Lemnos but codes the men’s actions and the women’s reactions in elegiac terms. The Lemnian women first resemble Argia in her role as an abandoned woman as Polynices prepares to go to war, since they too are abandoned by their husbands as the men leave for battle. Like Argia, they first respond with tears and lament like relictae puellae bewailing the “cruel” rival, Thrace, that has pulled their men away. Hypsipyle’s account thus follows the generic paradigm of the episode. Within this trope,

Hypsipyle creates for her audience certain narrative expectations for the women’s behavior: as elegiac relictae puellae, they will weep and complain, and be content to do only that until the

420 tu tamen in melius saevas converte querelas, “turn your cruel complaints into something better.” See also his complaint against saeva Isis for her week-long ritual preventing Cynthia from sleeping with him, Prop. 2.33a.17-20; cf. 3.16.8, 4.8.55. 421 As I discuss below, Polyxo taps into this same idea in her encouragement to the Lemnian women to commit murder. 134

men return (if they do). In the elegiac framework, such complaints are harmless;422 it is his puella’s infidelity that the elegist fears. With this imagery, Hypsipyle therefore characterizes the

Lemnian women as vocal, but not dangerous. I argue that Hypsipyle’s introduction of the

Lemnian women suggests that they are driven to commit the massacre only because of external forces, and would have been otherwise content to remain faithful wives.

Hypsipyle’s narrative puts the agency of the Lemnian women’s massacre onto the shoulders of the old woman, Polyxo, who manipulates the women to exchange their feelings of abandonment for power, and to take control of their lives by murdering the Lemnian men upon their return home.423 Polyxo’s speech also uses elegiac themes, matching the elegiac tone of the women’s narrative of abandonment. As a final encouragement to her audience of Lemnian women, she notes (Theb. 5.142):

Bistonides veniunt fortasse maritae

Perhaps Bistonian brides are coming.

With no (textual) justification, Polyxo suggests that the Lemnian men have found new wives in

Thrace whom they are bringing home to replace their current wives.424 This is in fact the

422 At least from the point of view of the elegiac amator. The female elegiac narrator complicates this, as in Ovid’s elegiac retelling of Medea and Deianeira, both famous murderers. The standard elegiac behavior, despite these outlying figures, features impotent lament. When there is violence in the elegiac relationship, it is not fatal. 423 Vessey 1973, 173-74, discusses the uniqueness of Statius’ Polyxo. A woman by this name appears in Apollonius and Valerius to encourage Hypsipyle to welcome the Argonauts to Lemnos. In those versions, the massacre is inspired by Venus disguising herself as an old woman. 424 Nugent 1996, 56, however, notes that the Lemnian men, in Thrace, are described with a series of erotic double entendres: “While this vague indication of the Lemnian’s purpose in engaging the Thracians may mean (as it is translated in the Loeb edition): ‘the men were bent on overthrowing the boastful Thracians’, it is also true that, of the terms employed, cura (concern), tumidus (swollen) and dulcius (sweeter) may also be employed in the erotic semantic field, where they would suggest, respectively: desire, erection, and the experience of greater pleasure.” Thus, while there is no outright justification for Polyxo to think 135

justification used by Valerius Flaccus in his version of the massacre. There, the Lemnian men did bring back Thracian women, but these women were to be slaves for their wives and daughters. The women assumed, at Venus’ instigation, that these new women were concubines and lashed out in jealousy.425 Based on the evidence so far provided by Hypsipyle, Polyxo has no justification for this statement since it is derived from Valerius’ account. Statius thus reminds his audience of this previous version of the narrative and its erotic justifications for murder in order to highlight his own deviation from that motive.

Polyxo’s speech relies on the fact that there is a well-known danger when a woman is abandoned. She can be a “good wife,” after the model presented by Penelope, and promise faithfulness and devotion to her partner despite the fact that he has left her with no real promise of his return. On the other hand, she can act within the literary paradigm established by a number of other mythological abandoned women, and either curse her abandoning lover426 or cause him direct physical harm.427

When the Lemnian men go to war, the Lemnian women initially follow the paradigm set by Argia and other faithful (though querulous) abandoned women. Polyxo, however, has other plans. She reminds them how long it has been since the men were home (three years),428 and

that the Lemnian men are planning to abandon their wives, Hypsipyle has planted that suggestion in her description of their Thracian exploits. 425 V. Fl. Arg. 2.124-87, cf. Nugent 1996, 56. In addition, Valerius has Venus herself drive the Lemnian women to slaughter, while in Statius this urging is through a third party, Polyxo. 426 Like Ariadne (Cat. 64.192-201) or Dido (Virg. Aen. 4.621-29). 427 Like Medea, who kills Jason’s new bride as well as her own children to take vengeance against him, Deianeira who (albeit unawares) kills with poison instead of a love potion when he brings home Iole, and Clytaemnestra, who kills Agamemnon in part for adding the shame of his new concubine Cassandra to her fury at his murder of . 428 Theb. 5.112, tertia canet hiems. Does this mark three years since the men have left for Thrace, or three years since the Lemnians have not had sexual intercourse, despite proximity? There is perhaps some confusion in the timeline, as there was with the three-year gap that began Book 4. 136

hints that their husbands have replaced them, referring to these invented Thracian women as maritae, new legal brides. She suggests that the women were right to personify saeva Thrace

(5.84): the men have indeed abandoned their Lemnian families. Polyxo thus invites the Lemnian women to change the way they react by suggesting a twist on their paradigm. The inherent violence of erotic elegy, usually expressed by threats or the comparatively minor aggression of hitting, scratching, or kicking, will become fatal under Polyxo’s guidance.429

Moreover, just before this final goad, Polyxo attempts to shame the Lemnian women into action and encourage them with a local precedent: Procne’s vengeance against Tereus (Theb.

5.120-23):

at nos uulgus iners? Quodsi propioribus actis 120 est , ecce animos doceat Rhodopeia coniunx, ulta manu thalamos pariterque epulata marito.

But are we just helpless lumps? If there’s need for a closer precedent, look—let the Rhodopean wife teach our spirits, who avenged her bed with her own hand and feasted equally with her husband.430

For Statius’ early imperial audience, Procne’s story would be best known from Ovid’s

Metamorphoses.431 As the story goes, Procne, the wife of Thracian king Tereus, murders her son and serves him to her husband as a punishment for Tereus’ rape of her sister Philomela. 432

Polyxo summarizes this story with particular emphasis: Philomela, and especially her

429 This progression, from elegiac violence to epic violence, marks the same escalation I noted in Chapter 1 regarding Vulcan’s motive for the necklace of Harmonia. Polyxo’s impetus for driving the women to murder is divinely inspired by Venus, a point which I discuss in more detail below. While Hypsipyle does elide the agency for Polyxo’s initial inspiration by attributing it to Venus, Polyxo continues on her own merit: the divine agency may start the plot, but it its humans who continue it. 430 Rhodopeia coniunx (5.121) refers to Procne. 431 Statius likely had access to Sophocles’ now-lost Tereus. There also appear to have been tragedies by the same name on the topic by Livius Andronicus and Accius. 432 Nugent 1996, 57 notes, with connection to this passage in Ovid, that Thracians “are proverbial…for lust.” 137

relationship to Procne, is unmentioned. Procne’s revenge, ulta manu (5.122), is presented as a reaction to Tereus’ infidelity (thalamos, 122) rather than his brutality against Philomela. This comparison serves Polyxo’s point better: she advocates revenge against the Lemnian men for abandoning their women, but there is no rhetorical benefit in discussing Philomela. 433 Further,

Polyxo stresses that Procne shared the cannibalistic meal, pariter (122), with Tereus. Polyxo here recognizes that she encourages an act of brutality, and that Procne was not absolved of moral responsibility for her violence. The Lemnian women, Polyxo suggests, will murder their husbands and sons, and will be guilty of the crime.434

By eliding the actual catalyst for Procne’s action—the rape and physical mutilation of her sister—Polyxo implies that Procne, too, was an abandoned woman. The comparison becomes easier to accept in this somewhat censored version: Procne murders and eats her son, and attempts the murder of her husband, because, Polyxo suggestively implies, Tereus left her for another woman.435 Procne thus becomes a new ideal paradigm for the relicta puella. In place of

433 Schiesaro 2003, Chapter 3, 70-138 examines how Ovid’s story of Procne and Philomela is evoked in Seneca’s Thyestes. He writes that it becomes the “ur-myth…fueled by the dark forces of violence and vengefulness” (2003, 72) due to the emphasis on the breakdown of familial relations into , cannibalism, and civil war; cf. Kilgour 1990, 33-36. Schiesaro links Ovid’s rendition of Procne and Philomela to Thyestes’ story on the basis of shared bloodshed, strife, and civil conflict—elements that the Lemnian massacre also shares. Schiesaro makes a further connection to poetry: Philomela, her tongue removed, replaces speech with weaving which her sister can “read” to learn the truth: “Philomela’s muted words actualize the double meaning of textus as both ‘cloth’ and ‘text’ and evoke the metaphorical association between ‘weaving’ and ‘plotting’” (2003, 75). The carmen that Philomela produces is Ovid’s poem, per this association (2003, 75). Statius utilizes this same set of associations with his nod to Procne: the Lemnian women, too, have been violated, and, following Procne’s model, they should take drastic, violent revenge against the men who have wronged them. Yet the carmen that results from this is not Polyxo’s—it is the story Hypsipyle herself relates. The link to Ovid makes Hypsipyle’s role as narrator more prominent as she is, ultimately, the figure who most closely parallels Philomela. 434 Statius invites the reader to recall this mythological background when the Lemnian men boast of their journey to (5.189), the mountain range in Thrace from which Procne’s epithet (Rhodopeia, 121) is derived. 435 Statius brings out this emphasis, but does not invent it. Ovid calls Philomela a paelex, a derogatory term for a woman who sleeps with another man’s wife, twice in this story in the Metamorphoses. The first 138

the elegiac tradition of lament, complaint, and misery, Polyxo offers Procne’s violence to the

Lemnian women, allowing them to move beyond the elegiac trope, with deadly consequences. 436

The invocation of this story invites the reader to see how easily elegiac tropes can slip out of their typical generic boundaries: whereas Polyxo uses this brief reference not only to encourage the Lemnian women to act, Statius uses this language to demonstrate to the audience just how thin a line separates elegiac expectations from fatal outcomes.437

Statius embeds yet another narrative layer within Hypsipyle’s tale through the inset speech of Polyxo. Just as Hypsipyle is characterized as the elegiac narrator, Polyxo too is encoded as an elegiac figure. When she first begins her speech, Polyxo leaps out of bed in a fright, and the words Hypsipyle uses to characterize this innocent action have elegiac resonance

(Theb. 5.90-91):

cum subito horrendas aeui matura Polyxo 90 tollitur in furias thalamisque insueta relictis euolat

When suddenly Polyxo, mature in her years, is roused up in horrifying fury and, rushes up, in an unaccustomed manner, from her abandoned bedchamber.

time, Philomela uses it to describe herself, Met. 6.537, after Tereus has acted but before he cuts out her tongue. Philomela also calls Tereus a geminus coniunx (6.538). The second time is when Philomela is reunited with her sister. She refuses to look at her, and Ovid’s narratorial voice calls her a paelex (6.606). These references indicate that the issue of marital fidelity is also in the background of Ovid’s version. Yet while Philomela and Ovid’s narrator may view the situation as one of infidelity, Procne herself does not indicate this in any way and never suggests that she blames Philomela or sees Tereus as an adulterer instead of a rapist. Philomela is called paelex also by Martial 10.51.4, without explanation. My thanks to Ian Nurmi for helpful discussions regarding this topic. 436 Procne is elsewhere connected with other famous murderers, seemingly separated from her sister’s story. These references often emphasize her filicide: Ov. Am. 2.14.29-34, with Medea; Sen. Her. O. 956- 57, with Deianeira. 437 It is worth noting that Polyxo may directly reference Ovid’s Procne here. When Tereus first sees Philomela, he says ecce venit (Ov. Met. 6.450), indicating the moment when she entered the room. The suddenness of her arrival is like the suddenness of his lust, and his course—in Ovid’s narration—was unchangeable. It is with this same interjection that Polyxo brings in her example: ecce Rhodopeia coniunx, Theb. 5.121. 139

Polyxo’s description is steeped in evocative language. She is an older woman, but still energetic: aevi matura (90) contrasts with two active verbs and an adverb indicating her speed and vigor in gathering the women: subito (90), tollitur (90), and evolat (91). Polyxo leaps from her bedchamber (thalamis, 91), yet this space is relictis (91). The implication of these lines is that

Polyxo, who is unaccustomed (insueta) to quick movement (evolat), hastily leaves her room, which has been abandoned both by her in her haste to leave it, and by her husband who, in traveling to Thrace, has left her and their marriage behind.438 Horrified and in a fury (horrendas in furias, 90-91), Polyxo takes the first step away from the elegiac paradigm of weeping, lament, and complaint.

In the course of Polyxo’s argument to the Lemnian women, she lets slip that Venus herself has spoken to her, and repeats Venus’ message (Theb. 5.135-38):

…nudo stabat Venus ense uideri 135 clara mihi somnosque super. ‘quid perditis aeuum?’ inquit, ‘age auersis thalamos purgate maritis. ipsa faces alias melioraque foedera iungam.’

Venus was standing with bared sword, she seemed clear to me even beyond sleep. “Why are you wasting time?” she says, “come, purge your beds from adverse husbands. I myself will join other torches and better alliances.”

438 Based on the interlocked word order, another reading may be possible: Polyxo is still not accustomed to her bed, i.e., her marriage, being abandoned. Polyxo’s husband has gone off with the other Lemnian men to Thrace, and she, like the other women, is sorrowful and complains about it. Just as her thalamis is relictis, she too is relicta. This helps explain why she demands the escalation of this elegiac paradigm. 140

Polyxo claims that she saw Venus beside her,439 ready for murder and holding a sword, emphasizing the bloodthirsty nature of the episode. She berates the Lemnians for “wasting their time” with their husbands,440 and commands (age, 137) Polyxo and the other women to get rid of the men. Purgo (137) means to cleanse or purify, and can have a religious sense, foreshadowing the mock-sacrificial tone of the murder of Charops’ son.441 Venus also calls the Lemnian husbands aversis (137). This word can carry a dual meaning: on the surface, it refers to the fact that the men have literally left the women to be in Thrace. However, averto can also have a more emotional connotation, namely to show aversion or to shun.442 In this sense, the men have not only physically left their wives, but have also emotionally abandoned their relationships.

Hypsipyle claims that it was Venus herself who withdrew her presence and, along with it, sexual desires, from the island. Venus’ comment is therefore hypocritical, or at least self-serving: Venus caused the men to be aversis maritis, so it is appropriate that she come up with a solution.

Encouraging Polyxo and the other abandoned wives to cleanse their marital beds, Venus explains that she can provide faces alias melioraque foedera (138). Alias faces are the torches typical in the iconography of marriage ceremonies, but in this context meliora foedera serve as a reference to elegiac love. Although such a relationship is antithetical to marriage, the bond between lovers is nevertheless based on strong faith and trust;443 fides and foedus are significant

439 Is this a dream or a waking vision? Statius does not clarify how we are to understand Venus’ presence with Polyxo. Hypsipyle had referenced Venus’ abandonment of the island at the beginning of her narrative, 5.58-60; see further discussion of Venus’ role below. 440 Again, is this because the men are gone, or because they are no longer worthy partners? Polyxo does not examine this point closely in her speech. 441 Theb. 5.159-63; Dominik 1994b, 120; Gervais 2008, 65-66. 442 OLD s.v. §6a, b. 443 As I discussed in Chapter 1, the elegiac figures in the Heroides especially complicate the anti-marriage associations of the elegiac relationship. While the amator is traditionally anti-marriage, the women of the Heroides are often married to their abandoning partners (e.g., Penelope and Laodamia). Further, themes from the elegiac relationship appear in post-Augustan literature often referring to married couples; cf. 141

terms in elegiac poetry for the strength of the emotional connection between the amator and his puella.444 For example, when Propertius sees Cynthia after her death as a ghost coming to haunt his sleep, she complains that he has not honored their connection, and laments their broken foedus (Prop. 4.7.21-22):

Foederis heu pacti, cuius fallacia verba non audituri diripuere Noti;

Ah, your pledged faith! whose lying words the south wind, unwilling to hear, has torn away.

Their relationship was once solidified with this “pledged faith,” whatever form that took.

Catullus writes that a woman’s words to her lover ought to be written in the wind and flowing water,445 but Cynthia’s fallacia verba (4.7.21) refer instead to Propertius’ lack of enduring love despite his promises. Such promises, when they are initially made, are also called foedera. In poem 4.8, Propertius endures Cynthia’s abuse after he attempts to sleep with other women. To confirm his commitment to her, Propertius comes to her with the promise of his fidelity (Prop.

4.8.71):

Supplicibus palmis tum demum ad foedera veni

Then at length, with my hands out in supplication, I came to our agreement.

Cornelia and (Lucan), and Imilce and Hannibal (Silius Italicus), Bessone 2015, 128. See also Pliny’s elegiac language for his wife (cf., e.g., Ep. 6.4, 7.5; Baeza Angulo 2015). 444 See, e.g., discussion in Corbeill 2005, 90-95: Catullus begins the semantic transition of fides from political to the social sphere. The elegists expand this erotic association of fides and emphasize, also through the negative compounds perfidus/a and perfidia, that fides is a foundational theme upon which the elegiac relationship rests. Cf. e.g., Racette-Campbell 2012-2013. 445 Cat. 70.3-4, sed mulier cupido quod dicit amanti, / in vento et rapida scribere oportet aqua. 142

Cynthia replies to this offer of foedus by listing the new laws, legibus, which Propertius must obey.446 Their elegiac relationship resembles a marriage and, while not bound by the same ritual and practice, the level of commitment between the amator and domina promises their faithfulness and trust in each other.447 This is the same trust and faith that Penelope exhibits waiting for Odysseus. Lambasting Postumus for leaving his wife Galla to go to war, Propertius calls Galla’s fides stronger than Penelope’s (Prop. 3.12.37-38):

… casta domi persederat uxor. vincit Penelopes Aelia Galla fidem.

…[Odysseus’] wife remained chaste at home. Aelia Galla overcomes Penelope’s faith.

Propertius compares Postumus going to join Augustus’ war against Parthia with Odysseus’ extended wanderings coming home from Troy. Penelope, because she is clever and eternally faithful, is the elegist’s favorite example of the ideal woman, yet Propertius claims that Galla is even more faithful than Penelope. Fides and foedus thus prove central to the bond of the elegiac relationship and the emotional bond between lovers. Venus, therefore, suggests that the Lemnian women, should they abandon their husbands through murder, will be welcomed into new elegiac relationships.448

Even Polyxo’s initial horrific fury may be read in elegiac terms, given the broader elegiac resonance in this passage. She leaps out of bed to incite the Lemnian women to murder in a highly emotional state: horrendas …tollitur in furias (90-91). The proleptic sense of furia pre- empts Polyxo’s bloodthirsty speech as well as the actual massacre. The Furies play an importan t

446 Prop. 4.8.73-81, respondi ego ‘legibus utar.’ 447 See also Prop. 3.20.15-30; Tib. 1.5.7, 1.9.2. 448 As I note below, Hypsipyle later references Jason’s betrayal with this same vocabulary of elegiac commitment: non promissa fides, Theb. 5.474. 143

role throughout the epic and are present for the murders, yet even at the beginning, Polyxo is already described as a woman inflamed with fury. In the context of Hypsipyle’s speech, where elegy has infected the entire set-up of the massacre, and Hypsipyle has promised that her story will incorporate elegiac bloodshed, the role of furia is not so straightforward. While the Furies and their cognate terms furor and furia are expected in an epic of civil war and destruction, here on Lemnos, it is the elegiac eroticism that underlies Hypsipyle’s speech which also drives

Polyxo’s fury, despite her age (aevi matura, 90).449 Furor, for the elegists, is the maddening emotion of overwhelming love. Ovid writes that furor accompanies Cupid in his triumph,450 and the poet also attributes to furor the anger that leads him to strike his lover.451 Similarly, in another programmatic introduction, Propertius describes his love for Cynthia as furor that has not abated.452 Thus in elegy, furor is the passion that drives the strong emotions of a powerful relationship: from deep love to physical or emotional abuse, furor is elegiac shorthand for the ferocious passion that binds the pair together.453 Polyxo’s furor encompasses this range of meaning while foreshadowing the erotic violence of the massacre.

449 Compare Vessey 1973, 179-80, who suggests that Polyxo’s sexual nature is derived from her psychological derangement, which “in part springs from the knowledge that she is aging and that her days of sexual completeness are ending.” Her “enforced and unnatural abstinence” since the men have gone to Thrace affects her more drastically than the other Lemnian women due to her advanced age. Instead of this unsubstantiated “sex-madness,” Polyxo’s erotic language can be better explained by the elegiac tone of the entire episode. 450 Ov. Am. 1.2.35, blanditiae comites tibi erunt Errorque Furorque, “with you are your seductive companions, Error and Furor.” 451 Ov. Am. 1.7.2, nam furor in dominam temeraria bracchia movit, “for furor moved my rash hand against my lady.” 452 Prop. 1.1.7. Cf., e.g., Prop. 1.4.11, 1.13.20, 3.13.65; Tib. 1.6.74. 453 Furor also has a tragic connotation, exemplifying this same depth of mad, blinding emotion that the Furies personify and inspire in others. Within this context of Polyxo’s elegiac language, furor adds to the erotic framework of the Lemnian massacre which, as Hypsipyle’s speech promised at its beginning, will insert elegiac tropes into the epic poem. Polyxo’s furia, therefore, balances the dual generic valences of the passage. 144

Abandonment: Hypsipyle

Hypsipyle’s monologue sketches the Lemnian women as relictae puellae, but Hypsipyle herself is not initially characterized with this language. This changes later in her autobiographical narrative.454 Following the traditional story,455 Jason and the Argonauts arrive at the island after the Lemnian massacre, as I discuss further below. Hypsipyle describes the Argonauts pairing off with the women of the island.456 When they leave to continue their search for the Golden Fleece,

Hypsipyle portrays herself and the other Lemnian women once more as relictae puellae watching the Argonauts sailing away, just as they did their husbands leaving for Thrace (Theb.

5.481-85):457

illos e scopulis et summo uertice montis spumea porrecti dirimentes terga profundi prosequimur uisu, donec lassauit euntes lux oculos longumque polo contexere uisa est aequor et extremi pressit freta margine caeli. 485

From the highest peak of the mountain and the cliffs, we follow those men with our sight as they break the foamy back of the broad deep, until the light wearied our moving gaze and the sea seemed to weave the depth with the heavens, and pressed the waves with the furthest edge of the sky.

Hypsipyle watches the ship sail away, standing on the edge of the cliff (481-82) just as the other women earlier stood on the shore with their children (stantesque in litore nati, 77; spectant trans aequora, 84). Together they stare for far too long until their eyes grow tired, gazing across the

454 In Chapter 3, I discuss the significance of Hypsipyle’s role as relicta puella in comparison to the Lemnian women at the start of the episode. 455 As I note above, the Argonauts on Lemnos is known from Apollonius’ and Valerius Flaccus’ Argonauticae, especially. Hypsipyle’s relationship with Jason is expanded at, e.g., Ovid Her. 6. 456 Theb. 5.445-52. 457 Theb. 5.75-84. Micozzi 2002, 66-69 notes the overall parallels between Hypsipyle and the Ovidian abandoned woman, which I specify as an “elegiac” abandoned woman. 145

waves (483-85) and thereby repeating their previous suffering (tristes…sub nocte dieque / adsiduis aegrae in lacrimis solantia miscent / conloquia, 81-83),458 only this time, Hypsipyle joins in the display of suffering.

Saying that her gaze “follows” the men out to sea (prosequimur uisu, 483), Hypsipyle further aligns herself with the elegiac topos by invoking the “I will follow” motif.459 In this trope, the puella pledges companionship to the amator, or him to her.460 When the two are separated, she promises to follow (sequor), or laments that she is unable to do so.461 , for example, recalls Paris sailing away from her and describes her eyes following his sails as they go over the horizon,462 and just as she cannot actually follow Paris, so Propertius’ Arethusa laments that she cannot join Lycotas abroad.463 The phrase is a conceit, a promise of enduring love even while the pair is separated.464 Prosequor recalls this elegiac promise, even if Hypsipyle does not otherwise match the elegiac puella’s emotional range.465

Statius’ portrayal of Hypsipyle as a relicta puella also clarifies a deeper intertextual connection with another infamously abandoned woman: Medea. I suggest that Statius uses this connection to reinforce the violent background of Hypsipyle’s character. Although she does not participate in the massacre, her story is shaped by the violence around her. Medea’s story begins

458 As I discussed above, this also connects Hypsipyle to Ariadne as the paradigmatic relicta puella. 459 Prosequimur (483) is plural, suggesting that Hypsipyle is not alone in her abandonment. 460 See, e.g., Ov. Am. 2.16.17-26, 43, 2.18.5-6, 38; Her. 4.103, 13.163; Ars 1.385, 3.17; Prop. 2.7.15, 2.10.19, 2.26b.30-34; Tib. 1.4.41. 461 Cf. Ginsberg 2015, esp. 201-5 on this trope in Seneca’s Phoenissae, another analysis of this elegiac trope appearing in non-elegiac poetry. 462 Ov. Her. 5.55-56, prosequor infelix oculis abeuntia vela / qua licet. 463 Prop. 4.3.43-48. 464 This promise cannot be taken seriously, given the regular theme of infidelity in elegiac poetry, but it is frequent. 465 Maltby discusses the significance of autopsy and sight to Propertius’ elegiac program at Maltby 2006, 164-68. 146

and ends with bloodshed, and Hypsipyle’s present and future victimhood is symbolized by this connection insofar as Statius embeds her language with a network of allusions to this programmatic literary figure. As Jason prepares to leave, Hypsipyle laments that he will go without a care for her or for their children (Theb. 5.472-74):

…o utinam iam tunc mea litora rectis praeteruectus aquis, cui non sua pignora cordi, non promissa fides;

Oh, would that he had already sailed straight past my shores on smooth waters, a man who had no place in his heart for his children or for his faithful promises.

Feeling betrayed, Hypsipyle wishes, for the sake of her children (sua pignora, 473) and Jason’s

“promised faith” (promissa fides, 474) that he and the Argo had sailed past Lemnos (472-73). By using the word fides to describe their relationship, Statius recalls the elegiac emphasis on fides and foedera, as discussed above. Hypsipyle is now identified as a relicta puella, mid-lament.

Unlike the Lemnian women at the start of the episode, Hypsipyle has no Polyxo to urge her toward destruction, but as Micozzi observes, this line taps into a wider network of allusions to

Medea, hinting at Hypsipyle’s violent future.466 As Micozzi cites, this “utinam motif” originated in Euripides and was transferred into Latin by Ennius.467 Euripides’ Medea opens with the Nurse bewailing Medea’s abandonment, wishing that Jason had never come to Colchis in the first place

(Eur. Med. 1-2):

Εἴθ᾽ ὤφελ᾽ Ἀργοῦς μὴ διαπτάσθαι σκάφος Κόλχων ἐς αἶαν κυανέας Συμπληγάδας

Oh, would that the Argo never had flown through the deep blue Symplegades to the land of Colchis!

466 Micozzi 2015, 336, after Micozzi 2002, 67-68. 467 Micozzi 2002, 67-68. 147

At this opening, Euripides outlines the emotional core of the play: Medea’s conflict with Jason and his betrayal of their relationship, which began with the murder of her brother Absyrtus and ends with her murder of Jason’s new wife and her own children. Medea’s violence is, to a degree, prefaced by her abandonment. In one of the remaining fragments of his Medea,468 Ennius portrays Medea’s nurse lamenting the Argo’s very creation before its arrival in Colchis (Enn.

Trag. fr. 89.1-4):469

utinam ne in nemore Pelio securibus caesa accidisset abiegna ad terram trabes, neve inde navis inchoandi exordium coepisset…

Would that the fir-wood beams had not fallen to the earth, cut down by axes in the Pelian grove, and that the starting-point for the ship’s setting-off had not begun…

Ennius’s nurse repeats Euripides’ lament against the arrival of the Argonauts, but begins even earlier, with the ship’s very creation. Later in this opener, Ennius explains the reason for the lament: Jason’s infidelity to Medea (8-9). Ariadne and Dido perpetuate this motif, as each woman laments the arrival of a faithless man to her shores.470 I have already noted the thematic

468 Or Medea exul; both titles are transmitted, and it is unclear whether they referred to two distinct tragedies or one tragedy with two names; See Manuwald 2013, 117 with bibliography. 469 = 205–13 R.2–3 = 253–61 W. = 246-54 V2 = 208-216 J; LCL 537, Goldberg and Manuwald 2018, Rhet. Her. 2.34. 470 Micozzi 2015, 336: as Ariadne laments her abandonment, she wishes that Theseus had never come to her Knossian shores (Cat. 64.171-72; Iuppiter omnipotens, utinam ne tempore primo / Gnosia Cecropiae tetigissent litora puppes). Manuwald 2012, 198 connects the early Republican tragic Medeas (Ennius’ as well as Pacuvius’ and Accius’) to Catullus via the shared reference to the Argonauts: Catullus 64 is set during the wedding of Peleus to Thetis, the nymph whom Peleus saw and fell in love with during the Argo’s first voyage (Cat. 64.14-21, contrary to Hom. Il. 18.432-34). Manuwald also notes specific verbal parallels between Ennius’ introductory lines and Cat. 64.1-11, further linking Ariadne to Medea. Leigh 1997 draws further connections between these three women: they not only share the “utinam motif,” but also the language of ships touching upon shores. Virgil uses this secondary verbal pattern to incorporate Dido into this same nexus (Virg. Aen. 4.656-57: felix, heu nimium felix, si litora tantum / numquam 148

connections between these women, each of whom brings a further suggestion of violence to the trope of the relicta puella. This wishful lament, first expressed by Medea’s nurse and repeated by abandoned women since, comes at last to Hypsipyle, lamenting that Jason had ever stopped at her shores (Theb. 5.472-73). Like Ariadne and Dido, Hypsipyle expresses this wish in her own voice. By following the example of these famous (infamous?) abandoned women, she takes on the imagery of their topos. By repeating their words, Statius’ Hypsipyle sounds like these abandoned women. In addition to this allusive connection to the trope of the relicta puella,

Hypsipyle also here laments Jason’s lack of care for their children (sua pignora cordi, 5.473), and the promises he had apparently made to her (non promissa fides, 5.474),471 which further links her to Medea through their shared betrayal.472 Hypsipyle’s engagement with the trope of the relicta puella signals that her story is entrenched in violence: between the violent narratives of the other Lemnian women—their involvement in the massacre—and of the filicidal Medea, recalled via this allusion, Hypsipyle’s connection to the trope here foreshadows the violence that will continue to shape her character throughout her appearance in the text. While she does not directly commit violence like the Lemnian women or Medea, she is surrounded by it.

Dardaniae tetigissent nostra carinae). Leigh’s tetigissent litora motif also deepens Medea and Ariadne’s connection to Hypsipyle: at the start of her letter to Jason, Ovid’s Hypsipyle relates a rumor that the Argo has come to Thessaly: litora Thessaliae reduci tetigisse carina / diceris auratae vellere dives ovis (Ov. Her. 6.1-2). Valerius also recalls this language at Arg. 8.432-33, where Medea wishes that the Argonauts had come to her shores without Jason (vellem equidem nostri tetigissent litora patris / te sine duxque illis alius quicumque fuisset). For more on the connection between Hypsipyle and Medea between Ovid and Statius, see Falcone 2011, Micozzi 2002, 68-69. 471 Jason makes no promises to Hypsipyle during their interactions in the Thebaid; perhaps Statius here references the promises made to Ovid’s Hypsipyle, who considers Jason to be her wedded husband; cf. e.g., Ov. Her. 6.17, where Jason is identified as mariti; and 43, ubi pacta fides, ubi conubialia iura. 472 In addition, the reminder of Hypsipyle’s children here may signal a false expectation to the reader that they will die, like Medea’s sons. Instead, as I discuss in Chapter 3, they are successfully reunited with Hypsipyle in Nemea. 149

Violence: The Massacre

Hypsipyle’s story is indeed one of violence, and physical hardship shapes her narrative.

Although, as I will argue further in Chapter 3, her abandonment is a form of violence, the cruelty that surrounds Hypsipyle is made far more explicit in the description of the Lemnian massacre.

As the massacre begins, Hypsipyle finally delivers on the promised artis / arma inserta toris

(5.30-31). I argue that Hypsipyle’s narrative depicts the Lemnian women in the language of eroticized violence and violent erotic moments. Engaging with the trope of militia amoris, the description of the massacre inserts elegiac tropes into scenes of epic violence. Polyxo’s encouragement brings about an escalated response to the elegiac abandonment of the Lemnian women. The massacre of the Lemnian men takes elegiac themes as its starting point, but turn the playful, non-fatal violence of elegy into the brutal and bloody acts of epic. Hypsipyle’s introduction sets the scene with an allusion to Ovid that signals the significance of militia amoris, now with fatal consequences. In his programmatic first poem of the Amores, Ovid claims that Amor has taken over his heart, now that Cupid has pierced him with arrows (Ov. Am. 1.1.25-

26):

Me miserum! Certas habuit puer ille sagittas. 25 uror, et in vacuo pectore regnat Amor.

Wretched me! That boy has keen arrows. I burn, and Love rules in my empty heart.

In this introduction to the Amores, Ovid outlines the power that Amor and Cupid have over him:

Cupid has captured the poet with his arrows (certas sagittas, 25). Through this act of metaphorical violence, Amor has gained power and control over the poet (regnat, 26). Ovid’s heart is empty, vacuo, because Amor has consumed it so completely that there is no space for anything else.

150

Hypsipyle’s description of the massacre draws on Ovid’s declaration, but replaces his elegiac Amor with a figure more appropriate to the deadly setting of the massacre (Stat. Theb.

5.200-4):

…uigilant nuptaeque nurusque 200 in scelus, atque hilares acuunt fera tela Sorores. Inuasere nefas, cuncto sua regnat Erinys pectore.

Wives and daughters-in-law stay awake for the crime, and the Sisters, cheerful, sharpen their wild missiles. They plunged into473 nefas—a personal Fury rules over her entire heart.

The men have fallen asleep and the women prepare for violence. In this preamble, they are described collectively—no woman is specifically identified except Charops’ wife, who killed her son to bind the women’s oath with Polyxo.474 These women are either wives (nuptae) or daughters-in-law (nurus), distinguished only by their relationships to men.

In place of Amor, Hypsipyle’s Lemnian women have the Erinys: Ovid stresses that his heart is empty but for Amor, and Hypsipyle describes how the Lemnian women have their hearts entirely filled with the furor brought by the Furies’ arrival.475 In addition, the Sisters’ fera tela

(201) replaces Cupid’s certas sagittas (Am. 1.1.25) but retain their erotic significance, since sexuality drives the epic violence of this episode. This allusion to Ovidian and elegiac eroticism therefore sets the sexual tone of the massacre and elides the agency of the Lemnian women:

473 OLD s.v. invado §7b. Who is the subject of invasere? Options include the Sorores, carrying the subject from the previous line, or the Lemnian women, looking forward to the objects of the ’ actions. 474 Stat. Theb. 5.159-63. Even she is not directly named. 475 Gervais 2008, 94, links this line instead to the women who murder Orpheus at the start of Met. 11: insanaque regnat Erinys (Ov. Met. 11.14). Here too, scorned women are described as being “ruled” by a Fury in their hearts, and committing acts of extreme, brutal violence as a result. Gervais notes this in a wider discussion of similarities between Hypsipyle and Orpheus as singers. 151

whereas Ovid stresses his lack of control by attributing all of his actions to the impetus of Amor,

Hypsipyle shifts the agency of the women’s violence onto the Erinys.

This pattern of inserting elegiac themes into an epic context, and vice versa, appears clearly in the first and most extensive death scene of the massacre. Evoking the elegiac trope of militia amoris, Hypsipyle’s description of Helymus’ death at the hands of his wife, , looks almost like a voyeuristic sex scene.476 But as the scene progresses, the elegiac trope yields epic results, as elegiac lovers’ fights, battles that—in their elegiac context—sought to replace real war, now become the site of actual battles and death (Theb. 5.207-17):477

…Helymum temeraria Gorge euinctum ramis altaque in mole tapetum efflantem somno crescentia uina superstans uulnera disiecta rimatur ueste, sed illum 210 infelix sopor admota sub morte refugit. Turbidus incertumque oculis uigilantibus hostem occupat amplexu, nec segnius illa tenentis pone adigit costas donec sua pectora ferro tangeret. Is demum sceleri modus; ora supinate 215 blandus adhuc oculisque tremens et murmure Gorgen quaerit et indigno non soluit bracchia collo.

Rash Gorge stands over Helymus, crowned with twigs and deep in a pile of blankets; snoring in his sleep with the smell of wine growing; she investigates (a place for) wounds with his clothes cast aside, but unlucky stupor abandoned him when death approached: writhing, he seeks the uncertain enemy in an embrace with wakeful eyes, but not slowly does she seek his ribs from behind as he holds her, until she could touch her own breast with the blade. This, then, is the manner of the crime; pleasing even at this point, his mouth falls open, his eyes tremble and he seeks Gorge with a murmur and does not release his arms from her unworthy neck.

476 Hyginus (Fab. 174.7) and Ovid (Her. 9.165) note that there is a sister of Deianeira named Gorge, though whether Statius expects his reader to connect these two figures is unclear, as Deianeira’s familial connection to Tydeus is unmentioned in the epic (they are siblings; Ov. Her. 9.155). 477 Death itself is an erotic metaphor: cf. Prop. 1.10.5, cum te complexa morientem, Galle, puella; with Adams 1982, 159. 152

After the feast and celebration, Helymus goes to sleep, drunk, and wakes as Gorge is about to kill him. In this scene, the dramatic conflation of sexual and military activity has results opposite those of elegiac poetry. There, militia amoris connotes sexual activity described in martial terms; on Lemnos, the military activity of the massacre is expressed through sexual metaphors.

Helymus is described like a soldier, evoking the parallel contained in militia amoris. He is vigilant (oculis vigilantibus, 212) and sees Gorge as an enemy (hostem, 212).478 Yet his attempt to capture her (occupat, 213) results instead in an embrace (amplexu, 213). He is therefore characterized simultaneously as a soldier defending himself from attack and an eroticized lover embracing his beloved. He is blandus (216) after she has done the deed, seductive even in death, and as Gorge penetrates him with her blade, he is described as if mid-orgasm. His eyes tremble

(tremens, 216) and he murmurs (murmure, 216) his wife’s name. And although it is not directly stated, Gorge must be holding Helymus in an embrace of her own if she is close enough for her breast to touch the blade that pierces Helymus (sua pectora ferro / tangeret, 214-15).479 Flipping the script of militia amoris, the abject eroticism of this passage both hides and highlights the murder taking place. It is a form of war described in sexual acts rather than sexual metaphors.

478 She is specifically identified as a military enemy (versus, e.g., inimicus). 479 Nugent 1996, 63-64 questions whether Gorge intended to castrate Helymus: “what, specifically, Gorge was seeking with her sword in her husband’s disheveled robes?” Gorge penetrates him with her knife as if she is the active sexual partner. His description as blandus, however, suggests that he was enjoying whatever else Gorge was doing in his robes. The scene also activates questions of Hypsipyle’s viewpoint: as I discussed above, Hypsipyle has control over the narrative of the massacre. Yet, as Gibson notes, her autopsy in later passages (e.g., vidi, at 5.223) begs the question here of how she knows—and in such graphic detail—how Helymus died: Gibson 2004, 159. This is an example of Statius’ narrative obfuscation, which I discussed above. 153

Helymus’ murder is the first and longest description of death in the Lemnian massacre, but his is not the only death with erotic overtones. Hypsipyle’s two half -brothers, and

Crenaeus, die together and are marked as young and beautiful (Theb. 5.220-22):

quod te, flaue Cydon, quod te per colla refusis 220 intactum, Crenaee, comis (quibus ubera mecum obliquumque a patre genus),

[I recall] how you, blonde Cydon, how you, Crenaeus, with your hair flowing back down your neck, undefiled480 (with you I nursed at the same breast, you were, indirectly, from my father’s clan)481

Despite the brevity of this description, blonde Cydon (flave, 220) and Crenaeus with his hair flowing down his neck (per colla comis, 220-21) are particularly noted for their attractiveness.

As Gervais observes, blonde and flowing hair is a mark either of femininity or of youthful androgyny.482 These are the first murders mentioned after Helymus, and the erotic nature of his death carries over into theirs. Hypsipyle describes her half-brothers with language generally reserved for sexualized figures,483 emphasizing her relationship to them in a convoluted phrase without ever indicating how they die or at whose hand the deed is done, unlike the other murders she outlines.

480 Intactum can either refer to Crenaeus’ hair which is unshorn, or his body, which is undefiled in death. Shackleton Bailey (2003) and Ritchie and Hall (2007) both take it in the former sense. Since the manner of death is unspecified for these men exclusively, among all the dead Hypsipyle notes, it is unclear how we are to understand this adjective. Alternatively, since the introductory verb to this clause is recordor, the line could read: “I remember you when you were unharmed,” implying that Hypsipyle sees him dead and thinks of him as he was alive. 481 Shackleton Bailey translates this parenthesis more loosely to convey the sense: “You were my foster brothers, my father’s sons on the side.” 482 Gervais 2008, 71; following McKeown 1987 on Ov. Am. 1.13.2 and 1.15.35. 483 Gervais 2008, 71: “The hair of Cydon and Crenaeus—like the passivity of Helymus—marks them as feminized recipients of sexualized violence.” Dominik 1994b, 103 links Crenaeus’ death to that of Atys and Parthenopaeus, as these three young, beautiful men have “tragic deaths” that ultimately represent the “total futility of war.” 154

When Hypsipyle’s betrothed Gyas dies, Hypsipyle highlights their connection (Theb.

5.222-24):

…fortemque, timebam quem desponsa, Gyan uidi lapsare cruentae uulnere Myrmidones,

And my betrothed, Gyas—strong, I feared him—I saw him fall to the wound of bloody Myrmidone.484

Hypsipyle sees (vidi, 223) Gyas die. As her betrothed, he is the one figure whom it is appropriate for her to sexualize.485 Instead, Hypsipyle notes only that he was strong (fortem, 222) and that he died at the hands of a woman named Myrmidone (224). Rather than focusing on Gyas,

Hypsipyle reminds her audience of Argives that she was too young for marriage (quem desponsa, 223), adding that she feared her fiancé (timebam, 222), perhaps due to his strength or size.486 This fear emphasizes her youth and virginity in stark contrast to the sexuality of Gorge, further differentiating Hypsipyle from the other murderous mothers and wives. Indeed,

Hypsipyle mentions her age multiple times throughout her narration. When the other Lemnian women became relictae puellae, the unmarried Hypsipyle was too young to share their concerns

(Theb. 5.81-82):

nam me tunc libera curis / uirginitas annique tegunt

For, at that time my maidenhood and age free from those cares protected me.

484 Though surely a different person, Myrmidone is, according to Hyginus (Fab. 170) the name of one of the Danaids. Myrmidone here is likely Gyas’ mother, but is not specifically identified as such. 485 Compare, e.g., ’s reaction to the death of Atys, her betrothed: Theb. 8.641-54. 486 Nugent 1996 64n37 rightly pushes against Mozley’s translation of this line, “of whom I stood in awe.” Hypsipyle shows no emotional reaction to Gyas’ death, nor for her half-brothers Cydon and Crenaeus. Fear is a typical emotion in wedding scenes and poetry to indicate the “purity” of the bride-to-be; see discussion in Wasdin 2018, 197-201. 155

Similarly, when the murders were first plotted, she watched helplessly as the women agreed and committed the first murder.487 Thus Hypsipyle’s youth protected her from marriage to Gyas, but not from seeing him die (cruentae vulnere, 223-24).

The narrative of the massacre also balances bloodshed with lament. Many of the murderers, especially sisters and younger wives, attempt to back out of committing violence and weep when the deed is done. Lycaste, the woman with whom Hypsipyle will later leave her own children when she flees the island,488 cries over the body of her brother (Theb. 5.226-30):

flet super aequaeuum soror exarmata Lycaste Cydimon, heu similes perituro in corpore uultus aspiciens floremque genae et quas finxerat auro ipsa comas, cum saeua parens iam coniuge fuso astitit impellitque minis atque inserit ensem. 230

His sister Lycaste, disarmed, weeps over equal-aged Cydimos, looking upon his face— how similar!—as he breathes his last, and the bloom of his cheeks and his hair which she herself fashioned with gold, while her cruel parent—her own husband already fallen— stood near; she bullies Lycaste with threats and thrusts the sword into her hand.

Like the beautiful Cydon, Lycaste stresses Cydimos’ physicality, lamenting each of his features individually. She notes his face, watching as he dies (perituro in corpore, 227). One can imagine her touching his cheeks and his hair (genae, comas, 228, 229) as she looks upon him. This emphasis on Cydimos’ body sexualizes him in the same way as Hypsipyle’s emphasis on her brothers’ youth and blonde hair.489 Lycaste’s gentleness and concern are countered by the forceful nature of her mother. This unnamed saeva parens (229) drives the unwilling Lycaste to act, and has little patience for the girl’s lament or regret. Lycaste’s reluctant murder of her twin

487 Theb. 5.164-69. 488 Theb. 5.466-67. 489 The fact that these women are related to the fallen men does not alter the erotic language. Rather, this incestuous eroticism further reminds the audience of the Theban context of the epic. 156

is immediately contrasted with her the almost flippant mention of her father’s death (coniuge fuso, 229),490 which is otherwise overlooked. The saeva parens, having already committed her own deed, now urges Lycaste to follow her example.491 It is only because Lycaste’s mother is there to bully and insist (astitit, impellit, inserit, 230) that she commits the murder.

The communal violence that Hypsipyle witnesses during the Lemnian massacre is, as we have seen, entrenched in elegiac language. Although she does not commit violence, she bears witness to it and is thus its indirect victim. The specifically erotic violence that was foreshadowed at the start of Hypsipyle’s speech features most prominently in her tale of the massacre, but the massacre is not the only time when Hypsipyle is faced with suffering.

Violence: Jason

I have so far argued that Statius uses multiple elegiac topoi to encode Hypsipyle and her experiences: the Argive leaders see in her an example of elegiac misery, both she and the other

Lemnian women are separately described in the language of the relicta puella, and the Lemnian massacre is encoded with the language of elegiac militia amoris. As I will now show, Statius incorporates further elegiac language in describing Hypsipyle’s relationship with Jason. After the

Argonauts arrive on Lemnos, Venus—as I discuss further below—returns sexual activity to the island. The Lemnian women divide themselves amongst the Argonauts. As queen, it is logical that Hypsipyle is paired with Jason, the leader of his expedition. Yet while the other women seem to enjoy their new affairs,492 Hypsipyle tells her audience, the Argive leaders, that she did

490 This phrase can also be read as sexual language itself. 491 Lycaste’s mother is certainly no longer like an elegiac relicta puella: she is now the saeva puella who will do the rejecting herself. 492 Theb. 5.448-49. 157

not seek out this relationship with Jason, and that their affair was unwanted. 493 Throughout these lines, Jason is described as if he were an elegiac amator. Statius summarizes their relationship in language reminiscent of the elegiac trope of servitium amoris (Theb. 5.456-57):

…etsi blandus Iason uirginibus dare uincla nouis…

Although Jason had the persuasive power to enchain young girls…

As Hypsipyle explains her affair with Jason, she describes him as persuasive (blandus, 456), and suggests that she is not the first young woman with whom he had such an affair (virginibus novis, 457).494 The affair itself is euphemized with a metaphor from elegiac poetry: dare vincla

(457). Given the elegiac topoi already pervading Hypsipyle’s description of events on Lemnos,

Jason’s dare vincla suggests a play on the elegiac topos of servitium amoris.

The trope of servitium amoris describes the elegiac poet-lover embracing a type of servitude or abject slavery to his mistress. Similar to the trope of militia amoris in which the domina stands in for a military general or commander to the lover as a soldier, here the lover is a slave to the mistress’ every command, as I discussed in Chapter 1. The trope is commonly expressed through references to the lovers’ chains, often vincla or catenae, or through direct references to slavery and the power dynamic that this relationship assumes.

Tibullus encapsulates this trope in his programmatic first elegy, contrasting his lif estyle with that of his patron, Messalla (Tib. 1.1.53-57):

te bellare decet terra, Messalla, marique, ut domus hostiles praeferat exuvias: me retinent vinctum formosae vincla puellae, 55

493 Theb. 5.454-56. 494 And, that the maiden Hypsipyle will not be the last young woman he has an affair with, foreshadowing his departure to (and from) Medea. 158

et sedeo duras ianitor ante fores. non ego laudari curo, mea Delia; tecum dum modo sim, quaeso segnis inersque vocer.

It is right for you, Messalla, to wage war on land and sea, so that your house displays spoils from your enemy: but the chains of a beautiful girl hold me captive, and I sit as a doorman in front of her harsh doors. I do not care to be praised, my Delia; for so long as I am with you, I pray let me be called lazy and weak.

Tibullus contrasts his patron Messalla’s drive for military glory with his own commitment to his lover Delia. He notes that Messalla seeks to wage war (bellare decet, 53) in order to advertise his military success (ut praeferat exuvias, 54). In contrast, Tibullus will display himself as an exclusus amator, sitting outside Delia’s home (sedeo duras ianitor ante fores, 56). He will endure this hardship because Delia has captivated and captured him (me vinctum, 55): she has chained him with her beauty and charm (formosae vincla puellae, 55). His is a happy slavery; trapped by his love, he rejoices in the bonds.

Similarly, Propertius describes his relationship with his lover Lycinna using this same programmatic vocabulary (Prop. 3.15.9-10):

… nec femina post te ulla dedit collo dulcia uincla meo.

There’s been no other woman after you who has given sweet chains upon my neck.

Here, Propertius explains that after Lycinna, no other woman has bound him into an elegiac relationship, implying that he had been chained to Lycinna first. He describes the nature of their relationship: she had put “sweet chains” (dulcia vincla, 10) upon his neck, employing the same vincla as Tibullus’ Delia with similarly pleasurable effects.

Servitium amoris emphasizes the power differential inherent in the elegiac relationship: the domina has absolute control over the amator. This trope draws a parallel to the master/slave

159

relationship, and demands that the lover/slave be subservient and pleasing to the master/domina.

Generally, this trope is used to characterize the demanding nature of the domina and the obsequiousness of the amator, who is willing to endure much for the sake of her infrequent attention. The parallel to slavery emphasizes the pain and suffering of the elegiac lover, but that suffering is eroticized and idealized.495

Tibullus and Propertius both describe the domina setting the chains and capturing the amator. Statius, however, uses this metaphor to describe Jason entrapping Hypsipyle. Statius uses a rare collocation to indicate this trope, dare vincla: the phrase appears here in Statius, as well as in the example from Propertius quoted above, and in the Silvae with a similar erotic connotation.496

Hypsipyle describes her relationship with Jason as one of servitium amoris, as shown through her use of this phrase to describe his actions. Yet, as can be expected, Statius adjusts the elegiac trope for this epic context. Propertius and Tibullus both describe themselves as trapped by the chains of their mistress, whereas Jason is said to give chains to Hypsipyle. The gender reversal is significant. It is typical in elegiac poetry for the elegiac lover to show himself in a subservient position to his mistress.497 On the one hand, Hypsipyle’s role as the dependent

495 This power dynamic is, of course, an illusion crafted by the poet. As Wise summarizes, “but while the amator often plays with social inversion, his slavery is entirely feigned as part of his game of seduction. In reality, as [Ov. Am.] 1.7 demonstrates, he has power—social, legal, and physical—over Corinna” (Wise 2020, 75). 496 Elsewhere, it maintains its literal meaning: Virg. Geo. 4.409 with instructions on how to capture and bind , Lucan BC 3.76-77 and Sil. Ital. Pun. 3.511 on conquering territory. See also do + catena, Tib. 2.4.3. In the Silvae, Statius uses the phrase to describe Juno blessing the wedding of Stella, an elegiac poet, to Violentilla; Stat. Silv. 1.2.239-40. On the elegiac background of this epithalamium, see esp. Hersch 2007, with bibliography. 497 The elegiac poet maintains actual control over his lover, as the author of the texts in which the lovers are depicted. Yet he intentionally obscures this agency to show his subject position in the relationship. This process is clearly delineated throughout Greene 1998, who begins by illustrating Catullus’ proto- elegiac poetic position, 1-17. See also her discussion on Propertius, e.g., 38-47. In her study on Ovid, 160

slave/lover equates her with the elegiac poet and, especially, Sulpicia. Yet while the male elegiac poets flaunt their subverted masculinity and feign servitude to a woman, Sulpicia maintains the metaphor of subservience in her own subversion of elegy. Sulpicia’s poetry represents a new and distinct type of Latin elegiac poetry, wherein the subversive and submissive role the male poet undertakes is re-normalized: the woman poet-lover, already in a subject position per her gender, is also in the subject position of the elegiac amator.498

Sulpicia uses the trope of servitium amoris with regard to her lover, Cerinthus. In a poem celebrating his birthday, she claims that just as the elegiac mistresses demand servitium from their male poet-lovers, so too was Cerinthus fated to demand servitium from his young female lovers (Sulp. [Tib]. 3.11.3-4):

te nascente nouum Parcae cecinere puellis seruitium et dederunt regna superba tibi.

When you were born, the Fates sang of new slavery for youths and gave you a proud kingdom.

Cerinthus was born to be in an elegiac relationship (te nascente, 3), Sulpicia writes. She defines the role is he is to play, per the Fates (Parcae, 3): he is to enslave young women (puellis servitium, 3-4), in much the same manner that Statius depicted Jason chaining Hypsipyle.

Sulpicia, however, enjoys her entrapment. Sulpicia goes on to describe the depth of her love, and

Chapter 4, she observes that Ovid, “while exploiting the elegiac convention of the image of the amator as servus amoris, reveals, even in the opening poem in his collection of elegies, that this image is merely a rhetorical posture, a ruse for seduction and manipulation,” page 67. 498 See discussion of Sulpicia’s poetics at Keith 1997, 299-308. It is important to recognize that Sulpicia’s poetic identity is also shaped by her elite status, especially in comparison to Cerinthus’ implied lower status. Her status thus counterbalances the subject position of her gender: as with all things, Sulpicia must be understood from an intersectional perspective. Hypsipyle too is a woman and a refugee, but also a former queen and from a royal family even if she lacks royal status in Nemea. Her situation and subject position is not so cut and dry. 161

her hope that Cerinthus feels equally. She further connects her relationship with Cerinthus to the elegiac trope of servitium amoris, yet shifts this trope to fit the altered gender dynamics of her version of elegy (Sulp. [Tib]. 3.11.13-16):

Nec tu sis iniusta, Venus: uel seruiat aeque uinctus uterque tibi uel mea uincla leua; sed potius ualida teneamur uterque catena, 15 nulla queat posthac quam soluisse dies.

And do not be unjust, Venus: either let each of us, conquered, serve you equally, or make my chains light: rather let us both be held by sturdy bonds, which no day after this would be able to loosen.

Sulpicia modifies her earlier statement: not only does Cerinthus control the chains binding her, repeated here as mea vincla (14), but Venus herself can also use chains to bind the pair together

(valida teneamur catena, 15). Sulpicia uses programmatic elegiac language to express her hope that Cerinthus will return her love equally. By invoking Venus, however, Sulpicia elides her subservient position by suggesting that she and Cerinthus can be on an equal plane through their combined subservience to the goddess. Sulpicia adapts the trope of servitium amoris to model a relationship of equality with her lover, and inequality with the divine supporters of the genre.

Hypsipyle’s similarity to a narrator-figure in her extended monologue and the frequent elegiac markers within that monologue suggest a parallel between her and Sulpicia. Yet while the allusion to this elegiac trope might imply that Hypsipyle, as the woman in the relationship, should be like the domina and have some power over Jason, this is not actually the case.

Although Hypsipyle, like Sulpicia, has some control over the narrative, she still reverts to the male-dominant power structure.

Despite this connection to Sulpicia, therefore, the gendered dynamic of these elegiac chains removes any agency that Hypsipyle may have had in the elegiac trope: the domina

162

typically has control over the amator, but by reversing the gender roles and having Jason set chains upon Hypsipyle, Statius confirms that Jason retains all of the power. Jason’s power over

Hypsipyle is further emphasized by his connection to the language of the elegiac amator. Not only does he entrap her in elegiac servitude, but he also does so with blanditia, a quality typical of the persuasive elegiac lover-poet.499

Blandus and its noun blanditia are most often used to describe seductive flattery.500 In elegiac poetry, blanditiae are the persuasions the elegist uses to seduce his mistress or win her away from a rival. At the programmatic start to his second book, Ovid recalls how he returned to elegiac poetry after time with a different genre (Ov. Am. 2.1.21-22):

blanditias elegosque levis, mea tela, resumpsi mollierunt duras lenia verba fores.

I took up flattery and light elegies, my weapons; these mild words softened harsh doors.

Ovid describes his poetry as blanditiae, persuasive flattery, and “light elegy” (21). This hendiadys identifies two key aspects of elegiac poetry: it must be light and flattering in order to work, that is, in order to soften a hard mistress’ doors.501

Propertius demonstrates how such blanditia works. In 1.8, as I discussed in Chapter 1, the poet describes his actions to “win” Cynthia back from his romantic rival, the Illyrian praetor.

Whereas this rival offered Cynthia wealth and riches, Propertius offered only his poetry (Prop.

1.8b.39-40):

hanc ego non auro, non Indis flectere conchis, sed potui blandi carminis obsequio.

499 Theb. 5.456-57, etsi blandus Iason / uirginibus dare uincla nouis. 500 Cf. TLL s.v. blandus §1.a; blanditia §1.a. 501 I discussed the hierarchy of genres in in the Introduction; I discuss the metapoetic resonance of levis further below. 163

Not with gold do I bend her, nor Indian pearls, but I am able to do this by the obsequities of my flattering song.

Propertius proudly boasts that he convinced Cynthia to remain at his side in Rome simply by using his poetry, persuasive in its two qualities: blanditia and obsequium (40). Blanditia, and by extension the adjective blandus, acquires a metapoetic connotation and may refer to the genre of elegiac poetry itself. As James describes, “elegiac sexual persuasion is performed chiefly by blanditiae, flatteries, accompanied by ethical appeals, with relatively little logical argumentation added for support.”502 Elegiac poetry must be “intensely persuasive” to convince a greedy girl that poetry is more valuable than material goods.503 Thus, in elegiac poetry, the lovers persuade by means of blanditiae. Jason’s description as blandus, therefore, suggests that he has these same persuasive qualities as the Roman love elegist, able to cast chains upon Hypsipyle and attach himself to her against her will.

The first time Statius describes Jason, the elegiac background of his character is highlighted. From their vantage point along the cliff, the Lemnian women, including Hypsipyle, watch the Argonauts struggle against a storm sent by Jupiter as they approach the island. 504

Among the other Argonauts,505 Hypsipyle sees Jason, the leader of the expedition, giving encouragement to his men as they struggle to bring the ship to a safe harbor (Theb. 5.403-4):

502 James 2001, 226n11. She cites, e.g., Tib. 1.2.91; Prop. 1.7.19, 1.8.40, 1.9.12, 3.23.13; Am. 1.12.22, 2.1.19-22; Ars 1.439, 455, 467-68, 480. 2.152, 159. See also Keith 1994, 32, on the metapoetic signaling of blanditiae in Ovid’s Amores to refer to elegiac poetry. 503 James 2003b, 12. 504 Theb. 5.361-421. I discuss this scene and the hostility of the Lemnian women in more detail in Chapter 3. 505 Other Argonauts identified in this passage: the sons of , 398; sons of Ancaeus, 399; Iphitus, 400; Hercules, 401; the son of , 405; , 405; , 405; and one of the sons of Tyndareus (either Castor or Pollux), 407; and Calais, 408. Jason’s presence is highlighted by Hypsipyle’s focalization. 164

at leuis et miserae nondum mihi notus Iason transtra per et remos…

But Jason, light and not yet known to wretched me, leaping over beams and oars…

Hypsipyle alludes to her future relationship with Jason by describing him as “not yet known” to her (nondum notus, 403),506 and using the adjective miserae to proleptically describe herself

(403). She also describes Jason as levis (403). At first glance, this is because he leaps around the deck (404), offering a helping hand to his sailors; however, this adjective also has a metapoetic connotation that links it to elegiac poetry.

In the Introduction, I discussed the concept of the hierarchies of genre: based on meter and subject matter, epic poetry is considered a more “heavy” or “weighty” genre, while comedy, at the other end of the spectrum, is light. The elegiac poets refer to the “lightness” of elegy as a programmatic short-hand for the genre. Ovid opens his Amores with programmatic vocabulary identifying his generic framework, complaining at Amor’s influence turning his poetic production from epic to elegy (Ov. Am. 1.1.1-2):

Arma gravi numero violentaque bella parabam edere, materia conveniente modis.

I was getting ready to publish arms and violent war in weighty meter, material appropriate to its manner.

As I have discussed, this introduction confirms Ovid’s generic definitions: epic poetry, described in the hexameter of this couplet, is characterized by weapons (arma), violent war (violenta bella), and a weighty meter (gravi numero). In terms reminiscent of Aristotle’s generic definitions, Ovid clarifies that these topics (materia) were appropriate (conveniente) to the meter

506 I discuss this phrase again in Chapter 4. 165

he had chosen (modis, referring to the epic hexameter).507 Later in this same poem, Ovid refers to the fact that he has no lover, and thus no material for this new meter (Am. 1.1.19-20):

nec mihi materia est numeris levioribus apta, aut puer aut longas compta puella comas.

Nor do I have a topic appropriate for this lighter meter; either a boy or a girl with long hair, done up.

As he did at the start of the poem, Ovid uses materia (2; 19) to refer to the topic of his poem.

Apta (19) recalls his earlier conveniente (2), confirming that there is a rationale behind pairing of topic and meter: the “Aristotelian notions of literary propriety,” as Harrison explains. Harrison further notes that levioribus also recalls gravi numero from the first line, emphasizing the importance of meter as well as the difference between “weighty” hexameters and this “lighter” elegiac couplet.508 Ovid further confirms that the appropriate topic (19) for the elegiac couplet is a love story, either for a pretty boy or girl (20).509 This adjective levioribus acts as a definition for elegiac poetry, especially in comparison to the rejected epic.510

Another important concept conveyed by levis in elegiac poetry is sexual infidelity, which,

I suggest, Statius implies here. Propertius uses levis in this way to criticize Cynthia in one of the poems where he promises to leave her (Prop. 2.5.28):

Cynthia forma potens, Cynthia verba levis

507 Cf. Arist. Poet. 1459b with Harrison 2007a, esp. 6-8. 508 Harrison 2007a, 7. See also Ov. Am. 3.1.41, Ars 2.17-20; Hor. AP 231. 509 James 1998, 43: “hence Ovid’s use of levis for the love poet, and the intimation that lightness also characterizes the poetic material of love, as well as the love poet’s attitude.” 510 Harrison 2007a, 7: “for example, Propertius 2.1.39-42 and 3.3.15-24 and Ovid Fasti 2.125-6, all rejecting epic subject‐matter as too ‘big’ for elegy; or in other metagenerically reflexive moments where the subject‐matter seems to be becoming inappropriate for the , for example, Horace Odes 3.3.69 non hoc iocosae conveniet lyrae, ‘this will not suit my frivolous lyre’, where the material is getting too ‘heavy’ for lyric…”. 166

Cynthia, powerful in beauty: Cynthia, fickle in speech.

In this rebuke, Propertius recalls the reason he has loved Cynthia: her beauty (forma), and the reason he wants to leave her: her promises cannot be trusted (levis).511 Earlier, in Book 1,

Propertius called Cynthia levis for turning her back on him without just cause (Prop. 1.18.9-12):

quid tantum merui? quae te mihi crimina mutant? an nova tristitiae causa puella tuae? 10 sic mihi te referas, levis, ut non altera nostro limine formosos intulit ulla pedes.

Why am I deserving of such a reaction from you? What “crimes” are changing your mind against me? Is a new girl the cause of your sorrow? If it should bring you back to me, fickle one, no other woman has brought her beautiful feet upon my threshold.

In both of these examples, levis is the shorthand for Propertius’ rebuke of Cynthia. Her attitude is flighty, both in love generally and in her affection for Propertius specifically. As I discussed in detail in Chapter 1, jealousy is a powerful motivating force in elegiac poetry, and Statius uses erotic jealousy in the Thebaid as a place to explore elegiac tensions. I suggest that the word levis to describe Jason in his first appearance in the text recalls these elegiac definitions. Jason’s entire character is summed up in this moment, and Statius foreshadows the trajectory of his mythological path: he will abandon Hypsipyle, then Medea: he is notoriously “fickle.” Within the elegiac context of Hypsipyle’s speech, Jason’s description as levis suggests this generic background, beyond her description of his being “light on his feet.” 512 In these few lines, Jason is

511 Cf. Prop. 1.15.1, Cynthia’s fickleness is called levitas. In a couplet excised from 2.1, the speaker suggests that Helen has proven to be a model for levis puellas: si memini, solet illa levis culpare puellas, / et totam ex Helena non probat Iliada, 2.1.49-50. See also, e.g., Prop. 2.16.26, 2.24b.18; Tib. 1.1.73, 1.9.40. 512 In addition to this elegiac background, levis may suggest a particularly Callimachean resonance to Jason’s character. While levis recalls elegiac ideals, it also may refer to a key term from the Callimachean 167

described with metapoetic elegiac keywords (levis), given elegiac motives (blandus), and characterized with an elegiac trope (servitium amoris).

I argue that Jason’s relationship with Hypsipyle, within this elegiac vocabulary, is also characterized by violence. This violence is both literal and metaphorical, and is expressed in a few different ways throughout the passage. First and most clearly, Hypsipyle describes her relationship with Jason as non-consensual.513 Hypsipyle repeats multiple times throughout the monologue that she did not want to be in this relationship, and that in fact Jason impregnated her without her desire (Theb. 5.454-56):

…cineres furiasque meorum testor ut externas non sponte aut crimine taedas 455 attigerim (scit cura deum)…

By my own ashes and furies, I swear that it was not willingly, nor was it my crime that I came to foreign wedding torches (the concern of the gods knows).

Hypsipyle swears (454-55) that she did not willingly enter into this relationship (non sponte), and that she should not be held responsible for it (crimine, 455). She emphasizes that Jason was a foreigner (externas taedas, 455), perhaps unnecessarily given that all of the Lemnian men are dead, while also confirming that the pair were married.514 Her lengthy oath and direct plea both to the gods (456) and her Argive audience (454-55) emphasizes the importance of her statement: she wants to be believed, and insists that her marriage was undesired. Later, she describes her pregnancy and repeats that her relationship was unwanted (Theb. 5.463-66);

aesthetic, λεπτότης (cf. Call. Aet. fr. 1.11); cf. Newman 2006, 24. This background adds to the elegiac reading of Jason’s character, while further complicating his generic presence in the text. 513 Ganiban 2007, 91, comes close in calling Jason “nearly a rapist, for whom Hypsipyle has no passion.” 514 Attingo + taeda is a unique form (appearing twice in extant literature), and only here to mean marriage. See attingo TLL s.v. §IV.2. The only other time these words appear together is in Suet. Ner. 38.1, where describes Nero and his household setting fire to the city of Rome. 168

nec non ipsa tamen, thalami monimenta coacti, enitor geminos, duroque sub hospite mater nomen aui renouo; nec quae relictis 465 nosse datur:

And in fact, I as well brought forth twins, monuments to a forced bed; and, a mother because of a harsh guest, I renewed the name of the grandfather; nor is it possible for me to know what fate befell them, left behind.515

Hypsipyle repeats this characterization of her relationship: her affair with Jason was unwanted

(thalami coacti, duro hospite, 463-64).516 Though she took the opportunity to remember her father (nomen avi, 464),517 Hypsipyle’s children are a reminder of this marriage (monimenta,

463) and she expresses regret that she does not know their fate (nec quae fortuna, 465).518 By calling her sons relictis (465), she acknowledges that she was forced to abandon them even as she laments that Jason did the same to her.

These statements confirm that the affair with Jason was unwanted, on her part.

Confirming her direct statements to this effect, the phrase thalami coacti (463) is an intratext to

Book 1: Adrastus tells the story of Crotopus’ daughter ,519 who unwillingly bears a child by Apollo.520 After both mother and child are killed—the infant by wild dogs,521 Psamathe by Crotopus as punishment for bearing the child—Apollo sends a monster to torment Argos.

When she first becomes pregnant and chooses to hide her child, Psamathe explains that Crotopus

515 In line 466 I supply an implied mihi; in line 465 I understand quae…relictis as an indirect question with another verb in ellipsis. 516 Compare, e.g., coactus at Ov. Her. 6.57, when Hypsipyle recalls Jason “forced” to leave Lemnos to sail to Colchis, or coegit at 6.97 of Medea “forcing” Jason to sleep with (and marry) her. 517 See Nugent 1996, 51 on the connection between this phrase and the proem. 518 This foreshadows the fact that the episode ends with a reunion between mother and sons, as I discuss in Chapter 3. 519 She is never named by Statius. 520 Theb. 1.561-668. 521 The passage is a parallel to the death of Opheltes, as I discuss further in Chapter 3; for example, both infants are killed by wild animals. 169

would never forgive her affair: neque enim ille coactis / donasset thalamis veniam pater (Theb.

1.578-79).522 These lines clarify her relationship with Apollo as rape.523 Statius uses the same phrase for Hypsipyle as he did for Psamathe, confirming that Hypsipyle’s affair with Jason was undesired. Whether Jason used literal or metaphorical violence to coerce Hypsipyle, the end result was a young woman who was forced into a sexual relationship that she did not want.

Another level of non-literal violence in the relationship between Jason and Hypsipyle is set up by the elegiac language of Jason’s characterization. This generic background sets up a false expectation for the nature of their relationship. Since Jason is described with the language of an elegiac amator, it is easy to assume that, like an elegiac relationship, Jason and Hypsipyle have a passionate, romantic connection. This expectation is validated by the prior literary history of Jason’s affair with Hypsipyle. A detailed account of their relationship is provided in only three sources beyond the Thebaid: Apollonius, Ovid, and Valerius. In all three, the author conveys

Hypsipyle’s happiness at her relationship with Jason, her romantic attachment to him, and her deep sorrow at his departure.524 In Statius’ version, however, Hypsipyle articulates a different, subjective interpretation of the famous scenario.

I suggest that Jason’s elegiac allusions and Hypsipyle’s own literary history sets up the expectation that Statius’ version of their story will tell the same romantic plot of passion and abandonment. The reality of the situation, however, subverts that expectation, as Hypsipyle’s reality offers an unexpected follow-through. I argue that Hypsipyle’s portrayal of her

522 “For even her father would not give her forgiveness for a forced union.” 523 See also the initial description of their affair; Theb. 1.575, passa deum “she endured the god.” Further, Adrastus specifies that she is very young, and a virgin, as well as pious and beautiful: primis et pubem ineuntibus annis / mira decore pios servabat nata penates / intemerata toris (571-73). 524 Ap. Rhod. Arg. 1.842-53, 885-909; V. Fl. Arg. 2.351-56, 400-25; Ov. Her. 6.25-30, 119-22; see also Prop. 1.15.18-19. 170

relationship with Jason is an reversal of this elegiac expectation, further signaling the violence of their union. Because the elegiac language makes the scene appear to be a passionate relationship between amator and domina, the end result—rape—is especially jarring.525

In another reading, however, the elegiac portrayal of Jason’s character sets up not passion, but violence. As I discussed in Chapter 1, the elegiac relationship is not immune to brutality. The elegists comment that they do not enjoy violence, and often regret it in the aftermath, but nevertheless Tibullus, Propertius, and especially Ovid regularly violate their puellae.526 I discussed above how Jason’s characterization within the trope of servitium amoris actually reverses the subverted gender dynamic of elegy: while in elegiac poetry, the amator is

“enslaved” by the domina, Jason takes on the active role of “chaining” his lover. The fact that this relationship involves rape is therefore not entirely surprising. The elegiac preface to Jason’s character serves both to subvert and to reify the expectations of the genre: his relationship with

Hypsipyle is not one of elegiac passion on her part, but it is on his.527

525 I see no evidence that Hypsipyle is lying, or misrepresenting her relationship with Jason, as, e.g., Gibson 2004, 164, who rejects the claims of Statius’ Hypsipyle simply on the grounds that Ovid’s Hypsipyle is clearly in love with Jason. Instead, I see this as a mark of Statius’ innovation in expanding and developing Hypsipyle’s characterization while maintaining the basic outline of the previous versions of the myth. In addition, rape is not unelegiac: sexual violence, as I noted in Chapter 1 and above in this chapter, is a prevalent theme in elegiac poetry, and is often eroticized or made playful. Statius takes elegiac sexual violence and inserts it into an epic setting. 526 This violation is both physical and sexual, as I discuss in Chapter 1. See Wise 2020 on trauma responses in Ovid’s victims; “while the other elegists hint at sexual violence (Tibullus 1.6, 1.10; Propertius 2.5), Ovid explicitly describes the amator’s physical violence and dramatizes the victim’s immediate emotional reaction [in Ov. Am. 1.7]” (Wise 2020, 75). 527 As I noted above, the power dynamic of servitium amoris—that is, the absolute control of the domina—is a poetic farce. Jason’s power over Hypsipyle, therefore, serves to expose the “true” dynamic underlying the elegiac relationship. 171

Agency, Divinity, Power

Hypsipyle blames Jason for their relationship, and Statius validates her blame by characterizing Jason via elegiac topoi. Hypsipyle also complicates the agency of the Lemnian massacre. As I will argue, during Hypsipyle’s description of the massacre, she removes agency from the Lemnian women and excuses their actions by attributing the crime directly to Venus.

Hypsipyle notes Venus’ presence throughout the events leading to the murder: Polyxo saw

Venus in a dream,528 and as the women gather to cement their commitment to violence, Venus is present as a witness. Yet unlike the other “witnesses” she takes direct action (Theb. 5.155-58):

hic sanxere fidem, tu Martia testis 155 atque inferna , Stygiaeque Acheronte recluso ante preces uenere deae; sed fallit ubique mixta Venus, Venus arma tenet, Venus admouet iras.

Here they pledged their faith; you were witness, Martial Enyo, and you, Ceres of the underworld, and the Stygian goddesses came— was thrown open—even before the prayers; but Venus mixes through the crowd everywhere in secret; Venus holds the weapons, Venus leads forth anger.

The group of divinities is appropriate to the scene: Enyo, war-goddess, inferna Ceres, a circumlocution for , and the goddesses of the underworld. These female divinities have associations with warfare, bloodshed, and death. Venus comes at the end of the list and her name is repeated three times in a single line, dramatically emphasizing her presence. While Enyo and the others are only named, Venus is the subject of multiple verbs (fallit, 157, tenet, admovet

158) as she seems to drive Charops’ wife to murder her son (5.159-63). Venus not only watches the sacrifice but actively participates in it. The verbs Hypsipyle uses for her assigns Venus unexpected attributes: secrecy, weaponry, and anger. On one hand, these attributes draw Venus

528 Discussed above; 5.135-38. 172

closer to Enyo, Persephone, and the Stygian goddesses. On the other, Venus looks much more bellicose and violent than in her standard depiction.

After the massacre is over, Hypsipyle once again identifies Venus as the companion of destructive female divinities, and a participant in the massacre (Theb. 5.302-3):

iam manus Eumenidum captasque refugerat arces exaturata Venus.

Now the band of Furies and Venus, satiated, flee the captured strongholds.

Given that they grammatically share the verb refugerat (302), Venus leaves Lemnos in the company of the Furies. Captas arces (302) describes the violence of the previous night. The phrase, recalling the trope of urbs capta, suggests that the massacre was like a siege.529 By using military language, Hypsipyle suggests the extent of the damage the women have performed. The

Lemnian massacre is an act of vengeance, especially according to Polyxo’s justifications, so the

Eumenides are fully appropriate in this context. As companions of Venus, however, they lend the goddess of love and sex their more negative attributes: their combined presence demonstrates the depth of Venus’ desire for vengeance against the Lemnian women for neglecting of her worship.

This reinforces the portrayal of a Venus who actively thirsts for bloodshed, exaturata (303)530 only as she leaves the fallen city.531 While this word commonly appears with a direct object specifying what, exactly, the subject is satiated with—like Juno not being satisfied in her anger

529 The massacre is further sexualized by this metaphor, as the urbs in the trope is often personified with language of sexual penetration and violence. On the urbs capta motif in Latin literature, see esp. Paul 1982, with Ziolkowski 1993, 73; Keith 2000, 102-4 and Kennedy 1993, esp. 53 on the sexualization of this motif in elegiac poetry; in general, for the erotic metaphor in city-sacking see Adams 1982, 145-51. 530 This rare verb is alternately spelled exsat-. It appears 3 other times in Statius, all with the same spelling; Hill’s edition prints one alternate spelling in the apparatus criticus, at 1.214, with exsat- (compare exat- at 6.83 and 6.176). 531 This is also likely a sexual pun as Venus has been “worn out” by her battles; cf. Adams 1982, 196. 173

(Virg. Aen. 5.781)—here, Venus is simply satisfied. Presumably, she has had her fill of bloodshed and slaughter by the end of a night of murders. I therefore suggest that the verb exaturata confirms that Hypsipyle, the narrator of the episode, considered Venus an active participant in the massacre. For her to be satiated, she must have been involved. With her presence in their midst, none of the Lemnian women could have resisted her urging. 532

Venus also acts before the massacre begins. Here, she returns sexual activity to the island as a prelude to slaughter (Theb. 5.192-94):

…dederat mites Cytherea suprema nocte uiros longoque breuem post tempore pacem nequiquam et miseros perituro adflauerat igni.

Cytherea, on their final night, gave the women gentle husbands and a brief peace after such a long time, and breathed into those wretched men, in vain, a short-lived flame.

After the Lemnian men return, Venus revokes her earlier injunction against sexual intercourse between Lemnian couples533 and arouses desire in the men. She allows the Lemnians one night of sex before the men are to be murdered. While Venus gives the men to the Lemnian women, only the men are identified with a noun (viros, 193) and two adjectives (mites, 192; miseros,

194). The women have been identified in the previous sentence (manus impia, nuptae, 190), but are not grammatically specified once Venus appears. This action neatly belies Polyxo’s implication that the men were seeking new Thracian concubines to make wives. The men had not had sexual intercourse for a long time, longo post tempore (193), suggesting that they had not, in

532 While Hypsipyle implies Venus’ presence on the island, she can, at the same time, be viewed as an allegory for the uncontrollable erotic passions that led to the murders and their sexual contexts. 533 Theb. 5.70-74. 174

fact, slept with Thracian women while on their campaign. Their desire is in vain (194), however, with nequiquam enjambed to highlight further their impending doom.534

The short-lived desire Venus inspires (perituro adflauerat igni, 194) is further connected to the themes of Latin love elegy at play throughout Hypsipyle’s story. Tibullus speaks of a gentle Amor breathing on lovers535 and Venus who breathes into the herd, putting mares in heat.536 With this same verb, Tibullus describes two instances of sexual desire arising from divine inspiration. Because Venus performs this action for animals, it is clear that the sense is sexual desire and not romantic love, though lust can be an aspect of romance. When Venus goes to seduce Vulcan in the Aeneid in order to persuade him to make a shield for her son Aeneas, she also “breathes love” upon him.537 The result of Venus’ persuasion is that Vulcan creates the shield, but also that the pair engage in sexual intercourse, indicating that her amor here suggests sexual desire.538

In Statius, Venus breathes desire into the Lemnian men on their first—and last—night home. The sexual act they will undertake due to her persuasive effort comes as the prelude to war. It is with Venus’ agency that the murders have erotic connotation. In the case of Gorge and

Helymus, discussed above, the distinction between these two acts (the erotic and the murderous) is unclear. Venus uses her power to elide this distinction and eroticize warfare.

534 This rhetorical flair seems redundant on top of suprema nocte (192-93) and brevem pacem (193). The frequent repetition of this fact adds to the sense of inevitability of the murders, as well as Hypsipyle’s helplessness—for as many times as she retells the story and relives her horror, she cannot change the outcome. 535 Tib. 2.1.80, felix, cui placidus leniter adflat Amor; cf. 2.3.71-72. 536 Tib. 2.4.57, indomitis gregibus Venus adflat amores. 537 Virg. Aen. 8.372-73, dictis diuinum aspirat amorem, “breathes divine love with her words.” 538 Virg. Aen. 8.387-406. Similarly, Venus commands Cupid to breathe love upon Dido: Virg. Aen. 1.687- 88, occultum inspires ignem. On the wider distinction of amor versus cupido or ignis, see Gutzwiller 2015. The distinction between these terms in Statius is not as significant as their generalized erotic signaling. 175

Hypsipyle’s narrative frames Venus and Polyxo as the mortal and divine agents of the

Lemnian massacre. The characterization of the Lemnian women as elegiac relictae puellae is innocent; it is only when Polyxo introduces the concept of erotic jealousy that the women turn away from harmless lament toward active violence. Their weeping and tears from watching the men sail to Thrace becomes sex that ends in war and death. As Hypsipyle describes it, the only reason the women committed these actions is because of Venus and her agent Polyxo. Polyxo’s initial urging is amplified and extended by Venus’ continued presence. In this way, Hypsipyle seems to deflect some blame from their actions during the massacre by attributing not only the agency of the idea, but also the actual violence, to Venus.

Soon after the massacre, Jason and the Argonauts arrive at Lemnos and are met with a violent, but weak Lemnian population. As I will discuss further in Chapter 3, the women are afraid that the conquered Thracians have come to take revenge on the Lemnian men, and attempt to scare the ship away. Venus is again given direct agency in the story but, this time her role is to end the violence, and she is again joined by an unexpected partner. Hypsipyle states that Venus, accompanied by Juno, returns after the massacre to set desire into the hearts of the Lemnian women (Theb. 5.445-52):

ergo iterum Venus et tacitis corda aspera flammis 445 Lemniadum pertemptat Amor. tunc regia Iuno arma habitusque uirum pulchraeque insignia gentis mentibus insinuat, certatimque ordine cunctae hospitibus patuere fores; tunc primus in aris ignis, et infandis uenere obliuia curis; 450 tunc epulae felixque sopor noctesque quietae, nec superum sine mente, reor, placuere fatentes.

Then again Venus, and Amor with silent flames tempts the harsh hearts of the Lemnian women. Then queenly Juno puts forth the arms and outfit of the men and the signs of their glorious race into their minds, and aggressively the collective doors opened to their guests, one after the other; then there was the first flame upon the altars, and forgetfulness, through sex, of the cares they could not speak of; then there were feasts, 176

and happy stupor, and quiet nights; confessing, they gave satisfaction, I believe, not without the approval of the gods.

In this passage, Hypsipyle describes the drastically different response that the Lemnian women had to the arrival of the Argonauts than they did to their husbands’ return. These new men are welcomed as guests (hospitibus, 449) and treated to feasts (epulae, 451) and sexual favors

(felixque sopor noctesque quietae; venere, 450-51). Hypsipyle attributes the actions of the

Lemnian women to the influence of Venus (445), Amor (446), and Juno (446). This is the first time that Juno has been cited on the island. Her involvement confirms that these new associations between the Lemnian women and the men of the Argo are to be considered marriages.

These three divinities have worked together before: in Apollonius’ Argonautica, Hera convinces Aphrodite to have Eros inflame Medea with love for Jason.539 Venus and Juno have also worked together in the Aeneid: in Book 4, Juno and Venus agree to help

“get together.” Venus confirms that she sees through Juno’s ulterior motive to get Aeneas to stay with Dido in Carthage, and keep worship there, but helps her anyway for her own goals. 540 Yet these two goddesses do not often work toward the same objectives. Elsewhere in the Aeneid, their opposition is a significant driving force in the action of the story. This conflict is explicit in the opening to Book 10, as the goddesses argue at a concilium deorum over the impending war between Aeneas’ Trojans and Turnus’ Italians. Statius alludes to this passage when Juno

539 Ap. Rhod. Arg. 3.7-110; cf. V. Fl. Arg. 6.427-79. 540 Virg. Aen. 4.90-128. Feeney 1991, 343 notes Juno’s unusual beneficence in the epic: “Juno, for example, will prove in this poem to be very different from her normal self. At the end of the poem, therefore, Statius has her dwell for a moment on the traditional malevolence which she has not embodied here, as she refuses to follow up her resentment against the moon-goddess for her actions on the night of Hercules’ conception.” I return to Juno’s lack of antagonism in the scene with in Chapter 4. 177

criticizes Venus for the inappropriateness of her urging toward war, given her domain (Virg.

Aen. 10.86-97):

est Paphus Idaliumque tibi, sunt alta Cythera: quid gravidam bellis urbem et corda aspera temptas?

Paphus and Idalius are yours, as is lofty Cythera. Why do you tempt a city heavy with war, and harsh hearts?

Juno suggests that the situation in Italy is tense, and could spark to a full-blown war with little incentive. Her description of Latinus’ city and its people suggests their readiness for battle

(gravidam bellis urbem et corda aspera, 10.87). Juno questions Venus’ influence on the situation.541 Yet it is these same “harsh hearts” that Venus and Juno influence together in Statius.

The repetition of temptas (Virg. Aen. 10.87) in Statius’ pertemptat (Theb. 5.446) confirms the allusion. In addition, Statius’ arma habitusque virum (5.447) repeats the programmatic Virgilian arma virumque, signaling the reader to look for a broader connection to the Aeneid.

Juno’s presence on Lemnos comes as a surprise: she has not been mentioned previously, and her assistance is unexpected. Her machinations in delaying the Argonauts with new Lemnian wives is both a reminder to the reader of Valerius’ and Apollonius’ Argonauticae and a foreshadowing of that plot, since Jason abandons Hypsipyle to sail to Colchis and Medea. The allusions to the Aeneid, however, complicate Venus and Juno’s connection. The Aeneid stresses their antagonism throughout the epic. This relationship is hinted in Statius by the repetition of corda aspera, a phrase that occurs in Latin literature only in these two loci, and the use of certatim at Theb. 5.448. Just like Statius’ use of certatim to describe the assistance of the

Telchines in creating the necklace of Harmonia (2.275, see Chapter 1), here the word denotes the

541 Harrison 1991, ad loc clarifies temptas as “work on, try to influence.” 178

aggression, hostility, and inherent combative nature of the scene. Certatim literally describes the

Lemnian women fighting over the Argonaut men. On one level, this contrasts their fight against their sons and husbands, who were slaughtered at Venus’ urging. On another level, however, certatim denotes the combative allusive practice Statius exhibits here and throughout the

Thebaid. Venus’ constructive influence with Juno further highlights her destructive agency during the massacre.542 Further, her benevolence belies the fact that while this act brings happiness and pleasure to the other Lemnian women, it is the source of Jason’s violence against

Hypsipyle.

As I have shown, Hypsipyle’s narratorial persona infects the epic frame of her narrative with elegiac influence. At the beginning of her narrative, the combined allusions to Virgil and

Propertius indicate that she will combine generic elements from elegy and epic, a theme which is carried throughout the episode. In their most basic forms, elegy and epic represent love and war, respectively. Ovid’s Fasti presents Venus as programmatically “in charge” of love and elegy, while Mars oversees war as well as epic. Statius’ Hypsipyle presents a Venus who balances and combines love and war through a deadly application of the trope of militia amoris. On Lemnos,

Venus is not just the goddess of sex or of elegy with violent habits. I suggest she is the goddess of militia amoris drawn to fatal extremes.543

Venus is the goddess of militia amoris due to her connection to Mars. Statius reminds us of this connection during the massacre: as Hypsipyle leads her father Thoas safely off the island, saving his life in the middle of the massacre, Thoas’ father Bacchus appears to help. Bacchus

542 As I discuss further in Chapter 3, Venus brings the Argonauts to the beds of the Lemnian women, where they will produce children and revive the barren state of the island. 543 After Venus banishes desire from the island (5.70), Amor is absent from Lemnos and reappears only at 5.428, as I discuss above. 179

guides Thoas (and Hypsipyle) through the city and advises the pair to go to a particular city gate away from Venus. As he does so, he questions Venus’ apparent enthusiasm for the fighting (Stat.

Theb. 5.280-83):

…illa, qua rere silentia, porta 280 stat funesta Venus ferroque accincta furentes adiuuat (unde manus, unde haec Mauortia diuae pectora?).

At that gate where you think there is just silence, deadly Venus stands, armed with a sword, helping the raging women (whence this band, whence this Martial heart in the goddess?).

As Bacchus warns Hypsipyle and Thoas, he describes Venus as “deadly” (funesta, 281), armed

(ferro, 281), and helping a group of Lemnian women (furentes, 281). In a parenthetical statement, he expresses his surprise (unde, 282) and pointedly notes that this Venus is more bloodthirsty than he expected. Bacchus is shocked at Venus’ martial tendencies (Mavortia pectora, 282-83), yet Venus’ violence throughout this episode is due to her link with Mars. 544

Venus has been connected to Mars since Vulcan caught them sleeping together, as Statius

544 Gervais 2008, 33 notes that Bacchus’ description of Venus here “echoes the description of Virgil’s Juno: hic Iuno Scaeas saevissima portas / prima tenet sociumque furens a navibus agmen / ferro accincta vocat (“here Juno, fiercest of all, is the first to hold the Scaean gates and in her frenzy, girt with iron, she calls her allied troops from their ships,” Aen. 2.612-14),” and emphasizes that Venus’ appearance is witnessed only by Bacchus, who reports it indirectly to Hypsipyle. Gervais goes on to emphasize that “the only evidence for Venus’ role in the Lemnian massacre turns out to be second-hand information, from characters whose motives we may question,” (34) suggesting that the Lemnian women are deflecting blame from themselves by invoking the gods. Instead, I consider the agency to be in the opposite direction: Hypsipyle’s narrative emphasizes the presence of the gods, so it is she who suggests their agency to deflect blame from the Lemnian women. Even as an exile, Hypsipyle tries to protect her countrywomen. 180

described in Book 2.545 Bacchus’ Mavortia is a direct callback to that scene and Mars’ erotic relationship with Venus (Mavortia furta, Theb. 2.269).546

Venus and Mars are often paired together in the epic, either through a glimpse at them together, a reference to their joint offspring in Thebes through their daughter Harmonia,547 or to their affair more generally.548 Venus herself references the illicit nature of their relationship

(Theb. 3.273-74):

…hoc fama pudorque relictus, hoc mihi Lemniacae de te meruere catenae?

Is this what my reputation and abandoned shame, what the Lemnian chains deserve from you?

Venus here attempts to bully Mars out of starting the war against their descendants in Thebes.

She uses a variety of arguments to sway him, including this reference to the first trap Vulcan set against the two. Venus recalls the rumors (fama, 273) that spread, and her shame (pudor, 273) at being caught.549 The catenae (274) are the same as those Statius recalls Vulcan using in Book 2

(2.271). Venus calls the chains Lemniacae (274), referring to Vulcan’s connection with

Lemnos.550 I suggest that she uses this reference as a key part of her argument: Venus reminds

545 Theb. 2.269-96. 546 In Chapter 1, I argued that Statius drew a parallel between Venus’ relationship with Mars and the language of elegiac relationships. 547 Theb. 3.271, 9.823-24. 548 Mars as the adulter, Theb. 7.61-63; Amor as the child of Mars and Venus, 10.103, alluding to a tradition from Simonides, PMG 575. 549 Ovid calls this story “the most famous in all the heavens,” Ov. Ars 2.561, and both he and Homer reference the gods gathering to point and laugh at the pair caught in the chains before they are released. 550 He is called Lemnius at 2.269; the Lemnians took him in after Jupiter cast him from Olympus, and he pretended to visit the island in the Iliad in order to lure Aphrodite and Ares into his trap. I discuss this connection more fully in Chapter 1. 181

Mars of the pain and shame that she endured for their love, and challenges Mars to feel similar shame by standing by his lover rather than Jupiter’s commands.

Now on Lemnos itself, Venus is called Mavortia, referring to her new lover on her husband’s special island. Venus’ role as the goddess of now-fatal erotic jealousy is influenced and infected by Vulcan’s revenge for her affair. As I noted above, Valerius Flaccus’ version of the massacre describes Venus’ savagery against Lemnos specifically because of the connection that the Lemnians have with Vulcan. Statius’ Lemnos is inspired by Valerius’, yet while Valerius explicit outlines the link between Vulcan and the Lemnians, Statius only leaves clues for his reader. Putting these pieces together, Statius’ Venus instigates the Lemnian massacre to retaliate not only against mortals who have declined to worship her properly, but also against the husband who caused this fama and pudor relictus.551

In Chapter 1, I argued that Statius described Vulcan’s motivation for creating the cursed necklace of Harmonia in the language of erotic jealousy. From this foundation, the necklace carried elegiac tropes through the women who wear it, escalating elegiac topoi into epic conclusions. Here on Lemnos, Statius directly links Vulcan and the curse of Harmonia’s necklace with the events of the massacre through a series of verbal parallels. 552 Venus’

551 Throughout the text, Venus does not seem to care about mortals aside from the Thebans, and these only based on their connection to her via the Harmonia. At no point does she herself go onto the battlefield, like Aphrodite did in Homer, or take any other direct action indicating a strong connection to any of the mortals. She does beg Mars to delay the war (Theb. 3.260-301) and, when takes to the battle to support the Argive forces, urges Mars to remove her, though this is out of embarrassment that the virgin goddess is more bellicose than the war-god, combined with a general sense of protection for “her” Thebans (9.821-40). Venus’ lack of direct agency in the civil war at Thebes contrasts directly with her agency on Lemnos. Venus is the genetrix of Thebes, yet—significantly unlike her iteration in the Aeneid—she does very little to support her people. 552 This is another blurred area between Statius’ authorial perspective and Hypsipyle’s point of view as an internal character. Perhaps as a way to acknowledge that Hypsipyle is a character within the text and, as such, cannot know key vocabulary from earlier in the epic, Statius couches the introduction to the massacre as a series of rumors. As Hypsipyle describes the situation on Lemnos leading to the men 182

relationship with Mars, the origin of Vulcan’s jealousy, combine with her need for revenge against the island.

Hypsipyle’s narrative explains why the Lemnian men left the island by describing how no one has been getting married or having sex. In this description, she identifies three personified emotions that are reigning on the island: Odia, Furor, and Discordia (Theb 5.71-74):

mutus uersaeque faces et frigida iusti cura tori. nullae redeunt in gaudia noctes, nullus in amplexu sopor est, Odia aspera ubique et Furor et medio recubat Discordia lecto.

Hymen was mute and the torches were turned over and care of the rightful bed was made cold. No nights return in joy, no one sleeps in an embrace, harsh Hatred is everywhere, and Fury and in the middle of the bed lies Discord.

Hymen, the god of marriage, is left lonely with nothing to do. Instead of overseeing weddings,

Hymen is silent.553 Beds that ought to be the site of sexual activity are cold and dreary. The final emotion of taking charge of Lemnos is Discordia. Prior to this point in the epic, discord has come up as a thematic note in the lead up to the civil war.554 As a personification, Discord has only appeared once prior: as a component part of Harmonia’s necklace (Theb. 2.287-88):

non Decor Idaliusque puer, sed Luctus et Irae et Dolor et tota pressit Discordia dextra

There was no Charm, nor the Idalian boy; but Grief and Anger and Pain and Discord pressed down with her entire right hand.

leaving for Thrace, she notes “it is said,” (fertur, 5.64) and “certainly there were those who said,” (erant certe, 5.64). 553 Hymen is often invoked during the wedding song, a point which is recalled here as Hymen is mutus without weddings to celebrate. 554 Discordia is also the word Juno uses to describe her relationship with Jupiter: si tanti est thalami discordia sancti (Theb. 1.260). Here, Juno demands an explanation for Jupiter’s insistence on the destruction of Argos as well as Thebes, and offers him, in exchange for Argos, other cities she is fond of. Jupiter of course rejects this without giving sufficient (or any) reason for his reaction (1.285-92). 183

At the end of the “ingredient list” of the necklace, Vulcan lists the emotional aspects brought along in the curse to compound the collection of physical horrors. Here is the grief, anger, and pain felt by Vulcan over Venus’ betrayal. Statius emphasizes Discord by delaying the verb

(pressit, 2.288) until this point as well as by including the ablative phrase tota dextra, confirming the personification of this emotion. The necklace’s strife is an integral aspect of the curse that leads to the Theban civil war. This Discord is the same as that brought by Venus to Lemnos, disrupting the social and familial cohesion of the island.

Discord does not just appear in the necklace and on Lemnos. Further representing the strife that is both literal throughout this epic of civil war and in the background through these sub-plots of Venus, Mars, and Vulcan’s relationship, Discord is also personified as one of the guardians of Mars’ home. Statius provides a brief ekphrasis of the war-god’s home when

Mercury arrives there, demanding Mars finally begin the war in Thebes.555 Among a variety of other personified emotions such as Anger (Irae, 7.48), Fear (Metus, 49), Threats (Minis, 51), and

Fury (Furor, 52), Discordia, armed with a double-edged sword, stands at the front gates.556

Discord is appropriate to this situation, but also serves to link these three moments together. All three instances of this personified emotion are in the same penultimate metrical position, further joining them to each other. Each divinity in this triangle displays this personified emotion:

Vulcan via the necklace, Venus on Lemnos, and Mars at his home.

To confirm the link that the repetition of Discordia suggests, Statius adds that Vulcan created the decorations in Mars’ home (Theb. 7.61-63):

555 Theb. 7.40-63. 556 Theb. 7.50, geminumque tenens Discordia ferrum. 184

…talem diuina Mulciber arte ediderat; nondum radiis monstratus adulter foeda catenato luerat conubia lecto.

Such things Mulciber crafted with divine art; not yet had the adulterer, identified by the sun’s rays, atoned for the loathsome union in the chained bed.

Statius points out that Vulcan had made these decorations for Mars before he discovered Mars’ infidelity with Venus. Statius again references this story of Vulcan’s trap, catenato lecto (7.63), confirming its lasting thematic significance to the plot of the epic. Statius claims that Mars had expiated the crime through being chained (luerat, 63), but this statement cannot be true, according to Vulcan: we have already seen that the chains did not avenge the crime (nec ultrices castigavere catenae, 2.271). Statius reminds the audience that this affair has continuing consequences unbeknownst to the participants.

As I noted above, while Venus does not explicitly connect the massacre to an attempt at vengeance against Vulcan, Hypsipyle nevertheless reminds the audience of the affair. Venus targets Lemnos, fully aware of the connection Vulcan has to the island (Theb. 5.69):

Nec fidi populum miserata mariti

Not pitying the people of her faithful husband.

In this view, Vulcan is the fidus maritus who is being unfairly targeted by Venus’ actions against

Lemnos. In this statement, Vulcan is passive, pitiable, and faithful. Vulcan, however, as seen in

Book 2, is not actually like this. He may be faithful to his wife in that he does not commit adultery, but he has not forgiven her affair with Mars. Hypsipyle is apparently unaware of this conflict in their relationship and can only express the fact that Venus seeks to ruin Lemnos despite Vulcan’s attachment to the island. This lack of knowledge of the full situation is also evident in Bacchus’ reaction to Venus’ military attitude during the massacre. Her “martial” 185

nature, derived from her connection to Mars, is unexpected to Bacchus, even while Venus and

Mars’ affair is ongoing.

In another intratext, the passages concerning Harmonia’s necklace and Lemnos both reference Venus’ connection to Idalium. A famous ancient temple to Aphrodite stood in the

Cypriot city, and it became an epithet for her and for her famous companions, the doves. 557

Vulcan creates the necklace of Harmonia as a curse and thus specifies that it does not contain any remnants from the Graces, from Charm, or from the Idalius puer (2.287). This circumlocution is a reference to Cupid, Venus’ son. The necklace contains none of his erotic encouragements; it has only evils and harm.558 The epithet Idalius repeats in Hypsipyle’s introduction to events on Lemnos: Venus’ Idalian birds make an appearance to start off the troubles on Lemnos. Hypsipyle cites a rumor that Venus has sent away her birds (Theb. 5.63):

Et Idalias procul ablegasse volucres

And [it is said that] she banished the Idalian birds far away.

Venus banishes the birds as a prelude to withdrawing sexual desire from the island. The epithet is not common in the Thebaid, and both of these situations have the same theme: an aspect of eroticism tied to Venus is no longer accessible. For the necklace, that is Cupid; on Lemnos, the doves.

557 Ovid notes a ritual where doves are burned as a sacrifice at the Idalian temple to Venus, explaining this nexus of association between animal, place, and goddess; Ov. Fast. 1.451. Elsewhere, Ovid connects Venus to Idalium, as does Virgil throughout the Aeneid; Ov. Met. 14.694, Ars 3.106; Virg. Aen. 1.681, 1.693, 5.760, 10.52, 10.86. This may be similar to Sappho, fr. 1.10, but Sappho references Aphrodite’s swift sparrows, not doves. 558 Eros/Cupid is not a wholly innocent figure: while he inspires love and sex, he also inspires madness and harm. See, e.g., Hill 2004, 87-104 on the philosophical harm of Eros in the Republican period; in Meleager (AP 5.180 = G-P 8), Eros is called βροτολοιγός, “plague upon men,” the same adjective used to describe Ares in Hom. Il. 5.31. It is this nature of Cupid that Statius invokes in the necklace. 186

This adjective appears one more time in the epic. Statius depicts Idalian birds in a simile at 12.15-21, as Statius describes the survivors of the civil war still afraid, and unwilling to trust the new peace, like Idalian birds (Idaliae volucres, 12.16) who scare away a snake after their chicks, but still fly away themselves and are terrified (timet…horret, 19-20). These birds are described in language familiar to the Lemnian setting (Theb. 12.18):

imbellesque citant ad proelia pennas

Drive unwarlike wings to battle…

Just like Venus, as well as the Lemnian women, the birds are imbelles yet forced to fight. The general idea of the simile connecting gentle birds and the threat of snakes is not unusual. 559 The fact that these are specified as Idalian birds, however, links the image to these earlier two uses of the adjective and emphasizes that the nature of these animals, like that of their patron goddess, should be gentle and calm. This gentleness is what is emphasized in the description of Cupid and his lack of presence in the necklace of Harmonia. It is the same for Venus’ birds on Lemnos: she sends away the birds, and with them goes any gentleness. It is no wonder, then, that she drives a bloody massacre: she has sent away the embodiment of the calm side of her personality, and left behind is only the violent passion.

In Harmonia’s necklace, Venus’ violent passions are associated with negative emotions in the cestos, which I discussed in Chapter 1. The cestos returns on Lemnos (Theb. 5.62-63):

Soluisse iugalem / ceston…

[It is said that] she released the nuptial cestos.

559 As Pollmann notes (2004, ad loc), this simile reverses the bloody ending of another snake vs. bird image from earlier in the epic, 5.599-604. 187

The cestos combines a variety of sexual, erotic, and romantic elements. When it appears in Book

2, Vulcan has incorporated its worst elements into the necklace: quae pessima ceston / vis probat

(Theb. 2.283-84). These were the negative aspects of sexuality and eroticism that drives an elegiac relationship: painful passion of love, the anger and jealousy that comes with unequal love, the willingness to hurt a partner. Venus’ use of the cestos on Lemnos directly recalls its role in the necklace.560 The cursed nature of the necklace, enhanced by the pessima of the cestos, affects how the cestos is interpreted on Lemnos. Soluisse, based on the role of the cestos in

Harmonia’s necklace, therefore can mean unfastened, unbound, or loosened and released. Here, then, these terrible powers of the cestos are released onto Lemnos and help drive the heightened emotions of the impending massacre.

Another, albeit subtle connection between the Lemnian episode and Harmonia’s necklace solidifies the link between these two narratives. Both situations are due to the dolor of a divine figure. Vulcan creates the necklace as a curse because of his grief at Venus and Mars’ ongoing affair, longum furta dolens (2.269-70). Similarly, Hypsipyle attributes Venus’ motive for the massacre as her grief at not being properly worshipped (Theb. 5.59-60):

…Movet et caelestia quondam corda dolor lentoque inrepunt agmine Poenae

Grief, at times, moves even in divine hearts, and Vengeance creeps in with quiet company.

Hypsipyle seems surprised that such an emotion can drive a divine figure, as expressed with the collocation et…quondam (5.59). She links Venus’ emotional reaction, dolor, to the result of it:

560 This mention of the cestos, like its appearance in Book 2, likely also reminds the reader of its Homeric context: Hera requesting the cestos from Aphrodite in order to seduce Zeus to distraction; Hom. Il. 14.197-223. 188

inrepunt Poenae. Venus is upset, and she will take direct action as a result. Venus’ reaction is from her apparent lack of worship on the island.561 Her vengeance against such a “crime” does have mythological precedents; Aphrodite punishes Hippolytus and Phaedra, 562 and all of

Tyndareus’ daughters are cursed for his lack of proper worship.563 With this noun, however,

Hypsipyle links Vulcan’s grief to Venus’. While the emotion is the same, the sources are distinct.

Vulcan’s grief is due to his erotic jealousy caused by Venus’ infidelity, while Venus is upset that her divinity is not properly acknowledged. While Vulcan is cast in the elegiac frame of the jilted husband because of this grief, Venus inspires elegiac characterizations in the women of the island: first the relicta puella, then that they should act in a bloodthirsty iteration of militia amoris.564

This link between Harmonia’s necklace and the events on Lemnos indicates the relevance of Vulcan’s erotic jealousy and Venus’ betrayal of their marriage to the entire plot of the epic.

The elegiac resonance of the necklace’s curse infects not only Thebes, but also, through the direct connection to Vulcan, the island of Lemnos. The Lemnian massacre showed what happened when the Lemnian women’s response to their abandonment resulted in an escalating level of violence, when militia amoris can turn into real war, and elegiac complaints turn into

561 Theb. 5.57-59. 562 See Eur. Hippolytus, Sen. Phaedra. 563 Schol. Eur. Or. 249 = Cat. fr. MW 176. Aphrodite/Venus is not the only goddess to act in this way when slighted; Artemis’ lack of worship leads to the Calydonian boar hunt, which also leads to death. 564 There are two further slight parallels between these two episodes that do not necessitate a fuller analysis. Both scenes depict the Furies. In the necklace, it is specifically Tisiphone and her hair (2.282- 83). On Lemnos, Hypsipyle relates a rumor that the Tartareas sorores are present (5.65-67). Both scenes also feature snakes: a green draconum in the necklace (2.279-80), and secret snakes planted throughout Lemnian homes (5.67-68). The Furies and snake imagery is common throughout the epic, and the only significance of these links are due to the close connections of the other repeated images. 189

murder. This is exactly what the curse on Harmonia’s necklace is designed to do. Venus and

Vulcan both use the same mechanism to cause destruction.

Yet Venus’ destruction is, ultimately, limited. While she destroys a single generation of an entire community, Vulcan slowly but surely destroys the entire city of Thebes through his curse on the necklace. Vulcan’s revenge, as led by the curse, destroys multiple generations of

Thebans, and ensures that, while the city survives, it is ruined. Venus plots her destruction of

Lemnos to get back at him for the shame of being caught, but his anger and jealousy of her continued affair constantly reinforce his motivation.

190

Chapter 3: A Theoretical Approach

Introduction

In this chapter, I return to Statius’ Nemean episode. This chapter continues from a premise that Statius’ elegiac program is nuanced, detailed, and runs through the entire Thebaid.

Further, Statius engages with tropes from Latin love elegy to set and disturb audience expectation, foreshadow plot, and question character agency. In Chapters 1 and 2, I described in detail how Statius uses elegiac tropes and allusion to nuance his characterization and show parts of the decision-making process of his heroines. There, I demonstrated how elegiac impulses turn, inevitably and painfully, to epic consequences. In this chapter, I suggest that the elegiac enrichment of Statius’ Hypsipyle is deepened when read through the theoretical perspective of

Julia Kristeva, adding to the specific elegiac allusions analyzed in Chapter 2. This thematic allusion is based on the connection between the elegiac relicta puella and Kristeva’s theoretical perspective, in particular her theories of the semiotic, the symbolic, and gendered differences in the experience of time. Previous scholars have articulated important connections between elegiac poetry and Kristeva’s theoretical perspective; in this chapter, I build on their work to analyze the elegiac entanglements of Statius’ Hypsipyle.

In this chapter, I suggest that Hypsipyle describes her transition between Kristeva’s symbolic world and her semiotic, and in the process uses the power of this semiotic space to disrupt the progress of the epic as a whole. Hypsipyle uses her disassociation from and then connection to elegiac tropes to construct a relationship with the semiotic realm. I argue that disruption is a specific goal of her character, and one that is realized in elegiac terms. When her power is, finally, too strong, Bacchus intervenes. I argue that her elegiac background is, at this point, supplanted with a new generic framework that poses a less significant threat to the

191

progress of the epic, both for its heroes and for the poem itself. I draw larger conclusions about the place of Hypsipyle in the text and how her role foreshadows the end of the epic, as well as how this use of Kristeva’s theory can help explain the role of the disruptive female character throughout this complex poem.

Theory: Kristeva

In this chapter, I examine Hypsipyle’s character through the lens of Julia Kristeva’s linguistic and psychoanalytic theory. In Chapter 2 I argued that Hypsipyle’s role in the text was characterized alternately by the Thebaid’s narrator, her own narratorial voice, and through the perspective of her internal audience, the Argive army. In addition, her embedded narrative of events on Lemnos draws upon the elegiac topoi of militia and servitium amoris into fatal consequences. Now that we have seen Hypsipyle’s elegiac engagement throughout her role in her embedded narrative on Lemnos, we can turn to look closer at how Hypsipyle’s past informs her role in Nemea. Through a Kristevan lens, I analyze Hypsipyle’s further connection with the elegiac relicta puella, and how this character type serves as a disruptive force within the epic.

Julia Kristeva belongs to the French school of post-structuralist psychoanalytical linguistics. She is a feminist scholar, trained by Lacan and Barthes, who uses linguistics as an entry-point to the study and understanding of gender and motherhood. Her work uses these themes as a baseline for exploring the role of the woman in society and in language, writing, and displacement. I emphasize these two aspects of her wide-reaching corpus; gender and motherhood, as they will be the primary focus of my Kristevan approach to Statius.565

565 Throughout this summary I am indebted to Smith 1998 and Moi 1986, who explicate Kristeva’s difficult material. I also gratefully acknowledge Dr. Beth Ash (Professor of English and Comparative Literature at the University of Cincinnati) for her illuminating clarity and explanation of these theories and concepts. 192

In her influential thesis, La Révolution du langage poétique, Kristeva outlines her view of the disruptive aspects of language and their gendered background.566 She suggests that poetry is a revolution against the standard Law of language, or Law of the Father. This is because, in her terminology, language is comprised of two aspects: the semiotic and the symbolic.567 The symbolic, she suggests, represents the dominant order. It is the aspect of language that is grammar, syntax, rules, order, and structure. In a more metaphorical sense, the symbolic is also the masculine, paternal, legal, and patriarchal.

The semiotic, on the other hand, is the aspects of language that are a-lingusitic, or pre- linguistic. These are rhythm, sound, and intonation. Further, the semiotic is characterized by drives, or pulsions: representative of the body, the semiotic is the realm of bodily function and urges. For example, this is one’s circadian, or sleep rhythm; an infant’s basic bodily needs.568

While the symbolic is representative of an adult in society, the semiotic is related to a pre-verbal infant who has not fully separated from its mother. The child learns the symbolic from the mother as she imposes society’s rules upon it: she structures its natural rhythms (the semiotic) into the symbolic order of structured society (when it is “proper” to sleep, wake, eat, burp, etc.).569 When the child accesses language, and accesses society’s rules and regulations, the child becomes disconnected from the mother.

566 Originally published in 1974, the text was translated into English as Revolution in Poetic Language by Margaret Waller in 1984. While Waller’s text only contains the first third of the French original, she notes that her translation includes the theoretical, and thus most important, part of the text (Waller 1984, 10). 567 Despite their similarity in terms, Kristeva is distinct from Lacan and other psychoanalytical linguistics in her definitions of these terms. Her Symbolic is related to a Lacanian Symbolic, and her semiotic is loosely connected to a Saussurean understanding of language comprised of signs, the signifier and the signified, but her use of both terms is, ultimately, distinct. Cf. Kristeva 1984, 22-24. 568 Kristeva 1984, 27. 569 Smith 1998, 22; Kristeva 1984, 27: “the mother’s body is therefore what mediates the symbolic law organizing social relations and becomes the ordering principle of the semiotic chora.” 193

While the child is connected to the mother in this way, and even during gestation in the womb, Kristeva notes a special circumstance to its highly semiotic state. She calls this state, governed by the semiotic and characterized by growth, gestation, and development, as well as devotion to rhythm and pulsion, the chora, derived from ’s Timaeus.570 In the Timaeus, the titular character describes the Model and the Copy, adding a third type (τρίτον ἄλλο γένος, Pl.

Tim. 48e) to the mix:

τίν΄ οὖν ἔχον δύναμιν καὶ φύσιν αὐτὸ ὑποληπτέον; τοιάνδε μάλιστα· πάσης εἶναι γενέσεως ὑποδοχὴν αὐτὴν οἷον τιθήνην.

What power and nature must we understand it to possess? This, in fact: that it is the receptacle, a sort of nurse of all existence.

This third type, unnoted in the other dialogues, is the χώρα.571 It is femininized and associated with maternity through its generative ability. In fact, Timaeus goes on to associate it directly with the mother, while the model is associated with the father, and the copy is like their child.572

The χώρα is thus the space between, reserved for generation and creation but without influence

(and corruption) from the copy, or the external.

For Kristeva, the chora becomes the site of the semiotic before the influence of the symbolic. She takes Plato’s concept and emphasizes its connection to a mother’s womb. 573 It is a literal and metaphorical space of engendering and gestation, the place of becoming that is not yet being. It is a liminal space and constricted by the external. The chora is where the pre-verbal

570 Kristeva 1984, 25-28. 571 I use the Greek spelling to indicate the Platonic version, and a transliteration to show Kristeva’s interpretation of it. 572 Plat. Tim. 50c7-d3. This is not the time or place to discuss the philosophical implications of this chora. 573 Kristeva 1984, 28: “the semiotic chora is no more than the place where the subject is both generated and negated, the place where his unity succumbs before the process of charges and states that produce him.” 194

infant exists until language and other social structures split the child from the semiotic into the symbolic.574

The semiotic, however, is not fully removed when an infant learns language, though by doing so the infant gains access to the socio-symbolic contract.575 It is always present in the rhythm of language, Kristeva suggests, thus emphasizing the role of the semiotic within the revolution of poetry. For her contemporary 20th century Europe, poetry represents an alternative to the structures of prose. It is disruptive to the social order, and representative of danger and counter-culture ideology. Here, then, Kristeva finds her semiotic: at the edges of the symbolic, running underneath, always a threat to the symbolic order but also itself threatened by it. The semiotic is disruptive, intimidating, foreign, representative of base nature and the generative forces that oppose masculine law.576

Kristeva associates the semiotic with womanhood and motherhood through the connection to the chora, the site of the semiotic. She also isolates woman with respect to time. In an article, Le temps des femmes, first published in 1979 and translated into English in 1981 as

“Women’s Time,” Kristeva outlines a distinction between “male” and “female” time. She begins from a quote of James Joyce: “Father’s Time, Mother’s Species.” She notes that men are more often associated with the linear passage of time, and alongside it, history. Women, on the other hand, with their historical roles often relegated to the margins, both literally and metaphorically, are associated more often with space, such as the enclosed walls of the home. Fathers, therefore,

574 Kristeva 1981, 15-16. 575 That is, the structures of the symbolic order, the “social contract” one enters into as an adult living in a community, agreeing to follow the written and unwritten laws and rules of society and culture. See Kristeva 1981, 23-24. 576 Kristeva 1984, 26: the semiotic “effectuates discontinuities by temporarily articulating them and then starting over, again and again.” 195

can operate the flow and passage of time, while mothers are isolated for the purpose of continuing the species. In its most basic distinction, male time is linear, while female time is repetitive and cyclical: the woman, remaining enclosed at home, procreates a new generation comprised of sons who will be linear, narrative fathers, and daughters who will be enclosed, marginal mothers.577 “Space,” for Kristeva, is symbolized by the womb and its generative properties, while “time” with its linearity, movement, and geometry, is the masculine. 578 Female motherhood epitomizes this eternal, cyclical space, while Fathers, on the other hand, are able to progress forward through time, existing outside the house and interacting politically and socially with others. For Kristeva, men experience time as a linear progression, as they are able to move with it. Women, on the other hand, are trapped in the home, literally, and therefore metaphorically trapped in this cyclical and repetitive eternity.

In summary, Kristeva proposes a dynamic of language where the “masculine” is characterized by linear, structured order and narrative progression, while the “feminine” is characterized by subversion, rhythm, repetition, and the cyclicality of entrapment. I emphasize these qualities through her terminology of the semiotic, the symbolic, the chora, and women’s time.

This chapter will not be the first time these terms have been productively applied to ancient literature, and my analysis of Hypsipyle is indebted to these predecessors. Several

577 In her earlier work, Kristeva describes femininity as a “dimension of language available to either sex,” Smith 1998, 30. Introducing “Women’s Time,” Moi notes that here Kristeva must be understood to describe “sexual difference as psychoanalysis sees it,” Moi 1986, 187. Kristeva frequently emphasizes maternity as a necessary component of femininity, and thus opens herself to a critique based on gender essentialism. A selective interpretation of these theories, however, when applied to the frequently essentializing view of gender in antiquity, does not limit my use of Kristeva as a literary critical methodology. 578 Cf. Paes de Barros 2004, 103. 196

scholars have shown that Kristevan theories speak to some of elegy’s most pressing questions.

From “traditional” Latin elegy to Ovid’s Heroides, over the past decade Kristevan concepts have provided a vocabulary to analyze elegiac narrative structures. The tension between Kristeva’s semiotic and symbolic, her emphasis on repetitive temporality and enclosed feminine spaces, and the threat that these concepts pose to normative social and poetic dynamics clarify, nuance, and deepen an understanding of elegiac poetics.

Efrossini Spentzou, for example, applies Kristeva’s theories to Ovid’s Heroides. She argues that Ovid’s abandoned elegiac heroines exist in a version of Kristeva’s chora. These spaces of their letters are outside of male society: while the men enact their linear, narrative journeys, the abandoned women are trapped in a cycle of linguistic and thematic repetition.579

These women all enact patterns of Kristevan repetition. Their speech is a direct representation of a subversive “dissonance” against “a robustly patriarchal society.”580 The women speak directly against the social structures, Kristeva’s “socio-symbolic contract,” and masculine impositions that have placed them in the margins. This is both literal and metaphorical: these women are often isolated on a beach or another liminal space, but are also recovered from often—but not exclusively— marginal roles in earlier literature.581

579 Penelope, Ovid’s paradigmatic first heroine, herself a repetition of her Homeric form, provides the paradigm. 580 Spentzou 2003, 23. 581 Medea, Penelope, and Ariadne are certainly not marginal figures in earlier literature, but one may argue that Briseis, Oenone, and Laodamia were. Cf. Spentzou on Laodamia, 2003, 87, and her discussion of Penelope at 90 describing her “closed stasis. She is an immortal artefact…rather than a living creature, trapped in the resolution of her established artistic image.” Thus, even while these women are given voice in these letters, these voices are limited, enclosed, marginalized, and fixed within the chora of writing. 197

The women in the Heroides are trapped in a localized space like a chora which cannot be accessed by the male, symbolic order.582 The form of the letters themselves, Spentzou argues, emphasizes the enclosed nature of the chora these women exist in. Yet she also explores the role of the disruptive semiotic in these letters. Women like Ariadne and Medea interact with the symbolic in order to disrupt it: Ariadne’s curse and Medea’s murders583 are direct attempts to cause a failure in the symbolic order. Further, these women also express energy in the letters, representative of the underlying rhythmic drive of the semiotic, that poses a threat to the symbolic. Spentzou notes that the women of the Heroides often appear as exempla elsewhere in elegiac poetry. Their direct speech in these letters, however, often paired with their described movement, vocalizations, and lament, delineates a metaphorical energy embodied in their form.

These women are not fixed and isolated in a simile or, like Catullus’ Ariadne, on a coverlet: they are mobile, threatening, powerful, and trapped only by the constrictions of the poetic form itself.584

This element of disruption is a key aspect of Kristeva’s semiotic. It is a disruptive force that is required for language, and for the development of an individual as a child, but it is also a direct threat to social order.585 Since it represents pre-verbal drives and base rhythm, the semiotic is not governed by the symbolic (the rule of social law) and thus can disturb, disrupt, and destroy it. The close relation between the semiotic and the chora, a space devoted to the semiotic,

582 Spentzou 2003, 104. 583 Ovid shows her in the early planning stages of the murders. 584 Spentzou 2003, esp. 95-98, 103-4, though see Gardner 2007, 161-70, especially, on Ariadne’s disruptive power on the “frame” narrative around her ekphrasis. 585 Cf. Spentzou 2003, 99-102. 198

connects the semiotic with chaos as the pre-universe, the space before, but where everything else gestated.586

When the semiotic intersects with the symbolic, it produces language: it is only with these two elements combined that language can exist in a communicative form. Ovid’s literary letters are thus the representation of the semiotic lament of an abandoned woman, reified into poetic language in a way that preserves and stabilizes their fearful, threatening presence.

Following Spentzou, Hunter Gardner explores Kristeva’s theories in two scholarly works.

Gardner 2007, which I discussed extensively in Chapter 2, uses Kristeva’s ideas of time, space, and language to explore and define the paradigm that Catullus’ Ariadne sets for the Latin elegists. Gardner suggests that Ariadne exists in a semiotic chora represented by poetry. This space is bound by the narrative frame of Peleus and Thetis’ wedding, just as Ariadne’s image on the coverlet is literally surrounded by a decorative frame. Ariadne is relegated to the margins of

Theseus’ life as she is left behind to stand like a statue, unchanging, left only with tears and lament. Theseus travels along a linear path away from Ariadne while she watches and is unable to follow. Yet there is a power to her atemporality: as Gardner explores, Ariadne’s language is repetitive within the text just as her actions repeat (watch, weep, lament). Within her poetic chora Ariadne represents the semiotic threat to language and male progression. She serves as a delay to his story because the reader has focused on her watching, rather than him travelling. She is a threat to his linear progression as a literary device but also as a character in the story. She

586 I note in passing this parallel to Hesiod’s Theogony: in his cosmology, the earliest being is Chaos, from whence , Tartarus, and Eros are derived (Hes. Theog. 116-20). Chaos is thus a generative space if these other beings can come from it, but also a space “before” existence. It is a “nothing” and an “everything” at once, but also separate and untouchable. This is similar to the role of the χώρα in the cosmogony of the Timaeus. 199

threatens the entire symbolic structure of the poem as her language “infects” the narrative frame of the poem.587 Ariadne is trapped in repetitive motion in the margins of her island, but she can influence the symbolic world around her.588

Gardner’s 2013 monograph uses Kristeva’s theories of women’s time to explain the temporality of the elegiac puella and the narrative that is animated between her and the elegiac amator. She represents, Gardner argues, a Kristevan female subject who is semiotic, trapped in a chora of generative activity and unable to fully “become,” and marks a distinct threat to the male, symbolic order. The puella constantly figures as a delay (mora) to the teleological progression of the amator. The puella’s maturity is “regularly denied” even while she acts as a counter to the amator’s development.589 She is “segregated from social and familial entanglements” and marginalized both by society and the amator himself.590 The puella is thus characterized by her instability, lack of movement, and her ability to waylay and delay the amator via her liminal status and marginal position.591

Focusing on Propertius, Gardner examines how the amator’s progression is linear through the story of the poetry books. Gardner outlines his narrative progression through a series of temporally programmatic poems: 1.1, with its starting adjective prima, to 3.24/25, “studded with its own array of temporal adverbs,”592 with a bridge in the middle (2.18) describing Aurora

587 As I noted in Chapter 2, her language is repeated in the frame narrative. 588 This emphasis on the literary power of an abandoned woman is a key facet of Lipking’s 1988 study, and many of these ideas are also shared in Hagedorn 2004. While I incorporated these scholars in earlier chapters of this work, my emphasis here on Kristeva’s terminology and the Roman elegiac background limits their significance in this chapter. 589 Gardner 2013a, 6. 590 Gardner 2013a, 8. 591 Gardner 2013a, 9-10. 592 Gardner 2013a, 2. 200

and Tithonus, a temporally charged mythological exemplum. Gardner suggests that the elegiac conception of time and its gendered components are unique in Latin literature. Despite similarities to, for example, Horace’s lyric odes and their presentation of the passage of time,

Gardner argues that the Latin love elegists place the puella into an a-temporal repetitive state that draws the amator into a world of immortality, yet the constant threat of the passage of time adds conflict not only to the characters individually; but also to their relationship, which could not endure the puella’s transformation into an anus.593

Throughout her analysis, Gardner points to the semiotic and the symbolic in Roman terms, borrowed from Miller (2004). The Roman symbolic, the key rules, laws, and structures that regulate a male Roman’s social and cultural role, are, among others, gloria, , servitium, and ; the key social codes that govern one’s decisions within his social system. As Miller has argued, Latin love elegy describes the “elegiac subject position as inherently split or

‘schizoid’” as he is unable to fully embrace the Roman Symbolic, or socio-symbolic contract.594

The “counter-cultural” message of Roman love elegy embraces the feminine and the anti-social.

Gardner suggests that while the amator is within this “counter-cultural” system of values, he still upholds elements of the Roman symbolic contract against the puella. Her femininity, representing the semiotic with its chaotic drives, threatening lack of submission, and repetitive atemporality, are still opposed to his masculine system. By focusing on the puella’s relationship with time, Gardner is able to discern the nuanced distinctions the elegist makes between the social roles of the puella and the amator. Even while he acts against social codes, her presence indicates that he is, in fact, upholding Roman norms of male behavior. These Kristevan concepts,

593 Gardner 2013a, 11. 594 Gardner 2013a, 18-19, with Miller 2004, 5. 201

Gardner has shown, are a constitutive force that shape the narrative structures of elegiac poetry and language from within.

I adapt these conceptions of the chora—as a metaphorical space connected, but not exclusively, with motherhood—, of the masculine symbolic order, and of the threatening, disruptive potential of the semiotic, into my analysis of Hypsipyle in Nemea. 595 With varied weight I follow and challenge aspects of Spentzou and Gardner’s models in this chapter.596

A Semiotic Lemnos

Hypsipyle, in her internal narrative, portrays Lemnos as a type of semiotic chora, and a site of disruption. The semiotic describes the subversive rhythms and drives that interfere with the symbolic order. These drives are realized by the Lemnian women in the massacre, which literally and metaphorically destroys the socio-symbolic contract.597 In Chapter 2 I showed how

Hypsipyle as the narrator of the Lemnian tale wove elegiac tropes into the plot. Here, I shift perspective to emphasize how, on Lemnos, it is the Lemnian women aside from Hypsipyle who engage with elegiac tropes and, through them, with Kristeva’s semiotic. These women are the ones who look like elegiac relictae puellae when the men first leave the island, the first step that leads them into the chora of semiotic abandonment. Later, the Lemnian women enact tropes of militia amoris as they kill these men with highly erotic overtones. These women flip the script of

595 Spentzou identifies the chora of the Ovidian letter as a space for the female voice in elegy. Gardner also shows how the chora can be identified within a domestic space where the puella waits for an amator. I will use the development of this kind of space as a metaphor to describe Statius’ creation of an exclusionary, feminine space in Nemea. 596 As I will discuss below, Antony Augoustakis also uses Kristeva’s semiotic chora, in his analysis of Hypsipyle’s Nemea and Thebaid 5. Since his analysis is unrelated to elegiac poetics, I reserve it for my discussion of the semiotic space of the Nemean landscape. 597 Nugent 1996, 46 points to the “note of ambivalence in the epic’s representation of females: if the women of Lesbos are powerful, they also use that power to murder the men of their island.” 202

militia amoris from sexualized military service into eroticized death-acts. They act within elegiac tropes throughout the massacre. Statius’ allusions to the point of view of the elegiac relicta puella are connected to the realm of the semiotic: the realm of the feminine, focused on the body and its drives, and running counter to the system of masculine, socio-symbolic laws. The women of Lemnos, in activating this elegiac trope, signal their affiliation with each other against patriarchal law and the rule of men.

The women of the island, especially Polyxo, engage with and represent Kristeva’s semiotic realm and its power. Polyxo is guided, through the (assumed) agency of Venus, by semiotic pulsions, or drives: she is full of motion and emotion as she encourages the women of

Lemnos to join her. She is an old woman (aevi matura, 5.90) but she is described as acting with a

“sudden” motion (subito, 90), driven by strong emotion (horrendas tollitur in furias, 90-91) as she leaps from the bed where she usually remained (thalamis insueta relictis evolat, 91-92). She is described like a Bacchant (Teumesia Thyias, 92), out of her right mind, “seized by a mad god”

(insano rapta deo, 92-93).598 Her face is flushed (erecta genas aciemque effusa trementi sanguine, 95-96) and she expends her energy with a cry (rabidis clamoribus, 96) throughout the city, striking doors and thresholds to rouse her companions (exagitat, pulsans, 97). In this role,

Polyxo is driven by irrational emotions.599 She is outside of the standard social order, or the socio-symbolic contract, and poses a direct threat to that normative behavior.

598 By comparing Polyxo to a bacchant, Hypsipyle evokes the stereotype of a woman disconnected from the socio-symbolic contract. In addition, in an epic about Thebes, a reference to the behavior of a Bacchant may remind the audience of , Pentheus’ mother, who murdered her son while influenced as a by Bacchus, especially since Manto’s necromantic divination earlier in Book 4 described Agave and Pentheus: 4.565-69. I treat Bacchus’ significance in this entire episode in more detail below. 599 By describing Polyxo with the language of a maenad, Statius is able to bring his character into dialogue with a wider history of disruptive, maddened women. Polyxo’s description recalls, e.g., Amata 203

I discussed in Chapter 2 how Polyxo is described with the language of the relicta puella, linked to her fellow abandoned Lemnian women. Here, I suggest that it is her abandonment which instigates this semiotic energy and drives her to call for murder. When the Lemnian men leave, Polyxo was denied her social status as a wife due to her husband’s abandonment and the threat of a new marriage.600 Without this formal role in the socio-symbolic contract, Polyxo is thus further abandoned. Her initial reaction, as evidenced by the description of her “customary action,” was lament: she remained in bed and was just an old, abandoned woman. Yet this abandonment drove her to reject the social structures that enforced her new marginalized social position: she is now outside the symbolic contract.601 Polyxo’s argument, in its essence, offers the other women of the island the chance to regain their social roles and status. In the patriarchal society of Lemnos, without their husbands, sons, or fathers, they are isolated and alone. If they changed society and ultimately removed the masculine from its symbolic function, they would no longer be abandoned, and would no longer be on the margins: they cannot be abandoned wives if they do not have husbands.602

(Virg. Aen. 7.343-96). See discussion on the connections between maenads and Furies in, e.g., Hershkowitz 1998, 35-61; on Polyxo and Amata specifically at 47-52 with notes. 600 As she herself suggests, the Lemnian men may be bringing home new brides to supplant their Lemnian wives: 5.142. 601 Cf. Kristeva 1981, 23-24 on the rejection of the symbolic order. 602 Polyxo’s status is unique among the Lemnian women, but also among extant Lemnian narratives. The closest parallel to her character in Valerius Flaccus is Venus herself, who takes on the form of the women Neaera (V. Fl. Arg. 2.141-63) and Dryope (2.174-85). The fact that Polyxo is inspired by Venus, and further saw Venus appear in a dream (i.e., further distanced), distinguishes her. Unlike earlier versions of the massacre, Statius’ Lemnian women collectively follow the trope of the relicta puella: the difference lies in the thematized departure of the Lemnian men. While in Statius, the men leave because of Venus’ withdrawal from the island and use the raid against Thrace as an excuse to leave their wives (Theb. 5.75- 80), Valerius Flaccus implies that the Lemnian men had sailed against Thrace in a usual militaristic custom (V. Fl. Arg. 2.107-14. The only situation explained in Apollonius is a brief reference to lacking honors for Aphrodite (Ap. Rhod. Arg. 1.614-15). Statius emphasizes the narrative of abandonment among his Lemnian women. As a result, Statius’ innovations emphasize the impact of society and community on the Lemnian women’s actions. 204

Polyxo proposes a revolution via the literal murder of the symbolic order. By killing the men and destroying the social roles they symbolize, the women can be freed from their marginal entrapment. Kristeva’s semiotic emphasizes the role of the body as a powerful force against the symbolic codes of law and language. This model explains Polyxo’s physicality as she runs around to gather the women, and the contrast between her age and apparent vigor. She holds a sword as she speaks (stricto ense, 5.102), emphasizing not only her physical strength but also her aggression against the symbolic order. The gathered crowd of women is chaotic and frantic: they had “burst from their houses in haste,” (illae non segnius omnes / erumpunt tectis, 99-100) and

“stood gathered without order” (ordine nullo congestae, 101-2). Polyxo’s energy from this semiotic space infects the other women, and they are primed to hear her arguments.

Without men at all, there would be no social marginalization. I suggest that within

Polyxo’s speech urging her companions towards murder is a desire to reject the symbolic social contract they live in by violently overthrowing it. Statius shows us a Polyxo who seems to recognize the vacuum created by the absence of the Lemnian men. She is described as seizing this opportunity to construct a new type of world, aligning with Kristeva’s model of female access to power.603 Polyxo makes this transition to reject the socio-symbolic contract because she had already been marginalized and pushed to the limits of that contract through her abandonment. Her abandonment gave her access to the power to push against the socio-symbolic contract; she uses that power and its energy and drive to urge the other women of the island to

603 Kristeva 1981, 26: “What happens when women come into power and identify with it? What happens when, on the contrary, they refuse power and create a parallel society, a counter-power which then takes on aspects ranging from a club of ideas to a group of terrorist commandos?” 205

share it with her.604 In Kristeva’s terminology, Polyxo has transitioned from the symbolic into the semiotic: from the realm of men, male power, and masculine social codes into a realm of the feminine, where female and maternal energy and the power that comes with unwilling abandonment and social marginalization is turned into a world of control. Polyxo uses this power to lure the other women away from the symbolic codes that dominated their lives and then abandoned them.

Symbolic Hypsipyle

When Polyxo lures the rest of the Lemnian women into her realm of semiotic, murderous energy, Hypsipyle does not go with them. I suggest that Hypsipyle is not tempted by Polyxo’s urging because she is operating within a different paradigm from the Lemnian women. While

Polyxo convinced the Lemnian women to transition from an elegiac pattern into one of epic consequences, Hypsipyle did not engage with the trope of the relicta puella because she had not been abandoned—the necessary starting point. As she repeatedly tells her audience, she was too young to marry at the time. Without a husband, she had no one to abandon her, and without this erotic connection, she does not fit the patterns found in this trope.

Hypsipyle’s first sign of separation from the other Lemnian women comes as a result of their abandonment by their husbands. Hypsipyle describes these women watching the men sail away, lamenting, and seeking each other out for commiseration: illae autem tristes (5.81),

604 As I argued in Chapter 2, these women are, like Polyxo, already within the elegiac trope of the relicta puella. As Spentzou notes, this abandoned elegiac woman is already close to Kristeva’s semiotic chora. In the same way that Spentzou describes the women of Ovid’s Heroides in this semiotic state, so too are the Lemnian women, abandoned and marginalized by the socio-symbolic contract, already engaged in this state. 206

solantia miscent…spectant trans aequora (83-84).605 In the middle of this description, she confirms her isolation through a parenthetical statement noting her youth and maidenhood (81-

82).606 By juxtaposing this reference to herself in direct contrast to the other women, Hypsipyle starts her description of the events on the island by isolating herself thematically from the other women.

Before the massacre begins, Hypsipyle expresses her distance from the other women and highlights her dissociation from their semiotic impulses.607 Polyxo demands that the women agree to the plan and one of them offers her son as a sacrifice to bind their oath.608 While the

Lemnian women are characterized by strength, action and movement, Hypsipyle is compared to a deer in terror (Theb. 5.164-69):

talia cernenti mihi quantus in ossibus horror, quisue per ora color! qualis cum cerua cruentis 165 circumuenta lupis, nullum cui pectore molli robur et in uolucri tenuis fiducia cursu, praecipitat suspensa fugam, iam iamque teneri credit et elusos audit concurrere morsus.

Horror quaked my bones at the sight of such things; what color ran through my face! Just like a deer surrounded by cruel wolves, lacking strength in her gentle heart, her thin trust only in swift speed, headlong, flies in escape, now—now thinks herself grabbed and hears the snapping jaws, just evaded.

605 She does not, for example, refer to herself alongside these women with first-person plural verbs: she is separate from their situation. 606 This parenthetical statement begins with an emphatic nam me tunc (5.81), emphasizing both the juxtaposition and the personal pronoun in contrast to the objective, third-person verbs referring to the other women. 607 She implies that without a husband, she had no sexual desires to be corrupted into bloodthirsty ones. 608 Theb. 5.159-63. 207

Hypsipyle describes herself watching the women commit this atrocity, urging each other onwards.609 The women swear to each other that they will continue this promised violence. 610 In response to this scene, Hypsipyle describes herself struck by shock and horror. Like a deer surrounded by eager wolves (cerva cruentis circumventa lupis, 165-66), she panics. A deer can trust only her speed (in volucri fiducia, 167), and so flees headlong (praecipitat, 168), attempting to evade their dangerous jaws (elusos audit concurrere morsus, 169). Alone, Hypsipyle sees herself as prey, right after describing the bloody slaughter of Charops’ son. Hypsipyle connects herself to this “sacrificial victim,” finding more in common with him than with the other

Lemnian women. The women are united in their single cause,611 and Hypsipyle is alone, unconnected, and unable to prevent their violence.612

During the massacre, Hypsipyle observes without engaging. She uses frequent first- person expressions to indicate her autopsy of events, as I discussed in Chapter 2, but these serve to create her authorial persona.613 These moments she observes are from afar; she does not directly interact with anyone during the massacre, and no one interacts with her. She is a watcher, not a participant.

609 Theb. 5.160-62. 610 Theb. 5.162-63. 611 Theb. 5.148-51; furor omnibus idem, / idem animus solare domos iuuenumque senumque / praecipitare colos plenisque adfrangere paruos / uberibus ferroque omnes exire per annos. 612 Gruzelier 1994, 158 notes that this simile may work within Statius’ wider program of connecting Hypsipyle to Dido, as Dido was also described with a deer simile at Virg. Aen. 4.69-73. While both similes emphasize a deer wandering in pain, Hypsipyle’s abject terror—contrasted with Dido’s wretchedness from her divinely inspired infatuation with Aeneas—is a very different situation. Gruzelier outlines throughout her article comparisons between Hypsipyle and Dido. I agree with many of her suggestions, and consider that a general parallel to Dido throughout Hypsipyle’s characterization adds to the elegiac background of both epic women. 613 See discussion at Nugent 1996, 62; Gibson 2004, 159. 208

In contrast, throughout the Lemnian narrative, the women of the island interacted with each other through the structure of a patriarchal community. They belonged to this community as wives and mothers, providing the maternal support necessary for male action and movement within the socio-symbolic system. Hypsipyle opted out of this community, or rather had not yet fully engaged with it, due to her age and marital status. When this patriarchal community betrayed the women of Lemnos by abandoning them, they first supported each other in their sorrow, as I noted above. Through Polyxo’s encouragement, the women form a new, reactionary community as they attempt to create a new world. When Polyxo calls to them, they act together and encourage each other by swearing their oath, and then committing the murders together. 614

Hypsipyle once again opts out of this female community to stand on her own. 615

Hypsipyle’s lack of abandonment and status as an external observer rather than participant in the Lemnian community serves to isolate her within the realm of the symbolic. In contrast, Polyxo draws the other Lemnian women into the chaotic energy of the semiotic: I argued above that, as abandoned women, they had been rejected by the socio-symbolic contract.

Without that initial abandonment, Hypsipyle is disconnected from the semiotic space that Polyxo occupies. In fact, Hypsipyle actively seeks to protect the socio-symbolic contract against

Polyxo’s semiotic force. While Polyxo can convince the other Lemnian women to commit these murders, Hypsipyle maintains the structures of her father’s royal power and, in doing so, upholds the structures of masculine rule of law across the entire socio-symbolic contract.

614 During the massacre, Hypsipyle describes Lycaste’s mother forcing Lycaste to follow through on the murder of her brother (5.229-30). 615 I emphasize below the significance of Thoas’ continued presence on Lemnos while the other men have left. His presence is not significant here because Hypsipyle fails to mention him. He only appears in the text later on; Hypsipyle does not go to warn him of Polyxo’s plan, or engage with him in any way before the massacre begins. 209

Hypsipyle maintains these structures so much that after the massacre, she succeeds her father on the throne. Hypsipyle upholds the structures of symbolic masculine power as she benefits from them.616 When the women of the island throw off the rule of masculine law by killing their husbands and sons, they give Hypsipyle the throne.617 She had pretended to fit in by faking her father’s death. She builds him a pyre and burns his clothes, weapons, and scepter.618

Holding a bloody sword as evidence of her “murder,” she watches the pyre burn and acts like the other women—in shock at her “action,” upset, ready to defend herself against any accusation of misdoing.619 Her feint is enough to cover her lie, and the other women accept her and allow her to keep the throne. While the Lemnian women had attempted to overthrow the socio-symbolic contract, when they give Hypsipyle the throne, they actually reaffirm that contract: they maintain the structure of masculine rule of law (the throne and its authority) and only replace the individual. This basic level of replacement is indicated by the fact that Hypsipyle’s power is nowhere illustrated, and appears entirely representative. Unlike, for example, Valerius’

Hypsipyle who is shown to discuss with the women of the and make royal decisions, 620

Statius’ Hypsipyle sits on a throne, yet in no other way does she advertise either actual power or her desire for it. It seems, therefore, that the throne, and Hypsipyle’s position upon it, is a relic of the patriarchal socio-symbolic contract, rather than the indication of a new gynocratic order.

616 Cf. Kristeva 1981, 26, on women who uphold the structures of their patriarchal oppressors for the slight power advantage they gain through it. 617 5.320-25. Hypsipyle explains her hesitations over taking power, but ultimately agrees to become queen, as she has no good excuse not to if she is to maintain her fiction of having murdered Thoas. 618 5.314. Nugent 1996, 65 and n42 discusses Hypsipyle’s pyre and provides bibliography for the apparent debate over her pyre-building technique. 619 See the reaction of the other women, 5.303-3, and the island itself: 305-12. 620 E.g., when Valerius’ Argonauts arrive, Hypsipyle calls a meeting over what to do: V. Fl. Arg. 2.312- 13, regina…concilium vocat. 210

I suggest that Hypsipyle upholds the socio-symbolic contract on Lemnos by supporting the masculine symbolic. She accomplishes this task by failing to participate in the massacre, but pretending to have done so with the faked pyre. Yet she not only fails to kill her father; she goes so far as to protect and save his life. Hypsipyle sneaks Thoas to safety with the help of his father

Bacchus.621 She seeks to protect his life by separating him from Polyxo and the others, indicating that her allegiance is to her father, not to the other women.

Hypsipyle preserves the symbolic order and contract by saving Thoas’ life, but this very act sets in motion her own later abandonment and the failure of the system to protect her. She saves her father but destroys herself: by sending him away, she forces him to abandon her. Just as Argia becomes an abandoned woman by giving Polynices a war to fight, Hypsipyle becomes an abandoned woman by rescuing her father. These two women do not perform exactly the same function, but both send away these powerful men and, in return, are left without protection.

Hypsipyle’s engagement with upholding these structures of power begins her downfall. As

Hypsipyle rescues her father, she attempts to preserve the male symbolic. Yet in doing so, she enables her own abandonment by that same structure. She had upheld the masculine symbolic rule of law, but by doing so, cuts off its ability to protect her. She is left behind, alone with the other Lemnian women, after Thoas leaves. She steps onto the throne, but now instead of being isolated from the other women while still protected by her father’s power, now she is isolated on all fronts.

621 Theb. 5.239-95, Bacchus appears at line 265. I discuss this scene in more detail below. 211

Hark, the Argonauts

The Lemnian women, allied with Polyxo during the massacre, reject her semiotic power soon after it ends. Hypsipyle’s continued affiliation with the socio-symbolic contract indicated her disassociation from the other Lemnian women. Now, these women showed their own separation from Polyxo and her semiotic energy. In this transitional phase, the Lemnian women waver between semiotic and symbolic impulses until the arrival of the Argonauts serves to unequivocally reintegrate them into the symbolic order.

Immediately after the massacre, the Lemnian women begin to reject and regret their communal semiotic violence. As night ends so too does their driving emotion (Theb. 5.298-300):

…patuere furores nocturni, lucisque nouae formidine cunctis (quamquam inter similes) subitus pudor…

Nocturnal furors lie exposed, and there was sudden shame for all of them, in fear of the new light, although they were all in the same situation.

With the light of dawn, the Lemnian women could clearly see what they had done. Despite the fact that their crimes (and guilt) were shared (quamquam inter similes, 300), the women were struck by fear (formidine, 299) and shame (pudor, 300) for their actions. In this moment when they can finally see clearly (patuere…lucis novae, 298-99), the women experience a very different set of emotions. Pudor is a traditional Roman value, often translated as “shame,” that emphasizes social connections. Within the socio-symbolic contract, pudor is what prevents the crossing of moral or social boundaries.622 It is a value system based on what is “seemly;” that is,

622 As Kaster 2005 discusses, pudor is an emotion that connects individuals: it is about one’s individual reaction in the face of another’s judgment; see especially 28-65. Pudor is of course connected to , a word more specifically denoting sexual mores. On this word and its gendered valence, see Langlands 2006. 212

what is proper for a woman in her patriarchal society.623 The massacre represented a gross transgression of that boundary, a violation of the core principles of the socio-symbolic contract in every way. The women, instead of confirming their affiliation with the semiotic and its aggressive but powerful structures against the symbolic contract, react in horror to the violation they had committed. Unable to maintain the semiotic, they react with rising pudor and regret having abandoned the socio-symbolic contract.624 After releasing all of their furor in the massacre, the women are unable to maintain the energy that led them into the semiotic in the first place: the return of pudor symbolizes their return to the social dynamic of masculine dominance.

In the process of rejecting the semiotic, they also reject Polyxo for having urged them there in the first place. Formerly a collective unit with Polyxo, the Lemnian women now begin to separate from her: paulatim invisa Polyxo, 5.327.625 The other women, drawn in by Polyxo’s persuasive speech, are drawn out again by the influence of the socio-symbolic contract, represented by pudor. Torn between their former compatriot and leader Polyxo on one side, and

Hypsipyle—who had never abandoned the symbolic—on the other, the Lemnian women are filled with regret, horror, and impotent anger.

When the Argonauts arrive at Lemnos, they effect a reintegration of the Lemnian women back into “normalized” social roles. Through their presence and influence, the women of

Lemnos fully abandon their semiotic urges and set aside their disruptive chaos. They also become faithful, domestic wives, leaving behind their elegiac abandonment narrative. When the

623 Cf. Keith 1997, 298. 624 Pudor often emphasizes “sexual respectability” (Kaster 1997, 9-10; Keith 1997, 298, 302-3). The use of the word here thus highlights the transgressive sexualization and eroticism of the massacre. 625 The phrase is in the passive voice, eliding the agency of these women in reconnecting with the symbolic. This, combined with the fact that few of these women are ever named, adds to the chaos of Hypsipyle’s experience as well as her disconnect from these women. 213

Argonauts approach, the Lemnian women confirm that they no longer can access power from the semiotic sphere. They recognize that the power they had held during the massacre—the fear and anger from their unwilling abandonment, their hostile reaction against the male symbolic code— allowed them to throw off the constraints of that code, their pudor, and react with violence. Now that they have retreated from it—they no longer have husbands, so they are no longer abandoned by them—this power has left them. As the Argo approaches, they impotently toss stones and struggle to raise the weapons of the massacre.626 Their strength, however, is gone: heu ubi nunc

Furiae?, 5.350. Moreover, as they gather these accoutrements, they lack their earlier pudor: quin et…galeas intrare…non pudet (“but they are not even ashamed to put on the helmets,” 354-

56). Upon putting on these grimy, bloody garments, Hypsipyle describes the reaction of the gods, and then the result (Theb. 5.356-58):

audaces rubuit mirata cateruas , et auerso risit Gradiuus in Haemo. tunc primum ex animis praeceps amentia cessit.

Pallas blushed in amazement at the audacious group, and Gradivus laughed in far-away Haemus. Then, for the first time, their headlong mindlessness fell away from their spirits.

Despite the fact that shame had returned after the massacre, they are without pudor (356) when the ships arrive. This pudor encapsulates their connection with the socio-symbolic contract: they attempt to reject that contract again and eliminate the demands for “respectability”—they have already violently destroyed the society that supported pudor in the massacre. Yet the gods still act as an audience for their shame. Pudor comes from within, but is also based on the “norms of a significant audience.”627 This trait represents the values of the socio-symbolic contract, and I

626 Theb. 5.353-56. 627 Kaster 1997, 8. 214

suggest that as the women oscillate between rejecting and upholding that contrast, so too do they waver on their feelings of shame. The laughter of the gods helps show that even while the women of Lemnos had rejected the socio-symbolic contract represented by the male population of the island, they still affiliate themselves with that social code.

In a repetition of their initial, post-massacre rejection of the semiotic, they once again separate their emotional drives (amentia cessit, 358) and set aside the semiotic. In the text, the women attributed their former power to the Furies, goddesses of vengeance (350). They recognized that the massacre was driven by emotion, and emotion gave them power. Without that emotion, they have only the socio-symbolic contract. When the heroes of the Argo finally become visible, the final elements of the semiotic evaporate (Theb. 5.394-97):

ut uero elisit nubes Ioue tortus ab alto ignis et ingentes patuere in fulmine nautae, 395 deriguere animi, manibusque horrore remissis arma aliena cadunt, rediit in pectora sexus.

But then Jupiter’s lightning, twisting from the heights, broke through the cloud and the sailors appeared great in the gleam. Spirits grew stiff, foreign weapons fall from hands relaxed in horror, and native sex returns to one’s breast.

As soon as they see that these men are heroes (ingentes nautae, 395), the Lemnian women cease their attempts to fight.628 The last of their semiotic power is neutralized, as the symbolic takes over once again: their weapons are now aliena (397), foreign, despite the fact that they were used in the massacre.629 They return fully to a life within the socio-symbolic contract: rediit in pectora

628 Earlier, they had thought the approaching ships were from Thrace, set to take revenge against the Lemnian men: 5.347-48 nos, uisu bella ratae. The Argonauts are described as ingentes, which may also suggest their imposing or fear-inducing size, in a parallel to Hypsipyle’ description of her fiancé at 5.222 with the word fortem. I discussed Gyas, and Hypsipyle’s reaction to his death, in Chapter 2. 629 Keith 2000, 33-34 quotes Lactantius’ late-antique commentary on these lines: “ALIEN WEAPONS: he meant not the weapons belonging to their husbands, but weapons not their own, that is belonging to the 215

sexus (397).630 Sexus, like pudor above, represents the expected role of a woman within the

Roman symbolic contract. Its return here clarifies the women’s return to that social code. In the presence of epic heroes, there is no place for the threatening violence of their former semiotic state. The Lemnian women had already begun to separate back into traditional feminine roles, and the arrival of these traditional masculine heroes sets up an ideal pattern for them. The women can return to their “proper place” within the social code now that the Argonauts are here to identify what that place is.

The Lemnian women are fully reintegrated into the socio-symbolic contract by the

Argonauts, as they pair off together and incorporate them into domestic family roles. Lemnos was first introduced as a barren, childless landscape.631 With the Argonauts, the Lemnian women recover Lemnos’ fertility (Theb. 5.460-62):

et uelox in terga reuoluitur annus. 460 iam noua progenies partusque in uota soluti, et non speratis clamatur Lemnos alumnis

And a swift year is turned about on its back. Now are new offspring and births fulfilled from vows and Lemnos resounds with unhoped-for nurslings.

The Lemnian women bear children to the Argonauts. These children are unexpected (non speratis, 461), after the massacre. This directly contrasts the barrenness of the island before the massacre: Polyxo had specifically pointed to the dearth of infants as an indication of Venus’

other sex. For (she says) when through fear at the sight of the Argonauts we are summoned back to our sex, our (womanly) nature resumes its own (proper) strength, since it could not have attained in full a strength not our own.” 630 In addition, this completes the Lemnian women’s rejection of Polyxo: earlier, she had encouraged them to cast away their sexus: firmate animos et pellite sexum (5.105). 631 Theb. 5.70-74. 216

displeasure with the Lemnians.632 Not only is the island restored to its former nature, but the women themselves are restored to their previous state of civilization: they are properly mothers again instead of murderers.633 In addition, the children who were murdered at the start of the massacre are metaphorically recovered.634 Lemnos represented first a failure of civilization, when no new children were born and the men abandoned their wives. During the massacre, it was a female-driven society, where women could overthrow the laws and constructs of a patriarchal society and live on their own. Now, through the presence of the Argonauts, Lemnos has been restored to typical social functions: men and women are properly married and produce children. Women follow social laws, and do not act like the women of elegy or tragedy, against the rule of men. The Lemnian women return to their domestic role as wives and mothers, and return Lemnos to a “normal” functionality.

While the Argonauts help to reintegrate the Lemnian women, and the island itself, back into the socio-symbolic contract, Hypsipyle is once again left out of the equation. While she had been separated at the beginning because she was too young to be abandoned, and again during the massacre because of the presence of her father Thoas, now with the Argonauts she cannot be reintegrated because she had never abandoned the socio-symbolic contract.635 Her solidarity from the other Lemnian women once again results in different actions and consequences for her.

Because Hypsipyle had never abandoned the symbolic order, she does not need to be reintegrated into that system alongside the other Lemnian women. By examining Lemnos

632 Theb. 5.114-15. 633 On this cycle, see Gervais 2008, 108-12. 634 E.g., the first victim, the son of Charops and his unnamed wife (5.160-63). 635 Vessey 1973, 183, summarizes: “Hypsipyle had not participated in the guilt of her fellows, and so she cannot share in its forgiveness.” 217

through this lens of Kristevan social dynamics and power structures, we can see that Hypsipyle had failed to reach the semiotic state of her Lemnian associates. The other Lemnian women, when they were abandoned, gained access to the semiotic through their societal marginalization.

Hypsipyle never had access to this power, and instead preserved the practical, political power of her father by preserving his life and, therefore, her ability to step onto the throne after him. As queen on Lemnos, she symbolically preserves the structures of the socio-symbolic contract. Yet now that she is queen, when the Argo arrives, she is paired up with Jason, its leader. The elegiac dynamic of their interactions is unique among the women of Lemnos. As I will expand upon further below, Jason’s elegiac interactions with Hypsipyle perform the opposite function to that of the Argonauts with the Lemnian women. While the Lemnian women are reintegrated into patriarchal society, Hypsipyle is finally turned away from it, towards the semiotic world.

Through the process of Hypsipyle’s separation from the Lemnian women during the massacre, and her isolation from their happiness alongside the Argonauts,636 she begins to engage with the semiotic in her own right. As the Lemnian women reintegrate into the male symbolic order, Hypsipyle begins to transition in the opposite direction.

Repetitions

One of the key features of the semiotic realm, especially its elegiac iteration, is the role of repetition, and an emphasis on boundaries. The woman in a semiotic chora is separated from the

636 As I discussed in Chapter 2, Hypsipyle clearly states that her relationship with Jason was not consensual: non sponte aut crimine, 5.455. Later, she adds that she bore sons as thalami monimenta coacti (5.463), becoming a mother duro sub hospite (5.464). Hypsipyle’s use of hospes here pointedly contrasts with his actions: he did not follow the typical code of guest-honor. Instead, he violated her sexual honor—recall, she had repeatedly reminded her audience that she was too young to marry. She is suddenly now not only married to this stranger, but also bearing him children. I emphasize here, as I discussed in Chapter 2, that while the other Lemnian women rejoice with their new children, Hypsipyle does not join in this happiness. 218

masculine symbolic contract, and she transgresses this boundary in order to disrupt and antagonize masculine space. While the man progresses in a linear fashion, the woman is trapped in a repetitive, unending cycle.637 This is what happened during the massacre: the semiotic

Lemnian women disrupted the masculine social contract by murdering the men. The men had journeyed from and back to Lemnos in a linear fashion while the women were stranded on the island, unable and unwilling to move. Following these patterns, Hypsipyle begins to exhibit these characteristics during her time on Lemnos as her life takes on certain repetitive patterns that draw her into the semiotic realm.

Hypsipyle’s repetitions are a well-noted feature of her role in the Thebaid, but here I focus not on her verbal repetitions, but on the fact that her story is, itself, repetitive in terms of theme and structure.638 Through the telling of her life story, a basic pattern emerges: men arrive, and violence ensues. The first pattern of violence around Hypsipyle is that of the Lemnian women against the Lemnian men, triggered by the men returning to the island. Second, the arrival of the Argonauts causes Jason to commit violence against Hypsipyle. 639 Third, the arrival of the Argives to Nemea results in the snake’s violence against Opheltes, as well as the Argive war against the snake in retaliation. The patterns continue: in the first, she was forced to flee the island and abandon her children. In Nemea, she abandons Opheltes which causes her to lose the protection of Lycurgus and Eurydice. Each time, Hypsipyle is a catalyst for but not agent of violence.

637 Cf. Kristeva 1981, 16-18. 638 Gibson 2004, as I note and discuss in Chapter 2, emphasizes Hypsipyle’s verbal repetitions. Ganiban 2007, 93, mentions some aspects of Hypsipyle’s thematic repetition, but focuses more on the verbal repetitions as Gibson. 639 I discuss further below how this violence is from Hypsipyle’s unwillingness in their sexual relationship. 219

Hypsipyle’s repetitions align her with the semiotic world of the elegiac relicta puella, following the paradigm that, on Spentzou’s reading, Ovid establishes from Catullus’ Ariadne.

This is a woman who, abandoned by her lover, is trapped in a landscape, unable to engage with the masculine symbolic world and its power. She has access instead to the power of the semiotic realm, which is driven by emotion and movement, and reinforced by social marginalization.

While the masculine symbolic is characterized with linear movement, the feminine semiotic is structured around cycles and repetition. Within this sphere, the semiotic relicta puella has the power to disrupt her immediate environment through language and violence.

Hypsipyle indicates her connection to this trope and pattern as she develops an affiliation with the elegiac abandoned woman through the development of repetitive patterns in her life.

These repetitions begin to build a semiotic space around her of marginalization, lack of the symbolic order, power, and disruptive violence.

Hypsipyle’s repetitions are set with the paradigm of the Lemnian men, though the pattern does not show itself until the Argonauts arrive and repeat it. When the Argonauts arrive on

Lemnos, Venus is there to divide them among the Lemnian women (Theb. 5.445-46):

ergo iterum Venus et tacitis corda aspera flammis 445 Lemniadum pertemptat Amor.

Then again Venus, and Amor with silent flames tempts the harsh hearts of the Lemnian women.

I discussed the network of intertextual references in these lines in Chapter 2. Here, I wish to note only that Statius emphasizes the already repetitive nature of Venus’ presence. She is introduced with ergo iterum (445), which demands that the reader recall Venus’ earlier role on the island during the massacre: Venus inspired sexual activity in advance of the massacre, and was also

220

involved in the violence of the murders.640 Venus’ return with the Argonauts, therefore, first sets up the expectation for sexual intercourse between the Lemnian women and the Argonauts.

Second, however, Venus’ presence also suggests impending violence. This repetition and expectation set up the reader to see Hypsipyle’s interactions with Jason as a form of violence, as

I will discuss further below: he is following the pattern that the Lemnian men initiated, that

Statius announces is being repeated through Venus’ presence.

It is not only Venus’ return presence on the island that identifies repetitive themes in

Hypsipyle’s life. Statius signals that events on the island repeat through the use of recurring vocabulary. Statius introduces the sight of both ships with ecce. In his commentary on Book 2, at an earlier usage of the phrase, Gervais notes that Statius uses ecce, often in the phrase ecce autem, primarily to introduce characters into a scene.641 Here, it introduces the Argonauts (Theb.

5.335-37):

ecce autem aerata dispellens aequora prora 335 Pelias intacti642 late subit hospita ponti pinus;

But see! The Pelian pine, scattering the waves with its bronze prow, comes proudly as a guest of the untouched sea.

Statius uses ecce autem here, one of its six uses in the text, to mark the visuality of the scene. At this moment, the narrative perspective switches from Hypsipyle’s reflective survey of the

640 Theb. 5.192-94, dederat Cytherea suprema / nocte uiros longoque breuem post tempore pacem / nequiquam et miseros perituro adflauerat igni. Iterum may also recall the long literary history of Venus’ role in this story. 641 Gervais 2017, ad 2.538. Ecce autem also appears at Theb. 1.401, 2.538, 4.575, 7.271, and 9.86, in addition to our locus in Book 5. 642 This refers to the fact that the Argo is the first ship; if this is so, how did the Lemnian men get to Thrace? Shackleton-Bailey (2003, ad loc) notes: “poets are not thereby inhibited from talking of earlier navigations, as Statius does at large in this Book and Valerius Flaccus in 2.108.” 221

Lemnian’s current emotional state—beginning to express doubt and hesitation over their actions in the massacre—to this new ship on the horizon.

Statius’ use of ecce to mark the arrival of the Argonauts mirrors another use of the particle to note the arrival of another ship: the Lemnian men, returning from Thrace. In the middle of Polyxo’s speech to the gathered Lemnian women, she sees sails on the horizon (Theb.

5.129-34):

…agebat pluribus; aduerso nituerunt uela profundo: 130 Lemnia classis erat. rapuit gauisa Polyxo fortunam atque iterat: “superisne uocantibus ultro desumus? ecce rates! deus hos, deus ultor in iras apportat coeptisque favet.

She was clamoring; sails shone back from the deep: it was the Lemnian fleet. Polyxo, laughing, seized the moment and repeated: “Are we really failing the calls of the gods? Look—the ships! A god appears, a god who avenges our anger favors these beginnings.”

Polyxo has just been encouraging the Lemnian women to murder their husbands upon their return (104-29). Seeing the sails, she seizes the opportunity (rapuit…fortunam, 131-32) and presses her advantage. She points to the ships and adds her final words of encouragement (132-

42). She uses this same word, ecce, to announce the ships (133) in order to emphasize that they are visible already. The word and its short clause, two words in the middle of two longer, enjambed sentences, emphasize the unexpected appearance of the ships, while at the same time perhaps stressing the point to the reader, who would already expect the Argonauts to arrive after the massacre. Polyxo’s startled, but advantageous ecce denotes the moment when she sees the

Lemnian ships and chooses to use them to further her own goals of violence.

I discussed above the Lemnian women’s attempt to refuel their semiotic passions against the Argo as it threatens to land at their shores. Here, I emphasize the repetitive nature of this

222

scene. The Lemnian women proceed to intentionally attempt to duplicate the massacre, even when they cannot recover their earlier maddened state (Theb. 5.353-54):

armaque maesta uirum atque infectos caedibus enses subuectant trepidae

Hesitant, they drag the sorrowful arms of their husbands and their swords infected with slaughter…

Hypsipyle describes their attempted repetition in language that itself is repeated from the massacre: she had introduced the massacre at the very beginning of her speech as arma inserta

…pudendo ense (5.31-32). Here she repeats arma with its Virgilian pair virum,643 and now the ense is not pudendo but infectos caedibus: not shameful, but already soaked in blood.

Hypsipyle’s language validates the pattern. Not only are their actions repeating, but even how she describes them is recovered from earlier use.

Other aspects of the Argonauts’ arrival on Lemnos parallel the return of the Lemnian men. Jupiter influences the weather both times: when the Lemnian men come home, he delays nightfall, then sets a dark mist over the island to hide it from passing ships (5.175-80). When the

Argonauts arrive, he sends a great storm (362-419).644 In addition, both groups of men disembark their ships with the same adverb, saltu (5.172, 423).645

Emphasizing the cyclical nature of these repetitions, the ways in which the Argonauts reintegrate the Lemnian women into the socio-symbolic contract directly repeat, with closure, the start of the Lemnian narrative. The Argonauts pair up with the Lemnian women, and after a year

643 The collocation of arma and vir cannot but remind an audience of Virgil, Aen. 1.1. 644 Cf. Gervais 2008, 45. 645 There are only so many words for ship in Latin, so the repetition of carina to denote both ships (at 5.170 for the Lemnians, and line 342 for the Argo) is not necessarily significant. 223

of living together (velox in terga revolvitur annus, 460), children are born (non speratis clamatur

Lemnos alumnis, 462). As I noted above, this returns the island to a sense of normalcy in terms of gender relations and familial dynamics. The semiotic urges of the Lemnian women have been safely suppressed, and they have been returned to a domestic sphere that will preserve their status in the socio-symbolic contract. Venus had abandoned the island, but her return marks the end of this punishment. The barren island where children are murdered becomes a fertile space for mothers and infants. There is a note of irony in this fact, that the symbolic reintegration of the

Lemnian women effects a semiotic transition for Hypsipyle.

These repetitions establish the Argonauts as a direct sequel to the Lemnian men returning from Thrace. As I have shown throughout, however, the pattern differs every time. The conclusion of the first step, the massacre itself, is not directly paralleled by the Argonauts, although their arrival does end with violence. I suggest that the violence of the massacre is paralleled instead by the violence of Jason’s rape of Hypsipyle, and followed up by her forced removal from power, safety, and freedom.646 While the first step in the pattern was communal violence, this second step is individualized.

The sexual nature of the crime is the same; I discussed in Chapter 2 the significance of the erotic imagery in the massacre instigating a parallel to the elegiac trope of militia amoris. I also discussed the resemblance of Jason’s relationship with Hypsipyle to the elegiac trope of servitium amoris, though here Jason maintains all of the power in the dynamic, contrary to the

646 Cf. Ganiban 2007, 91, who identifies Hypsipyle as “a blameless and unwilling victim of Jason… but Jason also become[s] more violent and blameworthy—he is depicted nearly as a rapist, for whom Hypsipyle has no passion.” 224

usual elegiac trope.647 Both of these elegiac tropes suggest violence, either real or symbolic.648 In

Kristevan terms, this violence is the act of the symbolic attempting to reassert itself against the semiotic, especially when the semiotic poses a disruptive threat. The emphasis on violent sexual acts, which during the massacre was a signal of the Lemnian women’s rejection of the male symbolic order, now highlights Hypsipyle’s first rejection of that order herself.

Isolated from the Lemnian women, Hypsipyle is drawn from her support of the symbolic social contract into the semiotic realm. This is intertwined with her process of engagement with elegiac tropes: at first, she sees the Lemnian women acting like elegiac abandoned women after the men leave them for Thrace. As an external observer, she witnesses this elegiac engagement from a distance, just as the Lemnian women themselves watch the ships depart. Hypsipyle comes into closer contact with elegiac paradigms when the Argonauts arrive and Jason’s relationship with her follows elegiac tropes. From distance to proximity, Hypsipyle’s engagement with elegiac paradigms on Lemnos structures her contact with the semiotic realm. The more deeply she is connected to elegiac patterns, the more she interacts with the semiotic in lieu of the symbolic.

All of these patterns are repeated actions that Hypsipyle observes on Lemnos. Within these patterns is another repeated theme that significantly influences Hypsipyle’s eventual disavowal of the symbolic world: abandonment. As with the arrival of the Lemnian men and the later arrival of the Argonauts, this theme of abandonment is first set as a paradigm, then repeated. Hypsipyle describes the Lemnian women as relictae puellae, as I discussed in Chapter

647 Nugent 1996, 59, wonders in connection with the massacre if “sexuality and violence, for the Lemnians, [are] in fact distinguishable?” 648 Ovid most frequently, as well as the other elegists, use physical violence against their lovers. I discuss and cite this more in Chapter 1. 225

2, as they watch the men sail away to Thrace.649 The women take on the particular visual and emotional characteristics of the elegiac puellae who are abandoned by their lovers.

Hypsipyle repeats this abandonment when she sends Thoas away during the massacre. At first glance, the situations are very different: Hypsipyle was abandoned by her father, not a lover or husband. Moreover, she was the one to send him away: the agency for his departure rests with her, not him. Yet just as Argia convinces Polynices to go to war and abandon her, Hypsipyle saves her father’s life, and in doing so, forces him to abandon her. The description of Hypsipyle bringing Thoas to his escape uses language reminiscent of the relicta puella. As Hypsipyle and

Thoas reach his little boat, they both weep and lament (nec fletibus umquam / fit modus alternis, ni iam dimittat Eoo / astra polo, 5.289-91).650 Statius specifies where this is taking place, litore rauco (291), with the same word that had described the Lemnian women watching their husbands depart (stantes in litore, 77). Hypsipyle’s fear is stressed, presumably for her father’s safety, just as the relicta puella references fear for her partner’s safety in his absence: multa metu

(292) and anxia retro / pectora (293-94). Finally, just as the Lemnian women gaze out across the waves at their departing husbands, and Hypsipyle herself sees Jason and the Argonauts depart,

Hypsipyle watches her father’s little boat sail away: prospectem undas (295).651 While the tone of this passage is different, the repetition of vocabulary recalls the pattern of the relicta puella.

Further, if we apply Kristeva’s terminology to these events, their similarities become even more clear. In both Lemnian situations, the woman is left behind while the man, representative of the masculine rule of law and the socio-symbolic contract, sails away to create

649 Theb. 5.77-84. 650 “Nor was there any limit to our mutual weeping, but for the fact that Lucifer was already dismissing the stars from the Eastern pole.” 651 Cf. Theb. 5.84 (spectant, Lemnian men), 481-83 (prosequimur visu, Argonauts). 226

linear progression and forward motion. The woman, left behind on a beach like Catullus’

Ariadne,652 can do nothing but lament her static lack of forward progress and her isolation in the cyclical semiotic chora.653 The agency of the abandonment is not as significant as the end result: the fact remains that the man, representing the symbolic, leaves the woman and her semiotic realm behind. His linear movement contrasts her immobile lament. In this light, we can see that despite the difference in agency and power, these situations are paralleled. The repetition now begins to foreshadow Hypsipyle’s further engagement with the elegiac pattern of the relicta puella and her increasing connection to the semiotic.

Hypsipyle’s engagement with the role of the relicta puella and the overall theme of abandonment is just beginning. In Chapter 2 I also discussed how Hypsipyle takes on the iconography of the relicta puella when Jason and the Argonauts leave Lemnos.654 Now fully engaging with this elegiac paradigm, and like the Lemnian women at the start of her monologue,

Hypsipyle is left behind by a romantic partner, the father of her children, and she laments this abandonment while standing on a beach watching him sail away. Hypsipyle watching the Argo depart directly replicates the scene of the Lemnian women watching their husbands leave.655 It also, however, mirrors the moment when she sends Thoas away. The Lemnian women had, at this point, reaffiliated with the socio-symbolic contract through their new domestic status as wives and mothers. In contrast, Hypsipyle fully engages with the trope of the elegiac relicta

652 The Lemnian women; Theb. 5.77 ~ Hypsipyle, 5.291-95. 653 I discussed the role of Catullus’ Ariadne as a major proto-elegiac figure in Chapter 2. As Gardner (2007) analyzes, Ariadne forms a paradigmatic model for the elegiac relicta puella especially her iteration in Ovid’s Heroides. 654 On the elegiac background of Hypsipyle’s relationship with Jason, see esp. Nugent 1996, 68; Micozzi 2002, 65-70; Falcone 2011. 655 Theb. 5.81-84 ~ 5.481-85. 227

puella for the first time. Left behind twice and faced with symbolic violence, Hypsipyle has her connection to the socio-symbolic contract begin to fragment.

With each repetition of abandonment, Hypsipyle is forced closer to the semiotic realm.

At the end of her monologue, she is finally disconnected from the masculine symbolic.

Throughout this chapter, we have seen how Hypsipyle is separated from the rest of the Lemnian women.656 In the final repetition of this abandonment motif, Hypsipyle removes herself physically from Lemnos. She abandons her people and her city, and at the same time is abandoned by them when they turn against her. Rumor had come to Lemnos of Thoas’ survival after she had faked his death in the massacre. As a result, the Lemnian women reject Hypsipyle as queen because she failed to participate in the murders (Theb. 5.490-94):

quin etiam occultae uulgo increbrescere uoces: 490 “solane fida suis, nos autem in funera laetae? non deus haec fatumque? quid imperat urbe nefanda?” talibus exanimis dictis (et triste propinquat supplicium, nec regna iuuant)…

But in fact, surreptitious voices grew in the crowd: “was she alone faithful to hers, while we rejoiced in bloodshed? Were these actions, and this fate, godly? Why does she rule over this accursed city?” Terrified by such words (a sorrowful punishment approaches, nor is my royalty a benefit)…

The Lemnian women question why Hypsipyle, whose hands are not bloody, should have power over them. If they have done wrong (nos autem in funera laetae, 491), why should Hypsipyle, who alone, sola, remained fida (491), be queen? The women had already begun to reject Polyxo,

656 Cf. Kristeva 1981, 27: “as with any society, the counter-society is based on the expulsion of an excluded element, a scapegoat charged with the evil of which the community duly constituted can then purge itself, a purge which will finally exonerate that community of any future criticism.” Without Hypsipyle, the Lemnian women are a Kristevan community/ counter-society again, or at least an attempted one—some of their children are presumably male, though still in a semiotic infancy. After 20 years—i.e., when Hypsipyle is in Nemea—who knows the state of Lemnian society? 228

the main driving force behind the massacre, even before the Argo and its sailors arrived. 657

Finally, they begin to reject Hypsipyle too, unwilling to be ruled by a blameless ruler (quid imperat urbe nefanda?, 492). Terrified at their reaction to Thoas’ survival and fearing further action (493-94)—Hypsipyle knows what these women are capable of—she chooses to flee the island, leaving behind her infant sons.658

As I will show below, Hypsipyle once again references an empty shoreline, the visual signal of the abandonment motif,659 symbolizing the liminal status that comes along with abandonment. Just as the shore is the space between land and sea, abandonment is the moment of recognizing the distinction between being alone and being part of a community. 660 In this final repetition of abandonment, Hypsipyle is left utterly alone, disconnected from the symbolic contract that had preserved her after the massacre (her throne), the masculine symbolic that reintegrated the women around her (Jason and the Argonauts) and, finally, the community of

Lemnian women, who failed to protect her. Without this companionship and abandoned from every aspect of the socio-symbolic contract, Hypsipyle fled Lemnos, completing the pattern of abandonment and sending herself fully into the semiotic realm.

Hypsipyle’s final repetition is a conscious imitation of Thoas’ departure from the island.

Just as she enacted the first stage of her abandonment when she saved Thoas, she completes it when she attempts to “rescue” herself. As she flees Lemnos, she intentionally follows the path and pattern she had established with Thoas (Theb. 5.494-98):

657 Theb. 5.327, paulatim invisa Polyxo, discussed above. 658 Theb. 5.466-67. 659 Theb. 5.494-95, vaga litora…incomitata. 660 That is why abandonment is so significant to the elegiac mode: because the elegiac amator and domina are each other’s only family, abandonment of the elegiac relationship is a true abandonment; cf. Prop. 1.11.23. 229

…uaga litora furtim incomitata sequor funestaque moenia linquo, 495 qua fuga nota patris. sed non iterum obuius Euhan, nam me praedonum manus huc appulsa tacentem abripit et uestras famulam transmittit in oras.

In secret, alone and wandering, I follow the shores and leave behind the funereal city, on the path that my father knew. But Bacchus did not again stand in the way, for a band of pirates, having landed here, seize me, silent, and carried me as a slave to your shores.

She is again alone on a deserted shore (vaga litora furtim incomitata, 494), in the typical pose of the relicta puella. She leaves behind the city (moenia linquo, 495): she declares her agency in actively abandoning the island which had rejected her in so many ways. Hypsipyle knows this is a repetition: she follows a pattern, as much as she follows a literal pathway. She intentionally follows the path (sequor, 495) that Thoas did in order to repeat his journey. In an enjambed line, she declares that she follows his path (fuga nota patris, 496). By delaying this phrase, she emphasizes both her agency in leaving and the fact that she consciously repeats the pattern. Yet in the midst of this expression of pattern and paradigm, of agency and direct, conscious action,

Hypsipyle sets up audience expectations only to surprisingly subvert it. In a change from the pattern she follows, Bacchus was not there to whisk her to safety: non iterum obuius Euhan

(496). Not only that, but his replacement is an unexpected group of pirates (praedonum manus,

497), who seize her (abripit, 498) and take her to mainland (vestras in oras, 498) as a slave (famulam, 498).661 She accepts this unexpected misfortune with silence (tacentem, 497). In a metapoetic turn of phrase, Hypsipyle ends her extended monologue with this mention of her silence.

661 Heslin 2016, 104 notes that vestras further distances Hypsipyle from her audience and stresses her disaffiliation with Nemea. Cf. 5.39, where Hypsipyle identifies herself as a slave to vestri Lycurgi. 230

Hypsipyle recognizes the patterns that shaped her experiences on Lemnos. In her attempt to take control of the repetition, she followed Thoas’ footsteps to leave. In response, she was met with the violence of the slave ship: once again, unexpectedly, men arrived at the island and

Hypsipyle was there to experience their violent actions. Hypsipyle does not specify the level of violence that her abduction entailed, but the verb abripio can denote sexual violence as well as the violence of physical seizure.662 Hypsipyle also connects this final repetition to the problem of subverted expectations. In following Thoas’ path, she expected her familial connection to

Bacchus to work in her favor.663 She sets up the expectation for her audience that he would rescue her as he did her father and her grandmother.

Because of her similarity to the elegiac relicta puella, Hypsipyle emphasizes her connection to Ariadne. Ariadne was not only the paradigm for the relicta puella, but also becomes a paradigmatic figure for Hypsipyle: through her deceptive actions, Ariadne led

Theseus to safety through the labyrinth, then was forced to flee her home. Betrayed and abandoned by Theseus, trapped in the socially-marginalized shoreline and the figuratively liminal space of the relicta puella, she was saved by Bacchus and reintegrated into safety and

(divine or celestial) society. Similarly, Hypsipyle had deceived everyone she knew to save

Thoas’ life. When this was discovered, she fled and was stranded on the Lemnian shore. Yet instead of saving her like Ariadne or Thoas, Bacchus abandoned her.

When Hypsipyle is seized by pirates and taken from her home, this abrupt, unplanned exit confirms her association with the Kristevan semiotic. Each time these themes in Hypsipyle’s

662 TLL s.v. abripio §I.a and IV.a. Like rapio (TLL s.v. §II.a.1), it can also suggest sexual violence. 663 Bacchus helped Thoas escape Lemnos. Why would he not help Hypsipyle? The reader knows that Bacchus has taken an interest in Hypsipyle in Nemea: he guides the Argive army towards her, 4.746, but Statius declines to spell out why he has delayed this assistance. 231

life repeat, she is drawn further from her support of the socio-symbolic contract. Each repetition indicates a failure of that contract to support and benefit her. Kristeva suggests that while men travel in linear progress, women in their semiotic space repeat in eternal cycles.664 It is this repetition that Hypsipyle experiences, and each time it occurs, she associates more and more with the semiotic realm. At first, the traditional socio-symbolic contract had protected her and she had protected it in the form of her father’s life. Then, that very action caused her need to flee her own home, as her separation from the other Lemnian women was finalized. In each repetition of her life’s pattern, another aspect of the protection of the socio-symbolic contract was removed: first, she sent Thoas away. When Jason and the Argonauts arrive, instead of protecting her, Jason used his power as leader of the Argonauts to force her into an unwanted marriage. He then proceeded to abandon her. Finally, the news of her father’s survival comes to the island and destroys her safety net. Her stability as queen is ruined by the very means she took to get on the throne: Thoas’ life. Each step distances her from the socio-symbolic contract.

The pirates mark her final separation from the masculine symbolic when they violently remove her from Lemnos. The pirates disassociate her from Lemnos but fail to break her repetitive pattern. Instead, her removal merely locks her into this liminal state: trapped between city and freedom, without a rescuer in sight, she is left with no hope nor desire for reintegration.

The separation that she had felt compared to the other Lemnian women is now realized on a societal level: she is without society, without any connection to the socio-symbolic contract, bereft of family, home, and a place in the world.665 These final repetitions at the end of her

664 Cf. Kristeva 1981, 16-18. 665 These isolating factors identify Hypsipyle’s imposing threat: she is not aggressive, nor is she physically imposing or menacing—she is a slave, downtrodden and wretched, as described in her introduction. However, as a semiotic abandoned woman, she has access to power. She could, like Polyxo 232

monologue serve to isolate Hypsipyle to such a degree that she is fixed, firmly, in the Kristevan semiotic: trapped in a cycle of repetition, disconnected from the rest of the world, yet symbolizing the disruptive and threatening power of an abandoned, liminal woman.666

Time

Hunter Gardner, in her monograph on time in Latin love elegy, suggests that the elegiac puella, when abandoned, is characterized with a particular temporal resonance: “that is, an experience defined by repetition, cyclicality, and spatial enclosure.”667 She argues that this abandoned puella becomes a foil for the poet-amator to express his “teleological advancement,” or, his linear narrative progression. This mode of expressing the puella’s time is what Kristeva describes as women’s time: time is experienced differently by different genders. Female time is characterized by key features that prevent forward movement, engagement with the socio- symbolic contract, and narrative continuity. I suggest that Hypsipyle’s depiction of her life on

Lemnos follows this same pattern. Statius brings the poetics of a cyclical, repetitive, abandoned elegiac puella into the characterization of his Hypsipyle. Hypsipyle and her Lemnos are stuck in this narrative loop of repetition and marginalization.

When an event repeats, the repetition brings along a sense of timelessness: it is as if the clock was rewound and the original moment happened again. In this sense, repetitions are endless as they mimic the lack of forward, linear progression in time or in a teleological

and the Lemnian women, commit murder. Like the Ovidian relictae puellae, she could curse those who abandoned her, prepare for murders, etc. She does not do this, but as an abandoned woman in this semiotic chora, she has the potential to do so. This is where her threat resides, in combination with the metanarrative power Statius attributes to her over the course of her extended narrative delay. 666 The confirmation of this pattern also foreshadows the death of Opheltes: the Argive army, as I discuss below, repeat Hypsipyle’s pattern with their arrival, and the resulting violence is the death of the infant. Hypsipyle’s threat 667 Gardner 2013a, 146. 233

narrative. Hypsipyle’s repetitions throughout her time on Lemnos engage with this cyclicality.

They also, however, fit within Gardner’s pattern of the atemporality of an abandoned woman. In contrast, Hypsipyle emphasizes that the men she interacts with, from the Lemnian men to the

Argonauts to her father, all dramatically engage with the forward, linear movement of time and progress through space.668

The Lemnian men, to instigate the story and mark the pattern which all other men in her tale repeat, are directly characterized by movement. First, they leave the island, and abandon their wives.669 This is the moment when the patterns begin, when the elegiac trope is first introduced to the women of the island and when they all take their first steps towards Polyxo’s semiotic. When the men leave, they journey away in a linear, forward motion, leaving the women behind: unmoving, trapped on the shore, left only to weep.670 When the men return, they describe where they had gone: per Strymona…Rhodope…in Haemo (5.188-89), in contrast to the fixed stability of the women.671 The Argonauts also arrive, then depart with narrative fanfare.672

Each repetition reaffirms that the men move while the women are fixed.

668 This has some similarities to the discussions of “delay” in this episode. McNelis in particular considers the Nemean delay to serve as a Callimachean interlude imposing generic conflict on the teleological progression of the epic (2007, 76-96). McNelis emphasizes that this delay has strong Callimachean resonances, which tie into his broader argument of Statius’ program illustrating the Theban civil war metapoetically in a conflict between martial and Callimachean epic poetics. I agree with the deeply Callimachean resonance of Statius’ Nemea, but consider that this is not the only generic background at play, as I have argued above and in Chapter 2. Further, the delay that Hypsipyle poses is inspired by her elegiac background, and has internal ramifications for her character, and that of the Argives, in addition to the metapoetic narrative. 669 Theb. 5.75-80. 670 Theb. 5.81-84. 671 The river and the Rhodopis and Haemus mountains are all located in Thrace. 672 They arrive: 5.335-444; and depart: 5.468-85. 234

During the massacre, Thoas’ departure is a significant moment for Hypsipyle, as it marks the beginning of her abandonment narrative.673 She is trapped on Lemnos and unable to move in the same linear fashion.674 While he does not physically return to the island, rumor of his survival comes to Lemnos (Theb. 5.486-88):

fama subit portus uectum trans alta Thoanta fraterna regnare Chio, mihi crimina nulla et uacuos arsisse rogos.

Rumor came to the port that Thoas, carried across the sea, ruled in his brother’s Chios; that my crime was nonexistent, and I had burned an empty pyre.

In a concise statement, Hypsipyle links fama with Thoas’ life through the words’ juxtaposed positions at the start and end of the line: fama…Thoanta (486). In a twist on masculine movement, Thoas does not need to come to Lemnos to stress his mobility, in contrast to

Hypsipyle’s static position: when the rumor comes to Lemnos, it is as if Thoas himself has returned. The other pieces of the rumor are built in: if Thoas is alive, then Hypsipyle had not killed him. Her crime—his murder—is, therefore, exposed for its deception. The pyre she burned

(5.313-19) had no body upon it. Yet Thoas, for all that he was sent away secretly in the middle of the night, was able to move on and follow a linear narrative: the rumor Hypsipyle records is that he is ruling with his brother on Chios (487, regnare). He was able to maintain his regal position in a new city. His movement from the island opened up advantages in his life. In contrast,

Hypsipyle’s stagnant existence is reinforced: she may be the queen on the island, but she is trapped in a lie, unable to escape.675 Thoas’ movement from Lemnos shows his progression, in

673 Theb. 5.248-89. 674 Cf. Theb. 5.291-95. 675 In addition, as I suggested above, it is precisely because she is queen that Jason partnered with her, resulting in her unwanted marriage. 235

contrast with Hypsipyle’s opposite experience. She spends her energy during the massacre sending him away instead of leading herself out.

Looking back at Hypsipyle’s growing pattern of abandonment and repetition, one feature of her time on Lemnos stands out: with two exceptions, there are no temporal markers. In addition to Hypsipyle’s emphasis on her lack of linear movement, she also elides the passage of time.676 The first exception is nested within Polyxo’s speech. Here, she references how long it has been on Lemnos since men and women had sexual intercourse (5.108-16): three years have passed since Venus abandoned the island (tertia canet hiems, 112). In that time no couple has laid together, nor have children been born.677 Yet even while she specifies how much time has passed, her statement is still vague. Three years have passed since the women have had sex with their husbands, but at what point in those years did the men leave for Thrace? These details are unclear throughout the Lemnian episode.

In addition, neither Polyxo nor Hypsipyle specify when Polyxo’s speech began: how long have the women been abandoned? Hypsipyle notes that the Lemnian women spend days and nights lamenting their abandonment: sub nocte dieque / adsiduis aegrae (5.82-83). After this unspecified length of time—a single night and day in constant lamentation? If multiple days,

676 Elsewhere, Statius references the progress of time by either identifying an actual progress of time, as I note below, or, for example, by switching narrative perspectives to indicate progress; to begin Book 3, the narrative alternates between Eteocles (3.1-32), the Theban survivor of Tydeus’ ambush and the lamenting women (3.40-217), the gods (3.218-323) and also actual depictions of time changes (night ending, 3.33- 39) to indicate temporal progression. 677 This three-year gap may parallel the three-year gap that started Book 4 (4.1-3), as I discussed in Chapter 2. Incidentally, this is also the length of time that the Argonauts spend on Lemnos in Ovid’s version: Her. 6.56-57. 236

how many?678—Polyxo leaps from her bed precisely at midday: Sol operum medius (5.85).679

The emphasis on the specific time of day contrasts with the vagueness how much time in general has passed.

The second clear indication of how much time has passed during the monologue occurs while the Argonauts are on the island. Hypsipyle notes that a year passes before they leave again, in a passage I cite above.680 This reference to a year emphasizes the domestic unit that the

Argonauts develop on Lemnos. Each bears a child with a Lemnian woman and remains with her through the entire pregnancy and the first months on the infant’s life.681 It is only after this point that the Argonauts leave and continue their journey. The women and their children were able to delay the Argonautic voyage to Colchis and prevent the success of Jason’s quest from happening immediately. While the men are on Lemnos, their linear teleological narrative is stunted.

These two moments are the only direct references to the passage of time. I emphasize this point because in other contexts where it would be expected, Hypsipyle fails to clarify how much time passes. As I noted, Hypsipyle does not make clear how long the Lemnian men had been away in Thrace before Polyxo suggests the massacre. There are other moments where transitions between moments in the text are abrupt, and fail to indicate the passage of time. For example,

678 Nocte dieque and its related phrases (noctes diesque and the Ennian noctesque diesque, Enn. Ann. 10.336, cf. Skutsch ad loc.) usually refer to an unspecific, generalized length of time. Statius does use this form (it repeats at Theb. 11.377 and Silv. 1.2.82, 3.5.57, 4.6.94, 5.1.72), and other the Flavian authors prefer it: Valerius Flaccus (Arg. 2.281), Silius Italicus (Pun. 12.483, 13.290, 14.61), (Sat. 3.105, 7.61, 13.198) and Martial (2.43.2, 10.58.11, 11.56.6). They follow Ovid: Met. 2.343, 4.260, 12.46; ex Pont. 3.1.40. Contrast Virgil who follows Ennius (Aen. 6.556, noctesque diesque), and Statius elsewhere in the Thebaid: 3.76, 7.503, 12.396, 12.485; cf. Silv. 2.1.210, Ach. 1.637. Statius switches much more than other authors. 679 “Sol was at the middle of his task.” 680 Theb. 5.460-62: et uelox in terga reuoluitur annus. / iam noua progenies partusque in uota soluti, / et non speratis clamatur Lemnos alumnis. 681 This is in contrast the other representations of this story where Hypsipyle has not yet given birth to Jason’s sons when he leaves; cf. Ap. Rhod. Arg. 1.898, Ov. Her. 6.119-20, V. Fl. Arg. 2.395. 237

immediately after the Argonauts depart from Lemnos, rumor arrives that Thoas is alive. 682 There is no textual indication of a temporal separation of these two events. The Lemnian women watch the Argonauts sail away like they watched their first husbands leave, standing on the cliffs and watching their sails recede (5.481-83). As they watch, the sea and sky merge on the horizon to their tired eyes. With no transition beyond a line-break, the rumor of Thoas’ survival arrives

(Theb. 5.483-86):

…donec lassauit euntes lux oculos longumque polo contexere uisa est aequor et extremi pressit freta margine caeli. 485 fama subit portus uectum trans alta Thoanta

…until the light tired out our eyes and the sea seemed at length to bind to the sky and pressed down the waves at the edge of the furthest heavens. Rumor came to the port that Thoas, carried across the sea…

Without an indication of the difference in time, it appears that rumor came to Lemnos immediately after the Argonauts left. The effect of the lack of transition is that Hypsipyle’s life moves from major event to major event, with no time for a reprieve. Throughout these passages, we never see Hypsipyle’s retroactive analysis of events. She narrates things as they happen and provides some analytical details during the telling (such as her unwillingness for the relationship with Jason, and her horror at the massacre), but gives no details in the aftermath. In addition, her continued separation from the socio-symbolic contract is suggested through this disconnect from movement through space and through time. The significance of her thematic repetitions is enhanced when these repetitions seem to happen in immediate succession.

682 Theb. 5.486. 238

Further, even the end of the massacre blurred into the Argonauts’ arrival, with no temporal indicators. Immediately after the massacre, Hypsipyle completes the pyre for Thoas and pretends to burn his corpse.683 Yet she is then crowned queen (regna…datur, 5.321-22), and fails to indicate how much, if any, time passes between the massacre and this “gift.”684 As queen, she rules over a traumatized Lemnos whose subjects slowly come to terms with their actions, and begin by rejecting Polyxo (paulatim invisa Polyxo, 327). Hypsipyle repeats iam three times in succession, emphasizing in anaphora each different phase of self-realization that the women go through. The women experience growing dolor (iam magis atque magis uigiles dolor angere sensus, 326), recall the crime (meminisse nefas, 328), and build proper altars to their dead

(ponere manibus aras, 328-29).685 Hypsipyle fails to clarify how much time passes while these events take place. I emphasize this lack of overall temporal forward progress because immediately after this process of recognition, Hypsipyle announces the arrival of the

Argonauts.686 The Argo appears on the scene with the exclamatory particle ecce (335), signaling not only a new ship on the horizon, but also the beginning of a new episode. After the repetition of iam, which signaled an unspecified “now,” this deictic ecce further grabs the readers’ attention to highlight the here-and-now, while failing to identify when “now” is.

683 Theb. 5.311-19. 684 Theb. 5.320-25, his mihi pro meritis, ut falsi criminis astu / parta fides, regna et solio considere patris / (supplicium!) datur. anne illis obsessa negarem? / accessi, saepe ante deos testata fidemque / inmeritasque manus; subeo (pro dira potestas!) / exangue et maestam sine culmine Lemnon. 685 iam magis atque magis uigiles dolor angere sensus, / et gemitus clari, et paulatim inuisa Polyxo, / iam meminisse nefas, iam ponere manibus aras / concessum et multum cineres iurare sepultos. 686 Lines 330-34 are a simile comparing the Lemnian women to a heifer watching the leader of a herd killed by a lion, having to reconcile their community without its leading figure. This may imply that the Lemnian women regret having rejected Polyxo, for even if they came to disagree with her, she at least was a decisive, powerful leader among them. 239

With this new particle ecce, we shift perspective away from the Lemnian women and their process of uncovering and reconciling their actions during the massacre, towards the arrival of the Argonauts. By changing perspective so suddenly, Hypsipyle reinforces the lack of closure regarding the massacre. We see the Lemnian women transition out of the semiotic realm after the massacre, but by failing to identify the temporal markers of this transition, Hypsipyle indicates her own perspective, and her own slip into that timeless eternity of the Kristevan elegiac female experience.687 These moments all create a complex sense of time on the island: everything both happens at once, and takes forever. The atemporality of the island emphasizes its fixed location in contrast to the continuous movement of the male characters in the epic.

Semiotic Hypsipyle

By the time the Argive army meets Hypsipyle in Nemea, she has embraced the semiotic: she has been pushed so far from the socio-symbolic contract that she has nowhere else to go. In

Nemea, she has been isolated and protected in a liminal phase where she can, on the one hand, maintain her isolation from violence and a repetition of her traumatic pattern, but on the other hand, the masculine socio-symbolic contract can be protected from her disruptive, threatening presence.

In Nemea, Hypsipyle is isolated in a space defined by boundaries. In this space she is protected. This is what Antony Augoustakis identifies as a Kristevan semiotic chora.

Augoustakis uses aspects of Kristeva’s theoretical models to describe Hypsipyle’s complicated motherhood in Statius.688 He starts by recognizing Spentzou’s association of Kristeva’s chora

687 In another example, after the rumor came to Lemnos of Thoas’ survival, Hypsipyle fails to indicate how much time passes before she flees. This again suggests at once no time, and a long span. 688 Augoustakis 2010; see also Augoustakis 2012 and McAuley 2016. 240

with Ovid’s Heroides.689 He emphasizes the liminality of Ovid’s heroines as a key aspect of their location in the chora.690 He identifies Hypsipyle’s extended monologue as a chora, in the same way that Spentzou identifies the Ovidian letters as a chora.691 This spills into an identification of

Nemea as a chora itself, with the landscape assimilated to a maternal sphere.692 Yet Augoustakis suggests that Nemea is an “unreliable proxy” for Hypsipyle’s surrogate motherhood. She had failed as a mother on Lemnos by abandoning her children, and she fails again in Nemea by first choosing Nemea as a maternal tellus, wrongly, then by forgetting Opheltes in this place. These actions, he suggests, results in Opheltes’ death, as Nemea manifests “into the symbolic” and instigates death and despair.693 He stresses that she has failed to integrate into her new Nemean landscape, and remains marginalized in this already liminal space.694

While I do not support all of these conclusions, as will become evident below, I do follow

Augoustakis in recognizing Hypsipyle’s Nemea as a semiotic space. It has a clear boundary from the symbolic city of Nemea and the rest of the symbolic epic, and is characterized by the maternal femininity of Kristeva’s chora. Her space is timeless: I add to Augoustakis’ definition the additional note that Hypsipyle has, apparently, been enslaved for almost twenty years, based on the fact that her sons are twenty years old.695 Nemea is timeless, vacant, and isolated. Yet, as I will indicate, Hypsipyle’s Nemea is full of semiotic energy, power, and agency. Just as Polxyo

689 He also seems to suggest that Ovid’s tradition is representative of a broader elegiac characterization of women. I follow this suggestion, as does Gardner (indirectly), though Augoustakis does not specify anywhere beyond this single mention the broader generic resonance of female liminality. 690 Augoustakis 2010, 19-20. 691 Augoustakis 2010, 22. 692 Augoustakis 2010, 31. 693 Augoustakis 2010, 31-32. 694 Augoustakis 2010, 50. 695 As she notes near the end of her speech; 5.466. Of course, Hypsipyle fails to note any further details, such as if she was in Nemea the entire time, and if so, what she did before she became nursemaid to Opheltes, the first son of the king and queen. This adds, in general, to the timeless sense of the episode. 241

had the power to persuade the other Lemnian women to commit murder, and then proceeded to begin the massacre, so too does Hypsipyle acquire power in the semiotic realm. This power, emphasized by her semiotic characteristics, is exactly why she is in the text: Hypsipyle delays the Argive army in Nemea with her semiotic power.

Hypsipyle’s very presence interferes in the narrative progression of the Thebaid. She delays the Argive march to war, finally begun at the start of Book 4. The army, on their linear route from Argos to Thebes, stops when they reach Nemea and Hypsipyle. What could have been a short delay for Hypsipyle to lead them to water turns into a extended jaunt in Nemea as the Argives pause their forward progression in order to first listen to Hypsipyle’s story (5.49-

498), then to avenge the dead Opheltes (5.554-87), and finally to participate in the funeral games in his honor (6.249-946).696 It is only at the start of Book 7, with the direct interference of Jupiter and Mars, that forward progress continues.697 Hypsipyle’s semiotic power directly interferes with their linear forward motion as her life itself acts as a delaying, disruptive threat to the linear and narrative progression of the epic heroes.698

In Nemea, Hypsipyle is characterized in a series of liminal statements, which, as I will show, express her complex engagement with and rejection of the socio-symbolic contract.

Hypsipyle’s semiotic chora is emphasized throughout her appearance in Nemea, specifically due

696 Compare, e.g., in Apollonius’ Argonautica, the Argonauts face a similar problem when they are struck by a desperate thirst after carrying the Argo. They come across the Hesperides, who mourn the death of the sacred serpent, recently killed by Heracles. In the process, he had created a new spring, thus providing the Argonauts with fresh water: 4.1393-460. 697 Theb. 7.1-33. 698 McNelis 2007, 90-91, emphasizes Hypsipyle’s narrative power in that she delays the martial epic during the course of her embedded speech, and attributes to her the delaying power of the funeral games. He otherwise grants her very little attention as a figure of any agency in the plot or its lack of forward momentum. On Statius’ thematization of delay elsewhere in the epic, see Gervais 2017 on Statius’ pattern of “thematized delay” in Book 12 esp. 307-10; Parkes 2012, xvii-xx emphasizes the role of delay throughout Book 4. 242

to her liminal status. Unlike her transitory nature in Lemnos, when she was slipping from her support of the masculine symbolic into the semiotic, here in Nemea she is fixed in her semiotic space. Her liminal state expresses a direct rejection of the symbolic realm. Yet this rejection of the socio-symbolic contract also, as Kristeva emphasizes, poses a threat to that contract.

Hypsipyle’s semiotic power is thus derived from her liminal status, on the one hand, and the threat this status poses to the symbolic, on the other hand. I suggest that her liminal status and, through this, her semiotic nature, is continually reinforced throughout her appearance in

Nemea. First, she is a mother, but the child at her breast is not her own infant (Theb. 4.748-49):

ad ubera Opheltes / non suus

At her breast is Opheltes, not her own…

When the Argives first see her, she is alone in the forest of Nemea but for Opheltes, who is introduced here by his name and one key identifying factor: he is non suus. This immediately introduces the two of them as a united, linked pair, but one that is not a straightforward representation of the standard mother-child unit. Hypsipyle’s status as a nursemaid is not, on its own, indicative of her separation from the socio-symbolic contract. But Statius adds to this description and highlights Hypsipyle’s maternal contradictions. Hypsipyle reinforces the fact that she is not Opheltes’ mother when she speaks to Adrastus and the others (Theb. 4.778-79):

altricem mandati cernitis orbam / pignoris…

You see the childless nurse of a foster child…

As in the first example, her connection to Opheltes—the maternal link that is not by blood—is reinforced through the structure of the line. There, non suus was enjambed, separating this information from Opheltes’ name. Here, pignoris (779) is enjambed, which serves to emphasize

243

Opheltes’ separation from Hypsipyle despite her obvious care for him.699 In addition, Hypsipyle identifies herself here as a bereft mother: orbam (778). This word is often used for a parent whose child has died.700 Here, Hypsipyle suggests that the absence of her sons is as if they had died, even while she advertises her maternal connection to Opheltes. She is a mother, but not to the child she cares for. She thus identifies herself within a liminal maternal space: she is orbam but still has a child ad ubera. She continues, stressing her role as a mother—in contrast to the nurse, altricem (778) of Opheltes—to absent sons (Theb. 4.779-80):

at nostris an quis sinus, uberaque ulla, / scit deus

But only a god knows whether mine has bosom or breast.

In this early introduction to the Argive leaders, she specifies here that she has given birth, further reinforcing that Opheltes is not her natural son, but that she has no knowledge of her children.

Statius identifies her first as giving her breast to Opheltes, ad ubera (4.748), so the repetition of uberaque ulla here (780) is even more poignant: she gives her breast to a child that is not her own, and thus models the behavior she hopes someone had offered her own sons. The emphasis on her motherhood is balanced between her status as surrogate, and as absent mother. 701 Even from her first introduction, Hypsipyle is immediately introduced as a figure who embodies a series of contradictions that stress her liminal position in society. She is neither a mother with her own children, but neither is she bereft of children.

699 Later, his mother Eurydice complains that Hypsipyle, in her role as nursemaid, acted more like his mother than she herself did: 6.161-67, esp. 66-67: illa tibi genetrix semper dum uita manebat, / nunc ego. 700 TLL s.v. §I.A.1.a. In addition, Ovid’s Hypsipyle uses this word in her prayer that Medea will lose her children and husband in the future, Ov. Her. 6.155-56. 701 As we read further, this line may be surprising, given that her sons are now twenty years old, as I have discussed. I suggest that Hypsipyle’s a-temporal state in Lemnos has fixed her sons in her mind as infants, and she cannot imagine them as grown men. This explains her shock at seeing them later in the epic. 244

Hypsipyle hints at her identity as she continues to describe herself to the Argive leaders in contradictory terms expressive of her marginalized status (Theb. 4.780):

et nobis regnum tamen et pater ingens

And I once had a kingdom, and a great father.

She does not identify herself as queen, but she acknowledges the power she held on Lemnos

(nobis regnum tamen). She identifies her father as well, suggesting that he held power: pater ingens. She identifies her father twice more before the monologue: first, as the only male survivor of Lemnos (Theb. 5.35-36):702

raptum quae sola parentem / occului

I alone hid my father, having stolen him away.

If she assumes that her audience knows of the Lemnian massacre,703 this serves to confirm

Thoas’ identity. If not, this serves as a tantalizing hint of the scandal and story to come. Later, she identifies Thoas by name, calling him there claro Thoante (5.39). Between these moments,

Hypsipyle stresses certain aspects of her semiotic character: her father was famous, but hidden: the juxtaposition of claro (39) and occului (36) is particularly pointed. She used to have power as well as a father, but now she has neither. Each time a new aspect of her contradictory position is identified, Hypsipyle seems to move further away from the socio-symbolic contract. She does

702 In the last lines of Book 4, Hypsipyle has led the thirst-stricken Argive army to water. 703 It is difficult to tell if Adrastus has heard the story, or if he requests her to tell it in full without background knowledge, cf. 5.43-47 where he summarizes at 46: nefas laudesque. This phrase can easily be produced by Hypsipyle’s own foreshadowing introduction, and does not demand that Adrastus was familiar with the affair. This does, however, assume that Amphiaraus, who by many accounts—including his own words earlier in the Thebaid (3.517-21)—sailed with the Argonauts, had not told Adrastus who Hypsipyle was. Statius fails to connect Amphiaraus and Hypsipyle despite their shared “stage”-time. 245

not fit into societal roles or norms of behavior in her conflicting positions. Throughout this section, she stresses these contradictions: she is mother without her children, a daughter without her father, and a queen forced into slavery.

Her (former) royal status is also emphasized in Statius’ description of her. I discussed in

Chapter 2 how she is described in elegiac terms when Adrastus first sees her and notes her

“beautiful grief” (pulcrho in maerore, 4.747). He mistakes her for a nymph (diva potens nemorum, 753) because of her features (Theb. 4.750-52):

(neglecta comam nec diues amictu), 750 regales tamen ore notae, nec mersus acerbis extat honos.

(Her hair is neglected, and her clothing not rich), nevertheless royalty is recognizable on her face, her honor stands out, not overwhelmed by bitterness.

Her hair is unkempt (neglecta comam, 750) and she is dressed poorly (nec diues amictu, 750), but despite this Adrastus notes a “regal air” to her figure (regales tamen ore notae, 751), and a sense of noble honor (extat honos, 752). These statements, again juxtaposed, reaffirm her paradoxical description. Hypsipyle is the daughter of a king, held a throne in her own right, and is the granddaughter of the god Bacchus. These traits are somehow visible in her demeanor, even while she is a slave far from her home. Yet at the same time, her hair and clothing reflect her current social status: a slave.

She constantly reminds herself and her audience that she has not assimilated into her

Nemean landscape, but remains permanently a Lemnian outside of Lemnos. 704 This is a key

704 Cf., e.g., Keith 2000, 60: “Hypsipyle is ultimately denied full identification with her new homeland. In her long narrative, she scarcely refers to her twenty years in Greece (5.465-67). Displaced and never finally integrated into an alien landscape, the Lemnian exile abandons her Nemean nursling and merely 246

aspect of her character. Her liminal status continually reinforces her semiotic rejection of the symbolic contract: through her “in-between” status, her separation from societal laws and expectations is reinforced.

Hypsipyle’s liminal status, as well as her role as an isolated figure in an enclosed space is reinforced through Statius’ construction of the text. As I have noted, Statius introduces and closes her speech with the same phrase, a repetition of the fact that she has repeated her story, a lament, often (5.48, 499-500). This narratorial repetition enhances the thematic repetitions that characterized her speech, and serves to “close” it from the rest of the Nemean episode.

Hypsipyle’s isolation is reinforced by her structural role in the text itself and by the

Nemean landscape. She is the first person that the Argives meet in Nemea, and she leads them through the forest to the river Langia, then to her patrons, the royal family. She acts as a guide through Nemea. From Book 4 when the Argive army finally begins their march to Thebes and war, to Book 6 when they play at war in the funeral games for the dead Opheltes/Archemorus, even to the start of Book 7 when the army is finally urged on to Thebes, Hypsipyle delays the narrative and represents the further dilatory confines of her environment.

The Nemean landscape supports Hypsipyle’s isolating state. In addition to Hypsipyle’s status as the representative middle of the journey between Argos and Thebes, her landscape—

Nemea itself—reinforces her, and its own, liminality.705 Nemea is the only stop identified on the

Argive march to Thebes.706 It is characterized by water and drought: when Bacchus first

guides the Argives, as out of place in Nemea as she is, to Langia.” See also Harrison 2007b, 153 on Hypsipyle’s exilic status in terms of her metapoetic connection to Valerius Flaccus’ version of her story. 705 Cf. Newlands 2012, 44; Soerink 2014b, 57. 706 As such, it looks like the mid-way point between the two poles, even though it is neither geographically in the center (in reality, closer to Argos than Thebes), nor does this episode come at the 247

introduces the landscape, it is with burning thirst (haurit sitis ignea campus, 4.699). He dries up all of the rivers but the Langia: Lerna, Lyrceus, , Charadros, Erasinus and

(4.711-15). Statius thus highlights the large number of rivers in the area, stressing the contrast between Nemea’s typic environment—damp and lush—with its drought at Bacchus’ instigation.

The thirst of the Argive army also reinforces this contrast, especially with respect to the description of Hypsipyle’s forest clearing as a locus amoenus.707 Scholars such as McNelis have emphasized the resonance of Statius’ Nemea.708 Augoustakis emphasizes the maternal connotations of Nemea as the landscape itself is feminized:709 not an atypical practice, feminizing this landscape in particular highlights the separation between Nemea’s pastoral fertility and the martial and urban environments of Argos and Thebes. Nemea is an isolated landscape, and Hypsipyle is isolated within its digressive setting.

In addition to the segregated nature of the Nemean environment, Hypsipyle is also structurally isolated within the text itself. Hypsipyle’s lengthy monologue is similar in form and content to Ovid’s Heroides. These literary letters portray the uninterrupted direct “speech” of an abandoned woman who laments the situation that has brought her to this point of abandonment, loneliness, and marginality. I discussed above the connections that Spentzou and Gardner draw between the women of the Heroides and Kristeva’s semiotic chora. These women are

center of the epic; though McNelis 2007, 99 suggests that it “sets up” the central book (Book 7), and thus the “middle” of the narrative actually comprises Books 4-7. 707 Cf., e.g., Theb. 4.793-95; Soerink 2014b, 53 emphasizes the connection between Hypsipyle the wet- nurse and Nemea the fertile, maternal landscape: “The nourishing Hypsipyle is one with the landscape in which she lives.” In particular, Newlands 2004, 142, following Keith 2004-2005 describes Hypsipyle’s Nemea as a locus amoenus in the style of Ovid; cf. Theb. 4.786-803 and 5.503. She specifies that Statius creates particular space in Nemea that reflects Ovidian precedents, through the “use of an inset, delaying narrative with a female narrator, and in the change in the landscape from a protective site to one of untimely death.” 708 McNelis 2007, 86-96 and, e.g., Soerink 2015, in particular. 709 Augoustakis 2010, 31, following Newlands 2004, 144. Cf., e.g., Theb. 4.724, 793. 248

marginalized in society and are often physically outcast as well: they are often depicted being isolated in their landscape. Laodamia, as I noted in Chapter 1, is alone on the beach watching

Protesilaus sail away. Penelope is alone in Ithaca, unable to enjoy her life while she waits for

Odysseus. Medea has been abandoned by Jason, and is outcast from Corinthian society. Even

Ovid’s Hypsipyle herself is also outcast, alone on Lemnos with her exile foreshadowed. This marginalization marks their engagement with Kristeva’s semiotic chora. These women are trapped in a repetitive motion, rejected by the socio-symbolic contract and rejecting it in turn.

Statius brings the confines of the Heroid form into play in Hypsipyle’s Nemea: she is confined structurally via her monologue and status (slave). As a complicated and conflicting maternal figure, she is isolated from the masculinity of the Argive army.710 When these abandoned women are shut out from male society, they find power in the repetitive, feminine chora: this is the power that Polyxo encourages the Lemnian women to access. 711 Hypsipyle now has this same power to disrupt the male symbolic. Statius incorporates the threatening power of a semiotic relicta puella into his epic, where her power is proven true as she delays the progress of the epic and threatens its teleology. She shows this power by delaying the Argive army not only for the length of her speech, but for another book and a half afterwards. Through her separation from the socio-symbolic contract via her thematic and verbal repetitions, we see a Hypsipyle who is disconnected from society, especially male society. She represents the kind of woman who, without connection to the symbolic world, could act like the Lemnian women at the start of

710 Further, she is never shown to directly interact with the two figures she would have most in common with: Polynices, another royal in exile, and Amphiaraus, who—in other versions of the myth—sailed with the Argonauts. 711 This is the same power that Lipking 1988, xvii, xxiii, and esp. 30 identifies: when a woman is abandoned, she gains power from this rejection by society. 249

her story and violently attempt to destroy it. She is a threat in this state: the semiotic, with its emphasis on rhythm and a-linguistic pulsions, directly targets the symbolic in its process.

Hypsipyle directly targets the symbolic realm in her actions and speech, and poses a threat to the linear progression of the Argive army.

The Argives: the Symbolic in Nemea

So far in this chapter I have argued Hypsipyle’s monologue of her time on Lemnos details her descent from the symbolic realm, where she supported the masculine socio-symbolic contract, into the semiotic, characterized by an affiliation with elegiac tropes, repetition, and a disruption of the masculine dominant culture. I have emphasized that her monologue explains this process through her description of the events on Lemnos leading to her presence in the semiotic space of Nemea. Semiotic space, however, can only exist as a space separated from the symbolic contract. The symbolic contract, with its laws and regulations, defines what is accepted and what is “other.”712 With the Argive army, Hypsipyle comes face to face with the symbolic order that had rejected her on Lemnos. In Nemea, Adrastus and the other Argives emphasize the linear movement, military activity, and socio-symbolic contract that characterizes the symbolic order and, up to this point, the epic itself. Through their linear, forward motion and continuous narrative, the Argive army represents an epitome of epic poetry, and with it, the male symbolic of linear movement and social order.

The Argive heroes are leaders in their respective communities, and have gathered to wage war against Thebes. They literally represent a definition of the themes and topics of epic poetry:

712 Hypsipyle’s liminal status relies on being the other: there can be no middle ground without two spaces to contrast; there cannot be a boundary if there is nothing on the other side. 250

they are arma virumque713 and reges et proelia.714 They also represent res gestae regumque ducumque et bella, as Horace defines epic poetry.715 Aside from Adrastus, Tydeus, and

Polynices, the remaining leaders were introduced at the start of Book 4 in an epic catalogue, a feature that dates back to the Iliad as a key part of the epic generic repertoire.716 On an essentializing level, these features remind the audience that the Thebaid is an epic right before and during an episode that delays and hijacks the narrative progress with elegiac strategies.

Statius uses a series of thematic and verbal allusions to prior epic poems in the Nemean episode in order to stress the symbolic character of the Argive army. Nemea represents the first conflict the army faces after it leaves Argos. In this first introduction to the heroes of the epic in action, they are weak and stricken by thirst, but they look—literally—like other epic heroes. In

Nemea, Bacchus has caused all of the rivers in the to dry up to guide the Argives to

Hypsipyle. As Parkes notes, this alludes to the thirst suffered by the Argonauts in Book 4 of

Apollonius’ poem.717 In both situations, the army suffers from thirst and is guided to fresh water by a nymph or nymph-like woman.718 In another parallel, Statius’ Argives look like the

Pompeian army suffering from thirst in Book 4 of Lucan’s Bellum Civile.719 Here, Pompey’s army has been cut off from water. When they finally relent and surrender, allows them to approach a nearby stream.720 Statius directly alludes to Lucan’s description of the Pompeian

713 Virg. Aen. 1.1. 714 Virg. Ecl. 6.3. 715 Hor. AP 73, “exploits of kings and generals and grim wars.” Hinds 2016, 295. On the Roman definition of epic poetry, see also Feeney 1991, 320. 716 Theb. 4.32-344. On epic catalogues, especially in the Flavian epics, see Reitz 2013. 717 As I cite above; Ap. Rhod. Arg. 4.1393; see Parkes 2012 ad 646-850. 718 Hypsipyle is mistaken for a nymph by Adrastus (4.753); the Argonauts are helped by the nymph Aegle (Ap. Rhod. Arg. 4.1430-50). 719 Luc. BC 4.292-336. All three of these situations occur in their respective fourth books. This may or may not be a coincidence for the placement of Statius’ episode. 720 Luc. BC 4.337-85. 251

“attack” on the stream when his Argive army gains access to the Langia.721 The epic precedents of these allusions reinforce the military masculinity of the Argives and their connection to this dynamic of the symbolic.

Parkes outlines the significance of these allusions in her commentary to Statius’ Book

4.722 As the Argive army comes to the Langia, Statius describes them heading against the river as if they were sacking a city.723 Their first entrance into the peaceful Nemean landscape, therefore, is marked not only with allusions to military epic, but also the violent rupture of the pastoral landscape with the brutality as the Argives attack the peaceful river and muddy its waters. 724 The army intrudes into the landscape and violently attack the river Langia in their ferocity to overcome thirst.725 Parkes traces in detail the allusions to Lucan throughout this scene.726 At the start, she notes that “the Argives launch themselves into the water as if they are attacking it.” 727

When the first soldier sees the river, “Statius draws our attention to the army’s military

721 Theb. 4.804-30. 722 Supporting Parkes’ analysis throughout is Soerink 2015, 4 who emphasizes these “disturbing allusions” in the episode. 723 Cf. Soerink 2015, 14-15. 724 Cf. Newlands 2004 on the destruction of pastoral landscapes in Statius. 725 Parkes (2012, xxi) notes in her introduction the salient point: “However, there are some signs that the situation is overdramatized, which draw our attention to the hyperbole…. For the army, which has presumably set out from nearby Argos that morning, passes through Nemea at around noon (4.680-81) and the meeting with Hypsipyle, at which the Argives find water, takes place well before nightfall (5.753).” 726 See in particular, e.g., Parkes 2012 ad 810, 818-20, 823-24, and 828-30. At 816-30, she adds: “There is clear allusion to Lucan’s Book 4 description of the Pompeians’ pursuit of water… Note at 829 that the scene is compared to fighting in water (Martem in gurgite), which may encourage us to think of the sea- battle. The phrase could also apply to warfare in a river, and the collapse of the bank and sullying of water, typical of such scenes (826-27 n.), surely prompts us to think of this epic topos;” cf. Ariemma 2004, 184. 727 Parkes 2012 ad 816-30. 252

accoutrements”728 through his use of language.729 He describes a “collapse in military order” as the soldiers fight each other over the water, alluding to Lucan in the process.730 The Argive chaos in seeking water leads to them “plundering” (diripitur, 824) the water: later it is “devastated”

(populata, 5.1).731

This connection to military activity and Lucan’s epic emphasizes that the Argives symbolize war throughout the Thebaid: they are of course the main antagonizing force in a military epic, but they also embody violence wherever they go. The Argive army represents the epic, military thrust of the poem. As they move in a linear fashion, war follows. The army is characterized by movement and forward progression.732 The army represents Kristeva’s symbolic in every way through their violence, linearity, and teleology. By teleology here, I mean that according to the myth, Polynices’ Argive forces face Eteocles’ army in Thebes. The army, therefore, must end up in by the end of the epic. Statius may—and certainly does— innovate within the plot, but he cannot change such an inherent aspect of the story. 733

728 Parkes 2012 ad 810. 729 She notes in particular the standards, vexilla, and maniplis, a technical Roman term for light troops, at 810. 730 Theb. 4.816 incubuere uadis passim discrimine nullo ~ Luc. BC 4.367 incumbit ripis, permissaque flumina turbat. 731 Parkes 2012 ad loc. She further connects this to Lucan 4.367 flamina turbat, as the Lucanian soldiers too ravage the water. She cites here Brown (1994, Chapter 1), Newlands (2004, 142) and McNelis (2007, 88) on the metapoetic significance of the army causing this military chaos as if they cannot restrain themselves from epic violence, even in such a pastoral landscape. Heslin 2016, 99 discusses this line as a reference to Callimachus. I agree that the general emphasis on water, especially smaller streams versus rushing waterways and the imagery of the corruption of the clear stream is, in Heslin’s terms, a “Callimachean metapoetic metaphor.” My focus on the military imagery of this scene does not deny this other background. 732 See, in contrast, how the Theban army does not carry these same thematic signals even though they too are within a Kristevan symbolic world. The Argive army is significant for its emphasis on movement and progress. 733 In addition, the Argive army stays in Nemea after the end of this immediate conflict to compete in a series of funeral games for Opheltes/Archemorus, which are also a typical feature of the epic plot and 253

Hypsipyle meets this force and halts them in their tracks even after they prove their symbolic status by destroying the river Langia. Her speech serves as an effective delay as their forward progress to Thebes is paused, both through the fact that they stop to listen to Hypsipyle, and by virtue of the narrative itself turning its authorial point of view. Her semiotic monologue entirely disrupts the army’s epic progress towards Thebes, thus proving her semiotic power.

Semiotic Opheltes

Hypsipyle poses a direct threat to the epic continuity of the Argive army through her affiliation with the semiotic and its rhythmic repetition via her connection to the trope of the relicta puella as well as. It is for this reason that the landscape itself retaliates in an attempt to reintegrate her into the socio-symbolic contract.

Opheltes, Hypsipyle’s ward, represents the semiotic realm where Hypsipyle dwells in

Nemea. In Kristeva’s understanding, the semiotic space of threat and disruption gains its power from repetition and drives. These drives are representative of one’s base nature and bodily rhythm. Opheltes represents this aspect of the semiotic: as an infant, he is pre-verbal (literally, in-fans), driven by bodily needs and desires.734 In particular, he is unable to connect with the masculine socio-symbolic contract: he is too young to engage with societal rules and laws. 735

These qualities are emphasized throughout his appearance in the text. His infancy is stressed through his lack of linguistic capability (uerba inluctantia, 4.797).736 Kristeva stresses the significance of the pre-verbal or pre-linguistic state to the formation of the semiotic: while the

allusively engaged with epic poetry. See Soerink 2015, 18 (cf. 2014b, 61), following Lovatt 2005; Gervais 2008, 46. 734 Cf. Augoustakis 2010, 14, with Brown 2016, 210. 735 This too is a key feature of this aspect of Kristeva’s semiotic. 736 Theb. 4.797: teneris meditans uerba inluctantia labris; cf. 4.795-800. Inluctans is a hapax legomenon formed from luctor, “to struggle or wrestle.” 254

symbolic is the realm of language and grammar (rules and regulation), the semiotic is rhythmic and pre-verbal. This is exactly the state Opheltes is in: he is too young to have learned language, so his existence is not constrained or constricted by these rules.

In addition, Opheltes is attached to two key maternal figures: Hypsipyle, his surrogate mother, and the Nemean landscape, a secondary surrogate as Augoustakis notes. 737 Both of these figures, the tellus itself alongside Hypsipyle, are, as I have argued, dangerous models due to their liminal status and semiotic impulses. Opheltes represents the semiotic realm of the Nemean landscape, reinforced by (and, in turn, reinforcing) Hypsipyle’s own engagement with semiotic repetition, chaos, and disruption of the symbolic.

I propose a new reading of his death that centers his association with the semiotic realm and his connection through it to Hypsipyle. Opheltes is killed by a passing snake while

Hypsipyle is delaying the Argive army with her extended monologue. 738 I suggest that the snake is a manifestation of the symbolic realm. The snake is described as a horror (505), with fire in its

737 Augoustakis goes on argues that Hypsipyle gives Opheltes over to the poor surrogate mother, Tellus. She fails to recognize, he suggests, that Tellus is an insufficient mother-figure. She thus fails in her own maternal role a second time: she had been forced to abandon her maternity in leaving Lemnos, and by setting Opheltes down on the ground she abandons this infant, her surrogate son, a second time. While I agree with Augoustakis in noting that the earth is a maternal figure, I do not follow on this latter point. Instead, I consider the earth to be separate from the snake as two distinct aspects of Nemea and nature itself. 738 Theb. 5.505-44. Augoustakis 2010, 39 suggests that Opheltes dies because Hypsipyle puts him down, which forces him to transition too early from the semiotic into the symbolic as Hypsipyle herself engages with the Argive army in an epic (thus symbolic) fashion. Though we reference the same theoretical background, I do not consider that Opheltes at any point attempts, or is brought into the symbolic world. His death, as I argue, is in fact due to the opposite: that he is entirely, permanently, a representative of the semiotic. This snake has been used in a variety of ways in recent scholarship: to show Statius’ intertextual program in relation to Silius and Ovid (Soerink 2014a), to characterize the failure of purification and religious rite in the text, especially based on its connection Apollo’s slaying of the python and resulting destruction in Argos, as told by Adrastus in Book 1 (Ganiban 2013, cf. Dee 2013, 190-93). The snakes of that episode are discussed in Keith 2013, who concludes that they (the python, Medusa, and Poine), in this story, foreshadow the destruction of Thebes that will come by the end of the epic. Brown 2016 uses the snake to emphasize the connection of the Nemean episode to the rest of the epic. 255

eyes (livida fax oculis, 508) and venom in its mouth (in ore veneni / spuma virens, 508-9).739 It is angered by the lack of water (518-21) and slithers through the forest, seeking moisture after

Bacchus caused the drought.740 The snake is a preexisting element in the Nemean landscape: it is known to the locals, who call it the “Inachian Thunderer” (511-13).741 In seeking water, it glides past Opheltes and happens to flick its tail: occidis extremae destrictus uerbere caudae / ignaro serpente puer (538-39). In this version of the story, the snake does not intend to kill Opheltes, nor does it even recognize, having done so. Further, while other versions of the story incorporate traditions of a prophecy leading to Opheltes’ death,742 Statius includes only the drought and the snake.743 I suggest that the snake, as an aspect of the natural world, is manifested by the natural world to reassert order. The snake seeks water: it strives to overturn the corruption of nature, instigated by Bacchus, that started the episode.744 In order to do so fully, the snake kills Opheltes

739 This is the same set of words—fire, poison, and foam—used to describe the nexus of evils in Harmonia’s necklace: arcano igne in the emeralds of the necklace, 2.276; veneno (284) and spumis lunaribus (284) which are spread upon it. Once again, the thread of Vulcan’s elegiac curse may be seen running through the entire epic. Brown (2016, 216) loosely connects these episodes as well: “the serpentine involvement of Theban past and present in the Thebaid is exemplified by the longa…series of Harmonia’s necklace (2.267).” 740 5.522-33. I emphasize the importance of this point over previous scholars. 741 In addition, Newlands 2004, 143-44 connects the snake to the snake in the Theban books of Ovid’s Metamorphoses, starting at Ov. Met. 3.31, following Vessey 1973, 186. In contrast to the Metamorphoses, “the land suffers along with its victim.” 742 In one, the prophecy states that Opheltes will die if his feet touch ground before he can walk. There is reference to a prophecy: 5.647, prima, Lycurge, dabis Dircaeo funera bello, but this is connected to Opheltes being renamed as Archemorus rather than how he will die. This lack of a prophecy is similar to, as I discussed in Chapter 1, the lack of a prophecy regarding Eriphyle and Amphiaraus. In both situations, Statius intentionally leaves out this aspect of the story. Newlands 2004, 143-44 suggests that this fits into Statius’ general pattern of leaving out the gods, and attributing all agency in the story to human action. 743 For an outline of all other versions of this story, see Pache 2004, Chapter 5. 744 The Nemean snake has been connected to the snakes of Book 1, which I note above. Here, I emphasize a symbolic reading of this snake to stress its effect on Hypsipyle, not its immediate victim Opheltes. The snakes in Book 1 are described in an inset narrative by Adrastus, who gives an aetiological explanation for an Argive festival to Tydeus and Polynices. The connection of the snake to an aetion further links the passages, as the Nemean episode is often connected to the aetiological narrative of the , especially from Callimachus. Thematically, the broad parallels of snake-wrought destruction with wider ramifications for the epic bind the two passages together. The Nemean snake, however, is distinct: its 256

to end Hypsipyle’s semiotic hold on the narrative and stop her disruptive process. By destroying

Opheltes, this representative of semiotic, Hypsipyle’s monologue will stop and the epic heroes of the story will return to their epic plot.

Boundaries

During the battle against the snake that kills Opheltes, Hippomedon throws a stone at the snake’s giant head (Theb. 5.558-60):

rapit ingenti conamine saxum, quo discretus ager, uacuasque impellit in auras arduus Hippomedon

Towering Hippomedon seizes with great exertion a stone, by which the limit of a field was demarcated, and throws it through the empty air.

Hippomedon finds a rock on the ground (558) and proves his epic strength by lifting and throwing it (ingenti conamine…impellit, 558-59). Statius adds that this stone is a boundary mark

(quo discretus ager, 559). This invites the reader to recognize a wider significance in this moment: Hippomedon throws a boundary stone and, in the process, destroys the boundary that it marked. Previous scholarship has emphasized the Ovidian intertext here to Cadmus’ fight with the serpent (Ov. Met. 3.28-94).745 Cadmus attacks his snake with a millstone (molarem, 59).

story is conveyed directly by the Statian narrator, unlike Adrastus’ inset speech in Book 1. It is not an active agent, nor is it sent by a god. 745 See most recently Soerink 2013, with bibliography. Soerink focuses on a connection between these two passages and a similar scene in Silius Italicus (Pun. 6.140-298) to discuss the interconnections between Statius and Silius (and, perhaps, their primacy). He notes only (at 367) that Statius’ definition of the stone as a boundary stone instead of a millstone serves to nullify the confusion regarding the presence of a millstone in the woods. 257

Soerink stresses that Statius’ boundary stone connects instead a Virgilian model via the fact this stone is a saxum designed to mark a border (Virg. Aen. 12.897-98):746

saxum antiquum ingens, campo quod forte iacebat, limes agro positus litem ut discerneret aruis.

[He saw a] huge stone, ancient, which lay by chance near the field, positioned as the boundary of the field so as to demarcate the land in litigation.

Deepening the Virgilian complexity, at the start of the Aeneid passage, Aeneas cries out to

Turnus to end the delay in their fight: quae nunc deinde mora est?747 This reference to Turnus’ attempt to end the delay in his combat with Aeneas appears in Statius’ attempt to end the delay posed by Hypsipyle’s narrative presence. Hippomedon’s boulder, however, is still a boundary stone, beyond its recollection of Turnus’ boundary marker. Thematically, the Nemean episode is about boundaries and their violation: religious, generic, and social, among others. Hypsipyle’s entire speech detailed the frequent disruption and violation of boundaries, both social and physical, that pulled her into the semiotic realm. Further, Hypsipyle’s narrative is marked by the violation of generic boundaries: elegiac and epic tropes conflicted with each other throughout her embedded tale. Now in Nemea, Hippomedon destroys a boundary mark in a futile attempt to strike the snake. His throw misses as the snake turns (562-63), but as the stone lands, the earth groans (dat sonitum tellus, 564) and a “dense nexus” of plants tears apart (densi / dissultant nexus, 564-65). Hippomedon attempts to assert his epic strength. When he fails to hit his mark, the consequence is violence against the earth itself.

746 Soerink 2013, 366-68. These lines describe Turnus responding to Aeneas’ taunts by finding this stone and throwing it, though his toss is foiled by Venus’ interference to protect Aeneas (Aen. 12.905-14). 747 Virg. Aen. 12.889, “What delay is now present?” 258

After Hypsipyle’s extended semiotic delay, the Argive army seeks to reassert its symbolic agency. To do so, they wage another battle, proving their symbolic, epic code of honor as they seek retribution against the snake that killed Opheltes.748 In this battle, a preview of the larger war to come, Hippomedon and Capaneus eventually strike down the snake.749 Just as

Hippomedon’s boundary stone harms the earth instead of the snake, the stone’s removal from its carefully placed location marks the metaphorical destruction of boundaries throughout this episode.

This second fight is, on one hand, a confirmation of the army’s symbolic affiliation with epic, military themes. On the other hand, however, this fight is a repetition of the first battle against the river. With this repetition—though it is a “real” battle, opposed to the metaphorical

“destruction” of the Langia—Hypsipyle’s semiotic space again threatens to take hold. The semiotic world is characterized, as I have noted throughout, by repetition and cyclical narrative space. Hypsipyle’s repetitive monologue is bracketed by these two battles, which suggests that the Argive army is, while epic and symbolic in one sense, in merely another instance of

Hypsipyle’s narrative repetition.750 Like the Lemnian men and the Argonauts, now the Argive army seem to fulfill yet another group of men traveling in a linear fashion who arrive in

748 Theb. 5.554-87. 749 This does not end the conflict; as Ganiban 2013 discusses, the death of the snake merely prefigures the rest of the destruction that will take place in the epic: “the irony of the Argives’ orchestration of the funeral rites [for Opheltes] and expiation of their killing of the serpent is that they do nothing ultimately to help their cause….ultimately the Argives, spurred on by the gods, seek a war and military glory that can never be anything other than criminal and disastrous” (2013, 264-65). 750 Similarly, Gervais 2008, 117 describes Hypsipyle’s narration of the Lemnian massacre as “not an erotic or exciting spectacle through which her audience may enjoy vicarious thrills. It is rather a dangerous nefas, a sin that begets further sin simply by being recounted.” 259

Hypsipyle’s space and cause violence: Hippomedon’s destruction of the boundary stone signals the removal of this metaphorical boundary as well.

Hypsipyle’s power to disrupt the progress of the epic is so threatening that the symbolic realm retaliates by killing Opheltes in an effort to regulate her. Hulls, in a discussion comparing the parallel destructive snakes and infanticide of the Apollo-Psamathe story of Statius Book 1 and Silius’ story of Hercules’ rape of Pyrene and the death of their offspring, 751 suggests that these stories use “metaphors for the aggressive incorporation of other narrative modes into that quintessentially masculine and violent genre, epic poetry.”752 These stories have clear parallels to the death of Opheltes,753 and also represent, as Hulls indicates, a broader trend in Flavian snakes imagery: “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).”754 I suggest, following this connection, that the snake in Thebaid 5 also acts as an “instantiation of heroic epic” and is the literal instantiation of this “aggressive incorporation of other narrative modes.” This snake, I propose, stands in for the symbolic realm via its connections not only to masculine epic poetry, but to phallic symbolism. 755 The snake rises from the Nemean grasses to seek water, a direct consequence of Bacchus’ delay which is embodied, as I suggested above, by Hypsipyle.756 The snake seeks to end the drought, or

Hypsipyle’s delay. Since the semiotic space of the Nemean landscape is represented by the pre-

751 Hulls 2013; Sil. Ital. Pun. 3.415-41. 752 Hulls 2013, 358. 753 E.g., as McNelis 2007, 29-30 notes, the Python in Book 1 is called terrigena (1.563), linking it to Ovid’s python (Ov. Met. 1.436-51). The Nemean snake is also described with this adjective (5.506). 754 Hulls 2013, 360. 755 Adams 1982, 29-31. 756 Theb. 5.505-33. 260

verbal Opheltes, the semiotic delay that is being woven by Hypsipyle will end with the destruction of the infant who embodies and symbolizes that space.

When the death of Opheltes fails to end Hypsipyle’s semiotic power because of its similarity to her thematic repetitions, Bacchus intervenes, using divine influence to reintegrate her into a safe, symbolic existence. Hypsipyle has accomplished her task of delaying the Argive army from Thebes, and now she poses too great a threat to them. In the same way that the

Argonauts reintegrated the Lemnian women from the semiotic into the symbolic—helped by the fact that they had already begun to separate themselves from the semiotic—Bacchus begins to draw Hypsipyle into the symbolic realm and reaffirm her role in the socio-symbolic contract. As

I will show, Bacchus’ direct involvement in reuniting Hypsipyle and her sons reintegrates

Hypsipyle into the socio-symbolic contract through her newly re-formed role as mother.

Bacchus’ influence in Hypsipyle’s reintegration is unequivocally clear when she is reunited with her sons in Nemea. Up to this point in the text, the main generic paradigm

Hypsipyle has engaged with beyond epic has been Latin love elegy. Bacchus’ role here, appropriately, is to shift Hypsipyle’s generic paradigms away from elegy into tragedy. After the news of Opheltes’ death is brought to Lycurgus, the Argive leaders are gathered with Hypsipyle in the city. Adrastus has convinced Lycurgus not to kill Hypsipyle for revenge over the death of his son, and suddenly Bacchus is there, bringing the young men to the right place at the right time (Theb. 5.712 -30):

…tu gentis conditor, Euhan, qui geminos iuuenes Lemni de litore uectos intuleras Nemeae mirandaque fata parabas. causa uiae genetrix, … 715 … sed Lemnos ad aures ut primum dictusque Thoas, per tela manusque 720 inruerant, matremque auidis complexibus ambo diripiunt flentes alternaque pectora mutant. 261

illa uelut rupes inmoto saxea uisu haeret et expertis non audet credere diuis. ut uero et uultus et signa Argoa relictis 725 ensibus atque umeris amborum intextus Iason

You, the founder of her race, Bacchus, who had brought in the twin youths carried from the shore of Lemnos to Nemea and was preparing a miraculous fate. The reason for the journey was their mother…but when at first “Lemnos” and “Thoas”, spoken aloud, reached their ears, they rushed through weapons and fists, they both seized their mother with an eager embrace, weeping, and hugged her in turns. She, like a rocky cliff, with an immobile face, clings but because of her experiences does not dare to believe the gods. But truly, there were their faces, and the signs of the Argo on the swords that had been left behind, and Jason woven into both of their shoulders.

Bacchus is directly named and identified by Statius (tu gentis conditor, Euhan, 712) as the reason for the presence of these youths. Statius suggests that because Bacchus had not been present in Lemnos to rescue Hypsipyle, he comes to her now to give her a happy ending

(inopinaque gaudia maestae / rettulit Hypsipylae, 711-12).757 This adjective maestae recalls her first introduction, when Adrastus and the others saw her pulchro in maerore (4.747), where her grief itself was eroticized.758 Now, after the death of Opheltes, when her elegiac beginnings have resulted in the tragic death of this infant, she is just maesta, sad. The youths hear her name and the name of their grandfather during the confrontation between the Argives and Lycurgus, and recognize the familial connection (sed Lemnos ad aures / ut primum dictusque Thoas, 719-20).

In shock, she fails to recognize them at first, and in fact only recognizes their accoutrement: she last saw them as infants, but knows the sight of Jason’s sword and garments that they bear (ut uero et uultus et signa Argoa relictis / ensibus atque umeris amborum intextus Iason, 725-26).759

757 Soerink 2014a, 183-84, suggests that this might nod to the happy ending typical to Roman comedy. 758 As I argued in Chapter 2, this phrase recalls imagery of Ovidian elegiac puellae who are eroticized post-violence. 759 Augoustakis 2010, 52n50 suggests that this reaction shows Hypsipyle’s true “infatuation” with Jason, failing to recognize that her reaction is in fact simply based on the surprise recognition of her sons. She 262

In this moment, Hypsipyle is reunited with her sons after twenty years apart. She is no longer the queen she was when she bore them, nor is she even a Lemnian. In exile and a slave, she has abandoned everything that they represent in her transition to the semiotic realm.

I suggest that this scene follows the pattern of the “recognition scene” typical in drama.760

While these lines have been observed as a link to Euripides’ recognition scene in the now- fragmentary Hypsipyle, I suggest that this taps into a broader generic parallel.761 In the Poetics,

Aristotle describes the recognition scene as an important aspect of the plot of a tragedy (Arist.

Poet. 1452a-b):

ἀναγνώρισις δέ, ὥσπερ καὶ τοὔνομα σημαίνει, ἐξ ἀγνοίας εἰς γνῶσιν μεταβολή, ἢ εἰς φιλίαν ἢ εἰς ἔχθραν, τῶν πρὸς εὐτυχίαν ἢ δυστυχίαν ὡρισμένων: καλλίστη δὲ ἀναγνώρισις, ὅταν ἅμα περιπετείᾳ γένηται, … ἐπεὶ δὴ ἡ ἀναγνώρισις τινῶν ἐστιν ἀναγνώρισις, αἱ μέν εἰσι θατέρου πρὸς τὸν ἕτερον μόνον, ὅταν ᾖ δῆλος ἅτερος τίς ἐστιν, ὁτὲ δὲ ἀμφοτέρους δεῖ ἀναγνωρίσαι…

Recognition, then, just as the name signals, is a change from ignorance into knowledge, and thus into love or into hatred, concerning good or bad fortune. The best kind of recognition is that which happens at the same time as reversal… Because recognition is recognition of individuals, some are only the recognition of one character to another, when it is clear who the other is, but sometimes the recognition is for both characters.

Aristotle goes on to describe different types of recognition scenes: least creative is with tokens, then those that are contrived by the poet “because they are without skill.” 762 Hypsipyle recognizes her sons after they recognized her. Statius presents the more complex form of a

does not need to love Jason in order to have a positive reaction to her sons. Having not seen them for 20 years, since they were infants, it is reasonable that she only recognizes them based on these similarities to Jason. 760 Nugent 1996, 52 also notes the dramatic parallel of this sudden reappearance of Hypsipyle’s sons, though she likens this to “the plot of comedy or romance.” 761 Cf. Soerink 2014a, 180-84. Heslin 2016, 109 also considers the dramatic implications of this scene but focuses instead, as I note further below, that this recognition results in a reversal of fortune (peripeteia). 762 Arist. Poet. 1454b, ἡ διὰ τῶν σημείων… αἱ πεποιημέναι ὑπὸ τοῦ ποιητοῦ, διὸ ἄτεχνοι. 263

recognition scene as both parties must recognize each other: first, and Thoas recognize that Opheltes’ nursemaid is their mother, and then she must recognize them.763 The first recognition falls into Aristotle’s second-worst type, as it is contrived by the poet and, moreover, directly by Bacchus. Bacchus, as noted above, has directly intervened to place these youths in

Nemea in order to find their mother. Her recognition of them, however, is through the signs, τῶν

σημείων, they bring: their faces (vultus, 725), but also the signa Argoa, the signs of the Argo that marked the swords Jason had left behind (signa Argoa relictis / ensibus, 725-26) and his name woven on their shoulders (umeris amborum intextus Iason, 726).764 Upon recognizing her sons,

Hypsipyle experiences a reversal of fortune, following Aristotle’s paradigm for a good tragedy.

She had just lost Opheltes, her surrogate son. In the process, she also lost her social status and protections. Now she has two strong sons who can take care of her and have already returned her not only to emotional happiness, but also to a new social status: mother. With the dramatic affiliation of this scene, Statius indicates a new generic paradigm for Hypsipyle to follow.765

763 Brown 1994, 57-59 in her unpublished dissertation, suggests that Bacchus’ presence at the start of the episode has foreshadowed the role of tragic themes in the episode. In contrast, I suggest that the tragic influence cannot fully be recognized until this moment, and Bacchus’ role as a god of tragic drama is similarly not relevant earlier. I am more inclined to see Soerink’s Bacchus as a bringer of war (2015, 12), though I again emphasize that Bacchus does little but guide the Argive army towards Hypsipyle. All actions during the Nemean episode are, ultimately, hers, until this point when Bacchus returns to the scene. 764 This has two distinct meanings: either the youths wear Jason’s clothes, which were apparently also left behind, or like in their expression, Hypsipyle can see traces of their father in them. Since both options repeat a sense from the previous two clauses, the ambiguity is left vague. 765 Heslin 2016, 93 suggests that this reversal of fortune is connected to the fact that the episode is constructed as an epyllion within the larger epic. I discuss this further in Chapter 2. The other elements of this scene, especially the recognition, stress the episode’s tragic models. The wealth of generic diversity in the background of the entire episode is, however, also worth noting as a feature of Hypsipyle’s disruption this episode causes in the narrative as a whole. 264

This recognition scene is based on dramatic precedents. Once the tragic elements become clear in this instance, other dramatic elements in the scene become visible. A messenger brings the news of Opheltes’ fate to Nemea and Lycurgus in particular (Theb. 5.638-41):

et iam sacrifici subitus per tecta Lycurgi nuntius implerat lacrimis ipsumque domumque, ipsum aduentantem Persei uertice sancto 640 montis, ubi auerso dederat prosecta Tonanti,

And now a sudden messenger filled with tears the walls of Lycurgus, while he was sacrificing, and himself, and his home; he, while he was descending from the holy peak of ’ mountain, where he had given entrails to Jupiter, although he had turned away.

The arrival of a nuntius, coming to bring bad tidings that fill the house with tears (per tecta…implerat lacrimis, 638-39), is a regular feature in tragedy.766 In drama, the messenger speech serves to detail a usually horrific act that is otherwise not shown onstage. Boyle emphasizes that Senecan messenger speeches in particular stress “verbal horror” and “focus on the bloody details” in a typical post-Augustan literary fashion.767 Statius has flipped the script by giving an account of the bloody details of Opheltes’ death as they happened, so the audience is able to imagine what the messenger says to Lycurgus without the poet needing to restate. 768 The dramatic messenger scene is implied with the presence of the messenger.769

766 As Boyle (2017) notes in his introduction to the messenger scene in Seneca’s Thyestes, at lines 623- 788. Here, Boyle also cites Seneca’s other messenger scenes: Tro. 168-202, Pha. 1000-114, Oed. 530-658 and 915-79, Ag. 421-578, and Her. O. 775-841. In addition, messengers bring news in the form of dialogue or brief statements in lieu of or including full speeches at Tro. 1068-179, Oct. 780-805, and Her. O. 1618-90, Pho. 387-477, Med. 879-92, and Oed. 233-32. This feature is standard in Greek tragedy, but its replication in Seneca confirms that Roman drama was equally interested in the trope. Since Statius’ awareness of Greek drama is slightly more controversial, the appearance of these forms in extant Roman drama confirms that Statius would have been aware of this as a particularly dramatic trope. 767 Boyle 2017, 316; cf. Most, 1992. 768 See in particular Statius’ description of Opheltes’ body: Theb. 5.598, totumque in uulnere corpus. 769 Soerink 2014a, 183 connects this nuntius with the specific character in Euripides’ play. I see no reason not to consider Statius’ messenger to be a generalizing “tragic messenger.” 265

In addition to the dramatic presence of the nuntius, Statius suggests the dramatic mode via the verbal conflict between Lycurgus and the Argive leaders.770 In this lengthy sequence, lines 656-753, Adrastus, Amphiaraus, Tydeus, and Capaneus take turns defending Hypsipyle against Lycurgus, and then the gathered crowd, who seek to punish her as a slave who has killed the son of the king. This dramatic conflict threatens another war, but in the end Amphiaraus is able to successfully argue for a cessation of hostilities by proposing a series of games in honor of the infant, now called Archemorus (5.733-45). The conflict between these men is given in direct speech and includes visual directions: Lycurgus speaks (656-60), then draws his sword, and advances with murderous intent (ibat letumque inferre parabat / ense furens rapto, 660-61).771 In response, Tydeus stepped forward and physically prevented Lycurgus’ further approach

(Oeneius heros / impiger obiecta proturbat pectora parma, 661-62).772 These physical descriptions give the entire scene a visual and dramatic tone.773 Further, the scene is also related to a similar moment in Euripides’ Hypsipyle: a debate over Hypsipyle’s guilt involving Eurydice,

Hypsipyle, and Amphiaraus.774 This dialogue and the nature of the argument connect this scene

770 Soerink 2014a, 188-91 also discusses the as an example of Statius’ differentiation from his Euripidean model. He notes that Euripides’ agon featured Eurydice, while Statius’ has Lycurgus as the main speaking antagonist. Following Brown (1994, 77), Soerink notes how Statius’ version of the agon is “epicized,” (the conflict is between two kings instead of a mother and a nurse; more than three speaking individuals are involved) but also reflects scenes from iconographic sources of a conflict between Adrastus and Lycurgus. He suggests that these visual sources reflect the lost epic tradition, and therefore concludes that Statius’ version “reject[s] the Euripidean scenario…in favor of the [Cyclic] epic tradition.” 771 “He was going, and preparing to drive death, raging with drawn sword.” 772 “The hero, son of Oeneus, at once repelled [Lycurgus’] chest with hostile shield.” 773 Additionally, the direct conflict between the Argive leaders and Lycurgus is set apart from the rest of the epic. It begins with ecce (5.650), which—as I note above—identifies a new focus and point of view, and ends with the arrival of night and the end of the book as Amphiaraus concludes his speech (5.753, finierat, caeloque cauam nox induit umbram). This is already enclosed within the self-contained narrative unit of the Nemean episode; cf. Heslin 2016, esp. 91. 774 Cf. Eurip. Hyps. fr. 757.800-949. I note above Soerink’s interpretation of the differences in these texts. As I discussed in Chapter 1, I see no reason to doubt that Statius, the son of a grammaticus, had read the Greek tragedies related to his epic. 266

to the dramatic agon, another common feature of ancient tragedy.775 Statius thus deeply connects this scene not only to Euripides, but also to the genre of tragedy more broadly.

In this setting, Statius actively engages with multiple tragic dynamics including topoi as well as structure. As I have shown, the Nemea episode incorporates intertext with Euripides’

Hypsipyle as well as generalized tragic topoi: the recognition scene, an agon, and a messenger character. Finally, I argue that Statius also alludes to the form of the genre itself. Similar to how

Statius recalls the form of Ovid’s Heroides through the enclosed direct speech of Hypsipyle’s embedded narrative, I suggest that Statius references the form and scope of tragic drama.776 One way in which Aristotle differentiates between tragedy and epic, otherwise similar in topic, is through temporal scope: tragedy should be a completed action within the span of a day, while epic is unlimited (Arist. Poet. 1449b12-16):

ἔτι δὲ τῷ μήκει· ἡ μὲν ὅτι μάλιστα πειρᾶται ὑπὸ μίαν περίοδον ἡλίου εἶναι ἢ μικρὸν ἐξαλλάττειν, ἡ δὲ ἐποποιία ἀόριστος τῷ χρόνῳ καὶ τούτῳ διαφέρει, καίτοι τὸ πρῶτον ὁμοίως ἐν ταῖς τραγῳδίαις τοῦτο ἐποίουν καὶ ἐν τοῖς ἔπεσιν.

[Epic and tragedy also differ] in length: [tragedy] attempts as much as possible to stay within a single course of the sun or go just a little past; epic poetry has no limit to its timeframe and differs in this way, although at first this was the same between tragic and epic poetry.

Aristotle’s main point is the distinction between the length of epic and tragic action: tragic action is contained within a single day or slightly more, while epic is unlimited in terms of time. The scope of an epic poem will come rather from its theme or plot, unconstructed by time. It is the

775 Cf. Sen. Med. 177-300 and Boyle 2014 ad loc; Enn. Iph. fr. ci, 204-6 Jocelyn, Pac. Ant. in ad Her. 2.43. 776 Heslin 2016, 90 similarly observes a clearly delineated “self-contained unit” in the Hypsipyle episode, but he aligns it, based on plot similarity, with the genre of the epyllion. I noted Heslin’s argument in more detail in Chapter 2. 267

difference in time that I wish to stress here.777 I propose, therefore, that we can read the similarities Statius builds into Hypsipyle’s story with the generic patterns of tragedy as a means of signaling closure with regards to her story. Throughout the embedded narrative, every action has spurred on further action in this endless cycle of repetitive violence. Once the embedded narrative ends and the focus changes from the past in Lemnos to the “present” narrative time in

Nemea, I suggest that the connection to tragic action and topoi results in the fact that once

Hypsipyle recognizes her sons, her story is effectively concluded. Statius incorporates the structural limitations of tragedy, with its built-in structures of closure, in order to complete

Hypsipyle’s story without further interference on the Argive army’s epic progress.778

These dramatic moments shift our generic expectations away from Hypsipyle’s initial elegiac background. Her semiotic power is, further, grounded in her early role as an elegiac relicta puella. By separating her from these tropes and replacing them with quintessentially tragic ones, the elegiac background of her semiotic power is effectively neutralized. 779 In these tragic parallels, she is no longer an abandoned woman, but instead a mother reunited with her sons: by reconnecting Hypsipyle with her sons, Bacchus is able to reframe Hypsipyle’s generic background and pull her into a tragic sphere and thus the conclusion of her action. No longer entangled in her initial elegiac paradigms, Hypsipyle separates from her threatening semiotic impulses. In addition, Bacchus begins to reintegrate Hypsipyle into the socio-symbolic contract.

777 A tragedy is also constrained by performance length in a way that an epic poem is not. 778 In other words, I suggest that the Hypsipyle episode is retroactively re-structured similar to a miniature “tragedy” within the epic, though its themes and plot do not necessarily all fit into a tragic paradigm. On the failure of epic to provide closure, see Hardie 1997. 779 This secondary generic model, tragedy, when tightly controlled, proves highly effective. Unlike elegy, which is wayward and pushes the narrative onwards in different directions than the epic teleology, tragedy—perhaps surprisingly—is concise, controlled, and effective in reorienting this episode towards epic paradigms. 268

Because he brings her sons to her, she becomes reidentified as a mother instead of her former liminal roles of a mother who had abandoned her children, a nursemaid, and surrogate mother. 780

Tragedy, therefore, becomes a limiting factor: the drama ends with Hypsipyle’s tragic recognition, so the epic poem can continue on without her.781

Reintegration

Bacchus performs one final transformation to finalize Hypsipyle’s reaffiliation with the symbolic. Now that he has instigated Hypsipyle’s reintegration by changing her generic background, her separation from the mobile semiotic increases. He has recognized that her semiotic disruption threatened to destabilize the entire epic. When the epic manifestation of the snake was not enough to neutralize her power, he confirmed that divine interference was necessary: her threat was too great.782 Even though he had instigated the plot, he seeks to return the epic to its forward momentum and allow the Argive army to move on to Thebes. 783

The final process of reintegrating and regulating Hypsipyle’s semiotic impulses is a literal transformation.784 At the start of the funeral games for Opheltes, now Archemorus, Statius turns to examine the temple that is built for the heroized infant. On it, a frieze depicts Hypsipyle

(Theb. 6.242-48):

780 Cf. altricem orbam, 4.778. 781 Book 6 comprises funeral games for Opheltes, which are highly charged with epic imagery, thus confirming that Statius has re-set the generic paradigm of Nemea; cf. Soerink 2014b, 61 with Lovatt 2005, e.g., 12-22. 782 His recognition that her instability threatens the entire epic foreshadows the end of the epic itself, as I discuss below. 783 Theb. 4.670-76. I return to this below. 784 Gibson 2004, 171: “the poet also monumentalizes his own Hypsipyle, by including on the stone temple not another account of Hypsipyle on Lemnos, but a depiction of her as she appeared in his own composition, in the story of Archemorus. There could be no further replication of the Lemnian story after the narrative from Hypsipyle in Book 5, but Statius takes the opportunity to affirm his own narrative in the temple carvings.” 269

templum ingens cineri, rerumque effictus in illa ordo docet casus: fessis hic flumina monstrat Hypsipyle Danais, hic reptat flebilis infans, 245 hic iacet, extremum tumuli circum asperat orbem squameus; expectes morientis ab ore cruenta sibila, marmorea sic uoluitur anguis in hasta.

There was a great temple for the ashes, erected where the death had occurred, and that structure explains the events: here Hypsipyle shows the river to the tired Argives, here the weeping infant crawls, here he lies down; around the furthest edge of the hill the scaled one stirs up the dirt; you might picture the hissing from the bloody mouth from him as he dies, thus does the snake twist around the marble spear.

Statius describes the frieze of the temple showing a series of scenes from his own epic. From the end of Book 4, Hypsipyle leads the Argive leaders to the river Langia (244-45).785 In Book 4 and

5, Statius showed Opheltes in the Nemean landscape (245-46), and in Book 5 the serpent slithered past and struck (246-48). With this brief ekphrasis, Statius emphasizes the artistic talent of the carver: the image is almost audible (expectes…sibila, 247-48). In the same motion, however, Statius emphasizes the material: the supposed sound, sibila, is juxtaposed with the material: marmorea, separated from its noun hasta.

This final time we see Hypsipyle, we actually see her image, depicted in marble. 786 It is as if she herself has been transferred into the frieze: no longer a woman, no longer representing a conflict between generic backgrounds and a hindrance to masculine progress, now she is fixed and stabilized, transferred into a new medium. On the temple, she is permanently shown both starting the delay and advertising her semiotic power, and signaling its end. The snake, symbolizing her repeated violence as well as the symbolic return to progress and linear motion,

785 Here the Argives are called Danais (245), referring to the Argive ancestor . 786 This scene is foreshadowed during the recognition scenes with her sons. There, she is described like a stone (5.723). Her immobility, both in metaphor earlier and literal here, contrasts with her speed and movement in her earlier deer simile; 5.165-69. 270

appears almost lifelike on the side of the temple. In contrast, Hypsipyle is stabilized in this image and turned into a fixed, artistic representation.787 She now supports the continued epic effort to celebrate Archemorus by literally providing a wall and thus material support. We hear no further from Hypsipyle: she has been stabilized and reintegrated into the socio-symbolic contract, and no longer poses a threat to the continuity of the epic.

This entire process of Hypsipyle’s transformation away from the dangerous semiotic occurs through Bacchus’ direct agency. He has been involved in Hypsipyle’s process in Nemea since the beginning of her appearance. At the start of the episode in Book 4, Bacchus announces his reasoning for the drought: he sees the Argive army towards Thebes and plots to delay the inevitable destruction of his city.788 He commands drought to set upon all of the rivers except for the Langia (iussu numinis, 4.723).

Bacchus leads the army to Hypsipyle in order to delay the war. I suggest that Bacchus recognizes her semiotic power to waylay the scope of the entire epic, and specifically delegates the action to her.789 As Keith observes, Statius’ first description of Hypsipyle recalls the initial passage where Bacchus asks the of Nemea to impose drought upon the region: this serves to “symbolically align Hypsipyle with the water nymphs whose transformation instigates the drought.”790 I suggest that Bacchus makes his plan of delay clear: he sets a task upon the

787 Augoustakis 2010, 61: “Now Statius completes her portrait as part of a stone: the poet transfers the heroine's former mobility to the eternal flowing of the flumina, as if Hypsipyle had merged into the landscape of Nemea forever.” I take this one step further to suggest that Hypsipyle has, in fact, been merged into the very landscape of Nemea through this transformation into marble. 788 Theb. 4.670-76. 789 Feeney 1991, 340, notes that “fragmentation of authority is…one of the poem’s main preoccupations.” 790 Keith 2000, 58. The parallels are specific: the nymphs and Hypsipyle both appear disheveled in appearance (the nymphs: viridis comis exaruit umor, 4.697 ~ Hypsipyle: neglecta comam, 750). Keith cites “the aquatic resonance of mersus” to describe Hypsipyle at 751 as another linking factor. In addition, Statius’ depiction of the “Langia alone nourishing her waters deep within the forest precisely anticipates 271

nymphs (perferte laborem / quem damus),791 which is also fulfilled by Hypsipyle, who looks like these nymphs, per the plan (sic Euhius ipse pararat, 746). Bacchus also describes his delay with a weaving metaphor: nectam fraude moras, 4.677. This is the same verb that Hypsipyle uses to first introduce herself to Adrastus and the others: quid longa malis exordia necto? (5.36). These connections, I suggest, confirm that Hypsipyle—although unbeknownst to her—is operating as

Bacchus’ direct surrogate to fulfilling his plan. I suggest, therefore, that Bacchus recognizes that

Hypsipyle has the power to perform this action. Second, once she has begun this disruptive process, he recognizes that he is the one to finally end her cycle of violence.

At the end of her story, Bacchus is the one to directly intervene with Hypsipyle and bring her out of her elegiac background into the world of tragic topoi and their dramatic endings. His action in isolating her in marble, therefore, can be read on the one hand as his decisive removal of her power, and a forced reintegration into symbolic society. On the other hand, however, we can see that Bacchus finally recognizes a familial obligation to use his power for her benefit.

When the appearance of the snake reaffirms her repetitive cycle of violence, Bacchus asserts himself to break that pattern. He reintegrates her into the symbolic world by reuniting her with her sons, using a trope from drama that ends with her reversal into good fortune.

Consequences

The conclusion to this chapter comes in two parts. First, I discuss the consequences of this Kristevan reading. Kristeva’s theory of the semiotic and symbolic can be connected to the

Roman literary genres of elegiac and epic poetry. This correlation further links Hypsipyle’s

that of Hypsipyle alone in the Nemean woods suckling the infant Opheltes.” I add only that even Adrastus mistakes Hypsipyle for a divinity: diua potens nemorum, 753. 791 Theb. 4.685-86. 272

character to themes of power, gender roles, and the consequences of action that run throughout the epic.

Kristeva’s theoretical framework of the semiotic, the symbolic, and the tension between them helps to explain Hypsipyle’s role in the Thebaid. A consequence of this Kristevan reading is to see women as disruptive forces throughout the epic.792 Through their access, via elegiac abandonment, to the power of the semiotic, which is a subversive force against the masculine symbolic, women in this realm threaten, disrupt, and violate the epic trajectory. When we examine Hypsipyle through the lens of gender, power, and societal law, her disruption in the

Nemean episode foreshadows Argia’s role later in the epic, the overwhelming power of the abandoned woman in the text, and the disruptive threat posed by female lament. Hypsipyle’s threat was only neutralized because of Bacchus’ divine interference, brought by his attention to the situation and his recognition that he alone was able to solve the problem he had created. By recognizing these dynamics in Hypsipyle’s characterization, we can see Statius’ exploration of these themes with respect to the other female characters in the epic. Keith notes that Roman epic, for all that it is a genre about men and war, is uniquely concerned with the role and emotion of women.793 When this dynamic is influenced by a reading of semiotic elegiac disruption, Statius

792 Gibson 2004, 166 already emphasizes the effect of Hypsipyle’s story in the epic: “[its] inclusion must be to destabilize various kinds of closure.” His argument for this is based on the connections between Statius’ Hypsipyle and Valerius Flaccus’. He argues that Statius’ Hypsipyle belies the “neat” ending of Valerius’ character: if that story did not end there where Valerius said it did, then any poetic ending may not be a true ending. This chapter has suggested that it is particularly through this theoretical lens that we can see the full effect of Hypsipyle’s disruptive force and how that threatens to destabilize the narrative. I come to similar conclusions as to the ramifications of this disruptive power. 793 Keith 2000, e.g., 69-73 on the role of women in the Aeneid as harbingers of doom, 102-4 on a woman’s body as a “prelude to the action of Roman epic poetry.” 273

is able to emphasize the overwhelming power of women, especially their literary power, to control a narrative

We see this pattern played out at the end of the epic. Argia, as I argued in Chapter 1, seeks to take on the imagery of the elegiac relicta puella. She ultimately succeeds at this effort, as Polynices leaves for war and then dies on the battlefield. As a result, she has access to semiotic power in Kristeva’s system of thought. This power is what enables the Argive women to march themselves to Thebes and to Athens in Book 12.794 This power is what, further, enables

Argia to go alone to the battlefield outside Thebes and find Polynices. The epic, in traditional terms, is over: the plot foretold in the first lines, the fraternas acies, has finished with Polynices and Eteocles both dead in Book 11.795 But Argia and the other women, now abandoned by their husbands in death, take control of the story and do not let the poem finish. We follow their story now as the main group goes to Theseus while Argia goes to Thebes and breaks ’s law alongside Antigone. Argia’s new semiotic power disrupts not only the mortal law that Creon had established, doubling the ancient crime that Sophocles described as Antigone’s familial right, but also disrupts the flow of the poem itself. In fact, the poem only ends when Statius takes authorial control and asserts his own voice into the narrative.796 Argia’s semiotic lament, joined by the lament of these other abandoned Argive women, is so great that Statius cannot even tell it, and so the epic ends by cutting off the voice of the abandoned woman.797 The only way to stop a

794 Cf, e.g., 12.105-40, 173-311, 464-78, 512-45. 795 Theb. 1.1. 796 12.797-809, Statuis’ version of the “ten mouths/ ten tongues” trope. Yet even this is not enough to speak of the suffering lament of the women. 797 See Dietrich 1999; Fantham 1999, 231-32. 274

semiotic woman is to neutralize her power, and the only ones who are able to do that are gods and poets.798

In the second part of the conclusion, I wish to stress the role of divine intervention that

Statius outlines in the Nemean episode. By emphasizing Bacchus’ involvement in Hypsipyle’s reintegration into the socio-symbolic contract, Statius indicates, I suggest, the limited range of

Bacchus’ powers, and Hypsipyle’s own limited knowledge. Bacchus can instigate delay in

Nemea, but he cannot prevent the war from coming to Thebes. Hypsipyle may be able to describe Venus’ role on Lemnos, but she cannot see Bacchus’ role in bringing her sons to her, much less bringing the Argive army across her path. The role of divine intervention here serves to safely reintegrate Hypsipyle’s dangerous semiotic impulse into the masculine symbolic. In doing so, Bacchus ended Hypsipyle’s personal cycle of violence, while in the process triggering the continuation of the violence structuring the epic as a whole. Hypsipyle may be safe, but by reuniting her with her sons, Bacchus’ instigates the deaths of thousands on the Theban battlefield. This divinely inspired delay in Nemea, therefore, represents the complex issues of cause and effect, of agency and guilt, across the entire poem.

The emphasis on divine intervention in the Nemean episode leads to a few broad suggestions about the rest of the epic. Hypsipyle’s story is about repetitions. In the unexpected twist, the approach of the Argive army in Nemea ended up as a further repetition of Hypsipyle’s traumatic patterns on Lemnos. Her destructive and disruptive “men arrive, violence ensues” did not end when she was taken from the island. This repetition outside of Hypsipyle’s narrative

798 Augoustakis 2010, 34: “Statius professes the breakdown of the authorial voice and brings the poem to an end. Boundaries are reset, as same and other cannot converge at this junction, while there is utter refusal to provide any future hope for a possible resolution.” 275

monologue suggests that this pattern will continue. In other words, just as what happened on

Lemnos repeated in Nemea, what happened in Nemea may repeat in Thebes. 799 This is, in fact, what occurs: the Argive story in Nemea includes the death of a beloved son, female lament, the devastation of the landscape, and epic battles (against the snake, in verbal form, and the funeral games). These all repeat in Thebes, suggesting the endlessness of Hypsipyle’s pattern. Even while Bacchus ends her individual cycle, he cannot stop the larger cycle of violence she represents. Hypsipyle’s story is a series of violent cycles that threaten to spin out of control. This creates a more broadly relevant parallel to the Theban saga in its entirety: causality, revenge, and divine interference are key themes to the mythological background of the epic. The cyclical nature of Hypsipyle’s story suggests that her end may bear relevance for the ending of this saga as well. What this suggests, therefore, is that the Theban saga also can only end its cycle of violence with divine interference, though that may not be as successful, at first glance, at it seems.

Book 12 involves Theseus coming to “save the day” in Thebes. His presence was requested by the suppliant Argive women hoping to be able to bury their dead husbands, killed in the Theban war.800 He gears up for war, marches to Thebes, and in short succession challenges, fights, and kills Creon.801 As a result, Creon’s new law is nullified, and the women can perform their lament over the dead. This looks, on the surface, to be an end of the civil hostilities in

799 In fact, her story may be seen as a partial repetition of what has already happened in the epic, especially the story of Apollo and Crotopus, as Vessey 1986, 92 notes, and the destructive agency of Harmonia’s necklace: another locus of destruction, violence, and disruption encapsulated in feminine terms. 800 12.546-86. This story is also known from, e.g., Euripides’ Suppliants. 801 Theseus and his army prepare and march to Thebes, 12.611-66; Theseus challenges Creon, 12.681-92; battles and kills him, 12.752-81. Immediately after Creon falls, the battle ends (12.782-84). 276

Thebes. Yet Hypsipyle’s story belies this neat and tidy ending. Not only do we have, as I note above, the return of the threatening semiotic in the Argive women’s lament at the end of the epic, but in addition, her cycle of violence is mirrored in the failed ending. Theseus resolves the problem, but just as Bacchus ended one cycle of violence by triggering another, Theseus kills

Creon but cannot prevent the next looming consequence. The Epigoni are directly foreshadowed throughout the Thebaid.802 These sons of the Seven Argive leaders return to wage a second war against Thebes. Statius alludes to them primarily in the context of Eriphyle and Amphiaraus, which itself represents another cycle of violence and vengeance looming in the background of this conflict.803 Thus, even when the epic ends, the reader knows that this is not a true ending.

Theseus may have interfered to end this cycle, but the cycle overall continues.

802 Cf., e.g., Hardie 1993, 14. I discuss these moments in Chapter 1. 803 As I note in Chapter 1, even after the Epigoni go to Thebes, Alcmaeon is driven by the curse of the necklace to continue its violent curse. 277

Chapter 4: Elegy at the Limits

Introduction

Throughout this dissertation, I have argued that Statius employs elegiac themes, vocabulary, and topoi to enhance the character development and affect the narrative structure of his epic. The use of elegy has served to delay narrative progression towards the epic telos while at the same time highlighting the role of women as agents of war and destruction. In this final chapter, I take a closer look at the role of elegiac language and topoi at the end of the epic. In these scenes, namely the meeting between Antigone and Argia on the battlefield, and

Hippolyta’s appearance with Theseus in Athens, I suggest that Statius again contaminates his epic with elegiac language and characteristics. Once again, he uses elegiac allusion as a technique to foreshadow the destructive consequences that ultimately overwhelm his epic.

Argia and Antigone

At the end of the Thebaid, Argia appears as an abandoned woman when she seeks and finds Polynices’ body on the battlefield of Thebes. As I outlined in Chapter 1, Statius describes

Argia’s involvement with this topos when she was first cursed by Harmonia’s necklace. As I argued there, Argia desires to take on this role, but is not able to because of the simple fact that

Polynices has not yet left for war. By Book 12, however, he has not only left, but also been killed on the battlefield. Argia had finally gained the status of a relicta puella after Polynices left for war in Book 4, but her achievement of this elegiac goal has come to an epic conclusion with

Polynices’ death: her elegiac desires are met with epic consequences.

Argia’s engagement with this elegiac trope is evident throughout her appearance in Book

12. I discussed in Chapter 1 some key aspects of the relicta puella: the abandoned woman laments, usually with a companion, rejects finery, and expresses fear or concern over infidelity

278

while promising that she herself will remain faithful. I suggest here that Argia accesses these same themes in her speech to Polynices’ corpse as well as to Antigone when the two women meet. In doing so, Argia recalls her elegiac role as an abandoned woman even as she looks like an epic widow. As I will show, this background colors Argia’s interactions with Antigone as she reframes Polynices’ march to Thebes as an erotic pursuit and reinscribes his epic decision to fight Eteocles for the throne within an elegiac framework of erotic jealousy.

When she finds Polynices’ body, Argia laments in the vocabulary of the epic widow.

However, she contaminates this with the language of erotic abandonment and elegiac jealousy.

She stresses that her love will endure past Polynices’ death (Theb. 12.344-47):

sed nec te flammis inopem tua terra videbit: ardebis lacrimasque feres, quas ferre negatum 345 regibus, aeternumque tuo famulata sepulcro durabit deserta fides…

But your country will not see you without a pyre; you will burn and you will bear the tears which cannot be denied to kings, and my faith, although abandoned, will remain eternally a servant at your tomb.

Argia laments the death of her husband. She is adamant that her devotion to Polynices is eternal

(aeternumque tuo famulata sepulcro, 346). This speech recalls the epic motif of the widow’s funeral lament.804 I suggest, however, that this lament is contaminated with elegiac terminology.

While modern scholars debate the authenticity of the etymology of elegos from ἒ λέγειν, “to cry

804 Cf. Tsagalis 2004, esp. 8-22, on basic characteristics of personal epic lament; Chapter 2 (27-51, esp. 28-32) defines his typology of the γόος-speech including: a praising address (cf. Theb. 12.322-24), a comparison (12.330-32), a shared fate between mourner and deceased (12.338-39, 347-48), a death wish (in the Thebaid represented as Argia’s anger against Eteocles, 12.341-43), and the antithesis between past and present (12.333-39). 279

woe” or ἔλεος, pity, in antiquity there was an accepted connection between elegy and lament. 805

Scholars such as Papanghelis emphasize that Propertius was particularly concerned with death, but that the elegists all played with the connection to lament in their poetic output. 806 Statius recalls the elegiac language that characterized Argia’s earlier appearances in the epic. In addition to her association with the elegiac relicta puella in Books 2-4 as I described in Chapter 1, I note briefly here the elegiac context of Argia’s initial lament after Polynices’ death, 12.191-97, where she first decides to break away from her Argive companions and march to Thebes alone. Bessone analyzes the speech and identifies its “unmistakable elegiac features:” Argia imagines Polynices complaining of her tardiness (Theb. 12.214-15):

et nunc me duram, si quis tibi sensus ad umbras, me tardam Stygiis quereris, fidissime, diuis. 215

And now, if there is any sensation left for you as a shade, you complain to the Stygian spirits that I am harsh, I am late.

Bessone describes the elegiac vocabulary in Argia’s speech: “the verb queror is a technical term for elegiac lament, and the adjectives dura and tarda are conventional terms of that poetic language, just as fidissime summarizes its ideological core.”807 She further connects this speech

805 Cf. the etymological play of Hor. Carm. 1.33.2-3, Ov. Am. 3.9.3-4. Isidorus (1.39.14) notes that “the ‘elegiac’ meter is so called because the measure of this particular song is suited for mournful subjects” (transl. 2006). Maltby 1991, 201-202; s.v. elegeus, elegia, and elegiacus, and O’Hara 2017, xvii and xxi-ii n3 gathers further: Porph. on Hor. Carm 1.33.1-2 identifies the etymology from ἒ ἒ quae vox est lamentatium; Diom. Gramm. 1.484-85 notes elegia dicta sive παρὰ τὸ εὖ λέγειν τοὺς τεθνεῶτας … sive ἀπὸ τοῦ ἐλέου, id est miseratione. This etymology is not factually correct, but describes the strong association in thought between elegiac poetry and lament. In addition, elegiac couplets are the common meter of Greek sepulchral epigram, and lend support to the connection of the meter to lament; see further, e.g., Baker 1970; Maltby 2006, 160-64; Keith 2011a, 2; Farrell 2012, 15-16. 806 Cf. Papanghelis 1987, e.g., 1-2; Ramsby 2007 and Houghton 2011 and 2013 on sepulchral (and other) epigrammatic influence on love elegy. In addition, the broad selection in Frangoulidis and Harrison, 2018, Part I speaks not only to Papanghelis’ influence, but also the importance of death as a theme in love elegy. 807 Bessone 2010, 87. 280

to Prop. 1.19, in which the elegiac amator expresses his fear that Cynthia may not be like

Laodamia to his Protesilaus, and follow through on her promise of love after death.808 I suggest that this elegiac language links Argia’s lament with her previous status as an abandoned woman.

Within this context, we can see that Argia’s widow’s lament is itself framed by her elegiac resonance. Returning to Argia’s “enduring love” (347), she promises that her faith, which she describes with the loaded word fides, will endure even though Polynices has abandoned her

(durabit deserta, 347).809 This phrase, juxtaposed in an enjambed concessive phrase, alludes to her prior status as a relicta puella, even while she laments the death of her husband. Pollmann connects these lines to two key concepts from the elegiac mode: first eternal devotion to the memory of a lover, or “marital devotion beyond death.”810 This is the goal of the elegiac lover, to find a woman who would love him after death, and his own promise to his lover that he in fact will do that.811 The concept appears elsewhere: Dido references her promise to be faithful to her first husband while foreshadowing her passion for Aeneas (Virg. Aen. 4.15-17):

si mihi non animo fixum immotumque sederet, 15 ne cui me vinclo vellem sociare iugali, postquam primus amor deceptam morte fefellit

Were there not something fixed and immobile seated in my mind that I not wish to link myself in the bonds of matrimony, after my first love betrayed me, deceived, by dying…

808 Cf. Prop. 1.19.3, 7, 21-26, with Bessone 2010, 87, after Helzle 1996, 167-68. 809 Fides is a significant word in the elegiac register, as I discussed in Chapters 1 and 2. While it is often used in a marital context, the elegiac poets use it to refer to the strength of the elegiac commitment that can, or should, be stronger and more long-lasting than marriage. 810 Pollmann 2004, ad loc. As comparanda, she cites the epic topos with Dido; Virg. Aen. 4.15-29. This link to Dido enhances Argia’s conflicting generic presentation, as she combines and recalls elements from another complex epic-erotic-elegiac figure. 811 E.g., Prop. 4.8; Bessone 2010 esp. 66-67, 86-87. See discussion in Chapter 1 for this concept. 281

Dido has expressed her admiration of Aeneas to her sister Anna in the lines earlier, and here observes that he is the kind of man she could love and marry (forsan potui succumbere culpae,

Aen. 4.19). She is held back, however—at least for now—by her promise to her first husband

Sychaeus. While Dido’s promise of fidelity cannot hold up against the combined interference of

Venus and Juno, Laodamia’s promise for her husband Protesilaus endures so long as she lives.

Similar to Argia’s lament over her abandonment, Catullus describes Laodamia’s erotic lament in elegiac couplets and notes that she will live through her grief: posset ut abrupto vivere coniugio

(Cat. 68.118).812 Catullus expresses Laodamia’s abandonment in a concessive phrase (abrupto coniugo), just as Argia. Even while Argia promises her enduring faithfulness like an epic widow,

Argia emphasizes that Polynices had left her in the first place.813

Argia thus balances these two tropes: her eternal faithfulness, and her feelings of betrayal at the abandonment. This directly recalls her elegiac foreshadowing of these events in Book 4, and points forward to the erotic jealousy which, I suggest below, characterizes her interactions with Antigone. As I argued in Chapter 1, Argia described how she would lament Polynices’ absence while he was at Thebes.814 In that speech, she assumed that he would survive. Now that she is faced with his death, she maintains her devotion and promises to be devoted to him forever. Statius incorporates the elegiac imagery from her earlier appearance in the epic into her role as a grieving widow.

Argia replicates the dynamics of the relicta puella throughout her interactions with

Polynices’ body and with Antigone. As I will indicate, Argia laments extensively over her fallen

812 “…that she might endure to live, though her husband was taken from her.” Transl. Goold 1995, modified. 813 Theb. 12.346-47, durabit deserta fides. I follow Pollmann in taking deserta as a concessive participle. 814 Esp. Theb. 4.202-6. 282

husband with the language of epic lament contaminated by erotic jealousy. In the same manner as her elegiac predecessors, as I noted in Chapter 1, Argia models the behavior of the relicta puella by lamenting together with Antigone when the other woman arrives. After a tense start,

Argia and Antigone commiserate and share the emotions of their loss (Theb. 12.385-90):

hic pariter lapsae iunctoque per ipsum 385 amplexu miscent auidae lacrimasque comasque, partitaeque artus redeunt alterna gementes ad uultum et cara uicibus ceruice fruuntur. dumque modo haec fratrem memorat, nunc illa maritum, mutuaque exorsae Thebas Argosque renarrant,

And here they equally collapsed a joint embrace upon him, eagerly mixing tears and hair, and dividing his limbs they return to his face with alternate groans and take delight in turns over his dear neck. Now as one recalls her brother, now the other her husband, they both begin to tell of Thebes and of Argos.

The two women are interchangeable here: together, they embrace Polynices’ body (iunctoque per ipsum amplexu miscent, 385-86). With plural verbs, they fall upon his corpse in their grief

(pariter lapsae, 385),815 they weep together and physically display their sorrow (avidae lacrimasque comasque, 386), they groan (alterna gementes, 387) and lament in unison.816 This is the shared female companionship that Argia promised to seek when she was initially characterized in the language of the relicta puella: coetu solante, 4.202.817

815 Cf. Pollmann 2004 ad 349-51, “miseranda: also of Argia at 313, suggesting their comparable situation and common sorrow. Therefore, they are both called miserae in 417. 816 Pollmann 2004, ad 390: “‘and beginning mutually’ which shows their zeal to confide in each other, as they see the comparability of each other’s situation.” 817 As I discussed in Chapter 1, this recalls similar sentiments from paradigmatic abandoned women Laodamia and Arethusa; Ov. Her. 13.35-36, Prop. 4.3.41-42. This also recalls the abandonment of the Lemnian women, Theb. 5.83-84, as discussed in Chapter 2. 283

Argia and Antigone also, however, compete over Polynices’ body. The two women argue over the priority of their grief: as the wife and the sister, they each claim to have a stronger love for Polynices (12.382-85):

‘mene igitur sociam — pro fors ignara! — malorum, mene times? mea membra tenes, mea funera plangis. cedo, tene, pudet heu! ignava sororis! haec prior — !’

‘Oh, your ally, therefore, in these evils—oh blind fate!—do you fear me? Mine are the limbs you hold, mine the body you weep over. I yield! Take him, ah, the shame! What sluggish piety of a sister! Yours is a prior claim.

In these lines, Antigone complains that Argia has found Polynices first, and can, therefore, show a deeper grief for Polynices: because she was ‘late’ in comparison, her sorrow over her brother’s death does not look as passionate as Argia’s. In a highly emotional speech, Antigone attempts to suggest that their grief is shared (sociam malorum, 382), but then claims that Polynices is hers to lament, not Argia’s (mea membra tenes, mea funera plangis, 383).818 Pollmann comments that these lines are “a serious counterpart” to Ovid’s depiction of “Nemesis and Delia quarrel[ling] over the dead Tibullus.”819 Tibullus’ death was mourned by his mother and sister (Ov. Am.

3.9.49-51), while Argia lamented the absence of these figures when she first found Polynices: ubi mater, ubi incluta fama / Antigone? (Theb. 12.331-32). Pollmann identifies a similarity between Argia and Antigone’s bickering and that of Delia and Nemesis. In both settings, the women argue over their right to lament their dead. Delia and Nemesis compete to justify and attempt to defend their presence at Tibullus’ side (Ov. Am. 3.9.55-58):

Delia discedens ‘felicius’ inquit ‘amata 55

818 Ginsberg 2015, 204 and 204n17, considers the significance of the personal pronoun to indicate affection as an elegiac signal, especially in repetition. 819 Pollmann 2004 ad loc; referring to Ov. Am. 3.9.53-58. 284

sum tibi; vixisti, dum tuus ignis eram.’ cui Nemesis ‘quid’ ait ‘tibi sunt mea damna dolori? me tenuit moriens deficiente manu.’

Delia, as she was leaving, said “I am luckier, having been loved by you; you were alive while I was your flame.” And Nemesis said, “why do you grieve over my hurt? While he died, his hand held mine.”

Delia and Nemesis, in their elegiac setting, are jealous lovers challenging each other over the primacy and significance of their romantic attachment to Tibullus. Antigone and Argia, on the other hand, are not in the same situation. Argia’s erotic attachment to Polynices should be separate from Antigone’s familial love for her brother, but the incest that has plagued Oedipus’ family comes into play again in Argia’s accusations.820 This comparison to Nemesis and Delia, therefore, invites us to look differently at Antigone’s presence via Argia’s perspective.

The elegiac relicta puella expresses her jealousy and fear of her partner’s infidelity.821

Argia expresses a jealous reaction to Antigone’s presence at Polynices’ body, even though she had expected her presence. When Antigone finally arrives at the battlefield, Argia speaks to her as if she were an erotic rival. After Argia and Antigone recognize each other, Argia relays that

Polynices’ great desire in returning to Thebes was, in fact, to see his sister (Theb. 12.392-97):

longius Argia miseros reminiscitur actus: ‘per tibi furtivi sacrum commune doloris, per socios manes et conscia sidera iuro: non hic amissos, quamquam vagus exul, honores,

820 Compare, e.g., the “sexual potential” (Smolenaars 1994 ad 499) of Jocasta’s attempt at mediating the war before it begins, 7.470-563 with Smolenaars throughout; cf. Hershkowitz 1998, 280-82. See also Smolenaars ad loc who notes parallels between that speech and Argia’s lament here: e.g., 7.495-96 ~ 12.395-7, 7.503 ~ 12.396. The incestuous past of Oedipus contaminates his familial relations elsewhere; cf. Ginsberg 2015 and 2017 on two readings of suggestive incest in Seneca’s Theban household. 821 As I discussed in Chapters 1 and 2, especially concerning Arethusa (cf. Prop. 4.3.25-28) and the Lemnian women (Polyxo slyly suggests that the Lemnian men are bringing home new wives, Theb. 5.142, to urge the women towards murder). As I cite in Chapter 1, see Caston 2012 for further discussion of the role of jealousy in the elegiac relationship. 285

non gentile solum, carae non pectora matris, 395 te cupiit unam noctesque diesque locutus Antigonen; ego cura minor facilisque relinqui.

At length, Argia recalls the miserable deeds: “I swear to you by the sacred commonality of our secret grief, by our shared dead and the knowing stars: although he was a wandering exile, it was not his lost honors, nor his familial earth, nor the breast of his dear mother; you he desired, you alone, and by night and day he spoke of Antigone. I, he cared for less, and was easy to be left behind.

Argia explains to Antigone that Polynices did not actually want his rightful throne (non hic amissos…honores, 394), nor to return to his homeland (non gentile solum, 395), nor to his mother’s side (carae non pectora matris, 395).822 Instead, she suggests, he desired only to see his dear sister again (te cupiit unam, 396). Argia promises that she speaks the truth, and swears on their shared, hidden grief (furtivi sacrum commune doloris, 393) that Polynices sought to leave

Argia behind (facilisque relinqui, 397) in order to seek Antigone.823

As Helzle suggests, this speech incorporate elegiac themes.824 Argia swears to Antigone by her “hidden grief” (furtivi …doloris, 393). I suggest that the hyperbaton that delays these two words sets up a false expectation that furtivi will instead to Argia’s love for Polynices because of

Argia’s established connection with elegiac language. I discussed the elegiac resonance of furta and its derivatives in Chapter 1. In fact, in that chapter I further noted the usual elegiac connection between furta and dolor: furta leads to dolor by the jealous, or jilted lover. Here, however, Argia uses this same vocabulary to express a different concept. Instead of reflecting on

822 One may wonder at the potentially incestuous phrasing of this line. 823 Pollmann 2004 ad loc explains at each step how this speech is a lie based on the interactions between Polynices and Argia earlier in the text. Polynices had hardly mentioned Antigone in these lines. I suggest that this absence justifies the elegiac reading in this locus: Statius aligns Argia with the elegiac experience by inventing a jealous backstory for her engagement with Antigone. 824 Helzle 1996 covers Argia and Antigone in full 160-74, and Argia’s vocabulary particularly at 161; cf. 166-68. 286

the grief that jealousy is causing her, Argia refers to the fact that her grief over Polynices’ death must be hidden to protect herself, and Antigone, from Creon’s laws. By using this vocabulary, I suggest that Statius intentionally recalls elegiac allusion and Argia’s elegiac background and uses that background to contaminate Argia’s interaction with Antigone.

Further, Argia insists, against the reality of the situation, that Polynices desired Antigone more than anything else. Argia expresses Polynices’ desire for Antigone with the sexual verb cupiit.825 I suggest that the implication of this elegiac vocabulary, spoken by a character with an established elegiac background, is that Argia’s erotic desire for her husband was secret and hidden, while his yearning for Antigone alone (unam, 396), which he repeated incessantly

(noctesque diesque locutus, 396), formed the basis of his romantic and sexual thoughts.826 Argia reframes Polynices’ journey to Thebes as if it were a journey to an erotic rival, hinting at her own erotic jealousy in the situation. In addition, Argia later describes Polynices turning back to observe Antigone on the parapet: teque ille acie respexit ab ipsa / ense salutatam et nutantis uertice coni.827 Argia imagines that Polynices had turned (respexit) to look at Antigone before going into battle. This repeats the same imagery that Statius had used for Polynices turning back to see Argia herself when he left for Thebes (Theb. 4.88-92):

iam regnum matrisque sinus fidasque sorores spe uotisque tenet, tamen et de turre suprema attonitam totoque extantem corpore longe 90 respicit Argian; haec mentem oculosque reducit coniugis et dulces auertit pectore Thebas.

Now he holds his kingdom, and his mother’s bosom, and his faithful sisters in his hope and prayers, but nevertheless, from the tallest turret, distraught and stretched out with her

825 Cupiit, 396; TLL s.v. §I.A.2.β. 826 This phrase mirrors 5.82, sub nocte dieque, the Lemnian women lamenting their husbands’ departure. 827 Theb. 12.400-1, “He looked back at you from the very battle lines, saluting you with his sword and with the peak of his nodding helm.” 287

whole body reaching, he sees Argia; she draws her husband’s mind and eyes, and turns his breast from sweet Thebes.

Here in Book 4, Polynices marches from Argos and turns back to see Argia for what will be the last time. As I note in Chapter 1, Polynices’ backwards motion to observe his wife has been linked to elegiac antecedents.828 Now, Argia uses this same verb, respicio, to describe Polynices turning back to see Antigone.829 Argia invents this moment of Polynices’ last glance in order to imagine that his emotional attachment to Antigone equaled his connection to her. By linking these moments, Argia further hints that she was right to be jealous of her sister-in-law.

At the end of this implied erotic connection between Polynices and Antigone with its elegiac subtext, Argia reminds the audience of her own elegiac role: ego cura minor facilisque relinqui, 12.397.830 The repetitions of phrases and sentiment confirm Argia’s earlier embodiment of the relicta puella trope. She recalls that she had asked Polynices why he sought Thebes: quo tendis iter, 12.333, repeating from 2.351. Pollmann notes that “the repetition marks the development towards failure.”831 After Argia was confirmed in that elegiac role, her warnings came true and Polynices went to Thebes to find nothing but pain and death. Her elegiac background directly caused this outcome, and the repetition of this phrase here reminds the reader of this fact. Argia had rested her entire elegiac definition on her status as a relicta puella.

828 Cf. Micozzi 2007 ad loc and Bessone 2002, 205-12. Pollmann 2004, ad loc notes that Argia recalls this moment at the beginning of her march to Thebes. She pictures Polynices in his helmet (12.189) and turning back to look at her (respiciens, 12.190-91). 829 Pollmann 2004 ad loc notes that this scene recalls one described earlier in the epic, but there, Antigone addresses Polynices from the battlement and, after recognizing him (agnovit, 11.360), begged him to turn around and see her (comprime tela manu paulumque hanc respice turrem, 11.363). He does not turn, but does hear her voice. Bessone 2010, 86-87, as I noted in Chapter 1, observes that Argia recalls this motion at 191; respiciens, as she decides to march alone to the Theban battlefield. 830 “I, he cared for less, and was easy to be left behind.” 831 Pollmann 2004 ad loc, after Hoffmann 1999, 33-35. 288

Now she repeats that identification, reminding her audience—internal and external, Antigone and the reader—that she is an abandoned woman and Polynices is dead even while her language suggests other elegiac topoi at play.832

These specific references to Argia’s status as a relicta puella speak to her overall thematic position at the end of the epic. Statius had described her steady progression into the trope of the relicta puella, due to the curse of Harmonia’s necklace. Her affiliation with the trope became complete when Polynices left for Thebes, but is complicated in Book 12 by the fact that he has died in combat. Statius shows her elegiac affiliation shift at this point into the vocabulary of jealousy and erotic frustration.833

Setting the Scene

The language of Argia’s competing elegiac paradigms in Book 12 is amplified by an elegiac reading of the set up to the scene. As Argia completes her march to Thebes, Juno sets the scene by providing moonlight. With this illumination, Argia is able to find Polynices’ corpse. I suggest that Juno frames her request to Luna in terms of a jealous elegiac reaction (Theb. 12.291-

302):

832 It is worth noting the shift that this symbolizes: Argia had been abandoned in an elegiac manner early in the epic so that Polynices could achieve his epic telos. Now that this ending has occurred, Argia seems to reveal that the epic journey was actually driven by erotic motives all along. 833 In addition to Helzle’s identification of Argia’s elegiac and erotic tone throughout her appearance in Book 12, Pollmann also identifies select examples of Argia’s elegiac language. When Argia begins her speech to Polynices’ corpse, she says that she had complained to him multiple times of his desire to return to Thebes, dicebam: “quo tendis iter? quid sceptra negata / poscis?... (12.333-37). She recalls this conversation in vain, since obviously her arguments failed. She adds that her complaints feel disingenuous (quis queror, 336) because of her own role in providing Adrastus’ support for the war (336- 37). Pollmann compares these lines to similar complaints: Propertius 1.9.1-2, Dicebam tibi venturos, irrisor, amores, / nec tibi perpetuo libera verba fore; and Tibullus 1.9.29-30 Haec ego dicebam: nunc me flevisse loquentem, / nunc pudet ad teneros procubuisse pedes. Both elegists vainly spoke words of warning, and now recall those warnings when their object has come to pass. Pollmann links Argia’s speech with elegiac verbal patterns, specifically the use of the first-person iterative imperfect to recall unsuccessful warnings. 289

forte soporiferas caeli secreta per umbras Iuno, sinu magni semet furata mariti, Theseos ad muros, ut Pallada flecteret, ibat, supplicibusque piis faciles aperiret Athenas. atque ubi per campos errore fatiscere uano 295 inmeritam Argian supero respexit ab axe, indoluit uisu, et lunaribus obuia bigis aduertit uultum placidaque ita uoce locuta est: ‘da mihi poscenti munus breue, Cynthia, si quis est Iunonis honos; certe Iouis improba iussu 300 ter noctem Herculeam—ueteres sed mitto querelas: en locus officio. …

It just so happened that Juno, going through the sleep-bearing shadows of the night, in secret, having stolen away from the bed of her great husband, was going towards the Thesean walls in order to sway Pallas and to make Athens easily open for the pious suppliants. And when she turned from heaven’s height to see that Argia, unworthy [of such troubles] was wandering across the plain in vain; and she grieved at the sight, and coming into the path of the lunar chariot tilted her head and, with a gentle voice spoke: “Grant me the small favor I ask, Cynthia, if you give any honor to Juno; certainly you were without shame when, by the command of Jupiter you lengthened the single night of Hercules into three—but I send away ancient complaints: look, an official duty…”

Juno sets the scene for Argia’s arrival in Thebes by asking the moon to shine bright on the battlefield. Statius introduces Juno as an unexpectedly sympathetic character: she sneaked out in the middle of the night (secreta per umbras / Iuno, sinu magni semet furata mariti, 12.291-92).

She was aiming to plead with Athena to be generous with the Argive women coming to beg for

Theseus’ aid (293-94). En route, she sees Argia making her way across the battlefield (per campos errore 295-97).834 She feels immediate pity for her devoted follower (inmeritam Argian,

834 Pollmann 2004 ad loc, especially at 299-301 discusses how Juno’s presentation here is distinct from her role in the Aeneid or even her anger against Hercules as in Euripides’ Heracles. Pollmann argues that Juno is thus anti-Virgilian and anti-Euripidean (Pollmann 2004, 42). This adds to the fact that, as Pollmann discusses ad 291-311, that the gods have left the epic by this point, except for Juno, who commands and Luna. Thus all appearances of gods in Book 12 are female, and “helping female humans exclusively.” This emphasis on female divine presences, amplified by the female personifications Clementia (481-511) and Natura (561, 645), provides a “counterbalance to mindless and destructive 290

296) and stops to ask Luna, in turn, to help Argia (297-98). Juno justifies her request for Luna’s aid by reminding the other goddess that she had lengthened the night for Jupiter at Hercules’ conception (299-301). Juno presents a logical argument: having once harmed her by enabling

Jupiter’s infidelity, Luna ought to rectify that damage by helping her now.

Juno’s logic, however, is based on the fact that benefiting Argia would make up for

Juno’s personal, individual dolor caused by Jupiter’s infidelity.835 Juno describes the memory of

Jupiter’s night with Alcmene as veteres querelas (301). This is the same elegiac vocabulary that

Hypsipyle and Statius use to describe Hypsipyle’s extended elegiac lament in Book 5. 836 I suggest that Juno here specifically characterizes herself as a jilted lover. She does not command the moon to shine by virtue of her role as the queen of the gods, or as Jupiter’s wife, or even as a patron goddess to Argos (as she references separately, 302-3). Instead, she bases her argument on her jealousy over her husband’s infidelity. I suggest that this directly recalls the themes of erotic jealousy that have so far driven the action of the epic, from Vulcan’s creation of

Harmonia’s necklace to the Lemnian massacre. Yet unlike the devastation that is wrought as a result of these moments of erotic and elegiac jealousy, here Juno expresses her jealousy specifically to benefit Argia, while on the way to help the other Argive women. Juno uses elegiac language to shame Luna into agreeing to her request. Her plea works, as Luna immediately

heroism. But they are not really able to open a significantly more positive perspective,” following Henderson 1998, 240-43. Cf. also Feeney 1991, 357. 835 This further emphasizes the different way in which Juno is characterized here than in the Aeneid or elsewhere in Theban mythology: she is not the vengeful, hateful, anger-driven goddess that instigated the plot of the Aeneid or the trials against Hercules. Instead, she is sympathetic, apologetic, and seeking aid for her followers. 836 Hypsipyle and Statius refer to her extended monologue as longa querela, 5.500 and 5.615, and veteres questus at 5.48. I discuss the elegiac resonance of this language, especially querela, in Chapter 2. 291

shines brightly for Argia’s benefit.837 Luna had been associated with Jupiter’s infidelity, but here acts to help the jilted wife in an unrelated scenario.838

Generic Conflict

Throughout the Thebaid, Statius uses elegiac allusion in order to foreshadow destruction: elegiac actions lead to epic consequences, resulting in death and devastation for characters throughout the epic. The main narrative thread of the Thebaid has finished in Book 11 with the deaths of Polynices and Eteocles, but Statius spills the ending of the story out over another 800 lines.839 After focusing on the role of men in the production of death and warfare, Statius turns in this last book to emphasize, again, women as catalysts and casualties of violence.

I have discussed the role of women as catalysts of violence throughout this dissertation.840 From Argia (da bella, pater, 3.696) to the Lemnian women, not to mention

Tisiphone, the female voice has called for and caused war and devastation across the Thebaid.

Statius has used elegiac allusion to signal and foreshadow the devastation these women cause.

Further, as casualties of violence, women in the text also connect elegiac themes to their epic context.

Argia appears in Book 12 as a casualty of the violence her elegiac character had instigated. I suggest that Argia’s march to Thebes may be seen as a failed metapoetic journey,

837 Theb. 12.309-10, vix ea cum scissis magnum dea nubibus orbem / protulit. Suzanne Lye (pers. comm.) helpfully notes that this imagery of Juno’s request to the moon may parallel the magical trope of “drawing down the moon,” often at play in love potions. 838 One may, further, reasonably suggest that it is only because of Juno’s influence that Argia arrives at Polynices first, before Antigone. Even though Juno causes a positive consequence from her elegiac influence, the scale of this positivity does not come close to outweighing the negative consequences brought on by the other elegiac roles in the epic. 839 See, e.g., Pollmann 2004 ad 349-408, 782-96 and Dietrich 1999 on the narrative complexity of the ending of the Thebaid. 840 As Keith 2000, 69 notes of the Aeneid, “the very voice of violence and war is female” and, of the Thebaid, “Statius’ closing lines hint that no occasion is immune from women’s violent summons to war.” 292

highlighting her role in the violence of the war. She physically moves from one location (Argos) to another (Thebes), from companionship with the other Argive widows to loneliness. In doing so, she also begins to transition metapoetically from her elegiac context as a relicta puella to the tragic setting of Antigone’s Thebes.841 Yet once she arrives, she emphatically reaffirms her elegiac role, as I have argued, yet one that stresses jealousy and misery. Instead of taking this opportunity to move out of her elegiac framework and reject the role of the relicta puella, she validates and verifies that generic background. Argia’s status as an elegiac figure is reified in a world of tragedy, epic violence, and disaster.

Yet Antigone’s Thebes is a tragic setting. Her tragic background is recalled from her

Sophoclean heritage: Statius recreates Sophocles’ tragedy in his epic Thebes, and his Antigone is a heroine self-aware of her tragic past.842 When Antigone arrives at Polynices’ body, she apologizes: deis fratrique moras excusat (12.354, “she makes excuses to the gods and her brother for the delay”). Statius emphasizes the delay, but how long had Antigone planned on burying her brother? When she finally arrives and sees Argia already there, she antagonizes the other woman

(12.366-67):

‘cuius’ ait ‘manes, aut quae temeraria quaeris nocte mea?’

“Whose body,” she said, “do you seek, and who are you to do it so imprudently in my night?”

841 Cf. Bessone 2002, 2011, 2015; Augoustakis 2015, 391-92, “Statius grafts his epic poem with tragic overtones… Statius chooses the epic form because it completes the lessons learned from tragedy.” Bessone 2010, 70-71 argues that Argia’s march engages with tropes from heroic epic. As I have noted before, the presence of one generic signal does not preclude the existence of another. This epic reading supports Argia’s status as a failed tragic hero. 842 See esp. Pollmann 2004 ad 349-408: “[re: the burial of Polynices] This scene is one of the most dramatic in the whole epic, and well shows S[tatius]’ readiness to innovate in epic tradition.” 293

Antigone knows exactly where to go, having seen her brother fall in combat. 843 She is surprised to see someone else performing not only the task that she is set out to do, but the task that her character is defined by doing: Polynices’ burial is, throughout the literary and mythological record, Antigone’s. Statius’ Antigone knows this, as does Statius’ Argia.844 Antigone’s tragic background is accepted by the characters within the text, and enhanced by the dramatic setting.

The battlefield after a civil conflict at Thebes is ripe for tragic imagining, and it is not a stretch to read tragic allusion throughout Book 12.845 I argue, however, that while Argia is portrayed physically in this tragic setting and set in competition against a character of rich tragic pedigree, she maintains her elegiac characterization through her language and action.846 In doing so, she elegizes Antigone’s tragic tale just as she elegized Polynices’ epic journey to Thebes. Argia’s elegiac character leads her to these inescapable consequences as she marches to the battlefield to literally surround herself with death and devastation.

In this way, Statius once again confronts his reader with a disruptive elegiac woman.

Argia challenges not only Antigone’s primacy in her role as Polynices’ mourner, but also the teleology of the epic itself. The successful ending of the plot—Polynices’ burial, Theseus’ intervention, the lament of the women—is delayed in order to enable Argia’s journey to

Polynices. It is worth remembering here that Antigone’s story is unfinished. Argia’s interference

843 Pollmann 2004 ad 360. 844 Argia is surprised that Antigone is not at Polynices’ side, 12.331-32. See also Pollmann 2004 ad 366- 67: “S[tatius] alludes again (cf. 329-32n.) to the traditional myth of which Antigone is aware. Argia is considered an intruder whose presence is unjustified in light of the literary tradition.” See also Micozzi 2015, 331. 845 On Statius and tragedy in general, see, e.g., Marinis 2015; on Statius’ relationship to Seneca, Augoustakis 2015. 846 As Helzle 1996, 161 argues. Argia’s vocabulary is primarily erotic, romantic, and elegiac. In contrast, Antigone’s language is heavily influenced by military language, and the vocabulary of Roman social values; e.g., 7.293, iura 11.721, pietas 12.384, 459 (Helzle 1996, 161). Antigone is driven by pietas, while Argia has an elegiac motive (Helzle 1996, 168-171). 294

leads to both women being captured by Creon’s soldiers, but while Argia is mentioned later in the epic, Antigone is not.847 Presumably she is killed, but Argia’s interference prevents her story from being told. Juno’s elegiac allusion to Luna, therefore, on the one hand causes the positive consequence of Argia’s reunion with Polynices, but on the other, leads to this delay in the ending of the epic.

Part of Argia’s delaying ability is her role in lament at the end of the epic. 848 Lament is not new here at the end: after Tydeus’ monomachy in Book 2, Statius highlights the mourning of the Theban women discovering the bodies of their dead.849 I have already discussed the role of lament as a feature of the topos of the relicta puella. I emphasize here, however, that Statius constructs Argia’s lament specifically via her elegiac background. I discussed above some specific elegiac connections in Argia’s lament. This in turn further amplifies Argia’s initial generic background through these reminders of how that played out earlier in the epic. As a result, the difficulties she faces now at the end of the epic are closely connected to her elegiac beginnings. Argia’s lament is tied to her elegiac context and character, and confirms the consequences of her earlier elegiac role. I suggest that Statius leans into the complex generic connections of lament in order to set up the disruptive laments of the Theban and Argive women.850

847 The women are bound and ready to die at 12.677-81, and Argia appears to lament with the other Argive women at 12.804. 848 On the role of lament in the Thebaid, see, e.g., Dietrich 1999, Fantham 1999, 226-32; Augoustakis 2010, 34; Bernstein 2015, 145; Augoustakis 2015, 378; McAuley 2016, 317-21. 849 Theb. 3.53-57, 114-77. See also Hypsipyle’s and Eurydice’s laments for the dead Opheltes/Archemorus, 5.544-56, 588-637, 650-52, 132-92. Each time Statius turns away from the lament of these women for their child, he returns to them again: their lament seems never-ending. 850 “The struggle between the epic and elegiac is exemplified at the end of the poem, when the poet decides to end before he recounts the lament of the Argive women at the burial of the dead,” Augoustakis 2016, xxi n16, though he does not expand upon or define the elegiac resonance he observes here. 295

Hippolyta

Argia’s elegiac presentation in Book 12 is mirrored in the brief but complex appearance of the conquered queen Hippolyta and her Amazon warriors. Theseus returns to Athens in a triumphal procession after defeating the in battle, 12.519-33.851 He brings the spoils of the battle, including Hippolyta herself. In this description, Statius describes Hippolyta and the other Amazons with vocabulary and themes borrowed from elegiac poetry and mediated through the elegiac representation of women throughout the epic. As a result of this imagery, I will argue,

Hippolyta’s presence creates tension within the epic narrative.

Hippolyta, queen of the Amazons, appears in the Thebaid as a study in contrasts, especially in comparison to Argia and Hypsipyle. The Amazons are women who have entirely rejected male society. They live on their own and wage violent wars against or alongside male heroes. Here in Book 12, Theseus has just returned from a war against them where he was not only victorious, but also brought home their queen, now pregnant, as his spouse. As Keith notes, this represents the ultimate conquering, or “taming,” of the wild woman. By performing this action, Theseus “symbolically earns the authority to impose settlement in the world of the

Thebaid.”852 Yet while scholars have focused on how Hippolyta’s presence affects Theseus’ role in the text, I emphasize throughout this section that Hippolyta can, and should be examined for her own role in the text, as well as the ways in which her presence amplifies the roles of the

Thebaid’s earlier prominent and compelling female figures. I suggest here that Hippolyta intentionally stands as a foil to Argia and Hypsipyle and offers a repetition of their narratives of trauma and violence that foreshadows a different kind of ending for her story.

851 Pollmann 2004, 212, cf. Vessey 1973, 312. 852 Keith 2000, 99. 296

In this description, I suggest that Hippolyta is characterized like an elegiac domina who is no longer in an elegiac poem. Throughout the Thebaid, Statius has brought elegiac themes to epic conclusions. In Hippolyta’s character, Statius portrays another type of an elegiac trope, taken to non-elegiac extremes. Hippolyta represents the powerful, dominating woman that the elegists desire: as Propertius explains in Book 3, he in particular seeks a lover who can be his mistress in all things (Prop. 3.11.1-4):

Quid mirare, meam si versat femina vitam et trahit addictum sub sua iura virum, criminaque ignavi capitis mihi turpia fingis, quod nequeam fracto rumpere vincla iugo?

Why do you wonder, if a woman tangles up my life and draws a man bound in servitude within her power? And why do you make up shameful charges of cowardice against me, because I am unable to break my chains with a shattered yoke?

These programmatic lines affirm Propertius’ affiliation with the topoi of servitium and militia amoris: he frequently uses these tropes to signal the dynamics of his preferred relationship.

Propertius favors a woman who commands and leads him, who subjugates him, and who makes demands of him. In this poem, Propertius goes on to provide a series of mythological and historical exempla of powerful women like his idealized lover. After describing how Medea used her skills and power to win the Golden Fleece for Jason, Propertius discusses Penthesilea

(3.11.13-16):

ausa ferox ab equo quondam oppugnare sagittis Maeotis Danaum Penthesilea rates; aurea cui postquam nudavit cassida frontem, 15 vicit victorem candida forma virum.

Amazon Penthesilea once dared to attack the Danaan fleet with arrows fired from horseback: she whose bright beauty conquered the conquering hero, when the golden helmet laid bare her forehead.

297

Propertius identifies Penthesilea as a warrior queen: she daringly fights (ausa ferox, 13) against the Greek army (Danaum rates, 14). Her power as a fighter is matched by her beauty: alluding to the well-known story, Propertius describes Achilles falling in love with her as he kills her in battle.853 He notes Penthesilea’s captivating beauty in a well-balanced, alliterative line: vicit victorem candida forma virum (“her bright beauty conquered the conquering hero,” 16). In the very moment that Achilles conquers her by killing her, she in turn conquers him with her beauty.

This exemplifies Propertius’ desire: the woman whose ferocity on the battlefield is matched with her overpowering beauty, the woman who is so beautiful that she can overpower even

Achilles.854 Propertius’ elegiac Amazon is a woman who can evoke militia amoris even for the greatest of all of the heroes.855 This is a key aspect of the elegiac code: as Alison Keith argues, the program of Latin love elegy is closely tied to Roman imperialism.856 Roman elegy requires military ambition to bring the material wealth that the elegists use to keep their lovers.857 Keith further discusses the fact that the elegiac puella is herself a “sexual spoil of military conquest:”858 the puella is likely a foreign woman captured in war and brought back to Rome to be a courtesan or prostitute. Propertius especially, but the other elegists as well, view the imperialistic nature of the Roman world as a necessity: despite their avoidance of military

853 Cf., e.g., the famous Athenian black figure amphora by Exekias depicting the scene, BM B210 [1836.0224.127], ABV 144.7, CVA BM 4, IIIHe.4, Pl. 49.2A-C. 854 Yet, importantly, she is still physically overpowered by him. Just as the elegist maintains his dominance over his lover by constructing her written persona (cf. Wyke 1987), Achilles asserts his dominance over Penthesilea. 855 Cf. Barchiesi 1993, 340 and Deianeira’s letter to Heracles, recalling the “trite elegiac motif of the ‘conqueror conquered.’” 856 Keith 2015. 857 Keith 2015, 152. I discuss the role of wealth and greed in the elegiac dynamic in Chapter 1; see, as I note, James 2001. 858 Keith 2015, 154. 298

service, they praise and actively promote the military agenda.859 Their part of the received glory is, therefore, in the form of these women as “sexual spoils.”

This captive woman as courtesan is exactly the role that Hippolyta plays in the Thebaid.

In this light, a similarity with Propertius’ Penthesilea and the other powerful women desired by the elegiac amatores is recognizable in the background of Statius’ story. Statius has provided no background or preamble to Hippolyta’s introduction; we do not see the battle Theseus wages against her and her Amazons, nor do we know how this version of the myth fits into other stories about Hippolyta or Theseus. We only see a conquered Amazon. We might expect, therefore, a similar situation: that Theseus is captivated by his new bride, or that he acts like an elegiac lover in the same way that we have seen other heroes in the epic take on vocabulary or script from the elegist.860

Ultimately, this is not the case with Hippolyta. Her presence in the Thebaid flips the script on Penthesilea. While her beauty, through no effort of her own, conquers Achilles,

Hippolyta, on the other hand, must work to conquer her conqueror. I suggest, therefore, that while Propertius’ Penthesilea is an idealized kind of elegiac domina, Hippolyta looks like an elegiac lover, but is faced with epic consequences due to the epic setting of the story. She should be like Penthesilea and able to easily bind Theseus with her beauty and charm, but instead she is subjected to this marriage and subject position.861 As I will show, she represents the powerful woman who is brought low, not in an erotic fashion like Penthesilea, but in an epic manner,

859 See, e.g., Prop. 3.4. 860 E.g., Jason, as I discussed in Chapters 2 and 3; cf. Micozzi 2002, 65-70, Falcone 2011. 861 I stress this generic background in contrast to, e.g., the role of the captive woman in tragedy (Euripides’ Trojan Women, for example), where the newly enslaved woman laments her situation. That tragic background is not apparent in Hippolyta’s actions in Statius. 299

where her very presence foreshadows Theseus’ future devastation, the death of their son

Hippolytus, and the continuation of war and sorrow in the poem.862

Hippolyta, when she is first introduced, is immediately situated in a subject position with respect to those around her. As a spolium, she is objectified and her status as a possessed woman, a captive, is highlighted. In this first introduction, she is led as a captive in Theseus’ triumphal procession as he returns to Athens. The gathered Athenian matrons marvel that she seems to be assimilating into Athenian culture. These statements identify her in a few key ways: she is a spoil of war, she is an Amazon, and she is attempting to look Athenian (Theb. 12.533-39):

…nec non populos in semet agebat Hippolyte, iam blanda genas patiensque mariti foederis, hanc patriae ritus fregisse severos 535 Atthides oblique secum mirantur operto murmure, quod nitidi crines, quod pectora palla tota latent, magnis quod barbara semet Athenis misceat atque hosti veniat paritura marito.

And in addition Hippolyta was drawing attention to herself, now with a flattering expression and enduring her marital bond; alongside but openly, the Attic women marvel among themselves that she had broken the severe rules of her country in that her hair shines, her breast is entirely covered with cloth, and she—a barbarian!—mixes herself with great Athens and, pregnant, comes to her husband, an enemy.

In these lines, Hippolyta is described through the eyes of the Athenian women gathered to watch the triumphal procession. They immediately identify Hippolyta as an “other,” but marvel that she has acclimated and conformed herself both away from her traditional heritage and towards the

Athenian “normal.” As Pollmann observes, Theseus’ entrance into Athens is characterized “in the strongly anachronistic colours of a Roman triumph.”863 This contrasts with her known

862 Statius’ text provides a sort of retroactive continuity to the story of Hippolytus by adding these details about his parentage and setting their story, and its tragic ending, within this complex narrative. 863 Pollmann 2004, ad 520. 300

mythological background as not only a queen, but an Amazon woman. Hippolyta is objectified by virtue of the fact that the majority of these descriptors come from the focalized point of view of the Athenian women. These matrons are drawn to her and whisper at each other when she passes by (Atthides oblique secum mirantur operto / murmure, 536-37). These reported whispers distance Hippolyta from the reader: we do not see her from an objective narratorial point of view, but through a specifically filtered lens.

These gathered Athenian women marvel that Hippolyta does not look like the typical

Amazonian woman. They note in surprise that she has broken her cultural traditions (hanc patriae ritus fregisse severos, 535). They describe her in a series of short phrases: her hair shines

(nitidi crines, 537), her cloak covers her entire breast (pectora palla / tota latent, 537-38), and she seems ready to act like an Athenian despite being barbarian (magnis quod barbara semet

Athenis / misceat, 538-39), especially because she has already been impregnated by her husband, an enemy (hosti veniat paritura marito, 539). These exclamations indicate that the Athenian women are surprised to see Hippolyta assimilating to the Athenian style of dress and action. 864

In addition, Hippolyta is downcast and pleasing. While her physical description is focalized through the gathered Athenian women (536-37), Statius introduces Hippolyta first with reference to her character. Here, our narrator notes Hippolyta’s alluring expression: nec non populos in semet agebat / Hippolyte, iam blanda genas patiensque mariti / foederis (533-35).

Immediately after this introduction, the Athenian women examine Hippolyta’s appearance. As an

Amazon, Hippolyta comes from a powerful mythological lineage: like her literary predecessors

864 In contrast to the assumed Amazonian outfit, including messy or dirty hair, and one bare breast. This standard depiction of the Amazon woman is known from visual depictions. See, e.g., Amazzone a cavallo 1-2nd cent. CE Museo Archeologico di Napoli, 6407; Wounded Amazon 1-2nd cent. CE Metropolitan Museum of Art, 32.11.4. 301

Penthesilea and Antiope,865 she is assumed to be a powerful warrior, uninterested in marriage or pregnancy.866 Yet despite that pedigree, here she is at the head of her fellow captives, distinguishing herself from the other Amazons (as I discuss further below) in her dress, marked by a pregnancy as the wife of Theseus, and with a flattering, obsequious expression on her face.

No wonder the Athenian women marvel: this is not what they expect, nor what we readers expect from an Amazonian queen.

Hippolyta’s expression and characterization here describes her relationship with Theseus, and alludes to an elegiac subtext in her characterization. Hippolyta’s relationship with Theseus is told at the beginning and ending of these lines; the first, through the narrator’s description of her and the second as focalized through the Athenian women. They are slightly different given these different perspectives. First is the description of her expression, iam blanda genas patiensque mariti / foederis. The phrase specifies that her appearance is abnormal: iam, “now,” counters an

865 Penthesilea is known from a variety of ancient literary sources, but what remains is brief or fragmentary. Cf., e.g., Aethiopis arg. fr. 1 PEG 1 = Procl. Chrest. 172; Hellanicus FGrH 4 F 149, Paus. 5.11.8, 10.31.5-8; Apollod. Epit. 5.1, Prop. 3.11.14 as cited above, Diod. Sic. 2.46.5, Dictys 4.2-3, Quint. Smyrn. 1.20-32, 238-246, Nonn. Dion. 35.29. Festus notes a Roman tragedy called Penthesilea, but Schauer 2012.I.5.2 does not identify an author. The majority of these references imply that the author knew a full mythological background to this character. Antiope, similarly, is referenced in passing in, e.g., Pind. fr. 175 M; Paus. 1.2.1; Plut. Thes. 27.6.13, 28.1.13, 28.2.13; Diod. Sic. 4.28.3-4; Hyg. Fab. 30, 241; Serv. Aen. 11.661. 866 Hippolyta’s presence is, overall, unexpected in the text. While it is standard in the mythological tradition that Theseus fights the Amazons, the name of the Amazon queen he defeats and impregnates changes depending on the author and source. Hippolytus’ mother is alternately Hippolyta and Antiope, but she is never married to Theseus: Hippolytus is identified as a bastard in Euripides and Ovid (cf. Pollmann 2004 ad 534-35; cf. Eur. Hipp. e.g., 309, Ov. Her. 4.122). More often than not, Theseus brings Antiope back to Athens with him, and Hippolyta dies on the battlefield. Statius calls his Amazon queen ‘Hippolyta’ in order to foreshadow Theseus’ future more clearly. Her name is clearly linked to Hippolytus, whose death signals another moment where a father curses his son to devastation, much like Oedipus had done to Polynices and Eteocles. Her presence is announced here without preamble or background, in the same manner that Statius presents Eriphyle (as I discuss in Chapter 1): the audience is expected to be able to fill in the backstory of this character. Contrarily, Argia’s backstory is, by all evidence, entirely invented by Statius for this text. 302

implied “then.” She has a “flattering expression” on her face (blanda genas), and “endures the hardship” (patiens, 534) of her new marriage.867 While such an expression may be appropriate for a new young bride coming to her husband’s home for the first time, the phrase does not fit

Hippolyta’s mythological background.

In addition to the contradiction of a flattering yet suffering Amazonian woman, this particular phrase has its own internal weight within the epic. Statius has used the phrase before: in Book 9, as Augoustakis notes, Tisiphone comes to the battlefield in disguise to lure

Hippomedon away from protecting Tydeus’ body (Theb. 9.144-57):868

non ibi Sidoniae ualuissent pellere coepto Hippomedonta manus, non … 145 tormenta … sed memor Elysii regis noxasque recensens 148 Tydeos in medios astu subit impia campos Tisiphone: … arma gerit iuxtaque feri latus Hippomedontis blanda genas uocemque uenit, … 155

Sidonian hands would not have been strong enough to drive Hippomedon from his undertaking, nor catapults…but impious Tisiphone had memory of the Elysian king, and Tydeus’ recent offences; she entered with stealth into the middle of the plain…She bears arms and comes near alongside fierce Hippomedon, flattering in her face and voice…

Tisiphone needs a disguise that will get her close enough to talk to Hippomedon without suspicion. Playing up the companionship Hippomedon has with Halys, Tisiphone enhances her expression to attract his attention: blanda genas uocemque uenit, 155. This description, as

Augoustakis notes, refers to the same type of expression that Jason used to seduce Hypsipyle. 869

Blandus refers to seductive flattery and intense persuasive power, often with erotic undertones.

867 OLD s.v. §1a, 2. OLD s.v. patior §2c, also can refer to sexual violence. 868 Augoustakis 2010, 78-80. 869 Augoustakis 2010, 79, blandus Iason, Theb. 5.456. I discuss this further in Chapters 2 and 3. 303

Tisiphone needs it in order to maintain her disguise and convince Hippomedon to act as she wants. Hippolyta’s “pleasing” expression has this same undertone. This expression adds to the conflict of Hippolyta’s presentation: while Tisiphone’s goal is the further destruction of armies and bloodshed on the battlefield, Hippolyta’s goal is not as clearly identifiable. Tisiphone was persuasive in order to convince Hippomedon that she was his dear friend; Hippolyta here needs to be persuasive for unknown reasons. A comparison to Jason’s use of blandus may be relevant.

As I discussed in Chapters 2 and 3, Jason used his persuasive power to rape Hypsipyle. He acted like an elegiac amator convincing an unwilling puella. Here, Hippolyta perhaps seeks to convince Theseus that she is happy in this new marriage. If she is pleasing and obsequious and can act in a submissive manner to her new master and husband, then the difference in power between their two roles may be less significant.

In addition to this background, Hippolyta is also described as patiens mariti (534), and the Athenian women note that she, while pregnant, comes to a hosti marito (539). Both of these phrases add further layers of complexity to her brief appearance in this text. First, both the

Statian narrator and the Athenian observers identify Theseus as Hippolyta’s husband. 870 This clarifies that she is not a concubine or a captive prisoner. This also confirms the power dynamics at play: Theseus has absolute control and power in their relationship. Not only is he the victorious general over a captive prisoner, but he is the king and husband to a captive, subject wife. Hippolyta’s status as a former queen is emphasized through her new position. I suggest, therefore, that Statius’ emphasis on her flattery, her patience and endurance in this situation, encourages us to look more deeply at these dynamics in her characterization. Hippolyta

870 In contrast, the mythological tradition usually holds Hippolytus as a bastard; cf. Pollmann 2004 ad 534-35; cf. Eur. Hipp. e.g., 309, Ov. Her. 4.122. 304

recognizes that Theseus has absolute control over her, her body, and her companions. Just as

Tisiphone used blanditia to convince Hippomedon to trust her as his companion, Hippolyta intentionally uses the same quality to ensure Theseus that she is faithfully assimilating to

Athenian culture and will be a good wife. Unlike the elegiac domina that she ought to be as a powerful warrior in her own right, she has no power of servitium or militia amoris over Theseus.

Instead, she is the enslaved captive to her warrior husband.

Parallels

I suggest that this imagery links Hippolyta to the “captive puella” that Ovid imagines in the triumph he would mockingly celebrate after striking her. In this poem, Ovid laments his act of violence by sarcastically apologizing for it (Ov. Am. 1.7.35-42):

I nunc, magnificos victor molire triumphos, 35 cinge comam lauro votaque redde Iovi, quaeque tuos currus comitantum turba sequetur, clamet ‘io! forti victa puella viro est!’ ante eat effuso tristis captiva capillo, si sinerent laesae, candida tota, genae. 40 aptius impressis fuerat livere labellis et collum blandi dentis habere notam.

Go now, conqueror, strive for a magnificent triumph. Bind your hair with laurel and send prayers to Jove, and all the gathered crowd follows your chariot, and cries “Io! The girl is conquered by a brave man!” She will walk ahead, captive, sorrowful, with loosened hair, white all over but for her wounded cheeks. It would have been better if her lips were blackened with bruises, and if her neck had marks from pleasing teeth.

In these lines, he describes what the triumphal procession would look like. He would be the

“victorious conqueror,” but his defeated enemy is only his gentle lover. The Athenian women watching Hippolyta describe her just as Ovid describes his own procession. The elegist specifies that he would wear laurel (cinge comam lauro, 1.7.36) and be followed by an adoring crowd

(quaeque tuos currus comitantum turba sequitur, 37). The woman would be paraded along as if

305

the conquered prize of war (ante eat, 39) and would show in her appearance the violence of

Ovid’s hands: effuse capillo, 39, si sinerent laesae, candida tota, genae, 40). Similarly, Theseus wears laurel (laurigero, Theb. 12.520) as if in a Roman triumph. The Amazons (ipsae, 529), their chariots (virginei currus, 524), and Hippolyta herself (534) march in front: ante ducem spolia et… (523), and the crowd of gathered Athenian women stand and watch (536-37). These

Athenian women comment on Hippolyta’s hair and clothing, as well as her expression, just like

Ovid describes his puella.871

Ovid uses typical imagery from a Roman triumph in order to play with the trope of militia amoris. Elsewhere, as Fredrick notes, Ovid “claims that his lovemaking with Corinna is a triumph that ‘lacks blood’ and is ‘without slaughter.’”872 His “triumph” here in 1.7, however, is a result of bloodshed and violence. The trope of militia amoris represents the domina as a military general in command of the amator. Their sexual activities take the place of actual military activity, but their “warfare” is intentionally sexualized and erotic. When, in Amores 1.7, Ovid commits actual violence against his puella, he engages with this same trope, indicating that the

871 In addition, the Athenian women describe the other items in the procession, including the chariots and horses. The belts these women wore are also described as ignea gemmis / cingula (12.527-28, “belts fiery with gems”). I suggest that this description evokes two antecedents: first, Camilla and her desire for spolia causing her to overreach, Virg. Aen. 11.778-82 and discussed in detail in Keith 2000, 27-31. Camilla, further, is verbally linked to Penthesilea (through the repetition of the descriptor bellatrix; Aen. 1.493 and 7.805, Keith 2000, 27), the quintessential paradigm for the warrior woman. Camilla dies because of her desire for gems. The Amazon women are conquered despite their bejeweled weaponry, which may suggest that their weaponry was more aesthetic than practical. Second, I suggest that this recalls Statius’ description of Harmonia’s necklace. Statius describes some of the additions to the necklace, including: arcano florentes igne zmaragdos / cingit (Theb. 2.276-77, “he bound emeralds flowering with hidden fire”). This first, and as I discussed in Chapter 1, programmatic addition to the necklace is gleaming emerald flowers that are bound in a circle. Similarly, the Amazon women wear circular belts gleaming with gems. I suggest that these belts recall the description of the necklace, and remind the reader of that original, ancient, and elegiac conflict. Further, as I discuss in Chapter 1, Eriphyle seeks the necklace of Harmonia as a spolium from Argia. These jeweled belts, as actual spolia from the Amazons, further links the necklace to them. 872 On Ov. Am. 2.12; Fredrick 1997, 184. 306

connection between sexuality and violence can not only make sexual intercourse look like warfare, but also make violence erotic.873

In the Thebaid, Hippolyta is marched in a triumphal procession. The physical signs of her status as a conquered woman are highlighted: her appearance, especially her pregnancy, stresses the fact that Theseus has overpowered her both on the battlefield and off. In this manner,

Hippolyta is similar to Ovid’s puella: marked by literal violence as a warrior, she is also victimized by her captivity. Her status as a captive further separates her from the literary role of the dominating Amazon. She is depicted as defeated and weak, just as Ovid describes his lover, instead of being powerful, in command, and returning her master’s violence with her own.

Hippolyta’s subject position, her role as the “silent wife,” is further stressed at the end of the scene in Athens, when she seeks to go to Thebes with Theseus. When he sees her preparing to march, he forbids her from joining nominally to protect their unborn child. Hippolyta is literally silenced here, as she is given neither direct speech nor even a reply to Theseus’ words, and the narratorial point of view turns away quickly (Theb. 12.635-38):

isset et Arctoas Cadmea ad moenia ducens 635 Hippolyte turmas: retinet iam certa tumentis uteri, coniunxque rogat dimittere curas Martis et emeritas thalamo sacrare pharetras.

She would have gone as well, leading her Arctoan crowd to the Cadmean walls: now the certain hope of her swelling womb holds her back, and her husband asks her to set aside her Martial cares and to dedicate her retired quiver to the marital bedchamber.

873 For more on this trope, see discussions in Chapters 2 and 3. 307

Hippolyta desires to lead her troops (isset…ad moenia ducens, 635), but two forces hold her back

(retinet iam, 636).874 First is the spes uteri (637) but Statius fails to specify whose hope this is: does Hippolyta now seek motherhood, or is Theseus demanding the safety of his child? 875 In addition, Theseus directly prevents Hippolyta from going to Thebes by asking her to formally renounce her military activity: dimittere curas / Martis et emeritas thalamo sacrare pharetras

(637-38). He gives away the end: she will “retire” her weapons, because they already have been retired: her quiver is emeritas now that she has a coniunx (637) and a marital bed (thalamo, 638).

Hippolyta does not respond, and in the next lines, Theseus addresses his troops as they prepare to march to another war. She is silenced in her entire appearance throughout the text: not only has she endured physical violence through her captivity and the reduction of her societal role and status, but Statius also confirms her subject position by denying her a direct voice in the text.

In addition, I suggest that Hippolyta intentionally recalls Statius’ descriptions of

Hypsipyle and the Lemnian women. Just as the Lemnian women set aside violence to welcome the Argonauts,876 the Athenian women describe Hippolyta having “broken the strict rules of her native land.”877 The Lemnian women, as I discussed in Chapter 3, had taken on new attitudes of violence towards men, as urged by Polyxo. When the Argo arrives after the massacre, the women

874 Her name is even enjambed to start 636, which further distances Hippolyta from her military outfit and past. 875 This reference to “hope” recalls the “unhoped for” or “unexpected” children of the Lemnian women; non speratis clamatur Lemnos alumnis 5.562. I discuss below further links between Hippolyta and these women, especially in regards to the use of pregnancy to “tame” a warrior woman and reacclimate her to “normal” societal interactions, or the socio-symbolic code. Statius pointedly avoids the possibility of divine interference in Hippolyta’s pregnancy, while Venus had direct agency in assimilating the Lemnian women back into normative society. 876 Theb. 5.350, heu ubi nunc Furiae? The Lemnian women have their violent urges removed by divine influence, as I discuss in Chapter 2; similarly, Hippolyta’s violence is curtailed by external forces (her capture and marriage). 877 Theb. 12.535, hanc patriae ritus fregisse severos. 308

set aside their violence and are returned to their typical feminine behavior: rediit in pectora sexus, Theb. 5.397. I suggest that these situations have a similar background: in both, the women involved dramatically change their behavior to a socially accepted norm. For the Lemnian women, this is a change from murder to hospitality. Hippolyta too exchanges her familiar

Amazonian violence for calm blanditia and Athenian culture.878

It is also relevant to note that the other Amazon women, identified as captives in

Theseus’ victory parade, also are similar to the women of Lemnos. During the massacre, the

Lemnian women reject their femininity and take on masculine attributes of violence and militarism. When the Argonauts arrive and the Lemnian women reject their previous status,

Statius describes their femininity returning to them, as I quoted above: rediit in pectora sexus.879

Similarly, Statius describes the Amazon women as having rejected their femininity: they also do not “confess their sex,” sexumve fatentur (12.529). They maintain their rejection of the socio- symbolic contract and uphold their warrior ideology, even when they are in chains, with their weapons and armor seized by Theseus and his men (524-28).

In fact, the Lemnian women instigate this parallel by being directly compared to the

Amazons before the massacre begins. After Polyxo urges them towards murder, the women as a single body cry out in agreement and go to swear their commitment (Theb. 5.144-46):

…Amazonio Scythiam feruere tumultu lunatumque putes agmen descendere, ubi arma 145 indulget pater et saeui mouet ostia Belli.

You would have thought that Scythia burned with an Amazonian tumult and the host with their crescent shields descended, when their father yielded his arms and moved the gates of cruel War.

878 Her past violence is unseen in the text, but assumed. 879 Theb. 5.397. 309

In these lines, the Lemnian women are directly compared to the Amazons riding into battle. Just prior, Polyxo had urged her Lemnian companions to take up arms against the Lemnian men, conveniently about to return to the island. As I analyze in Chapter 2, Polyxo goads the Lemnian women into action. Statius confirms that her incitement works through this comparison to the

Amazons, used here as a stock image of the warrior-woman. He compares the Lemnian women to this band of Amazons riding into battle, prepared to slaughter any who stand in their path.

Thus, when we see actual Amazons here in Book 12, we can recall the violence and vigor of the

Lemnian women, and imagine what the Amazons were like in battle against Theseus’ forces.

Both groups of women rejected the traditional socio-symbolic contract, but while the Lemnian women took on those attributes and, as quickly, took them off, the Amazon women are permanently opposed to traditional femininity.

In addition to reminding the reader of their a-typical gender presentation, Statius also links the Amazon women to an early character in order to negatively foreshadow their future as captive women. Statius describes them as ipsae autem nondum trepidae, 12.529, in the same metrical line as he connects them to the Lemnian women. Statius suggests that the Amazon women do not know what their fate truly is, now that they are captivae. As a result, they should be afraid, trepidae, but are not. Pollmann notes that “the force of nondum is chilling, indicating that these warrior women, who have lived proudly and independently of men, face concubinage and slavery which will destroy their self-esteem and proud independence.” 880 I suggest that this

880 Cf. Pollmann 2004 ad loc. At 531, she adds “That the unmarried Amazons wish to have asylum at the shrine of a virgin goddess indicates that they did not want to be forced into a sexual or marital relationship with their conquerors, as did Cassandra.” 310

phrase also recalls Statius’ description of Hypsipyle. When Hypsipyle first identifies Jason disembarking from the Argo, she says that he is nondum mihi notus, 5.403. The repetition of this nondum in a similar threatening situation that connotes and foreshadows sexual violence reinforces the negative implications towards the Amazon women. Statius makes it clear, therefore, that just as Hypsipyle was brought into an unwanted marriage and to bear unwanted children, so too will the Amazon women.

This parallel between the Amazon women and Hypsipyle also invites a further comparison between Hypsipyle and Hippolyta. For all that the Athenian women marvel that

Hippolyta has acclimated to a foreign husband, they describe Theseus as her hosti marito

(12.539), stressing the unwanted nature of her marriage. I suggest that this recalls Hypsipyle’s depiction of Jason. She describes him as a durus hospes (5.464) when she declares her pregnancy, citing again her lack of consent. I suggest that these two statements signal the same pair of ideas: the men were violent (durus ~ hostis) when enacting their relationship with these women (hospes ~ maritus). As I discussed in Chapters 2 and 3, Hypsipyle did not seek out her marriage to Jason.881 Theseus literally conquered Hippolyta in a way similar to Jason’s metaphorical conquest of her with his blanditia.882 Both men become husbands to unwilling wives, and both women are in a subject position of decreased power, despite their status as royalty: Hypsipyle’s royal status is unmentioned while the Argonauts are on Lemnos,883 and

Hippolyta is a conquered, former queen.

881 See, e.g., Theb. 5.454-55, 463-65. 882 Cf. Theb. 5.456. 883 Hypsipyle takes the throne at Theb. 5.323, and this status is unmentioned until the Lemnian women reject her power over them, 5.492-94. 311

Scholars often emphasize how Hippolyta’s presence in the text foreshadows Theseus’ questionably heroic future in which he curses and causes the death of his son Hippolytus, as well as his ambivalent position at the end of the epic.884 In addition, they also look to Hippolyta as a foil to Argia.885 Both women are leaders of their respective groups: Argia of her mourning

Argive women, and Hippolyta of the Amazons.886 In other respects, these two women have clear parallels and thematically similar differences.

Hippolyta fights in a war and, as a result, ends up with a husband. Argia marches to a battlefield, but ends up without a husband, a widow, as Polynices is dead. Argia retraces the army’s march in order to be close to Polynices, following the elegiac trope of the woman who seeks to join her partner in battle to prevent their separation. At the same time, Hippolyta, the

Amazon who can march to battle, is prevented from doing exactly that in joining Theseus in the journey to Thebes. Argia is motivated by her love for Polynices, and is still—as I discussed above—operating within the trope of the relicta puella. Hippolyta, on the other hand, does not have her motivation as clearly outlined. Without direct speech, her descriptive phrases are contradictory. She wears an expression of erotic, persuasive blanditia (12.534), has abandoned the laws of her people (535), desires to go to war (635-36), but also, perhaps, and provides hope for the future with her child (637).

In these three women, we see three different means of interaction with men and power, and with dynamics of the elegiac relationship. Argia was a domina to Polynices’ role as amator, and she urged him to leave and define her as an elegiac relicta puella. Hypsipyle’s relationship

884 Cf. Ahl 2015, 265; Bernstein 2015, 143; Dominik 1994b, 94. 885 Bessone 2015 esp. 131, following Bessone 2010. 886 On Argia as a leader, see Chapter 1 and Theb. 12.111, nigrae regina catervae. 312

with Jason was structured along dynamics of servitium and militia amoris. Hippolyta engages with elegiac tropes—the captive puella, the powerful Amazonian domina—but is unable to access any of them.

The close proximity of Argia and Hippolyta in the text invite their comparison, but the thematic connections to Hypsipyle also provide rich feedback between these women.

Hypsipyle’s extended monologue contrasts with Hippolyta’s silence. Hypsipyle is a woman at the edges of civilized society. She has been abandoned and rejected. Argia too has been abandoned but finds energy and agency in Polynices’ desire for war: first, by initially seeking out this abandonment, and second, by taking on the long march to Thebes alone in order to bury

Polynices after his death. Hippolyta has not yet been abandoned, but Theseus’ wider mythological tradition suggests that this is not an unlikely option.887 As scholars have noted,

Statius includes an ekphrasis of Theseus’ shield as he begins his march to Thebes, just after

Hippolyta’s appearance in the text, which confirms this future.888 The ekphrasis describes

Theseus on , making his way through the labyrinth to the Minotaur at its center. The ekphrasis ends with a direct reference to Ariadne, pallentem Cnosida (12.676), which reminds readers of his notorious abandonment of Ariadne.889 All three of these women are leaders, with complex relationships to their partners involving difficult situations of consent, power, and trust.

Hippolyta represents, therefore, an alternate version of both Hypsipyle and Argia. Unlike these women, who are shown after their trials and tribulations, Hippolyta is still in the middle of hers.

While the ending of her story is unknown, neither Hypsipyle nor Argia necessarily provide a

887 On the assumption that she will be, cf. Davis 2015, 167-68. Contrast Pollmann 2004 ad 534-35 and Ov. Her. 4.117-22, that Theseus will kill Hippolytus’ mother. 888 12.665-76; cf. McNelis 2007, 172. 889 On this ekphrasis see Dominik 1994b, 94. 313

positive role model. These stories reflect off of each other, yet none provide good models for the others. Hypsipyle foreshadows and instigates the pain, death, and trauma of the Theban war.

Hippolyta’s failure to sustain her Amazonian nature relates to Argia’s failure to meet Polynices on the battlefield. All three of these women lose something immensely valuable—Hippolyta her culture and companions, as well as her freedom, Hypsipyle her family and society, and Argia her husband and hope for the future. All are shown at different stages of their loss, and different emotional distances from it.

Hippolyta’s role in the Thebaid brings together the female voices that run through the epic. Hippolyta is a casualty of violence, yet her presence prefaces Theseus’ march to Thebes: she is not a catalyst for the final war of the epic, but she is a necessary precedent to that conflict.

Hippolyta is not given space in the text to lament her situation, but her status as a victim of violence directly foreshadows the lament that will end the Thebaid. Statius lets the final voices of the epic be female. His narrative of Harmonia’s necklace began his story with elegy and violence against and because of women: the story he tells begins with women and violence, both symbolic and actual. Statius uses themes from love elegy to connect these figures: elegy is the language through which Statius’ violence is enacted as he uses this generic frame as an origin point from which to draw his violent, destructive conclusions.

314

Epilogue: Afterwards

This dissertation has shown that Statius uses complex allusions to Latin love elegy in order to indicate threats to the successful conclusion of his epic poem and its plot. It is the figures who are coded in elegiac language who activate the continuation of the story, even while their very presence serves to delay it. I have highlighted Statius’ elegiac encoding of female figures, though, as I note, elegy does not come into play exclusively regarding the women of the epic.890 Yet it is important, I believe, to emphasize the way in which this epic author uses female figures to get at wider questions of genre and teleology. Women in the Thebaid are volatile sources of generic stress, and the competing elegiac paradigms they engage with indicate this pattern.

This dissertation has offered a variety of questions and a series of focused answers. It opens, however, further questions. In these final pages, I suggest a different way to answer the questions posed by Statius’ use of elegy. While this dissertation focused on the literary context of

Latin love elegy, the genre is deeply connected to its political context in the Late republic. The choice to write elegiac poetry can be seen as a political act: for Propertius especially, the bridge between the “new” genre of Latin love elegy and its historical connections with lament and epigram become blurred in, for example, 1.21 and 1.22, the sphrages at the end of the

Monobiblos. Civil war is an important theme in the background of Propertius’ corpus. By the first century CE, “Thebes had become the prototype of Roman civil wars.”891 Given the intense

890 In addition to the elegiac description of Jason that I discuss in Chapter 2 and 3, Parkes 2009a discusses elegiac resonance in the description of the youth Parthenopaeus, especially in his death-scene. 891 Criado 2015, 306. For the basic association between Thebes and Rome, and Thebes as an alt-Rome especially in terms of cities torn apart by civil war, see Braund 2006. Criado 2015, 306n59 adds: “first- century CE authors had repeatedly characterized Theban fratricides as civiles: Ov. Met. 3.117, 7.140-42, Her. 6.35; Sen. Phoen. 354-55, 491-92, 540-42, Oed. 738, 748; Luc. 1.549-52, 4.549-51, 6.395; V. Fl. 315

relationship between Propertius, at least, and the civil wars of the late Republic, there may be a deeper connection between the civil war plot of the Thebaid and the anti-war program of Latin erotic elegy.

Statius started writing the Thebaid around the year 80, just over ten years after

Vespasian’s victory in the civil wars that ended the Julio- dynasty. Scholars have made various attempts to politicize readings of the Thebaid, by linking Theseus and Domitian, or observing how Statius fails to link them.892 I suggest, briefly, that instead of Domitian, Theseus may parallel the victor of Statius’ more recent civil war: . Thebes’ civil war ended with

Theseus’ intervention, just as Vespasian ended Rome’s conflict. Vespasian’s success after the civil war in 69 CE led to a newly stabilized political structure. His monuments celebrate the stability of his reign: the Colosseum replaces Nero’s Domus Aurea, the symbol of his tyranny according to Vespasian. The Templum Pacis celebrated victory in Judea on the one hand, and on the other Vespasian’s victory in civil war.893 Yet even with two sons as strong heirs, there may be a general fear in Rome that the civil conflict that tore apart the Republic may not be over yet.

The end of the Thebaid, as I have discussed, is not a clean ending: the entire epic is a series of violent cycles with age-old origin stories. Polynices and Eteocles fight their battle and, in doing so, set up their sons to wage another war in the following generation. Theseus’ arrival brings

5.221; Sil. 16.546-48.” Newlands 2004, 134, notes that the violent disruption of the peaceful Nemean landscape “would have particular political meaning for Statius’ generation of Roman readers…Indeed landscape, a potent image for the Roman nation that prided itself on its rural origins, provides in the Thebaid an effective language for writing about civil war, which continued, in the dynastic instability of Domitian’s reign, to haunt the nation’s imagination.” 892 Dominik 1994b, 131-32 summarizes previous scholarship on the relation between the themes of the Thebaid and contemporary politics. At 139-42 he suggests that Statius’ praise of Domitian is over the top and, therefore, subversive. 893 The art and spoils of war on display in the templum made “a loaded political statement by promising pax through the unification of all provinces and peoples (represented by artifacts) under Roman imperial hegemony,” Chapman 2009, 112. See also Noreña 2003, 32-35. 316

peace, but the reader knows this peace cannot last. In Statius’ political context, even by the publication of the epic in 92 CE, there may be lingering fear over the stability of Flavian power.

Domitian’s succession offered a first promise of permanence, but the Thebaid reminds its readers that the echoes of civil war and conflict linger for generations. Sons and daughters pay for the mistakes of their parents, and no one’s virtue is clean. What is the role of civil war in the elegiac poetics of the Thebaid? There are many more questions to be asked, and answered, about this complicated poem and its relationship with its literary and cultural contexts.

317

Bibliography

Adams, J. N. 1982. The Latin Sexual Vocabulary. Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press.

Ahl, Frederick. 2015. “Transgressing Boundaries of the Unthinkable: Sophocles, Ovid, Vergil, Seneca, and Homer Refracted in Statius’ Thebaid,” in Brill’s Companion to Statius, William J. Dominik, Carole E. Newlands, and Kyle Gervais, eds. Leiden: Brill, 240-265.

Antoniadis, Theodoros. 2017. “Epic as Elegy: Generic Interplay in the Scenes of Lament and Separation in Valerius Flaccus’ Argonautica 2&3,” 70, 631-653.

Ariemma, Enrico M. 2004. “Lo spettro della fame, l’arsura della sete (Sil. II 461–474),” in Lucano e la tradizione dell’epica latina, Paolo Esposito and Enrico M. Ariemma, eds. Naples: Guida, 153-88.

Ash, Rhiannon. 2015. “‘War Came in Disarray…’ (Thebaid 7.616): Statius and the Depiction of Battle,” in Brill’s Companion to Statius, William J. Dominik, Carole E. Newlands, and Kyle Gervais, eds. Leiden: Brill, 207-220.

Asso, Paolo. 2009. A Commentary on Lucan, De Bello Civili IV. Berlin: DeGruyter.

———. 2010. “Hercules as Paradigm of Roman Heroism” in Brill’s Companion to Silius Italicus, Antony Augoustakis, ed. Leiden: Brill, 179-192.

Augoustakis, Antony, ed. 2014. Flavian Poetry and its Greek Past. Mnemosyne Suppl. 366. Leiden: Brill.

Augoustakis, Antony, ed. 2016. Flavian Epic. Oxford: Oxford University Press.

Augoustakis, Antony. 2010. Motherhood and the Other: Fashioning Female Power in Flavian Epic. Oxford: Oxford University Press.

———. 2011. “Sine funeris ullo ardet honore rogus: Burning Pyres in Lucan and Silius Italicus’ Punica,” in Brill’s Companion to Lucan, Paolo Asso, ed. Leiden: Brill, 185-198.

———. 2012. “Per hunc utero quem linquis nostro: Mothers in Flavian Epic,” in Mothering and Motherhood in and Rome, Lauren H. Petersen and Patricia Salzman- Mitchell, eds. Austin: University of Texas Press, 205-223.

———. 2015. “Statius and Senecan Drama,” in Brill’s Companion to Statius, William J. Dominik, Carole E. Newlands, and Kyle Gervais, eds. Leiden: Brill, 377-392.

———. 2016. Statius, Thebaid 8. Oxford: Oxford University Press.

Baca, Albert. 1971. “The Themes of Querela and Lacrimae in Ovid’s Heroides,” Emerita 39, 195-201.

318

Baeza Angulo, E. 2015. “Plinio y Calpurnia, un matrimonio elegíaco,” n.s. 43, 69- 82.

Baker, Robert J. 1970. “Laus in Amore Mori: Love and Death in Propertius,” Latomus 29:3, 670- 698.

Bal, Mieke. 2009. Narratology: Introduction to the Theory of Narrative, 3 rd Edition. Toronto: University of Toronto Press.

Barbiero, Emilia. Forthcoming. “What’s New? The Possibilities of Novelty in Plautus’ Casina,” in Plautus Doctus, Chrysanthi Demetriou and Sophia Papaioannou, eds. Newcastle upon Tyne: Cambridge Scholars Publishing.

Barchiesi, Alessandro. 1993. “Future Reflexive: Two Modes of Allusion and Ovid’s Heroides,” HSCP 95, 333-365.

———. 1999. “Venus’ Masterplot: Ovid and the ,” in Ovidian Transformations: Essays on the Metamorphosis and its Reception, Philip Hardie, Alessandro Barchiesi, Stephen Hinds, eds. Cambridge: Cambridge Philological Society, 112-126.

———. 2001a. “The Crossing,” in Texts, Ideas, and the Classics, S.J. Harrison, ed. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 142-163.

———. 2001b. Speaking Volumes: Narrative and Intertext in Ovid and other Latin Poets, transl. Matt Fox and Simone Marchesi. London: Duckworth.

Barney, Stephen A., and Muriel Hall, transl. 2006. The Etymologies of Isidore of Seville. Cambridge University Press: New York.

Bartsch, Shadi, and Jaś Elsner, eds. 2007. Special Issue on Ekphrasis. CP 102:1.

Battistella, Chiara. 2015. “Medea Reaches Maturity: On Ovidian Intertextuality in Sen. Med. 905-15,” CJ 110:4, 446-70.

Beck, William. 1988. “The Cause of the War in the ‘Lille Stesichorus,’” ZPE 73, 8-12.

Benediktson, Dale Thomas. 1985. “Propertius’ Elegiacization of Homer,” 37, 17-26.

Berman, Daniel W. 2015. Myth, Literature, and the Creation of the Topography of Thebes. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

Bernabé, Alberto. 1996. Poetae Epici Graeci. Testimonia et Fragmenta. Pars 1. Munich & Leipzig: K.G. Saur.

Bernstein, Neil W. 2014. “Romanas veluti saevissima cum legiones Tisiphone regesque movet. Valerius Flaccus’ Argonautica and the Flavian Era,” in Brill’s Companion to Valerius Flaccus. Mark Heerink and Gesine Manuwald, eds. Leiden: Brill, 154-169.

319

———. 2015. “Family and Kinship in the Works of Statius,” in Brill’s Companion to Statius, William J. Dominik, Carole E. Newlands, and Kyle Gervais, eds. Leiden: Brill, 139-154.

Bessone, Federica and Marco Fucecchi, eds. 2018. The Literary Genres in the Flavian Age. Trends in Classics Suppl. 51. Berlin: DeGruyter.

Bessone, Federica, and Marco Fucecchi. 2018. “Introduction,” in The Literary Genres in the Flavian Age, Trends in Classics Suppl. 51. Federica Bessone and Marco Fucecchi, eds. Berlin: DeGruyter, 1-15.

Bessone, Federica. 2002. “Voce femminile e tradizione elegiaca nella Tebaide di Stazio” in I Sette a Tebe. Dal mito alla letteratura, Antonio Aloni, Elisabetta Berardi, Giuliana Besso, Sergio Cecchin, eds. Bologna: Pàtron Editore, 185-217.

———. 2010. “Feminine Roles in Statius’ Thebaid: ‘The Heroic Wife of the Unfortunate Hero’”, in Gender Studies in den Altertumswissenschaften: Gender-Inszenierungen in der antiken Literatur, Marco Formisano and Therese Fuhrer, eds. Trier: Wissenschaftlicher Verlag Trier, 65-93.

———. 2011. Tebaide di Stazio. : Fabrizio Serra Editore.

———. 2015. “Love and War: Feminine Models, Epic Roles, and Gender Identity in Statius’ Thebaid,” in Women and War in Antiquity, Jacqueline Fabre-Serris and Alison Keith, eds. Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 119-137.

Blanco Mayor, José Manuel. 2017. Power Play in Latin Love Elegy and its Multiple Forms of Continuity in Ovid’s Metamorphoses. Trends in Classics: Suppl. 42. Berlin: DeGruyter.

Bodel, John, ed. 2001. Epigraphic Evidence: from Inscriptions. London: Routledge.

Booth, W. 1983. The Rhetoric of Fiction, 2nd ed. Chicago: University of Chicago Press.

Boyd, Barbara. 2016. “Repeat after Me: The Loves of Venus and Mars in Ars Amatoria 2 and Metamorphoses 4,” in Repeat Performances: Ovidian Repetition and the Metamorphoses, Laurel Fulkerson and Tim Stover, eds. University of Wisconsin Press: Madison, 47-68.

———. 2017. Ovid’s Homer: Authority, Repetition, Reception. Oxford: Oxford University Press.

Boyle, A. J. 2014. Medea. Oxford: Oxford University Press.

———. 2017. Thyestes, Seneca. Oxford: Oxford University Press.

Braund, Susanna. 2001. “Introduction” in Texts, Ideas, and the Classics, Stephen J. Harrison, ed. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 137-141.

320

———. 2006. “A Tale of Two Cities: Statius, Thebes, and Rome,” , 60: 3/4, 259-273.

Brown, Christopher. 1991. “The Power of Aphrodite: 17,10,” Mnemosyne 44: 3-4, 327-335.

Brown, Joanne. 1994. Into the Woods: Narrative Studies in the Thebaid of Statius with Special Reference to Books IV - VI. Diss: Cambridge.

———. 2016. “Lacrimabile nomen Archemorus: The Babe in the Woods in Statius’ Thebaid 4- 6,” in Flavian Epic, Antony Augoustakis, ed. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 195-233.

Bücheler, Franz, and Ernst Lommatzsch. 1926. Carmina Latina Epigraphica Supplementum. Amsterdam: Hakkert.

Buckley, Emma. 2014. “Valerius Flaccus and Seneca’s tragedies,” in Brill’s Companion to Valerius Flaccus, Mark Heerink and Gesine Manuwald, eds. Leiden: Brill, 307-325.

Burns, Patrick. 2016. Amor Belli: Elegiac Diction and the Theme of Love in Lucan’s Bellum Civile. Diss: Fordham.

Cairns, Francis. 1989. Virgil’s Augustan Epic. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

———. 2006. Sextus Propertius: Augustan Elegist. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

Castellani, Victor. 1980. “Two Divine Scandals: Ovid Met. 2.680ff. and 4.171ff. and His Sources,” TAPA 110, 37-50.

Caston, Ruth. 2011. “Lucan’s Elegiac Moments,” in Brill’s Companion to Lucan, Paolo Asso, ed. Leiden: Brill, 133-152.

———. 2012. The Elegiac Passion: Jealousy in Roman Love Elegy. Oxford: Oxford University Press.

Celotto, Giulio. 2017. Si tantus amor belli tibi, Roma, nefandi: Love and Strife in Lucan’s Bellum Civile. Diss: Florida State University.

———. Forthcoming. “From Militia Amoris to Amor Militiae: Language of Rape in Lucan’s Account of the Deforestation of the Sacred Grove of Massilia.”

Chapman, Honora. 2009. “What Josephus Sees: The Temple of Peace and The Jerusalem Temple as Spectacle in Text and Art,” Phoenix 63 1/2, 107-130.

Chaudhuri, Pramit. 2013. “Flamininus’ Failure? Intertextual Characterization in Silius Italicus and Statius,” in Flavian Epic Interactions, Trends in Classics Suppl. 21, Gesine Manuwald and Astrid Voight, eds. Berlin: DeGruyter, 379-398.

Chinn, Christopher. 2011. “Statius, Orpheus, and Callimachus, Thebaid 2.269-96,” Helios 38:1, 79-101. 321

———. 2015. “Intertext, Metapoetry, and Visuality in the ,” in Brill’s Companion to Statius, William J. Dominik, Carole E. Newlands, and Kyle Gervais, eds. Leiden: Brill, 173-188.

Chiu, Angeline C. 2011. “Generata e sanguine: The Motivations of in Silius Italicus, Punica 8,” New England Classical Journal 38:1, 3-23.

Clare, R.J. 2004. “Tradition and Originality: Allusion in Valerius Flaccus’ Lemnian Episode,” in Latin Epic and Didactic Poetry, Monica Gale, ed. Swansea: The Classical Press of Wales, 125-147.

Coffee, Neil. 2015. “Gift and Society in the Works of Statius,” in Brill’s Companion to Statius, William J. Dominik, Carole E. Newlands, and Kyle Gervais, eds. Leiden: Brill, 106-122.

Constantakopoulou, Christy. 2017. Aegean Interactions: Delos and its Networks in the Third Century. Oxford: Oxford University Press.

Conte, Gian Biagio. 1986. Rhetoric of Imitation: Genre and Poetic Memory in Virgil and Other Latin Poets, transl. Charles Segal. Cornell: Cornell University Press.

———. 1994. Genres and Readers, transl. Glenn Most. Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press.

Copley, Frank Olin. 1947. “Servitium amoris in the Roman Elegists,” TAPA 78, 285-300.

Corbeill, Anthony Philip. 2005. “The topography of ‘Fides’ in Propertius 1.16,” in Defining Genre and Gender in Latin Literature, William Batstone and Garth Tissol, eds. New York: Lang, 79-95.

Criado, Cecilia. 2015. “The Constitutional Status of Euripidean and Statian Theseus: Some Aspects of the Criticism of Absolute Power in the Thebaid,” in Brill’s Companion to Statius, William J. Dominik, Carole E. Newlands, and Kyle Gervais, eds. Leiden: Brill, 291-306.

Davis, Peter J. 2014. “Medea: From Epic to Tragedy,” in Brill’s Companion to Valerius Flaccus. Mark Heerink and Gesine Manuwald, eds. Leiden: Brill, 192-210.

———. 2015. “Statius’ Achilleid: The Paradoxical Epic,” in Brill’s Companion to Statius, William J. Dominik, Carole E. Newlands, and Kyle Gervais, eds. Leiden: Brill, 157-172.

De Jong, Irene. 2014. Narratology and Classics. Oxford: Oxford University Press.

Dee, Nicholas. 2013. “Wasted Water: The Failure of Purification in the Thebaid,” in Ritual and Religion in Flavian Epic, Antony Augoustakis, ed. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 181-198.

Depew, Mary and Dirk Obbink, eds. 2000. Matrices of Genre. Cambridge, Mass: Harvard University Press. 322

Dietrich, Jessica. 1999. “Thebaid’s Feminine Ending,” Ramus 28:1, 40-53.

———. 2015. “Dead Woman Walking: Jocasta in the Thebaid,” in Brill’s Companion to Statius, William J. Dominik, Carole E. Newlands, and Kyle Gervais, eds. Leiden: Brill, 307-321.

Dominik, William J. 1994a. Speech and Rhetoric in Statius’ Thebaid. New York: Olms- Weidmann.

———. 1994b. The Mythic Voice of Statius: Power and Politics in the Thebaid. Leiden: Brill.

———. 2015. “Similes and their Programmatic Role in the Thebaid,” in Brill’s Companion to Statius, William J. Dominik, Carole E. Newlands, and Kyle Gervais, eds. Leiden: Brill, 266-290.

Du Quesnay, Ian M. 1979. “From Polyphemus to Corydon: Virgil, Eclogue 2 and the Idylls of Theocritus,” in Creative Imitation and Latin Literature, West and Tony Woodman, eds. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 35-69.

Dubois, Page. 1982. Centaurs and Amazons. Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press.

Duffy, William S. 2013. “The Necklace of Eriphyle and Pausanias’ Approach to the Homeric Epics,” CW 107:1, 35-47.

Edelstein, Emma J. and Ludwig Edelstein. 1945. Asclepius: A Collection and Interpretation of the Testimonies. Baltimore: The Johns Hopkins Press.

Elsner, Jaś, ed. 2002. The Verbal and the Visual: Cultures of Ekphrasis in Antiquity. Ramus 31:2.

Elsner, Jaś. 2002. “Introduction: The Genres of Ekphrasis,” in The Verbal and the Visual: Cultures of Ekphrasis in Antiquity, Jaś Elsner, ed. Ramus 31:2, 1-18.

Enterline, Lynn. 2000. The Rhetoric of the Body from Ovid to Shakespeare. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

Fabre-Serris, Jacqueline. 2008. Rome, l’Arcadie, et la mer des Argonautes. Villeneuve d’Ascq: Septentrion.

Falcone, Maria J. 2011. “Nostrae fatum excusabile culpae: Dal modello elegiaco ovidiano all’ Ipsipile di Stazio,” Athenaeum 99:2, 491-98.

Fantham, Elaine. 1999. “The Role of Lament in the Growth and Eclipse of Roman Epic,” in Epic Traditions in the Contemporary World: The Poetics of Community, Margaret Beissinger, Jane Tylus, and Susanne Wofford, eds. Berkeley: University of California Press, 221-35.

———. 2006. “The Perils of Prophecy: Statius’ Amphiaraus and his Literary Antecedents,” in Flavian Poetry, Mnemosyne Suppl. 270, Ruurd R. Nauta, Harm-Jan van Dam, and Johannes J.L. Smolenaars, eds. Leiden: Brill, 147-162.

323

Fantuzzi, Marco, and Richard Hunter. 2004. Tradition and Innovation in Hellenistic Poetry. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

Fantuzzi, Marco. 2008. “Which magic? Which eros?: Apollonius’ Argonautica and the Different Narrative Roles of Medea as a Sorceress in Love,” in Brill’s Companion to Apollonius Rhodius, Theodore D. Papanghelis and Antonios Rengakos, eds. Brill: Leiden, 287-310.

Faraone, Christopher A. 1990. “Aphrodite’s KESTOS and Apples for : Aphrodisiacs in Early Greek ,” Phoenix 44:3, 219-243.

———. 2001. Love Magic. Cambridge, Mass: Harvard University Press.

Farrell, Joseph. 2002. “Greek Lives and Roman Careers in the Classical Vita Tradition,” in European Literary Careers, Patrick Cheney and Frederick A. De Armas, eds. Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 24-46.

———. 2003. “Classical Genre in Theory and Practice,” New Literary History 34:3, 383-408.

———. 2004. “Ovid’s Virgilian Career,” Materiali e Discussioni 52, 41-55.

———. 2004-2005. “Precincts of Venus: Towards a Prehistory of Ovidian Genre,” Hermathena 117-118, 27-69.

———. 2012. “Calling Out the Greeks: Dynamics of the Elegiac Canon,” in A Companion to Roman Love Elegy, Barbara K. Gold, ed. Malden, Mass: Wiley-Blackwell, 11-24.

Feeney, D. C. 1991. The Gods in Epic. Oxford: Clarendon Press.

Fowler, Alastair. 1982. Kinds of Literature. Cambridge, Mass: Harvard University Press.

Francis, James. 2009. “Metal Maidens, Achilles’ Shield, and Pandora: The Beginnings of ‘Ekphrasis,’” AJP 130:1, 1-23.

Frangoulidis, Stavros, and Harrison, Stephen, eds. 2018. Life, Love and Death in Latin Poetry. Trends in Classics: Suppl. 61. Berlin: DeGruyter.

Frasson, Federico. 2014. Le epigrafi di Luni romana: Revisione delle inscrizioni del Corpus Inscriptionum Latinarum. Vol. 1. Alessandria: Edizioni dell’Orso.

Fredrick, David. 1997. “Reading Broken Skin: Violence in Roman Elegy,” in Roman Sexualities, Judith Hallett and Marilyn Skinner, eds. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 172-193.

Frings, Irene. 1996. “Hypsipyle und Aeneas – zur Vergilimitation in Thebais V,” in Epicedion: Hommage á P. Papinius Statius, Fernand Delarue, Sophia Georgacopoulou, Pierre Laurens, Anne- Marie Taisne, eds. Poitiers: La Licorne, 145-60.

Frye, Northop. 1957. “Historical Criticism: Theory of Modes,” in Anatomy of Criticism: Four Essays. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 33-67. 324

Fucecchi, Marco. 2014. “War and Love in Valerius Flaccus’ Argonautica,” in Brill’s Companion to Valerius Flaccus, Mark Heerink and Gesine Manuwald, eds. Leiden: Brill, 115-135.

Ganiban, Randall. 2007. Statius and Virgil: The Thebaid and the Reinterpretation of the Aeneid. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

———. 2010. “Virgil’s Dido and the Heroism of Hannibal,” in Brill’s Companion to Silius Italicus, Antony Augoustakis, ed. Leiden: Brill, 73-98.

———. 2013. “The Death and Funeral Rites of Opheltes in the Thebaid,” in Ritual and Religion in Flavian Epic, Antony Augoustakis, ed. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 249-265.

Gardner, Hunter H. 2007. “Ariadne’s Lament: The Semiotic Impulse of Catullus 64,” TAPA 137:1, 147-179.

———. 2013a. Gendering Time in Augustan Love Elegy. Oxford: Oxford University Press.

———. 2013b. “Review: Elegiac Jealousy,” CP 4, 361-365.

Garvey, Johanna X. K. 1995. “City Limits: Reading Gender and Urban Spaces in Ulysses,” Twentieth Century Literature 41:1, 108-123.

Genette, Gérard. 1976. “Boundaries of Narrative,” transl. Ann Levonas, New Literary History 8:1, 1-13.

———. 1980. Narrative Discourse: An Essay in Method. Ithaca: Cornell University Press.

Georgacopoulou, Sophia. 1996. “Argia il monile di Armonia secondo Stazio,” La Parola del Passato: Rivista di studi antichi 51, 345-50.

———. 2005. Aux frontièrs du récit épique: l’emploi de l’apostrophe du narrateur dans la Thébaïde de Stace. Brussels: Latomus.

Gervais, Kyle. 2008. Dealing with a Massacre: Spectacle, Eroticism, and Unreliable Narration in the Lemnian Episode of Statius’ Thebaid. Thesis: Queen’s University.

———. 2015. “Parent-Child Conflict in the Thebaid,” in Brill’s Companion to Statius, William J. Dominik, Carole E. Newlands, and Kyle Gervais, eds. Leiden: Brill, 221-239.

———. 2017. Statius, Thebaid 2. Oxford: Oxford University Press.

Gibson, Bruce. 2004. “Repetitions of Hypsipyle,” in Latin Epic and Didactic Poetry, Monica Gale, ed. Swansea: The Classical Press of Wales, 149-180.

———. 2006. Silvae 5. Oxford: Oxford University Press.

325

———. 2015. “Negative Stereotypes of Wealth in the Works of Statius,” in Brill’s Companion to Statius, William J. Dominik, Carole E. Newlands, and Kyle Gervais, eds. Leiden: Brill, 123-138.

Gildenhard, Ingo, and Andrew Zissos. 1999. “‘Somatic Economies’: Tragic Bodies and Poetic Design in Ovid’s Metamorphoses,” in Ovidian Transformations: Essays on the Metamorphoses and its reception, Philip Hardie, Alessandro Barchiesi, Stephen Hinds, eds. Cambridge: Cambridge Philological Society, 162-181.

Ginsberg, Lauren and Darcy Krasne, eds. 2018. After 69 CE - Writing Civil War in Flavian Rome. Trends in Classics Suppl. 65. Berlin: DeGruyter.

Ginsberg, Lauren. 2015. “Don’t Stand So Close to Me: Antigone’s Pietas in Seneca’s Phoenissae,” TAPA 145:1, 199-230.

———. 2017. “Ut et Hostem Amarem: Jocasta and the Poetics of Civil War in Seneca’s Phoenissae,” Ramus 46:1-2, 58-74.

Gold, Barbara K. 1985-1986. “Time, Poetry, and Immortality in Propertius (Propertius 1.8),” CJ 81, 148-157.

———. 1993. “‘But Ariadne Was Never There in the First Place’: Finding the Female in Roman Poetry,” in Feminist Theory and the Classics, Nancy Rabinowitz and Amy Richlin, eds. New York: Routledge, 75-101.

Goldberg, Sander, and Gesine Manuwald, eds. 2018. Fragmentary Republican Latin, Volume I: Ennius, Testimonia, Epic Fragments. Cambridge, Mass: Harvard University Press.

Goldhill, Simon. 2007. “What is Ekphrasis for?,” CP 102:1, 1-19.

Goldman, Max. 2018. “Stylistic Contamination in Ovid’s Callisto Stories.” Paper delivered at the Midwest Classical Literature Consortium, Apr. 21, 2018. Ann Arbor: University of Michigan.

Goold, George, ed. [1913] 1995. Catullus. Tibullus. Pervigilium Veneris. Cambridge, Mass: Harvard University Press.

Goold, George. 1990. Elegies. Propertius. Cambridge, Mass: Harvard University Press.

Gossage, A.J. 1972. “Statius,” in Neronians and Flavians: Silver Latin I, Donald R. Dudley, ed. Boston: Routledge, 184-235.

Götting, Martin. 1969. Hypsipyle in der Thebais des Statius. Diss: Frankfurt am Main.

Graziosi, Barbara, and Johannes Haubold. 2010. Iliad Book VI. Homer. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

326

Greene, Ellen. 1998. The Erotics of Domination: Male Desire and the Mistress in Latin Love Poetry. Baltimore.

Grenfell, Bernard, and Arthur Hunt, eds. 1915. The Oxyrhynchus Papyri, Part XI. London: Exploration Fund.

Gruzelier, Claire. 1994. “The Influence of Virgil’s Dido on Statius’ Portrayal of Hypsipyle,” Prudentia 26:1, 153-165.

Gutzwiller, Kathryn. 2012. “Catullus and the ‘Garland’ of Meleager,” in Catullus: Poems, Books, Readers, Ian Du Quesnay and Tony Woodman, eds. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 79-111.

———. 2015. “Eros and Amor: Representations of Love in Greek Epigram and Latin Elegy,” Emotions: Between Greece and Rome, BICS Suppl. 125, Douglas Cairns and Laurel Fulkerson, eds. London: Institute of Classical Studies, 23-44.

———. 2017. “Lyricism in Hellenistic Epigram,” Trends in Classics 9:2, 317-338.

Hagedorn, Suzanne. 2004. Abandoned Women: Rewriting the Classics in Dante, Boccaccio, and Chaucer. Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press.

Hallett, Judith P. and Marilyn. B. Skinner, eds. 1997. Roman Sexualities. Princeton: Princeton University Press.

Harder, Annette. 2012. Callimachus Aetia Vols. I - II. Oxford: Oxford University Press.

Hardie, Alex. 2012. “Hypsipyle, Melpomenos and the Muse in Tragedy,” Papers of the Langford Latin Seminar 15, 143-189.

Hardie, Philip, Alessandro Barchiesi, Stephen Hinds, eds. 1999. Ovidian Transformations: Essays on the Metamorphoses and its Reception. Cambridge: Cambridge Philological Society.

Hardie, Philip. 1989. “Flavian Epicists on Virgil’s Epic Technique,” Ramus 18, 3-20.

———. 1990. “Ovid’s Theban History: The First ‘Anti-Aeneid’?” CQ 40:1, 224-235.

———. 1993. The Epic Successors of Virgil: A Study in the Dynamics of a Tradition. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

———. 1997. “Closure in Latin epic,” in Classical Closure: Reading the End in Greek and Latin Literature, Deborah Roberts, Francis Dunn, Don Fowler, eds. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 139-162.

Harrison, Stephen, ed. 2001. Texts, Ideas, and the Classics. Oxford: Oxford University Press.

Harrison, Stephen. 1991. Vergil, Aeneid 10. Oxford: Clarendon Press. 327

———. 2002. “Ovid and Genre: Evolution of an Elegist,” in The Cambridge Companion to Ovid, Philip Hardie, ed. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 79-94.

———. 2007a. Generic Enrichment in Vergil and Horace. Oxford: Oxford University Press.

———. 2007b. “Exile in Latin Epic,” in Writing Exile: The Discourse of Displacement in Greco-Roman Antiquity and Beyond, Mnemosyne Suppl. 283. Jan Felix Gaertner, ed. Leiden: Brill, 129-154.

———. 2013. “Introduction” in Generic Interfaces in Latin Literature. Trends in Classics Suppl. 20, Theodore D. Papanghelis, Stephen J. Harrison and Stavros Frangoulidis, eds. Berlin: DeGruyter, 1-15.

Heerink, Mark. 2007. “Going a Step Further: Valerius Flaccus’ Metapoetical Reading of Propertius’ Hylas,” CQ 57, 606-20.

Helzle, Martin. 1996. Der Stil ist der Mensch: Redner und Reden im römischen Epos. Beiträge zur Altertumskunde 73. Stuttgart: B. G. Teubner.

Henderson, John. 1991. “Statius’ Thebaid: Form Premade,” PCPS 37, 30-79.

———. 1998. Fighting for Rome. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

Henry, James. 1878. Aeneidea, or Critical, Exegetical, and Aethetical Remarks on the Aeneis, Vol. II. London: Williams and Norgate.

Hersch, Karen K. 2007. “Violentilla Victa,” Arethusa 40:2, 197-205.

Hershkowitz, Debra. 1998. The Madness of Epic. Reading Insanity from Homer to Statius. Oxford: Oxford University Press.

Heslin, Peter. 2016. “A Perfect Murder: the Hypsipyle Epyllion,” in Family in Flavian Epic, Mnemosyne Suppl. 394, Nikoletta Manioti, ed. Leiden: Brill, 89-121.

Heyworth, Stephen. 2007. Sexti Properti Elegos. Oxford: Clarendon Press.

Hill, D. E. 1983. P. Papini Stati Thebaidos Libri XII. Leiden: Brill.

Hill, Timothy. 2004. Ambitiosa mors: Suicide and Self in Roman Thought and Literature. London: Routledge.

Hinds, Stephen. 1998. Allusion and Intertext. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

———. [2000] 2016. “Essential Epic: Genre and Gender from Macer to Statius,” in Flavian Epic, Antony Augoustakis, ed. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 292-318.

Hoffmann, Manfred. 1999. Statius, Thebais 12, 312-463. Einleitung, Übersetzung, Kommentar. Göttingen: Duehrkohp and Radicke. 328

Horsfall, Nicholas, ed. 1995. A Companion to the Study of Virgil. Leiden: Brill.

Horsfall, Nicholas. 2008. Virgil, Aeneid 2. Leiden: Brill.

Houghton, Luke. 2011. “Death Ritual and Burial Practice in the Latin Love Elegists,” in Memory and Mourning: Studies on Roman Death, Valerie M. Hope and Janet Huskinson, eds. Oxford: Oxbow Books, 61-77.

———. 2013. “Epitome and eternity: some Epitaphs and Votive Inscriptions in the Latin love elegists,” in Inscriptions and their Uses in Greek and Latin Literature, Peter Liddel and Polly Low, eds. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 349-364.

Hulls, Jean-Michel. 2011. “Re-casting the Master: Further Faces of Virgil in Imperial Rome,” Proceedings of the Virgil Society 27, 155-183.

———. 2013. “‘Well Stored with Subtle Wiles’: Pyrene, Psamathe and the Flavian Art of Interaction,” in Flavian Epic Interactions. Trends in Classics Suppl. 21, Gesine Manuwald and Astrid Voight, eds. Berlin: DeGruyter, 343-361.

Hutchinson, G.O. 1993. Latin Literature from Seneca to Juvenal. Oxford: Clarendon Press.

James, Paula. 1998. “The Unbearable Lightness of Being,” in Aspects of ’ Golden Ass Volume II: Cupid and Psyche, M. Zimmerman, V. Hununk, T.D. McCreight, D. val Mal- Maeder, S. Panayotakis, V. Schmidt, and B. Wesseling, eds. Gronigen: Egbert Forsten, 35-49.

James, Sharon. 2001. “The Economics of Roman Elegy: Voluntary Poverty, the ‘Recusatio’, and the Greedy Girl,” AJP 122:2, 223-253.

———. 2003a. “Her Turn to Cry: The Politics of Weeping in Roman Love Elegy,” TAPA 113:1, 99-122.

———. 2003b. Learned Girls and Male Persuasion. Berkeley: University of California Press.

———. 2010. “Ipsa Dixerat: Women’s Words in Roman Love Elegy,” Phoenix 64: 3/4, 314- 344.

———. 2012. “Re-reading Propertius’ Arethusa,” Mnemosyne, 65:3, 425-444.

Johnson, Marguerite. 2016. Ovid on Cosmetics: Medicamina faciei femineae and Related Texts. London: Bloomsbury.

Jorge, D. 1990. Female Characterization in the Epic Poetry of P. Papinius Statius. Diss: Cape Town.

Joyce, Jane W. 2008. Thebaid; A Song of Thebes. Ithaca: Cornell University Press.

Kaster, Robert. 1997. “The Shame of the Romans,” TAPA 127, 1-19. 329

———. 2005. Emotion, Restraint, and Community in . Oxford: Oxford University Press.

Keith, Alison. 1994-1995. “Corpus eroticum: Elegiac Poetics and Elegiac puellae in Ovid’s Amores,” CW 88, 27-40.

———. 1997. “Tandem venit amor: A Roman Woman Speaks of Love,” in Roman Sexualities, Judith Hallett and Marilyn Skinner, eds. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 295-310.

———. 2000. Engendering Rome: Women in Latin Epic. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

———. 2002. “Ovidian Personae in Statius’ Thebaid,” Arethusa 35:3, 381-402.

———. 2004-2005. “Ovid’s Theban narrative in Statius’ Thebaid,” Hermathena 117-118, 181- 207.

———. 2007. “Imperial Building Projects and Architectural Ecphrases in Ovid’s Metamorphoses and Statius’ Thebaid,” Mouseion 7:1, 1-26.

———. 2011a. “Introduction: A Tale of Two Genres at Rome,” in Latin Elegy and Hellenistic Epigram, Alison Keith, ed. Newcastle: Cambridge Scholars Publishing, 1-3.

———. 2011b. “Ovid in Lucan: The Poetics of Instability,” in Brill’s Companion to Lucan, Paolo Asso, ed. Leiden: Brill, 111-132.

———. 2013. “Medusa, Python, and Poine in Argive Religious Ritual,” in Ritual and Religion in Flavian Epic, Antony Augoustakis, ed. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 303-317.

———. 2015. “Elegiac Women and Roman Warfare,” in Women and War in Antiquity, Jacqueline Fabre-Serris and Alison Keith, eds. Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 138-156.

Kennedy, Duncan. 1984. “The Epistolary Mode and the First of Ovid’s Heroides,” CQ 34:2, 413-22.

———. 1993. The Arts of Love. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

Kilgour, Maggie. 1990. From Communion to Cannibalism. Princeton: Princeton University Press.

Kirk, Geoffrey. 1990. The Iliad: A Commentary, II: Books 5-8. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

Koopman, Niels. 2018. Ancient Greek Ekphrasis: Between Description and Narrative. Leiden: Brill.

330

Krauskopf, Ingrid. 1981. Lexicon Iconographicum Mythologiae Classicae (LIMC) s.v. “Amphiaraus.” Zürich: Artemis, I.1.691-713, with plates at I.2.555-569.

Kristeva, Julia. 1981. “Women’s Time,” transl. Alice Jardine and Harry Blake, Signs 7.1, 13-35.

———. 1984. Revolution in Poetic Language, transl. Margaret Waller. New York: Columbia University Press.

Kroll, Wilhelm. 1924. Studien zum verständnis der römischen literatur. Stuttgart: J.B. Metzler.

La Penna, Antonio. 1981. “Tipi e modelli femminili nella poesia dell’epoca dei Flavio (Stazio, Silio Italico, Valerio Flacco)” in Atti del Congresso internazionale di studi vespasiani. Rieti: Centro di studi varroniani editore, 223-251.

———. 2000. “Le Sabinae di Ennio e il tema della concordia nella tragedia arcaica latina,” in Identität und Alterität in der frührömischen Tragödie, Gesine Manuwald, ed. Würzburg: Ergon, 241-254.

Lamari, Anna A. 2009. “Knowing a Story’s End: Future Reflexive in the Tragic Narrative of the Argive Expedition Against Thebes,” in Narrative and Interpretation: The Content of Narrative Form in Ancient Literature, Jonas Grethlein and Antonios Rengakos, eds. Berlin: DeGruyter, 399-419.

Langlands, Rebecca. 2006. Sexual Morality in Ancient Rome. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

Larmour, David. 1990. “Tragic contaminatio in Ovid’s Metamorphoses: Procne and Medea; Philomela and Iphigeneia (6. 424-674); Scylla and Phaedra (8. 19-151),” Illinois Classical Studies 15. 131-141.

Legras, Léon. 1905. Étude sur la Thébaïde de Stace. Paris: Société nouvelle de librairie et d’édition.

Leigh, Matthew. 1997. “Ovid, Heroides 6.1-2,” CQ 47:2, 605-607.

Levin, D. N. 1983. “Reflections of the Epic Tradition in the Elegies of Tibullus,” ANRW II.30.3, 2000-2127.

Lezzi-Hafter, Adrienne. 1986. Lexicon Iconographicum Mythologiae Classicae (LIMC) s.v. “Eriphyle.” Artemis: Zürich, III.1.843-846, with plates at III.2.606-608.

Lightfoot, J.L. 1999. Parthenius of . Oxford: Clarendon Press.

Lipking, Lawrence. 1988. Abandoned Women and Poetic Tradition. Chicago: University of Chicago Press.

Lively, Genevieve, and Patricia Salzman-Mitchell, eds. 2008. Latin Elegy and Narratology: Fragments of Story. Columbus: The Ohio State University Press. 331

Lively, Genevieve, and Patricia Salzman-Mitchell. 2008. “Narrating in Couplets,” in Latin Elegy and Narratology: Fragments of Story, Genevieve Lively and Patricia Salzman-Mitchell, eds. Columbus: The Ohio State University Press, 1-13.

Loraux, Nicole. 1987. Tragic Ways of Killing a Woman, transl. Anthony Forster. Cambridge, Mass: Harvard University Press.

Lovatt, Helen. 2002. “Statius’ Ekphrastic Games: Thebaid 6.531-47,” in The Verbal and the Visual: Cultures of Ekphrasis in Antiquity, Jaś Elsner, ed. Ramus 31:2, 73-90.

———. 2005. Statius and Epic Games. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

———. 2007. “Statius, Orpheus, and the Post-Augustan Vates,” Arethusa 40:2, 145-163.

———. 2010. “Interplay: Silius and Statius in the Games of Punica 16,” in Brill’s companion to Silius Italicus, Antony Augoustakis, ed. Leiden: Brill, 155-176.

———. 2015. “Following After Valerius: Argonautic Imagery in the Thebaid,” in Brill’s Companion to Statius, William J. Dominik, Carole E. Newlands, and Kyle Gervais, eds. Leiden: Brill, 408-424.

Lowe, Dunstan. 2015. Monsters and Monstrosity in Augustan Poetry. Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press.

Luck, G. 1969. Latin Love Elegy, 2nd ed. London: Methuen.

Lyne, R. O. A. M. 1980. The Latin Love Poets: From Catullus to Horace. Oxford: Clarendon Press.

Maltby, Robert, 1991. A Lexicon of Ancient Latin Etymologies. Leeds: Cairns.

———. 2006. “Major Themes and Motifs in Propertius’ Love Poetry,” in Brill’s Companion to Propertius, Hans-Christian Günther, ed. Leiden: Brill, 147-181.

Manioti, Nikoletta, ed. 2016. Family in Flavian Epic. Mnemosyne Suppl. 394. Leiden: Brill.

Manuwald, Gesine and Astrid Voight, eds. 2013. Flavian Epic Interactions. Trends in Classics Suppl. 21. Berlin: DeGruyter.

Manuwald, Gesine, ed. 2012. Tragicorum Romanorum fragmenta. Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht.

Manuwald, Gesine. 2013. “Medea: Transformations of a Greek Figure in Latin Literature,” Greece & Rome 2, 60:1, 114-135.

Marinis, Agis. 2015. “Statius’ Thebaid and Greek Tragedy; The Legacy of Thebes,” in Brill’s Companion to Statius, William J. Dominik, Carole E. Newlands, and Kyle Gervais, eds. Leiden: Brill, 343-361. 332

Marks, Raymond. 2013. “The Thebaid and the Fall of Saguntum in Punica 2,” in Flavian Epic Interactions, Trends in Classics Suppl. 21, Gesine Manuwald and Astrid Voight, eds. Berlin: DeGruyter, 297-310.

———. 2014. “Statio-Silian relations in the Thebaid and Punica 1-2,” CP. 109:2, 130-139.

Matthews, Victor J. 1996. Antimachus of Colophon, Text and Commentary. Leiden: Brill.

McAuley, Mairead. 2016. Reproducing Rome: Motherhood in Virgil, Ovid, Seneca and Statius. Oxford: Oxford University Press.

McCallum, Sarah L. 2012. Taking Love Seriously: Amor and Erotic Elegy in Vergil’s ‘Italian Iliad’. Diss: Toronto.

McCarthy, Kathleen. 1998. “Servitium amoris: amor servitii,” in Women and Slaves in Greco- Roman Culture, Sandra R. Joshel and Sheila Murnaghan, eds. London: Routledge, 174- 192.

McClure, Jason. 2011. “Thebaid 2.239, 2.729 and the Problem of Aracynthus.” Mnemosyne 64:1, 58-81.

McCune, Blanche. 2013-2014. “Lucan’s Militia Amoris: Elegiac Expectations in the Bellum Civile,” CJ 109:2, 171-198.

McGinn, Thomas. 1998. Prostitution, Sexuality, and the Law in Ancient Rome. Oxford: Oxford University Press.

McKeown, J. C. 1989. Ovid: Amores. Text, Prolegomena and Commentary. Vol. 2. Leeds: Cairns.

McNelis, Charles. 2002. “Greek Grammarians and Roman Society during the Early Empire: Statius’ Father and his Contemporaries,” CA 21:1, 67-94.

———. 2007. Statius’ Thebaid and the Poetics of Civil War. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

Micozzi, Laura. 2002. “Il tema dell’ addio: ripetizione, sperimentalismo, strategie di continuità e altri aspetti della tecnica poetica di Stazio,” Maia 54:1, 51-70.

———. 2007. Il catalogo degli eroi: Saggi di commento a Stazio Tebaide 4, 1-344. Pisa: Edizioni della Normale.

———. 2015. “Statius’ Epic Poetry: A Challenge to the Literary Past,” in Brill’s Companion to Statius, William J. Dominik, Carole E. Newlands, and Kyle Gervais, eds. Leiden: Brill, 323-342.

333

Miguélez-Cavero, Laura. 2017. “Harmonia’s Necklace (Nonn. D. 5.135-189): A Set of Jewellery, ‘ekphrasis’ and a Narrative Node,” in Rhetorical Strategies in Late Antique Literature, Alberto J. Quiroga Puertas, ed. Leiden: Brill, 165-197.

Miller, Paul Allen. 2004. Subjecting Verses: Latin Love Elegy and the Emergence of the Real. Princeton: Princeton University Press.

———. 2007. “Catullus and Roman Love Elegy,” in A Companion to Catullus, Marilyn Skinner, ed. Malden: Blackwell Publishing, 399-417.

Moi, Toril. 1986. The Kristeva Reader. New York: Columbia University Press.

Most, Glenn. 1992. “Disiecti membra poetae: The Rhetoric of Dismemberment in Neronian Poetry,” in Innovations of Antiquity. Ralph Hexter and Daniel Selden, eds. New York: Routledge, 391-419.

Mozley, J. H. 1928. Statius: 3 vols. Cambridge, Mass: Harvard University Press.

Mueller, Melissa. 2015. Objects as Actors: Props and Poetics of Performance in Greek Tragedy. Chicago: University of Chicago Press.

Mulder, H.M. 1954. Publii Papinii Statii Thebaidos. Secundus Commentario. Gronigen: De Waal.

Murgatroyd, Paul. 1975. “Militia Amoris and the Roman Elegists,” Latomus 34:1, 59-79.

Myers, K. Sara. 1994. Ovid’s Causes: Cosmogony and Aetiology in the Metamorphoses. Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press.

Nauta, Ruurd R., Harm-Jan van Dam, and Johannes J.L. Smolenaars, eds. 2006. Flavian Poetry. Mnemosyne Suppl. 270. Leiden: Brill.

Nelis, Damien. 2001. Vergil’s Aeneid and the Argonautica of Apollonius Rhodius. Leeds: Cairns.

———. 2008. “Apollonius and Virgil,” in Brill’s Companion to Apollonius Rhodius, 2nd ed. Theodore D. Papanghelis and Antonios Rengakos, eds. Leiden: Brill, 341-362.

———. 2009. “Ovid, Metamorphoses 1.416-51: nova monstra and the foedera naturae,” in Paradox and the Marvellous in Augustan Literature and Culture, Philip Hardie, ed. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 248-267.

Newlands, Carole E., Kyle Gervais, and William J. Dominik. 2015. “Reading Statius,” in Brill’s Companion to Statius, William J. Dominik, Carole E. Newlands, and Kyle Gervais, eds. Leiden: Brill, 1-27.

Newlands, Carole. 2002. Statius’ Silvae and the Poetics of Empire. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

334

———. 2004. “Statius and Ovid: Transforming the Landscape,” TAPA 134:1, 133-155.

———. 2012. Statius: Poet between Rome and Naples. London: Bristol Classical Press.

Newman, Kevin. 2006. “The Third Book: Defining a Poetic Self,” in Brill’s Companion to Propertius, Hans-Christian Günther, ed. Leiden: Brill, 319-352.

Newton, F. L. 1957. “Recurrent imagery in Aeneid IV,” TAPA 88, 31-43.

Noreña, Carlos. 2003. “Medium and Message in Vespasian’s Templum Pacis,” MAAR 48, 25-43.

Nugent, S. Georgia. 1996. “Statius’ Hypsipyle: Following in the Footsteps of the Aeneid,” Scholia n.s. 5, 46-71.

O’Hara, James J. 2017. True Names: Vergil and the Alexandrian Tradition of Etymological Wordplay, 2nd ed. Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press.

O’Rourke, Donncha. 2014. “Lovers in Arms: Empedoclean Love and Strife in Lucretius and the Elegists,” Dictynna 11, non pagine.

Ogden, Daniel. 2002. Magic, Witchcraft, and Ghosts in Greek and Roman Worlds: A Sourcebook. Oxford: Oxford University Press.

Osgood, Josiah. 2014. Turia: A Roman Woman’s Civil War. Oxford: Oxford University Press.

Pache, Corinne Ondine. 2004. Baby and Child Heroes in Ancient Greece. Urbana: University of Illinois Press.

Paes de Barros, Deborah. 2004. Fast Cars and Bad Girls: Nomadic Subjects and Women’s Road Stories. New York: Peter Lang International.

Pagán, E. 2015. “Georgics 2.497 and Thebaid 1.19-20: Allusion and Inspiration,” in Brill’s Companion to Statius, William J. Dominik, Carole E. Newlands, and Kyle Gervais, eds. Leiden: Brill, 362-376.

Pandey, Nandini. Forthcoming. “Et in Arcadia Ego: Vergil the Elegist.”

Panoussi, Vassiliki. 2007. “Threat and Hope: Women’s Rituals and Civil War in Roman Epic,” in Finding Persephone: Women’s Rituals in the Ancient Mediterranean, Maryline Parca and Angeliki Tzanetou, eds. Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 114-134.

Papanghelis, Theodore. 1987. Propertius. A Hellenistic Poet on Love and Death. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

Parkes, Ruth. 2009a. “Who’s the Father? Biological and Literary Inheritance in Statius’ Thebaid,” Phoenix 63: 1/2, 24-37.

335

———. 2009b. “Hercules and the Centaurs: Reading Statius with Vergil and Ovid,” CP 104:4, 476-494.

———. 2012. Statius, Thebaid 4. Edited with an Introduction, Translation, and Commentary. Oxford: Oxford University Press.

———. 2014. “The Epics of Statius and Valerius Flaccus’ Argonautica,” in Brill’s Companion to Valerius Flaccus. Mark Heerink and Gesine Manuwald, eds. Leiden: Brill, 326-339.

Paul, George. 1982. “Urbs Capta. Sketch of an Ancient Literary Motif,” Phoenix 36, 144-155.

Pfeiffer, R. 1949. Callimachus, I: Fragmenta. Oxford: Clarendon Press.

Piazzi, Lisa. 2013. “Latin Love Elegy and Other Genres,” in Cambridge Companion to Latin Love Elegy, Thea Thorsen, ed. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 224-238.

Piguet, Émilie. 2017. “Du hèrôs au theos. Étude comparée de la double nature et de la diffusion du culte d’Amphiaraos et d'Asclépios,” Dialogues d’Histoire Ancienne 43:2, 55-90.

Pollmann, Karla. 2004. Statius, Thebaid 12. Paderborn: Schöning.

Prêtre, Clarisse. 2012. Kosmos et kosmema: Les offrandes de parure dans les inscriptions de Délos. Liège: Presses Universitaires de Liège.

Prince, Meredith. 2003. “Medea and the Inefficacy of Love Magic: Propertius 1.1 and Tibullus 1.2,” Classical Bulletin 79:2, 205-218.

Racette-Campbell, Melanie. 2012-2013. “Marriage Contracts, Fides, and Gender Roles in Propertius 3.20,” CJ 108:3, 297-317.

Ramsby, Teresa. 2007. Textual Permanence. London: Duckworth.

Reitz, Christiane. 2012. “Vocem fata sequuntur: Entscheidungsfindung und epische Konvention in der flavischen Epik,” in Götter und menschliche Willensfreiheit von Lucan bis Silius Italicus. Thomas Baier, ed. Munich: Verlag, 29-40.

———. 2013. “Does Mass Matter? The Epic Catalogue of Troops as Narrative and Metapoetic Device,” in Flavian Epic Interactions, Trends in Classics Suppl. 21, Gesine Manuwald and Astrid Voight, eds. Berlin: DeGruyter, 229-243.

Richlin, Amy. 1992. “Reading Ovid’s Rapes,” in Pornography and Representation in Greece and Rome, Amy Richlin, ed. New York: Oxford University Press, 158-79.

Ripoll, François. 1998. “La ‘Thébaïde’ de Stace entre épopée et tragédie,” Pallas 49, 323-340.

Ritchie, A.L., J.B. Hall, M.J. Edwards. 2007. P. Papinius Statius. Thebaid and Achilleid, Vol. I- III. Newcastle: Cambridge Scholars Publishing.

336

Roby, Courtney. 2016. Technical Ekphrasis in Greek and Roman Science and Literature. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

Roche, Paul. 2009. De Bello Ciuili, Book 1. Oxford: Oxford University Press.

———. 2015. “Lucan’s De Bello Civili in the Thebaid,” in Brill’s Companion to Statius, William J. Dominik, Carole E. Newlands, and Kyle Gervais, eds. Leiden: Brill, 393-407.

Rogerson, Anne. 2002. “Dazzling Likeness: Seeing Ekphrasis in Aeneid 10,” in The Verbal and the Visual: Cultures of Ekphrasis in Antiquity, Jaś Elsner, ed. Ramus 31:2, 51-72.

Roman, Luke. 2015. “Statius and Martial: Post-vatic Self-Fashioning in Flavian Rome,” in Brill’s Companion to Statius, William J. Dominik, Carole E. Newlands, and Kyle Gervais, eds. Leiden: Brill, 444-461.

Rosati, Gianpiero. 1996. “Il Modello Di Aretusa (Prop. IV 3): Tracce Elegiache Nell’epica Del I Sec. d.C.” Maia 48, 139–55.

———. 2005. “Elegy after the Elegists: from Opposition to Assent,” Papers of the Langford Latin Seminar 12, Greek and Roman Poetry, Greek and Roman Historiography, Francis Cairns, ed. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 133-150.

———. 2008. “Statius, Domitian and Acknowledging Paternity,” in The Poetry of Statius, Mnemosyne Suppl. 306, Johannes J.L. Smolenaars, Harm-Jan van Dam, and Ruurd R. Nauta, eds. Leiden: Brill, 175-193.

Rosenmeyer, Patricia. 2001. Ancient Epistolary Fictions: The Letter in Greek Literature. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

Ross, David O. 1969. Style and Tradition in Catullus. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

———. 1975. Background to Augustan Poetry. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

Rubino, Carl A. 1975. “The Erotic World of Catullus,” CW 68, 289-98.

Rutherford, Ian. 2009. “Aristodama and the Aetolians: An Itinerant Poetess and her Agenda,” in Wandering Poets in Ancient Greek Culture, Richard Hunter and Ian Rutherford, eds. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 237-248.

Šašel Kos, Marjeta. 1993. “Cadmus and Harmonia in Illyria.” Arheoloski Vestnik 44, 113–36.

Saylor, Charles. 1967. “Querelae: Propertius’ Distinctive, Technical Name for his Elegy,” Agon 1:1, 142-9.

———. 1986. “Some stock characteristics of the Roman lover in Aeneid IV,” Vergilius 32, 73- 77.

337

Schauer, Markus, Oliver Siegl, Elisabeth Hollmann, Wolfgang Ehlers, eds. 2012. Tragicorum Romanorum Fragmenta, Pars 1. Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht.

Schiesaro, Alessandro. 2003. The Passions in Play. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

Schmitz, Thomas A. 2007. Modern Literary Theory and Ancient Texts: An Introduction. Malden: Blackwell.

Seo, J. Mira. 2013. Exemplary Traits: Reading Characterization in Roman Poetry. Oxford: Oxford University Press.

Shackleton Bailey, David. 2003. Statius: 3 vols. Cambridge, Mass: Harvard University Press.

Showerman, Grant. 1914. Ovid: Heroides and Amores. Cambridge, Mass: Harvard University Press.

Simms, Robert C. 2014. “Chronology and Canonicity in Jocasta’s Intercessions in Statius’ Thebaid,” Illinois Classical Studies 39, 171–89.

Smith, Anne-Marie. 1998. Julia Kristeva. Speaking the Unspeakable. London: Pluto Press.

Smith, R. Scott. 2017. “Mythographical and Literary Notes on the Catalogs of Argive and Theban allies in Statius’ Thebaid,” Mnemosyne 70:2, 240-261.

Smolenaars, Johannes, Harm-Jan van Dam, and Ruurd R. Nauta, eds. 2008. The Poetry of Statius. Mnemosyne Suppl. 306. Leiden: Brill.

Smolenaars, Johannes. 1994. Statius, Thebaid VII: A Commentary. Leiden: Brill.

———. 2004. “A Disturbing Scene from the Marriage of Venus and Vulcan: Aeneid 8.370-415,” Vergilius 50, 96-107.

Snijder, H. 1968. P. Papinius Statius, Thebaid: A Commentary on Book III. Amsterdam: Hakkert.

Soerink, Jörn. 2013. “Statius, Silius Italicus and the Snake Pit of Intertextuality,” in Flavian Epic Interactions, Trends in Classics Suppl. 21, Gesine Manuwald and Astrid Voight, eds. Berlin: DeGruyter, 361-378.

———. 2014a. “Tragic / epic: Statius’ Thebaid and Euripides’ Hypsipyle,” in Flavian Poetry and its Greek Past, Mnemosyne Suppl. 366, Antony Augoustakis, ed. Leiden: Brill, 171- 191.

———. 2014b. The Beginning of Doom: Statius Thebaid 5.499-753: Introduction, Text, Commentary. Diss: Gronigen.

———. 2015. “Statius’ Nemea/ ,” Dictynna 12: non pagine.

338

Spentzou, Efrossini. 2003. Readers and Writers in Ovid’s Heroides: Transgressions of Genre and Gender. Oxford: Oxford University Press.

Steiniger, Judith. 2005. P. Papinius Statius, Thebais: Kommentar zu Buch 4, 1-344. Steiner: Stuttgart.

Stern, J. 1979. “Phanocles’ Fragment 1,” Quaderni Urbinati di Cultura Classica 32, 135-143.

Stover, Tim. 2003. “Confronting Medea: Genre, Gender, and Allusion in the Argonautica of Valerius Flaccus,” CP 98:2, 123-147.

———. 2018. “Civil War and the Argonautic Program of Statius’s Thebaid,” in After 69 CE- Writing Civil War in Flavian Rome, Trends in Classics Suppl. 65, Lauren Donovan Ginsberg and Darcy Krasne, eds. Berlin: DeGruyter, 109-122.

Thomas, Richard. 1986. “Virgil’s Georgics and the Art of Reference,” HSCP 40, 171-198.

Toohey, Peter. 1996. Epic Lessons. London: Routledge.

Tränkle, Hermann. 1960. Die Sprachkunst des Properz und die Tradition der lateinischen Dichtersprache, Einzelschriften 15. Wiesbaden: Steiner.

Trinacty, Christopher. 2007. “Seneca’s Heroides: Elegy in Seneca’s Medea,” CJ 103:1, 63-78.

———. 2014. and the Reception of Augustan Poetry. Oxford: Oxford University Press.

Tsagalis, Christos. 2004. Epic Grief. Berlin: DeGruyter.

———. 2014. “Gunaion eineka doron: Interformularity and Intertraditionality in Theban and Homeric Epic,” Trends in Classics 6:2, 357-398. van Dam, Harm-Jan. 2006. “Multiple Imitation of Epic Models in the Silvae”, in Flavian Poetry, Mnemosyne Suppl. 270, Ruurd R. Nauta, Harm-Jan van Dam, and Johannes J.L. Smolenaars, eds. Leiden: Brill, 185-206. van der Keur, Michael. 2013. “Of Corpses, Carnivores and Cecropian Pyres: Funeral Rites in Silius and Statius,” in Flavian Epic Interactions, Trends in Classics Suppl. 21, Gesine Manuwald and Astrid Voight, eds. Berlin: DeGruyter, 327-342.

Vessey, David. 1970. “Notes on the Hypsipyle Episode in Statius Thebaid 4-6,” BICS 17, 44-54.

———. 1972. “Aspects of Statius’ Epithalamion,” Mnemosyne 25:2, 172-187.

———. 1973. Statius and the Thebaid. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

———. 1986. “Pierius menti calor incidit: Statius’ Epic Style,” Aufsteig und niedergang der römischen welt 2.32.5, 2965-3019. 339

Volk, Katharina. 2002. The Poetics of Latin Didactic. Oxford: Oxford University Press.

Walter, Anke. 2013. “Beginning at the End: Silius Italicus and the Desolation of Thebes,” in Flavian Epic Interactions, Trends in Classics Suppl. 21, Gesine Manuwald and Astrid Voight, eds. Berlin: DeGruyter, 311-326.

Wasdin, Katherine. 2018. Eros at Dusk: Ancient Wedding and Love Poetry. Oxford: Oxford University Press.

Watson, Lindsay. 1991. : The Curse Poetry of Antiquity. Leeds: Cairns.

———. 2003. A Commentary on Horace’s Epodes. Oxford: Oxford University Press.

Watson, Patricia. 1982. “Ovid and Cultus: Ars Amatoria 3.113-28,” TAPA 112, 237-44.

Webb, Ruth. 2009. Ekphrasis, Imagination and Persuasion in Ancient Rhetorical Theory and Practice. Farnham: Ashgate Publishing Ltd.

White, Hayden. 1973. Metahistory. Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press.

Whitmarsh, Tim. 2002. “Written on the Body: Ecphrasis, Perception and Deception in Heliodorus’ Aethiopica,” in The Verbal and the Visual: Cultures of Ekphrasis in Antiquity, Jaś Elsner, ed. Ramus 31:2, 111-125.

Wilson, Marcus. 2004. “Ovidian Silius,” Arethusa 37:2, 225-249.

Wilson, W. Daniel. 1981. “Readers in Texts,” PMLA 96:5, 848-863.

Wise, Jessica. 2020. “Subaltern Women, Sexual Violence, and Trauma in Ovid’s Amores,” in Emotional Trauma in Greece and Rome, Andromache Karanika and Vassiliki Panoussi, eds. London: Routledge, 71-91.

Wright, Matthew. 2005. Euripides’ Escape-Tragedies: A Study of Helen, , and Iphigenia among the Taurians. Oxford: Oxford University Press.

Wyke, Maria. 1987. “Written Women: Propertius’ Scripta Puella,” JRS 77, 47-61.

Young, J. Donald. 1922. “A Sarcophagus at Corinth,” AJA 2:26, 430-44.

Zagagi, Netta. 1980. Tradition and Originality in Plautus: Studies of the Amatory Motifs in Plautine Comedy. Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht.

Zanker, Graham. 1979. “The Love Theme in Apollonius Rhodius’ Argonautica,” Wiener Studien 92, 52-75.

Zeiner, Noelle K. 2007. “Perfecting the Ideal: Molding Roman Women in Statius’ Silvae,” Arethusa 40:2, 165-181.

340

Zimmerman, Maaike. 2001. “Quis ille…lector: Addressee(s) in the Prologue and throughout the Metamorphoses,” in A Companion to the Prologue of Apuleius’ Metamorphoses, Ahuvia Kahane and Andrew Laird, eds. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 245-255.

Ziogas, Ioannis. 2013. Ovid and Hesiod: The Metamorphosis of the Catalogue of Women. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

Ziółkowski, Adam. 1993. “Urbs Direpta or How the Romans Sacked Cities,” in War and Society in the Roman World, John Rich and Graham Shipley, eds. London: Routledge, 69-91.

Zissos, Andrew. 2008. Valerius Flaccus’ Argonautica, Book 1. Oxford: Oxford University Press.

———. 2018. “Generic Attire: Hypsipyle’s Cloaks in Valerius Flaccus and Apollonius Rhodius,” in The Literary Genres in the Flavian Age, Trends in Classics Suppl. 51, Federica Bessone and Marco Fucecchi, eds. Berlin: DeGruyter, 201-228.

341