’s Visceral Reactions: Reproduction, Domestic Violence, and Civil War

by

Caitlin Hines

A thesis submitted in conformity with the requirements for the degree of Doctor of Philosophy Department of University of Toronto

© Copyright by Caitlin Hines (2018)

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Ovid’s Visceral Reactions:

Reproduction, Domestic Violence, and Civil War

Caitlin Hines

Doctor of Philosophy

Department of Classics University of Toronto

2018 Abstract

Throughout a body of poetic texts composed from the late first century B.C.E. to the early first century C.E., the Roman poet Ovid enacted a semantic shift upon the word viscera.

Traditionally denoting the vital inner organs of a human or animal, viscera appear in Ovidian texts as metaphors for wombs and children. This dissertation demonstrates that these visceral reproductive bodies are deployed specifically in contexts of domestic violence and civic discord.

Almost without exception, visceral wombs and visceral children in Ovidian mythography mark acts of violation that threaten familial bonds and presage the civic conflicts that tear communities apart from within. Against the backdrop of a nascent dynasty whose program of rebuilding after decades of civil war exerted pressure on its citizens to produce numerous children, Ovid’s visceral bodies link reproduction to destruction rather than renewal. At the end of his career, the author in exile employed viscera as a figure for his own poetic texts, implicating those dangers associated with sexual reproduction in the act of authorial production. Ovid’s new visceral metaphors continue to resonate in later Julio- and Flavian literature, from the domestic bloodshed of Senecan tragedy to Lucanian civil war epic to an account of private grief in

iii Quintilian’s rhetorical handbook. In the end, these visceral bodies are demonstrative of a sharpening of Roman poetics around abortion, fertility, and women’s bodies in the Augustan period. They serve as a useful point of contact with the ideological substrates of the political, cultural, and social environment in which they developed, indicating to us first what is Augustan about Ovid, and then what is Ovidian about the poet’s literary successors.

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Acknowledgments

I am sincerely grateful to Alison Keith for her keen insight, sensitive reading, and careful eye.

This project would never have taken shape without her intellectual and moral support, and it would have taken a great deal longer to complete without her lightning-quick feedback. Her unwavering confidence in my abilities keeps me moving forward even (and especially) when I run into obstacles. I am extremely fortunate to have enjoyed the supervision of such a knowledgeable, thoughtful, and attentive scholar.

Jarrett Welsh, in addition to providing thorough and insightful commentary on the larger arc of my argument, allowed no small detail to escape his attention. The absence of mistakes within these pages is due in large part to his meticulous reading (and any remaining errors are entirely my own). His diligence has taught me to be a more observant reader and a more careful writer.

I would like to thank Michael Dewar for helpful and interesting contributions to this project, as well as for the steady research support that he has provided since the early stages of my time in this program. It was from him that I learned that most immutable truth about our field: that

Callimachus’ lost Potamoi is the missing link in every argument about Latin poetry.

Regina Höschele has been a valued teacher and mentor since my arrival in Toronto. It was in her classroom that I developed the skills to write persuasively about authors outside my area of specialization and to preserve the integrity of my diacritical marks. I owe her a great debt of gratitude for the generosity and grace with which she has devoted her time to my growth as a scholar.

Thanks are due also to Christer Bruun, for wisdom and guidance freely offered in the subjects of conference planning, epigraphy, Finnish history and culture, and zombies.

v Stephen Hinds offered insightful and generous commentary on the project in its final stage, for which I am very grateful.

I am so appreciative of the unconditional friendship and support of Marion Durand, Chiara Graf,

Rachel Mazzara, Emily Mohr, Claire Jensen, Amy Cote, Celia Byrne, Nicole Daniel, Jaclyn

Robbins, and Grace MacCormick. You have all shown genuine interest in my research, made up for my abysmal cooking skills with delicious and nutritious meals, and inspired me with your intelligence, poise, and determination.

To the Hines family, whose love and guidance have allowed me to pursue an academic dream: I am so lucky for your support, your humor, and the enthusiasm with which you welcome me home. Thank you, Mom, for teaching me to love literature, for an endless supply of tea and cookies, and for always taking my calls, even when I forget that you live in a different time zone.

Dad, thank you for teaching me to love languages, for weekly crossword puzzles over Skype, and for never, ever doubting that I will succeed. Sarah, your generous heart and emotional intelligence have provided me with the model for becoming a better teacher, mentor, and friend.

Zach, you have been my intellectual touchstone since I followed you into academia and commenced greedily absorbing your expertise in research, writing, and teaching. I hope you don’t mind that your little sister is still copying you.

I should also thank the four-legged friends who have offered the bracing company that only animals can provide—warm and comforting, if a bit slobbery: Emma, Harry, Gatsby, Chewie,

Batman, the gentleman Jasper, and the dearly beloved Truffle-toes.

Finally, I must thank Sharon James, without whom I would not be a Classicist at all. Thank you for teaching my first course on antiquity with so much enthusiasm and care, for encouraging me

vi to begin studying Latin and Greek, for the consistent and selfless mentorship that you have offered me for nearly a decade, and—of course—for sending me to Alison.

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Table of Contents

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS ...... IV

TABLE OF CONTENTS ...... VII

INTRODUCTION: HOW AUGUSTAN IS OVID, OR HOW IS OVID AUGUSTAN? ...... 1

CHAPTER 1 THE VISCERAL LEXICON ...... 18

1.1 METHODOLOGICAL NOTE ...... 18

1.2 PRE-OVIDIAN VISCERA ...... 20

1.3 LATIN DESIGNATIONS FOR WOMBS AND CHILDREN ...... 30

1.4 GREEK PRECEDENTS ...... 34

1.5 FIGURATIVE CHILDREN ...... 39

1.6 OVID’S NEW METAPHORS ...... 42

CHAPTER 2 VISCERAL REPRODUCTION AND DOMESTIC VIOLENCE ...... 44

2.1 VISCERAL ABORTIONS ...... 51

2.2 THE UN-VISCERAL WOMB ...... 58

2.3 FILICIDE, CANNIBALISM, AND INCEST ...... 60

2.4 MOTHER AND SON, WOMB AND WOUND ...... 66

CHAPTER 3 VISCERAL BODIES AND CIVIL WAR ...... 70

3.1 FOREIGN DYNASTY ...... 70

3.2 DIVINE REGICIDE ...... 76

3.3 THE EARTHBORN CIVIL WAR ...... 79

3.4 FOUNDATIONAL FRATRICIDE ...... 83

3.5 THE PROBLEM OF PYTHAGORAS ...... 86

CHAPTER 4 THE VISCERAL TEXT AND ITS LEGACY ...... 90

4.1 THE METAMORPHOSIS OF VISCERA ...... 90

4.2 VISCERAL RECEPTIONS ...... 94

4.3 ’S VISCERA: ROMAN CIVIL WAR ...... 96

4.4 SENECA’S VISCERA: DOMESTIC TRAGEDY ...... 102

4.5 JULIO-CLAUDIAN INTEREST, FLAVIAN SILENCE ...... 114

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4.6 QUINTILIAN AND THE VISCERAL TEXT ...... 118

4.7 A LINGERING VISCERAL LEGACY ...... 121

CONCLUSION ...... 124

BIBLIOGRAPHY ...... 126

APPENDIX A: OXFORD LATIN DICTIONARY ...... 149

APPENDIX B: CATALOGUE OF VISCERA IN OVID ...... 153

Introduction: How Augustan is Ovid, or how is Ovid Augustan?

I think we need to find a better way of establishing whether a text is pro- or anti- or un-Augustan. I suggest that that way involves considering the relationship between the text under investigation and what we call “Augustan ideology,” i.e. that complex of ideas and stories which the princeps and his circle deployed in order to legitimate ’ position of unparalleled power in the Roman world. P.J. Davis (2006: 22), Ovid and Augustus: A political reading of Ovid’s erotic poems

There has long been an instinct in Ovidian scholarship to seek out, with varying levels of conviction, evidence of the poet’s allegiance, resistance, or indifference to Augustan power.1

After all, how could a poet whose personal life was so deeply affected by the displeasure of his head of state—who spent his twilight years pleading in vain for a chance to return home2—not have an opinion about that system of power? Investigations into the poet’s engagement with the policies and pressures of the nascent empire are generally oriented to some extent toward the personal tragedy of his exile from and the enigmatic conflict between poet and princeps that prompted it. There is much interest, for example, in the specter of post-exilic revision,3 where the aftershocks of the exiled poet’s self-conscious shift in worldview—geographical, political, emotional—might reverberate. It is an assumption widely held that the poet’s attitude toward the Augustan regime (whether passionate or disinterested, consistent or variable,

1 On this question, scholars disagree with each other and even with themselves (e.g. Otis 1938 v. Otis 1966 v. the second edition of the latter published in 1970). Notable contributions to the debate include Segal 1969 and 1972, Johnson 1970, Holleman 1971, Little (with a series of articles in 1972, 1974, 1976, and 1982), Green 1982, Millar 1993, and Davis 2006. 2 I write this in December of 2017, having just received the news that the city council of Rome has formally revoked Ovid’s relegation. Though the gesture comes a few thousand years too late, I imagine that Ovid would be pleased to know that Roman posterity would one day welcome him home. 3 On Ovid’s revisions from exile, see Green 2004: 15-26 and Martelli 2013: 104ff. Some of these revisions are clearly signposted in his texts (e.g. his reference to exile at 4.82-84); others are only implicit and remain the subject of continued debate (see e.g. Wheeler 2000: 149-150 contra Kovacs 1987: 463; Martelli 2013: 154 n.25 contra Segal 1969: 288-292). For acts of self-reception in Ovid’s later works, see Gibson 1999 and Hinds 1985.

1 2 provocative or compliant) must have left some imprint (whether by deliberate insertion or subliminal influence or something in between) on his texts.

Whether and to what degree that imprint is recoverable remains a point of contention.

Even after Kennedy’s warning that audience subjectivity renders the impulse to uncover pro- or anti- Augustan sentiments in literary texts ultimately unproductive,4 interest in the poet’s relationship to imperial power has not waned:5 scholars continue, for example, to examine the contents of his elegies for provocative disobedience or complicity with Augustan morality,6 to look for evidence in the exile poetry of sincere remorse or defiant mockery,7 and to scrutinize

Ovid’s attitude toward imperial power and political allegiances in his descriptions of gods, heroes, and kings.8 For many of these scholars, the most important biographical detail of Ovid’s life remains the order of relegation delivered and enforced by the princeps, and these late-stage career troubles color investigations of his entire corpus.

While the engagement of Ovidian literature with structures of power is certainly informed by the author’s strained relationship with the architect of that system, the centrality of Augustus the man in analyses of Ovid’s poetry is occasionally overdetermined: after all, the princeps was only a single (if instrumental) moving part in the broad political, cultural, and social milieu that we define as “Augustan.” In this regard, I agree with P.J. Davis (as excerpted in the epigraph)

4 Kennedy 1992 and 1993; his discussion is taken up as an important theoretical question in Ovidian scholarship, but cf., even before Kennedy, Phillips 1983. Davis 2006: 130-131 n.5 provides a succinct summary of the numerous scholarly responses to Kennedy. 5 Recent approaches to Ovid’s relationship to imperial politics include Feeney 1992 (in the same volume as Kennedy), Newlands 1995, Barchiesi 1997, Habinek 1998: 151-170 and 2002. 6 Spurlock 1975, Labate 1984, Wallace-Hadrill 1985; and post-Kennedy, Sharrock 1994, O’Gorman 1997, Davis 1999, Casali 2006, Gibson 2006, Ingleheart 2010, Ziogas 2014. I do not mean to imply that scholars post-Kennedy are ignoring his warnings; on the contrary, most of them acknowledge and thoughtfully integrate his concerns into their analyses of Ovidian contact with power. 7 Nugent 1990 and McGowan 2009. 8 E.g. Müller 1987, Hardie 1990, Feeney 1991, Miller 2004, Casali 2006.

3 that there is interesting and productive work to be done beyond the mining of Ovidian source material for confirmation of Ovid’s attitude toward Augustus and his imperial ambitions. Though

I agree with his proposed methodological revision, emphasizing imperial ideology and the cultural environment that it produced as a primary influence on literary production, I also feel that Davis—and a number of other scholars who have entered the debate over Ovid’s political allegiances—skirts an essential question about those terms of reference.9

Before we attempt to identify the prejudices of Ovid’s attitude toward power (as Davis frames it, “establishing whether a text is pro- or anti- or un-Augustan”),10 we must acknowledge that the affixation of any prefix (pro-/anti-/un-) to the term “Augustan” is founded on the underlying (and not necessarily faulty) assumption that Ovid can be defined in relational terms to that label. As long as we are poised to ask ourselves what is pro- or anti- or un- Augustan about

Ovid, that inquiry ought to be grounded in evidence that demonstrates the ways in which he is fundamentally Augustan—no prefix required11—that is, part and product of the historical moment in which Rome was controlled by Augustus. It seems to me that a vital first step in recovering what is Augustan about Ovid entails setting aside attempts to reconstruct what the author felt personally about the princeps and his imperial ambitions, to consider instead not only how the deeply embedded social and political concerns of Ovid’s generation might be reflected and refracted in his body of work, but also how Ovid intervenes in these debates.12

9 I echo Kennedy here, though not for the same reason, since his objections are founded on the ultimate instability of language and meaning. 10 Davis 2006: 22. 11 My usage of “Augustan” without a prefix does not assume a silent “pro-” (as in a debate over what is Augustan v. anti-Augustan). 12 This methodology, by no means my own invention, underlies many foundational works of Ovidian scholarship, even if it is not articulated as such. I align myself in particular with the general scholarly programs of e.g. Barchiesi, Hinds, James, and Keith, where environments of Roman poetic production (social, cultural, literary, political) are treated as essential to their interpretation. Cf. Citroni 2013 for discussion of potential problems with a methodology

4 Chronology is the unambiguous marker that designates Ovid as Augustan. In the course of his life (43 B.C.E.-17 C.E.) and literary career, Ovid witnessed Rome’s transition from republic to dynasty ruled by the Julio-Claudian family. Born in the year following Julius

Caesar’s assassination,13 Ovid was twelve years old when Octavian’s victory at Actium solidified his power (31 B.C.E.) and sixteen when Octavian was granted the title Augustus (27

B.C.E.). Throughout his adult life, Ovid lived in an imperial metropolis in a constant state of rebuilding and reform, as the princeps promised to restore the city’s glory and stability in the wake of devastating civil wars.14 Ovid saw the methodical accumulation by a single man of an unprecedented measure of authority, a gradual dissolution of the res publica into a monarchy that hindsight can trace with clarity, though in the moment the permanence of this transition could not have been a foregone conclusion. And at last Ovid observed—from afar, in exile—the peaceful transfer of power to Augustus’ selected successor (14 C.E.) that assured the continuity of Rome’s new model of government.

The age of political uncertainty in Rome that followed that decisive victory at Actium, as

Octavian-Augustus negotiated his authority as Rome’s leading man, as a fragmented Roman populace worked to recover from the trauma of civil war, and as Ovid grew from child to youth

that reads reactions to contemporary events and policies, though I emphatically disagree with the assessment that “all of [Ovid’s] poetry before going into exile expresses a serene satisfaction with Augustan Rome” (15). 13 Ovid reports at Tristia 4.10.5-6 that he was born “in the year when both consuls fell by the same fate” (editus hic ego sum… | cum cecidit fato consul uterque pari); Hirtius and Pansa, the consuls of 43 B.C.E., died within a few days of each other in the course of military campaigns against Antony in Northern Italy. Octavian was selected to fulfill the duties of the consulship in their absence (as he reports in Res Gestae Divi Augusti 1). 14 Crook 1996 outlines the most significant political changes of this period. For the material restoration of the city, an achievement in which Augustus took pride (RGDA 19-21) and for which others granted him credit (e.g. 4.20.7, where Augustus is templorum omnium conditorem ac restitutorem, “builder and renovator of all temples”), see Shipley 1931, Sear 1982: 49-68, Bonnefond 1987, Zanker 1990, Elsner 1996, Favro 1996, Walker 2000, Stamper 2005: 105-150, Galinsky 2012: 152-156, Richardson 2012 passim, Southern 2014: 330-347. For Augustan interest in the renewal of ancestral moral values, Galinsky 1996, esp. 42-77; Severy 2003: 44-61, Richardson 2012, Wilkinson 2012: 111-133.

5 to adult with a flourishing poetic career, was marked by a constellation of social pressures surrounding civic harmony, fertility, and familial pietas. Rome’s citizens, conditioned by decades of endemic civil war and confronted by a new and unfamiliar model of government, were likely still on the alert for the next outbreak of internal strife. Firm assurances from imperial voices that lasting peace had indeed been achieved betray a fundamental lack of confidence among Rome’s citizenry in the permanence of that peace. At the same time, legislative oversight of private sexuality and transparent discourses on human fertility as a certain path to community stability suggest a general reluctance among the citizen body to marry and support large families.

The following examination of civil war and reproduction as central ideological concerns of the Augustan era will lay the groundwork for the primary focus of this thesis: the metamorphosis of the word viscera, in Ovid’s hands, into a coherent figure for reproductive bodies in contexts of violated pietas. The significant semantic shift enacted by Ovid upon this word, I argue, offers a glimpse into the ideological substrates of Augustan Rome that shaped the experiences of Ovid’s generation. Though it is, in the end, impossible to determine to what extent Ovid felt hatred, admiration, fear, or indifference toward Augustan power, it is evident that he was reacting to, and intervening in, the contemporary pressures of his age—and that his reactions and interventions were, above all else, visceral.

The Improbable Promise of Peace It was not just the fresh memory of civil conflict between Antony and Octavian that plagued Ovid’s Rome; the city had been destabilized for half a century by violent internal

6 discord and short-lived periods of tenuous truce.15 Though Actium (31 B.C.E.) would mark the end to formal civil conflict, the —and even Octavian himself—could not have foreseen that a long period of uncontested leadership would follow. It was, for this reason, the continuous project of Octavian-Augustus and his supporters to frame his governance as safeguarding the restoration of civic harmony.16 The concept of peace played a prominent role in numerous instantiations of Augustan power, including numismatic, architectural, sculptural, and literary programs.17 A female figure labeled “Pax,” for example, paired with recognizable

Augustan iconography, began appearing on coins distributed throughout the Empire in 28

B.C.E.18 Augustus appears to have founded a colony in Iberia that he named Pax Augusta.19

There are also indications that celebrations of the festival of Pax came to be dedicated to the Augusti, and that Augustus long intended to establish a cult of Pax in continuation of

Julius ’s interrupted plans for the same.20 Though the saturation of “peace” as a concept and image in the Augustan cultural program is too extensive to enumerate here in full, I highlight below a few illustrative examples from pieces of Augustan discourse demonstrative of a carefully curated imperial message: the Res Gestae, the Carmen Saeculare, and the Ara Pacis.

15 A series of conflicts between Sulla and Marius had unsettled Rome throughout the B.C.E., the Catilinarian conspiracy, though smothered before it began, drew much rhetorical (Ciceronian) attention to the dangers of internal threats to the republic in the late 60s, while the political machinations of the first and the aftermath of its dissolution rendered the 40s a decade of endemic civil strife. On civil war anxieties in Rome, see Jal 1963. 16 At the risk of retreading the existing body of scholarship, I highlight in this section only a few relevant examples of Augustan discourse on war and peace. Excellent work on this topic can be found in Gruen 1985 and Gurval 1995; Severy 2003: 33-61 provides a focused examination of the Augustan restoration program in terms of civil war discourse, where the wars are blamed on “immoral disrespect for Roman traditions and boundaries” (47). 17 The evidence briefly summarized here is outlined in detail by Weinstock 1960 (esp. 47-50). 18 Weinstock 1960: 47. 19 3.2.15. The colony, it seems, was originally founded by as Pax Iulia, and so Augustus’ official refounding and renaming of the colony would have been a continuation of his predecessor’s close relationship with that corner of the world. 20 See Weinstock 1960, Simon 1994, Scherf 2007, Stern 2015.

7 In the Res Gestae Divi Augusti, as part of a retrospective appraisal of his tenure as princeps,21 Augustus forefronts the unprecedented frequency with which the gates of Janus were formally closed—affirming the rare achievement of absolute peace in the empire—during his reign:

Ianum Quirinum, quem clausum esse maiores nostri voluerunt, cum per totum imperium

populi Romani terra marique esset parta victoriis pax, cum priusquam nascerer, a condita

urbe bis omnino clausum fuisse prodatur memoriae, ter me principe senatus claudendum

esse censuit.22

Res Gestae Divi Augusti 13

[The gates of] Janus Quirinus, which our ancestors declared would be closed only when

peace was obtained by victories throughout all the domain of the Roman people on land

and on sea, though memory reports that before my birth since the time of the city’s

founding they were closed only twice, have been closed by senatorial decree three times

under my leadership.23

As closure of the gates traditionally celebrated victory in prolonged foreign wars, the first occasion of their closure under Octavian (29 B.C.E.), asserting the finality of his victory over

Antony’s faction, indicated the conclusion of hostilities between Roman-led armies.24 Though a transparent political maneuver, this was no casual gesture: the gates had been open at this point for two consecutive centuries, their last closure having been ordered after the conclusion of the

21 Yavetz 1984 and Ramage 1987 outline context and meaning for the Res Gestae as public self-fashioning. 22 Edition: Barini 1930. 23 All translations are my own. 24 Livy 1.19 defines the closure as post bellum Actiacum; Dio 51.20.5 points out that Rome was not, in fact, entirely at peace on the occasion of this closure, since skirmishes continued with the Treveri, Cantabri, Vaccaei, and Astures, among others. This fact only intensifies the significance of civic harmony as the occasion for such a grand symbolic action.

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First Punic War in 235 B.C.E.25 The bold premise of this occasion, which would turn out to be a self-fulfilling prophecy of sorts,26 was that the Roman race would no longer be at war with itself. Though the battle at Actium, given Antony’s alliance with Cleopatra and use of Egyptian naval forces, would often be framed as a conflict won against foreign enemies,27 the final elimination of Antony—the proverbial civis turned hostis—as a threat to the safety and integrity of Rome marked a decisive end to the decades of internal power struggle among triumvirs that had steered the city toward civil strife in the first place.

This assurance of internal peace features heavily in ’s Carmen Saeculare,28 the lyric poem composed for performance at the revival of the ludi saeculares of 17 B.C.E., which scholars generally agree was an occasion for the assertion of Augustan primacy in the restoration of the traditional republican values that would return glory and stability to Rome.29 In a poem commissioned by Augustus for performance at a public celebration of his success and composed by an author with strong connections to his court,30 the concentration of a lexicon antonymous to war is meaningful. The speaking voices of the poem (a chorus of adolescent boys and girls)31 address a gentle and peaceful Apollo and request that he lay aside his weapons (condito mitis placidusque telo, 33) before enumerating those ancient values destined to return in the present age: iam Fides et Pax et Honos Pudorque | et neglecta redire | audet (“now

25 Livy 1.19. 26 That is, perhaps no more civil conflict threatened Rome specifically because Augustus made such a convincing case that peace had been restored. 27 See e.g. Antony’s close association with Eastern symbols and divinities on the Shield of at Aeneid 8.626- 728. 28 Edition: Wickham 1901. 29 Davis 2006: 28 suggests the purpose of the revived games was “not to avert disaster, but to advertise success.” On the Carmen Saeculare and its formalized expressions of Augustan power: Gagé 1934: 41, Putnam 1965: 16, Feeney 1998: 28-38, Davis 2001, Thomas 2011. 30 See Lyne 1995, esp. 40-58 and 193-206. 31 As indicated in the epigraphic inscription (see Schnegg-Köhler 2002) which recorded the proceedings of the ludi of 17 B.C.E.

9 loyalty and peace and dignity and traditional chastity and forgotten courage dare to return…”

57-59).

Peace is implicated again in the restoration of morals with a request that probi mores

(“proper character,” 45) be granted to the youth, and that rest (quietem, 46) be granted to

“peaceful old age” (senectuti placidae, 46). The generation experiencing senectus under

Augustus comprised exactly those citizens whose entire lives would have been disrupted by the civic turbulence that preceded (and enabled) his ascension to power—it can be no coincidence that this poem promises that particular demographic a future of the restful peace they were deprived of in their youths. War is addressed only as an experience of the past (e.g. bellante prior, 51), a tool through which the path to current pax was achieved. The poem’s conclusion asserts hope for a peaceful future that is not merely bona but certa (74). The stability of Rome in this song is as much a promise as it is a prayer, and its certainty is presented as non-negotiable.32

The association of peace with neglected ancestral values in the Carmen Saeculare is a studied reflection of the correlative relationship that the Augustan program consistently drew between pax and pietas, where peace is presented as an inevitable consequence of the duty fulfilled to gods, family, and community.33 We should note that at the time that this poem was commissioned and performed, Ovid would have been in the process of composing his , the first of his works in which his new visceral metaphors appear.

I will conclude with brief consideration of the Ara Pacis, whose iconography was designed to communicate the vital role of Augustan leadership in reestablishing a prosperous and

32 The Carmen Saeculare is, in addition to its entanglements with Augustan power, a work of poetry with real literary merit: see Feeney 1998, Putnam 2000, Lowrie 2009: 123-141, Thomas 2011: 53-84, Curtis 2017: 149-157. 33 Cf. Horace’s description of Italian peace under Augustus at Carmina 4.5.17-24, where fides, mos, and lex are envisioned as the qualities attending a pacified world. On pax and pietas as “condensation symbols” of the Augustan program formed in response to a time of crisis, see Gottlieb 2009. Roller 1996: 321-322 offers a cogent picture of the inevitable relationship between impietas and civil war in the Roman imagination. Wagenvoort 1924, Hellegouarc’h 1963: 276-279, and Moore 1989: 56-61 examine the import of pietas as a Roman value.

10 peaceful state.34 The altar, given central prominence in the restorative architectural program of the princeps and his family, was dedicated in 9 B.C.E. to the goddess Pax. On the altar’s East wall, a female figure surrounded by fertility imagery has been variously identified as a of Pax, Tellus, Italia, and Fertilitas.35 Though the exact identification of the figures depicted in sculptural relief remains subject to debate (and so arguments about the role of

Pax in its message are complicated), the difficulty of distinguishing among those proposed identities is perhaps indicative of the extent to which these concepts—specifically peace and fertility—were so closely intertwined in Augustan cultural and visual discourse. Indeed, it is essential to my argument here to recognize that fertility was highlighted as both precondition and consequence of pax. Because the concept of pax designated a peace achieved specifically at the cost of war,36 it was, in the end, an imperial value, and its very invocation implicated a necessity for population regrowth in the wake of wartime casualties.

Rebuilding Rome through Reproduction Just as Octavian was concerned with reassuring the Roman populace that a stable and lasting peace had been achieved, his administration’s enthusiastic promotion of legitimate marriage and fertility was built upon an understanding of population growth as a certain path toward community stability. This preoccupation with fertility was formalized in a legislative program keyed toward conservative family values among the upper class: female chastity,

34 For the significance of the Ara Pacis as a monument to Augustan power and the prominence of pax in its imagery: Weinstock 1960, Kleiner 1978, de Grummond 1990, Holliday 1990, Zanker 1990, Elsner 1991, Armstrong 2008, Lamp 2009, Sang-Yeop 2015. 35 See esp. Zanker 1990: 172-177; see also Simon 1967, La Rocca et al. 1983, Settis 1988, Torelli 1999, Rossini 2006. 36 Esp. via etymological connections between pax and pacific; see Weinstock 1960: 45, Harris 1979: 35-36, Woolf 1993, and Keith 2000: 76-77.

11 legitimate marriage, and plentiful children.37 The Lex Julia de maritandis ordinibus, passed in

18 B.C.E. and revised in 9 C.E. in the form of the Lex Papia et Poppaea, enacted political, economic, and social advantages for parents who married legitimately and produced a requisite number of children. Around the same time, the Lex Julia de adulteriis coercendis confronted threats to reproductive legitimacy by making adultery a public .38 Motherhood, the success of which was measured by number of surviving offspring, became a means by which women of multiple classes could access unprecedented legal and economic independence.39 Childlessness, on the other hand, was a dishonor subject to financial penalty.40 Though such laws were not formalized until a decade after Augustus received his title, some textual evidence has been taken to suggest that he proposed similar measures without success as early as 28 B.C.E.41 From the very beginning of his —and the earliest years of Ovid’s poetic career—Augustus was eager to push for measures to promote reproduction among a citizen body that was to some extent reluctant to comply.42 These formal efforts to encourage fertility were implicitly and explicitly linked to the return of community stability.43

37 On the moral legislation and its effects on models of Roman womanhood: Csillag 1976, Raditsa 1980, Dixon 1992 passim, Galinsky 1996: 128-140, Winter 2003: 39-51, Severy 2003, Langlands 2006: 218-224, Bowman et al. 1996: 886-896. 38 Cohen 1991. Hutchinson 2017 offers a fresh perspective on the events leading up to the Lex Papia et Poppaea. 39 Citizen mothers who bore three surviving children to their husbands earned the right to freedom from guardianship; the same reward was granted to freedwomen with four children ( 1.145, 194). 40 The unmarried and the childless faced tax penalties and were restricted from full rights to inheritance: see Wallace-Hadrill 1981 and McGinn 1998: 72-73. 41 2.7 is often cited as evidence for such a proposal; other potential references have been found in Ann. 3.26-28, Horace Odes 3.5-6, Velleius 2.89, 6.22.3, and Florus 2.34 (all of these identified and cited first by Jörs 1893, with more recent discussion by Williams 1962, Cairns 1979, and Raditsa 1980: 295-296); but contrast Badian 1985, who rejects all of Jörs’ initial sources of evidence point by point. 42 For opposition to Augustan moral policy: Dio 56.1, Divi Augusti 34, Tacitus 3.25-28; Cairns 1979, Raaflaub and Samons 1990, Treggiari 1991: 37-80, Bauman 1992: 106-108, Grubbs 2002: 83-87. 43 As Wheeler-Reed 2017 concisely (though a bit clumsily) puts it: “We might even imagine that the stickers on chariots accompanying the legislation would have read, ‘Want peace? Make babies!’” (7).

12 Those legal measures were complemented by a strong imperial message identifying the fruitfulness of the Roman citizen body as the highest public good. The Carmen Saeculare declares in no uncertain terms that child-bearing and legitimate marriage are of vital importance to the strength of Rome, with unmistakable reference to the recently passed Lex Julia:

rite maturos aperire partus

lenis Ilithyia, tuere matres,

sive tu Lucina probas vocari,

seu Genitalis:

diva, producas subolem, patrumque

prosperes decreta super iugandis

feminis prolisque novae feraci

lege marita…

Carmen Saeculare 13-20

Protect our mothers, Ilithyia (or Lucina, if that is your preferred name, or Genitalis),

gentle at revealing offspring at their proper time: goddess, may you lead forth the

generations to come, and fulfill the senate’s decrees for the yoking of our women and

offspring of new abundance produced by legitimate marriage…

The invocation of lex marita (20) can hardly be coincidental:44 reproduction among the upper classes was both legislated and formally celebrated as a path to prosperity. This meditation on human fertility is given special prominence in the hymn, directly following a proclamation of

Roman dominance throughout the world (alme Sol… | … possis nihil urbe Roma | visere maius;

44 Thomas 2011: 68 identifies the combination super iugandis feminis and lege marita as a clear reference to the Lex Iulia de maritandis ordinibus.

13 “nourishing sun…you could see nothing greater than the city of Rome,” 9…11-12) and preceding a wish for the continued fertility of the Roman earth and its domesticated animals:

fertilis frugum pecorisque tellus

spicea donet Cererem corona;

nutriant fetus et aquae salubres

et Iovis aurae.

Carmen Saeculare 29-32

May the earth, abundant in harvest and herd, grant Ceres a crown of grain;

may healthful waters and Jupiter’s breezes nourish what has been produced.

Later, human fertility is one of three gifts requested of the gods for the Roman people: remque prolemque | et decus omne (“wealth, progeny, and every glory,” 47-48). In addition to wealth

(obtained through conquering and annexing territory) and glory (the height of reputation that accompanies the acquisition of res), the third ingredient necessary to continued success is the production of heirs to inherit, manage, and increase the wealth and glory of their ancestors.

Reproduction is of paramount importance for the preservation of power and authority. Res, fertility, and continuity are joined together again at lines 66-68, where Apollo is encouraged to

“extend Roman wealth and fertile Latium always into another age, a better age” (remque

Romanam Latiumque felix | alterum in lustrum meliusque semper | prorogat aevum). The word felix, operating on two levels to indicate both fortune and fertility,45 is demonstrative of the close link between those two concepts: Rome’s dominion can only be extended into the future if there are fresh generations to inherit it.

45 OLD s.v. felix and Ernout-Meillet s.v. ferax.

14 Words attributed to Augustus himself emphasize the crucial function of reproduction in the continuity of the state. In a speech that Augustus reportedly delivered in the and addressed to the fathers and childless men of Rome,46 the princeps directly connects reproduction to the preservation of the Rome: “How can our race and our community be preserved when we are neither marrying nor having children…?”47 In this way, peace and fertility were framed as primary determinants of continuity, and as gifts dependent upon each other: lasting peace creates the opportunity for a flourishing population, and an abundance of births contributes to the body of citizens who can nourish and maintain that peace.

In law, in literature, and in political discourse, there existed an insistent correlation between human fertility and state stability, where the rebuilding of a fractured community is absolutely dependent upon the sustainability of the population. The height of Rome’s power, achieved through religious piety, skilled leadership, and military domination, could only find permanence through the continuity of generations. These values, then—peace (as earned through victory in civil war) and fertility (as enacted upon the bodies of legitimately married citizens)— were essential preoccupations in the political, cultural, and social environment of Ovid’s generation.

Ovid’s Visceral Reactions to Postwar Politics of Fertility This dissertation contributes to examinations of what is Augustan about Ovid through lexicographical and literary analysis of the word viscera, the Ovidian usage of which, I argue, is a response to the discourses of civil war and fertility so prominent in Ovid’s Rome. Primarily denoting “vital organs,” in Ovid’s hands the word viscera undergoes a significant shift in

46 As reported by Dio 56.1-10; according to Dio, this speech was given in response to a general demand for the legislation on marriage and reproduction to be revoked. 47 Dio 56.7.4: πῶς µὲν γὰρ ἂν ἄλλως τὰ γένη διαµείνειε, πῶς δ᾽ ἂν τὸ κοινὸν διασωθείη µήτε γαµούντων ἡµῶν µήτε παιδοποιουµένων (Edition: Warmington 1924).

15 meaning: the Oxford Latin Dictionary’s sub verbo definitions 3b (womb, uterus) and 5

(offspring) appear,48 as far as the extant record indicates, to have originated with Ovid. The novel use of viscera as designator of reproductive bodies, I will demonstrate, appears specifically in contexts of domestic violence and civic discord, and therefore manifests itself at the intersection of the most pressing political and social concerns of post-Actium Rome.

If reproducing Rome was of utmost importance for achieving the stability promised under

Augustan pax, then the appearance of a new metaphor linking an essentially violent word to reproductive bodies during the Augustan period surely merits further attention than has yet been paid to it in scholarship. That Ovid’s visceral bodies resonate specifically in contexts of domestic violence and civil war can be read as a response to the prominence of peace and fertility as ideals of continuity in Augustan culture. And because, as a prominent and prolific writer, Ovid was himself participating in the construction of Augustan and imperial discourses,49 these responses—once written, circulated, and absorbed into the literary milieu—can also be construed as mediations, negotiations, or intrusions upon contemporary discourses of power.

Chapter 1 compiles a lexicography of viscera in pre-Ovidian Latin and a survey of figurative vocabulary for reproductive bodies. Evidence from literary, philosophical, medical, and scientific texts demonstrates the word’s primary association with the vital inner organs, its denotation of sacrificial entrails and battlefield injury, and its relevance to the rhetorical imagination of the res publica as a vulnerable body. With acknowledgement of potential Greek precedent in the usage of σπλάγχνα, the chapter establishes that Ovid was the first Roman poet to use the word viscera to denote wombs and children.

48 See Appendix A. 49 As demonstrated by e.g. Habinek 2002 and Feldherr 2010.

16 Chapter 2 examines instances of visceral wombs and visceral children throughout the

Ovidian corpus that appear in the context of domestic violence. Beginning from the early example of Canace’s attempted abortion and lament for her exposed child in the eleventh epistle of the Heroides, the chapter collects examples of violated familial pietas that trigger the appearance of visceral reproductive bodies, determining that visceral metaphors throughout the

Ovidian landscape consistently accompany episodes of feticide, filicide, matricide, fratricide, patricide, cannibalism, and incest. The pattern is consistent from the Heroides and the to the and the Fasti: intrafamilial violence transforms the fertile womb and the ill- fated child into visceral bodies.

Chapter 3 explores instances of visceral metaphor that accompany or presage civil conflict—a community-wide violation of familial pietas—ranging in scale from the self- contained extinction of the Colchian terrigenae to the Ethiopian civil war incited by Perseus’ rescue of Andromeda to the dynastic struggles of the Olympian gods. The womb of Rhea Silvia herself, mother to the twin boys whose legendary conflict would determine the power structure of early Rome, is rendered visceral in anticipation of that fratricide. Finally, an apparent exception to Ovidian conditions for visceral metaphors, appearing in the speech of Pythagoras in the final book of the Metamorphoses, is examined in light of the word’s long-established violent connotations.

Chapter 4 studies the reception of Ovidian viscera in later literature. Lucan’s adoption of

Ovid’s reproductive metaphors illustrates their continued resonance in civil war narratives, while numerous instances of visceral wombs and visceral children in Seneca’s tragedies demonstrate the efficacy of the metaphors for marking acts of domestic violation. The keen interest in visceral bodies at the end of the Neronian period provides additional evidence of Ovidian influence on authors like Seneca and Lucan and illustrates their methods of self-conscious engagement with

17 his texts. At the same time, studied adjustments to the specific contexts in which these metaphors appear in the works of Seneca and Lucan may reflect the shifting priorities of the

Neronian period, where political instability was both distant memory and imminent threat. I conclude with consideration of Ovid’s visceral legacy beyond the Julio-Claudian period. Aside from a notable example in Quintilian, there are no clear receptions of Ovidian viscera in the literature of the Flavian period. This rather abrupt silence—if it is not a misleading accident of the extant record—may again reflect the shifting concerns of the political and literary environment of that period, where the word viscera exhibits a marked return to its Vergilian roots.

Despite this apparent interruption in usage, Ovid’s visceral metaphors by no means disappear: they live on in texts literary, legal, and religious, and, even where the original connotations of the metonyms seem less immediate or relevant, a keen reader of Ovid might justifiably find traces of fertility politics still active in the word’s lexical scope. Such are the lingering effects of Ovid’s intervention into the imperial discourses on peace and fertility:

Ovidian texts have rendered the word so violently and irresistibly reproductive that Roman viscera will always have reach beyond mere flesh and blood.

Chapter 1 The Visceral Lexicon

While Ovid appears, from extant evidence, to be the first Roman poet to deploy the word viscera as a metonym for both wombs and children, these metaphors are less the product of original invention than imaginative extensions of the word’s existing applications in both poetry and prose. The following examination of viscera as it functions in earlier texts works to identify the semantic stepping stones that led to the new Ovidian metaphors and to unearth the connotations—literary, scientific, and political—that the word carried by the time Ovid began to reframe its potential meanings.

This analysis begins with an evaluation of the literal and figurative meanings of viscera as it was deployed in before Ovid, including its appearances in early republican poetry and theatre, in didactic and heroic epic, in , and in historiography. Next, a review of other bodily metaphors for wombs and for children in Greek and Latin texts complements my examination of the pre-Ovidian connotations of viscera. Finally, I establish that the use of viscera as a metonym for wombs and children is a distinctive Ovidian development that integrates issues of reproduction with the word’s existing technical and literary connotations.

1.1 Methodological note

Patricia Rosenmeyer’s article “Tracing Medulla as a Locus Eroticus,” published in 1999, aimed to track the erotic connotations of the concept of “marrow” through Greek and Latin texts.

While the goals of the present chapter in many ways parallel those of Rosenmeyer’s, there is an important methodological distinction to be made. In an effort to avoid what she deems “the

18 19 misleading dichotomy of literal and metaphorical,”50 Rosenmeyer organizes her study according to the categories of eroticized and non-eroticized uses of vocabulary for marrow. It is significant that Rosenmeyer’s investigation focuses on a word whose connotations, while extending from the anatomical to the emotional, remain tied to internal bodily functions. We face a different challenge with viscera, particularly when new Ovidian usages come into play, for the concept of a visceral womb entails a transposition of two concrete anatomical structures (the uterus and the vital organs), while the notion of a visceral child entails an external displacement of internal organs.

Rosenmeyer’s caveat does apply to certain instances of viscera—as in Latin treatments of medulla, the distinction between anatomical viscera and viscera as seat of emotion is not always clear51—but those Ovidian extensions of meaning which signify wombs and children represent unquestionable cases of metaphor.52 To assume that the line between literal and metaphorical language concerning bodily organs remains perfectly consistent across linguistic and chronological gaps would certainly be a mistake, but to investigate the semantic shifts of viscera in Latin literature without recourse to the concept of figurative representation would mischaracterize the Romans’ understanding of their own literary devices.53

50 Rosenmeyer 1999: 22. 51 OLD s.v. 4 (see Appendix A). 52 Ancient grammarians devoted a great deal of attention to figures of speech and the classification of metaphor (translatio, synecdochia, metonymia) in particular. See e.g. Quintilian 8.6 for categories of metaphor (with Novokhatko 2017); cf. Moore 1891 for a technical and thorough analysis of Servius’ attention to figures of speech in Vergil. Ovid’s early education in Rome would no doubt have emphasized such rhetorical strategies: Seneca Controv. 2.2.8-12 provides ancient evidence of Ovid’s rhetorical training. On Ovidian mastery of poetic rhetoric and literary devices, see Frécaut 1972: 25-171 and Kenney 2002 (esp. 41-45 and 74ff), for whom “Ovid’s exploitation of the figures of thought and speech in the classical repertory was…extensive and enterprising” (45). 53 On the nature of Roman rhetorical training, Bonner 1949: 150-156, Duff 1964, Dominik and Hall 2010 passim but esp. chapters by Corbeill (“Rhetorical Education and Social Reproduction in the Republic and Early Empire,” pp. 69-121) and Kirchner (“Elocutio: Latin Prose Style,” 181-194, and specifically 184ff on literary devices in rhetorical training).

20

I do not, therefore, refrain from distinguishing between literal viscera—the vital internal organs of a physical body—and the many and varied secondary applications of the word.

Nevertheless, I do so fully cognizant of the difficulty of clarifying the distinctions between the word’s literal and metaphorical applications. It is, in fact, a peculiar characteristic of Ovidian viscera that they often occupy a hazy semantic space between the literal and the figurative. As I argue, the most salient appearances of viscera in Ovid are those which evoke several layers of meaning at once. Because of the word’s primary anatomical valence, there is always the potential for “somatic tinge,” even in those usages that may seem purely metaphorical.54 In the end, the power of Ovidian viscera to invoke concrete and abstract shades of meaning simultaneously is an essential component of my argument; doing away methodologically with the distinction between the literal and the metaphorical would obscure the potential of Ovidian literary devices to accomplish the same feat.

1.2 Pre-Ovidian viscera

The noun viscera appears only sporadically in early Latin literature. This comes perhaps as no surprise, since our record of early Latin is itself sporadic. Though the fragmentary nature of much of this evidence makes it difficult to identify any standard definition for the word, it seems from its rare appearances in early literature that viscera was associated most often with animal butchery and the separation of meat from bone. The nominal form is not attested in any of

Ennius’ extant fragments, but appearances of the related adverbial and participial formulations visceratim and evisceratus do suggest an early association of the word’s stem with butchery.55

54 Padel 1992: 36 speaks of “somatic tinge” as the latent bodily connotation at play in organ words even when they are used in the abstract; see esp. her second chapter, “Innards,” 12-48. 55 Visceratim at Andromeda 118 (Vahlen 1967, and see Jocelyn 1967 ad loc.); evisceratus at Thyestes 362 (Vahlen 1967).

21

Pacuvius, too, uses eviscerata, the only trace of visceral language to survive in his extant tragic fragments, used in riddling reference to the process of by which a tortoise’s

56 shell is transformed into a musical instrument.

In the theatre of , where the word is first attested in nominal form, viscera maintain a connection to the parting of flesh from bone. In Plautus’ Menaechmi, one of the eponymous twins deploys the word in a scene of feigned madness as he threatens to disembowel the senex character: securim capiam ancipitem atque hunc senem | osse fini dedolabo assulatim viscera (“I will seize the double-headed axe and, as for this old man, I will hew his innards piecemeal down to the bone,” 858-859).57 In the opening scene of the Miles Gloriosus, as the soldier and his parasite reminisce over a (fictional) encounter with an elephant, the potential for physical damage done to the animal is exaggerated to include a blow so powerful as to pierce per corium, per viscera | perque os elephanti (“through the hide, through the guts, and through the bone of the elephant,” 29-30).58 The viscera here, grammatically parallel to corium and os and arranged as both syntactical and biological intermediary between the two, are used in the context of an externally punctured animal body (transmineret bracchium; “your arm would have punched clear through,” 30). Such appearances of viscera and related vocabulary suggest a close association with butchery and in early Latin.59 Since the connection between viscera and wounded bodies is an essential substructure of Ovidian visceral play, it is significant

56 The “Pacuvian riddle,” to which the answer is testudo (“tortoise” or “lyre”): quadrupes tardigrada agrestis humilis aspera, | brevi capite, cervice anguina, aspectu truci, | eviscerata inanima cum animali sono (“Four-footed, slow-stepping, rustic, humble, rough, of small head, thin neck, fierce expression, eviscerated, soulless, yet still alive with sound,” Antiope, fr. 4 Ribbeck). 57 Edition: Lindsay 1904. Translation following the suggestions of Gratwick 1993 ad loc. 58 Edition: Lindsay 1905. 59 One further attestation from the works of Plautus, preserved only as a fragment in Varro, remains mysterious: dis stribula aut de lumbo obscena viscera (†Cesistio fr. I Leo apud Varro, Ling. 7.67). Varro quotes this passage purely out of interest in the word stribula; without further context, it is difficult to know exactly what valence viscera has here, though it is tempting to connect it with male generative organs as at OLD 3c (and see discussion of the Maecenas fragment below, pp. 32-32).

22 that these earliest examples of viscera appear in close proximity to the dismemberment of bodies both animal and human.

Lucretius uses viscera as an anatomical term for the fleshy parts of the body, in contrast with bones and skin.60 In his philosophical and didactic poetry, the word appears most often in parallel constructions with other biological terms like sanguis, medulla, nervus, and ossa. When

Lucretius describes in Book 2 of the DRN the organic parts that make up all living bodies, viscera are included amidst an anaphoric catalogue of related terms: ossa cruor venae calor umor viscera nervi (“bones blood veins heat fluid innards sinews,” 2.670).61 Later in the same book, viscera are associated again with nervi and venae as the parts of the body responsible for sensation.62 Lucretius goes on to argue that these individual body parts cannot feel sensation of themselves, but only in conjunction with the rest of the body: at nequeant per se partes sentire necesse est (“but it is necessarily true that these parts are unable to feel on their own,” 2.910).63

Lucretian viscera, then, are those internal organs vital to survival which participate in the process of bodily sensation but lack autonomous perception.64

60 The primary meaning of the word as given at OLD s.v. 1. 61 For the text of the DRN I follow Bailey 1922. 62 Nam sensus iungitur omnis | visceribus nervis venis, quaecumque videmus | mollia mortali consistere corpore creta (“For every sensation is joined to the viscera, the sinews, the veins, which we see are made soft and of mortal frame,” 2.904-906). The same combination of body parts appears twice in book 3 (ergo animam totam perparvis esse necessest | seminibus, nexam per venas viscera nervos, “Therefore it is necessary that the entire soul is composed of very small seeds, bound through the veins, viscera, and sinews,” 3.216-217; namque ita conexa est per venas viscera nervos | ossaque, uti dentes quoque sensu participentur, “for so bound is [the soul] through the veins, viscera, sinews, and bones, that even the teeth have a share in sensation,” 3.691-692). 63 A severed hand, he reasons, or any limb separated from the body, no longer supports sensation (2.912-913). Further discussion of the mechanics of sensation as it operates through these body parts follows at 3.246ff. Throughout Lucretius’ larger argument in Book 3 about the interdependent relationship between body and soul, there are several instances where viscera are made to stand in for all body tissues (in place of corpus and in contrast with anima)—see e.g. DRN 3.272 and 3.336, with discussion in Brown 1997. 64 Ovid’s metaphorical applications of viscera will enact a significant philosophical departure from this Lucretian model, especially when children are represented via viscera as external manifestations of their parents’ vital organs. Ovid’s visceral children are much like Lucretius’ severed hand—no longer physically attached to the body that grew them—but they remain capable of independent feeling.

23

Vergilian viscera appear most often in sacrificial contexts. The word frequently refers to the entrails of animals, twice in the Georgics and on five occasions in the Aeneid.65 Both of the instances in the Georgics refer to the innards of the sacrificial vitulus selected for the bougonia— when the calf’s viscera are beaten to a pulp within the intact hide (4.302),66 and when the bees emerge, once the process is complete, from the liquefacta viscera (4.555).67 The Aeneid, meanwhile, uses viscera for the innards of the seven stags that Aeneas and his crew consume once they are shipwrecked on the shores of Libya (1.211), of the sheep, swine, and bulls slaughtered for Anchises’ funeral rites (5.103), of the seven bulls sacrificed on the occasion of

Aeneas’ entrance to the underworld (6.253),68 of the bulls slaughtered and served at Evander’s reception feast for Aeneas (8.180), and finally of the pecudes slain to seal the pact between

Aeneas and Latinus (12.214). On each of these occasions, the viscera are specifically the parts of the slaughtered animals that are stripped and cooked.69

Elsewhere in Vergil, viscera are the spilled internal organs of dead or dying men. In

Book 3 of the Aeneid, as Achaemenides describes the ordeal of Polyphemus’ cave, his visceral language emphasizes the cannibalistic horror of a situation in which men become meat: visceribus miserorum et sanguine vescitur atro (“He feeds upon the entrails and dark blood of

65 For all of Vergil’s works, I follow Mynors’ 1969 edition. 66 Erren 2003 ad loc. suggests that this usage of viscera is Lucretian in the sense of DRN 2.905 (see note 62 above). 67 A third usage in the Georgics (4.559) refers to the impossibility of purifying with water or purging with flame the viscera of the animal cadavers infected with plague. Johnston 2016: 288-290 observes that this passage’s description of the physical effects of touching these infected hides echoes the injuries inflicted on Herakles in the Trachiniae when he handles the poisoned cloak given to him by Deianeira. 68 The viscera in this case are described as solida; Servius ad 6.253: viscera sunt quicquid inter ossa et cutem est…ergo per solida viscera holocaustum significant (“viscera are whatever is between bones and skin… therefore the phrase ‘through solid viscera’ indicates a whole burnt offering.”) 69 Viscera nudant (“they strip the viscera,” 1.211); viscera torrent (“they toast the viscera,” 5.103); solida imponit taurorum viscera flammis (“they place upon the flames the solid viscera of bulls,” 6.253); viscera tosta (“toasted viscera,” 8.180); viscera vivis eripiunt cumulantque oneratis lancibus aras (“they snatch the viscera from living beasts and pile up the altars with loaded spits,” 12.214-215).

24 wretched men,” 3.622).70 In the underworld of Book 6, the immortal vulture assigned as executor of Tityos’ eternal torment pecks out not just his iecur but also his fecunda…poenis | viscera

(“innards fertile for punishments,” 6.598-599). Book 8’s imagination of the Roman future inspired by Evander’s tour includes a vision of Mettus’ viscera ripped apart and scattered through the forest as punishment for his betrayal (8.644). A simile likening Mezentius’ attack on

Acron to a lion slaughtering its prey in Book 10 brings images of carnivorous feasting to the battlefield: haeret | visceribus super incumbens; lavit improba taeter | ora cruor (“Reclining above him he holds fast to his guts, foul blood bathes his wicked mouth,” 10.726-728).71 In fact, the only viscera in the Aeneid which remain unspilled are those belonging to Amata in Book 7.

They are far from intact, however, as the bitter madness brought upon her by Allecto at the behest of Juno snakes its way penitus…in viscera (“deep within her viscera,” 7.374).

In Vergil, then, viscera are closely associated with violence, much more so than in their primarily anatomical applications in Lucretius.72 While Lucretian viscera remain intact within the body, experiencing sensation in concert with the sinews and veins, Vergilian viscera are invoked when bodies experience violation—regardless of whether this violation is associated with shocking human slaughter or sanctioned religious ritual.73 In Vergil’s corpus, the organs of a living being only become visceral once they have been penetrated by an external force or

70 Ovid reworks the story of Achaemenides in Metamorphoses Book 14, with similar attention to viscera as a cannibalistic term—further discussion below in Chapter 2, pp. 73-73. 71 Aeneid 10.728, ora cruor, is one of the fifty or so metrically incomplete lines in the poem. Since line 729 resolves the simile (“thus did swift Mezentius rush against the thick enemy line,” sic ruit in densos alacer Mezentius hostis), it appears there was some additional detail yet to be written into this line. 72 It is telling that the word viscera does not appear at all in Vergil’s Bucolica, a text whose treatment of war is concerned less with its violence than with the resettlement and upheaval of pastoral tranquility entailed by its aftermath. See Coleman 1977: 30-32 and ad Buc. 1 and 9, McLoughlin 2011: 97-99, Weeda 2015: 54ff. 73 The violence inherent to Vergilian viscera is not necessarily horrific, since its application in sacrificial contexts refers to a form of physical severing that is perfectly pious. Human viscera in Vergil, however, do appear consistently in contexts meant to evoke horror. For viscera in Roman sacrifice, see Rüpke 2001: 145 and Scheid 2012.

25 displaced from their internal positions. The Vergilian model of viscera is therefore inherently violent in a way that Lucretian viscera are not, especially when applied to human bodies.

Metaphorical applications of viscera are infrequent in Vergil but noteworthy when they do occur. The formulation viscera montis (“viscera of the mountain,” as it appears at Aeneid

3.575) engages with an already existing tradition of the earth and its geological formations as personified (female) bodies.74 More politically salient is the entreaty of Anchises’ shade in Book

6 to the future sons of Rome who will live through an age of civil war: ne, pueri, ne tanta animis adsuescite bella | neu patriae validas in viscera vertite viris (“Do not, boys, do not grow accustomed in your minds to such great wars, do not turn your vigorous powers against the vital organs of your fatherland,” 6.832-833).75 To fully grasp the implications of viscera patriae as a charged formulation tying the word viscera to the most essential parts of a political body, we must turn to Ciceronian rhetoric.

Cicero most notably uses visceral metaphor to characterize the Catilinarian conspiracy as a physical threat to the survival of the republic: periculum autem residebit et erit inclusum penitus in venis atque in visceribus rei publicae (“The danger will settle and will exist, confined deep within the veins and vitals of the republic,” In Catilinam 1.31).76 By imagining the as a corporeal body vulnerable to wounds, the frames political threats as dangers to the state in the most immediate sense. This figurative application of the word merges the

Lucretian anatomical association between veins and viscera with the violent implications of

74 See Keith 2000: 36-64. 75 Yardley 1997, in a brief note on , identifies this line from the Aeneid as the fons ultima for the concept of “stabbing one’s own vitals.” Though Yardley aims to trace the image as it is twice applied in Justin to a country (Graecia omnis…velut in viscera sua arma convertit, 3.2.1; sic Macedonia…in sua viscera armatur, 13.6.17), no reference is made to the Ciceronian precedent discussed below. 76 Edition: Maslowski 2003. Cf. penitus in venis of Amata’s possession at Aeneid 7.374.

26 physical vulnerability.77 Representing more than mere seats of physical sensation, veins and viscera are invoked as the vital parts whose infection signals the corruption of a political body at the deepest level.78

In the conclusion to his first Philippic, meanwhile, as berates his opponent with evidence of the people’s unanimous negative opinion of him, he affirms the presence of faithful but absent citizens in the viscera of the Roman people: o beatos illos qui, cum adesse ipsis propter vim armorum non licebat, aderant tamen et in medullis populi Romani ac visceribus haerebant (“Oh happy are those men who, although it was not possible for them to be present because of force of arms, were present nevertheless and were clinging to the marrows and viscera of the Roman people,” Phil. 1.36).79 In this case, the viscera belong to the citizens of

Rome as a collective and represent the seat of the population’s emotional commitment, in parallel to medullis,80 to the survival of the republic. While the In Catilinam poses the republic’s viscera as vulnerable to danger from internal threat, the first Philippic submits Antony’s failure to infect the viscera of the Roman people as evidence of the republic’s strength. The viscera

Romani populi are thus invoked, according to the Ciceronian formulation, as confirmation of the people’s loyalty to defenders of the republic.

Cicero’s metaphorical applications of viscera in these tense political contexts imbue the word with specific ties to civil discord. Since the viscera of the state and of its people are

77 The same pairing appears in Epistulae ad Familiares 8.14 of the censor Appius who, according to Cicero, in attempting to treat his censorship as a brand of lomentum or nitrum, succeeds only in exposing his innermost parts: nam sordis eluere vult, venas sibi omnis et viscera aperit (“For he wishes to cleanse himself of dirt, he opens up his veins and viscera, 8.14.4.5). Edition: Shackleton Bailey 1988; and see Shackleton Bailey 1997 ad hoc. 78 Cicero later extends the metaphor to suggest that the body of the republic is subject to not just physical but also financial exploitation, when he frames monetary support of as money stolen ex rei publicae visceribus (“from the viscera of the republic,” In Pisonem 28.8; Nisbet 1961). 79 Edition: Fedeli 1982. 80 On marrow as seat of emotion, see Rosenmeyer 1999.

27 imagined as vulnerable to political threats from within, and the public rejection of state enemies is embodied in their exclusion from these viscera, it follows that figurative viscera can serve as a diagnostic tool for symptoms of civic disharmony. Cicero deploys the visceral metaphor in order to censure those who threaten or exploit the traditions and structures of the republic; appearances of viscera emphasize both the vulnerability of the state to internal threats and the vitality of the

Roman people as the essential organs of a political body. Vergil’s adaptation of this Ciceronian formulation, then, since the phrase viscera patriae appears in the mouth of Anchises as he warns against the threat of civil war at Rome (and simultaneously prophesies its arrival), demonstrates awareness of the metaphor’s existing rhetorical associations with civil discord. When read in light of Cicero’s visceral metaphors, then, Vergil’s use of viscera in Book 6 of the Aeneid is planted firmly in the context of a crumbling republic whose strength of arms has turned inward upon itself and its own most vital parts.

Four of the eight total appearances of viscera in the extant corpus of Livy imitate or adapt the viscera-of-the-state metaphor.81 In Book 22, the phrase viscera rei publicae appears in the mouth of the consul Varro as he addresses troops about to engage with Hannibal’s army: contiones…consulis Varronis multae ac feroces fuere, denuntiantis bellum arcessitum in Italiam ab nobilibus mansurumque in visceribus rei publicae… (“The orations of the consul Varro were numerous and fierce, as he declared that war had been summoned into Italy by the nobles and would endure in the vitals of the republic,” 22.38.6-7). Varro’s denunciation of the war, as reported by Livy, centers on an accusation that the conflict was brought against Italy

81 I follow the Teubner editions of Livy (Dorey 1971 and 1976, Briscoe 1991a and 1991b). Only two usages of viscera in Livy occur in direct reference to violence against the human body: viscera lanianda as Pontius criticizes Roman demands despite repeated concessions, suggesting that the Romans would only be happy once they had torn their enemies limb from limb at 9.1.9, and viscera patentia of the gruesome dismemberment of Philip’s cavalry in a skirmish between scouting troops at 31.34.4. The majority of the word’s appearances in Livy are figurative (and often explicitly signaled as such: velut, haud secus quam, tamquam); further discussion below.

28 by its own elite citizens (ab nobilibus). In invoking the viscera rei publicae to emphasize his claim that the war will linger on unless appropriate leaders are selected, Varro echoes that

Ciceronian metaphor which envisions the threat of war, and specifically conflict arising from within, as posing immediate harm to the vital functions of the state and its people. It is particularly significant that Livy deploys the phrase in this specific rhetorical moment, as a military leader accuses Roman citizens of bearing ultimate responsibility for a serious external threat to the republic’s viscera.82

Adaptations of the metaphor are interspersed throughout the remainder of the extant books of the AUC. The Achaean Aristaenus describes the Roman people as having endured the Punic War velut intra viscera Italiae (“as though within Italy’s viscera,” 32.21.18); legates reporting on the activities of Antiochus describe Nabis, the tyrannus of the

Lacedaemonians, as an ingens malum (“a great evil”) clinging in visceribus Graeciae (“to the viscera of Greece,” 33.44.8); the same Nabis is described in the following book as haerentem visceribus nobilissimae civitatis (“clinging to the viscera of the most honorable state,” 34.48.6).

In each of these instances, the viscera of the state are invoked in the context of violence or potential violence against that state. It appears, in Livy’s formulation as well as in Cicero’s, that the viscera of any given community are not a peacetime concern. This metaphorical usage represents a further departure from the Lucretian sense of the word, in which viscera act in

82 The relative chronology of Livy and Ovid is a difficult question, particularly considering the lengthy and overlapping time-spans of both authors’ careers and the still-active debates about the publication timeline of Livy’s numerous historiographical pentads. On dating Livy’s writings: Luce 1965, Burck 1992: 5, Burton 2000 (430 n.4 summarizes the vast bibliography on Livy’s starting date), Scheidel 2009. Though it is possible to identify with confidence the relative chronology of works on the farthest ends of each author’s timeline (Livy’s first pentad was certainly written before Ovid’s Fasti; see e.g. Newlands 1995: 146-174 for Ovid’s reception of Livy’s Lucretia), the chronology becomes far less clear for mid-career publications. For these reasons, in my investigation of trends in the usage of viscera, it would be unproductive to argue for direct influence of either author upon the other. Livy and Ovid are here treated as near-contemporaries who both engage with their clear chronological predecessors, Cicero and Vergil.

29 concert with other organs when the body is whole and functions properly. The state’s viscera are most likely to appear in rhetorical contexts not as the organs of a sound and efficient civic body but as vitals vulnerable to political or military threats.

It is worth noting that five of the eight appearances of viscera in Livy are spoken in rhetorical contexts by political and military leaders: Pontius (9.1.9), Varro (22.38.6), Scipio

(28.32.4), and Aristaenus (32.21.18, 32.21.28). A sixth instance is contained in the reported speech of legates (33.44.8); a seventh is a near-quotation of that speech, presented as the overriding sentiment of its audience (34.48.6). Scipio’s usage, though it does not employ the viscera-of-the-state metaphor, inches closer to the sentiment behind the Ovidian metonymy of viscera as violated children. In Book 28, Scipio suggests that the decision to execute the thirty instigators of the unsuccessful rebellion at Sulcro was akin to “cutting out his own viscera” (tum haud secus quam viscera secantem sua, 28.32.4). This imagined deflection of physical harm onto the body of the person responsible for it, justified by a close relationship between the parties— here a closeness existing by virtue of shared Roman blood, in Ovid one created by even closer familial ties—exemplifies the notion that the health of one’s vitals can be dependent, metaphorically, on the soundness of another’s body. This connection between viscera and violence done to bodies with whom the perpetrator of said violence is closely linked will become a vital piece of the Ovidian visceral jigsaw.83

83 Cf. Livy 32.21.27, where Aristaenus frames the threat of naval attack on the coastal communities of the Peloponnese as a danger to all its cities, even and especially the internal strongholds, by virtue of a visceral connection between them: si centum tectae naues et quinquaginta leuiores apertae et triginta Issaei lembi maritimam oram uastare, et expositas prope in ipsis litoribus urbes coeperint oppugnare, in mediterraneas scilicet nos urbes recipiemus, tamquam non intestino et haerente in ipsis uisceribus uramur bello? (“If one hundred covered ships and fifty light uncovered and thirty cutters from Issa began to lay waste to the coast and to attack cities exposed on their very shores, will we withdraw into the inland cities as though we are not burned by war clinging to our own viscera?”) The rhetorical strategy at play here echoes Scipio’s sentiment of several books earlier: Aristaenus links the safety of allied communities to the soundness of the Achaean people’s own vital organs.

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The works of Cicero, Vergil, and Livy demonstrate an intimate connection between the invocation of viscera and contexts of civil discord. But for each of these pre-Ovidian authors, as well as their early republican predecessors, the connotations of viscera never extend explicitly to either wombs or children; both of these definitions appear to originate with Ovid. These Ovidian metonyms bind together the thematics of fertility and reproduction with irrepressible violence.

The figures of the visceral womb and visceral child appear throughout the author’s corpus against a political backdrop of extensive legislative oversight of marriage and child-bearing at

Rome, and an insistent imperial claim to a that is emphatically post-civil-war.84 It is of particular significance, then, that Ovid deploys his metonymic usages of viscera in the contexts of intrafamilial violence and impending civil discord. That Ovid innovates reproductive contexts for a word that is already intimately tied to civil war, by virtue of its usages in rhetoric delivered during and about Rome’s most turbulent internal conflicts, will be an issue of central concern to this study of Ovidian viscera.

1.3 Latin designations for wombs and children

The following overview of the preferred terms and metaphors in Latin for wombs and children will emphasize the extent to which Ovid’s presentation of viscera as a stand-in for these concepts is a marked departure from traditional and contemporary usage. While Ovid is not the first to employ bodily metaphors for reproductive organs or for offspring, his particular brand of visceral imagery is predicated on violent connotations that are entirely absent from previous figures of speech that take wombs and children as their primary referents.

84 See Introduction, pp. 13-22.

31

Uterus is the vox propria for the womb, and the preferred term in Latin before Ovid.85 It is not the case that Ovid abandons the word entirely in favor of his new formulation. On the contrary, uterus appears twenty-six times within his corpus: six times in his early elegiac works, fifteen times in the Metamorphoses, four times in the Fasti, and once in his exile poetry.86 Other

Latin words in common usage for the womb included venter and alvus, though unlike uterus both of these terms were also applied with regularity to male bodies.87 In Ovid, these words appear most frequently in conjunction with terms for pregnancy and motherhood that make their application to a female body clear: gravidus/gravis (“heavy, burdened”), maternus (“maternal”), maturus (“ripe”), tumidus (“swollen”), pondera (“weights”), matris/genetricis (“of the mother”).88 The frequency of these pairings and the infrequency with which alvus and venter refer to the womb without any such modifiers suggest that the applications of both these words to the womb enact specialized female-bodied functions of terms that otherwise had the more general meaning “belly.” 89

While other terms do exist in Latin to refer to the womb, uterus, alvus, and venter are by far the most common in high-register poetry. The word vulva, which became a common term for

85 On uterus, see OLD s.v. 2; examples of this usage appear as early as fragmentary Republican drama (e.g. Turp. 179, Afran. 337). 86 Instances of uterus at Her. 4.58, 11.66, 16.43; Am. 2.13.19, 2.14.38; Ars 3.785; Met. 2.354, 2.463, 2.629, 3.269, 3.344, 6.192, 8.133, 8.490, 9.280, 9.287, 9.315, 10.470, 10.481, 10.495, 14.67; Fast. 1.33, 2.171, 2.430, 2.452; Trist. 4.713. 87 See Adams 1982: 100-109 for a detailed catalogue of Latin designations for the womb. According to Adams, the earliest definition of uterus may have been more generally “belly,” but “whereas alvus and venter continued to have a wide range of uses, uterus from an early date showed a strong tendency to be specialised” (100). Ovid uses venter for the womb seven times and alvus five times (see n.88). 88 Gravidus/gravis venter (Her. 16.44, Am. 2.13.1, Met. 9.685, 10.505), gravida in alvo (Her. 6.61, Am. 2.14.17), materna in alvo (Met. 7.125), maturus venter (Met. 11.311), tumidus venter (Fast. 3.42), pondera ventris (Her. 11.39), matris alvo (Met. 1.420, 15.217, 219), genetricis ab alvo (Met. 3.310). 89 For venter and alvus cf. Greek γαστήρ and νηδύς (as per Adams 1982: 100). For specialized appearances of venter for womb see e.g. Livy 1.34.3, Quintilian Decl. 277, 11.61.8, Theb. 4.564, 6.596. Instances of alvus as womb at Cicero Clu. 34, Lucretius 3.346, Horace Carm. 4.6.20.

32 the womb in medical and especially gynecological texts of the early Empire,90 appears also in some and epigram but never in Ovid.91 Indeed, Adams suggests that while vulva “came into rivalry with uterus as the specialized word for the womb in the early Empire,” there remained “stylistic distinction” between the two, such that vulva never appeared in formal prose or the upper poetic registers.92 The term matrix appears at some point to have extended its original meaning, “breeding animal,”93 to make reference to the human womb, but like vulva its usages were limited to genres where colloquial speech was acceptable, and to medical texts as a technical term.94

It is significant that in Adams’ detailed and lengthy discussion of Latin vocabulary for the womb, the word viscera is omitted entirely. The abundance of attestations available for vocabulary like uterus, venter, alvus, vulva, and matrix allows Adams to document carefully and pinpoint with precision the origins and evolving meanings of these terms in both colloquial and high-register usage. That meaningful supply of textual evidence simply does not exist for viscera as a womb-designation. It is therefore a highly marked choice for Ovid to use for the womb a word that has no clear historical-linguistic relationship to that body part.

The scarcity of medical texts written in Latin during the republican period and early

Empire makes it difficult to trace the pre-Ovidian technical medical senses of viscera with confidence. Celsus treats viscera as a collection of specific organs, distinct from the body frame and the intestines. The organization of De Medicina Book 4 (on the arrangement of human

90 For both Scribonius Largus and Celsus vulva outnumbers uterus by a considerable margin (statistics at Adams 1982: 101-102). Other instances of vulva for womb in scientific writing at e.g. Seneca Nat. 3.25.11, Pliny Nat. 23.152. prefers uterus to vulva (Adams 1982: 104). 91 See e.g. Martial 11.61.11; Juvenal 2.32. 92 Adams 1982: 101-102. 93 OLD s.v. 1 identifies examples for animal species both mammalian (cow, ewe, sow) and oviparous (chicken). 94 Adams 1982: 105-106. Columella makes ample use of matrix (e.g. 7.3.12, 7.9.10, 8.2.6).

33 anatomy and the particular diseases which inflict each body part) makes his demarcation of viscera as a category exceptionally clear. As he transitions into (a compagine corporis transeundum est, 4.14) and out of (a visceribus ad intestina veniendum est, 4.18) discussion of visceral organs, the overarching category of viscera is clarified to include those organs discussed in between: the lungs (pulmones, 4.14), liver (iocinor, 4.15), spleen (lienis, 4.16), and kidneys

(renes, 4.17). In connection with the Ovidian visceral metonymies—keeping in mind that Ovid

(b. 43 B.C.E.) and Celsus (b. 25 B.C.E.) were near-contemporaries—it is worth noting both that

Celsus treats the uterus as spatially distinct from the viscera (4.1.4), and that he identifies the viscera as an acutely vulnerable region of the body: gravioribus periculis is locus expositus est

(“that place is exposed to very serious dangers,” 8.9.1).95

Other discussions in Latin of medical processes involving the womb appear in sources like , who engages on a superficial level with technical medical language but does not himself claim specific authority as a medical writer.96 Even so, in contexts where one might expect visceral vocabulary (i.e., physical violation of the womb), Pliny sticks to the vox propria: in addressing the situation of infants born via incision rather than vaginal birth, for example, he selects the neutral uterus for the vivisected womb: caeso uteri matris (7.7.1).97

Like venter and alvus, viscera designates in its most technical sense an area of the body that is in close proximity to the womb. But rather than producing a refinement of meaning (the

95 A search for viscera in Scribonius Largus’ Compositiones, meanwhile, turns up empty—this is perhaps unsurprising, since Scribonius concerns himself with pharmacology rather than anatomy. Still, Celsus often makes reference to dolor viscerum (e.g. 2.7.11, 2.15.2) as a symptom to be treated by his medical recipes, so the complete absence of viscera in Scribonius is worth noting. 96 Pliny lists Celsus among the sources on whom he depends for his information, though he classifies him as auctor rather than medicus; see Spivack 1991: 145 n.8 for citations, and the same article more generally for opinions ancient and modern on Celsus’ legitimacy as a medical authority. 97 Edition: Einaudi 1983. Pliny himself resorts to visceral language in the same book only once to describe cannibalism, in his ethnographic description of different races of men: a “taste for human flesh” is mos vescendi humanis visceribus (7.2.18). The word viscera appears only when men become meat.

34 alvus is the belly; the materna alvus is the womb), Ovid’s visceral womb enacts an abrupt displacement: the viscera are the vital organs, while the viscera-as-womb are vital organs under immediate or inevitable conditions of violation.

1.4 Greek precedents: σπλάγχνα

The Ovidian moment in which the word viscera is applied to the womb for the first time, in addition to being rooted in the rhetorical and poetic precedents discussed above, is likely also connected to other bodily metaphors for reproductive organs and their issue. The closest parallel to Ovid’s visceral womb comes, in fact, from Greek literature, though this usage is infrequent.

The word σπλάγχνον, like viscera, appears primarily in the plural and refers to the inward parts of the body or the edible entrails of sacrificial animals.98 It appears so rarely to connote female reproductive organs that such usages feel particularly marked.

Pindar, for example, employs the word σπλάγχνον only twice in his corpus with unmistakable reference to a pregnant womb. In Olympian 6, the infant Iamos is born from the

σπλάγχνα of Evadne; that σπλάγχνα stands in for the womb is evident from its pairing with birth pangs (ὑπὸ σπλάγχνων ὑπ᾽ὠδῖνός τ᾽, 43).99 The same phrase appears in Nemean 1 of Herakles’ birth from Alcmene (σπλάγχνων ὕπο µατέρος, 35).100 While the metonymy is unmistakable in both cases, Nemean 1’s additional modifier µατέρος (cf. alvus matris) further clarifies the

98 LSJ s.v. I.1-2. 99 Wilamowitz 1922, disliking the repetition of ὑπό with two genitives joined by a copula, emends to ὑπ᾽ὠδίνεσσ᾽ ἐραταῖς (308, n.1); cf. Gentili et al. 2013 ad loc. The pairing ὠδῖνός...ἐρατᾶς has captured more scholarly attention than σπλάγχνα here: Gildersleeve 1885: 176 suggests that the phrase is oxymoronic, like “sweet sorrow”; Farnell 1965 calls it “a strange phrase, but possible, and too striking to be tampered with” (44). Though the strangeness of that second phrase might suggest that this application of σπλάγχνα is also unusual in some way, commentators are silent on the matter. 100 Bury 1890: 19 oddly suggests “from beneath the heart” for σπλάγχνων ὕπο, though he goes on to discuss the line in the context of delivery from the womb. Carey 1981 ad loc. points to Pythian 9.63 (ἀνελὼν φίλας ὑπὸ µατέρος) as similarly vivid. Braswell 1992 ad N. 1.35 suggests that ὕπο is the appropriate preposition for childbirth performed in a kneeling or seated position.

35 association between entrails and the birthing womb. At this point, there is no clear association between σπλάγχνα as womb and the contexts of violence that trigger the visceral wombs of

Ovid.

In Sophocles’ Antigone, σπλάγχνα appears to stand instead for the male generative organs, as Tiresias informs Creon that his son—“one sprung from your own loins,” τῶν σῶν

αὐτὸς ἐκ σπλάγχνων ἕνα—will soon die (1066).101 Responsibility for Haemon’s death can be traced to his father’s treatment of Antigone; indeed, the play ends with Creon’s exclamation that his son’s death was the fault of his own poor decisions, and not Haemon’s (ἀπελύθης ἐµαῖς οὐδὲ

σαῖσι δυσβουλίαις, 1268-1269). The visceral image from line 1066, then, which frames the relationship between Creon and the soon-to-die Haemon as one of generative entrails, seems to prefigure the Ovidian triangulation of viscera, violence, and reproduction. Since Ovid’s visceral language gravitates toward generation from the female body rather than the male,102 the characteristic Ovidian womb-metonymy can be understood as combining the sense of σπλάγχνα as womb (as it appears in ) with the violent context that justifies its appearance in Tiresias’ warning.

Also relevant is the Greek adjective ὁµόσπλαγχνος, a poetic term roughly equivalent in meaning to ὁµογάστριος. Like venter and alvus, γαστήρ was a common term for the womb by virtue of anatomical proximity; those who were ὁµογάστριοι were thus blood-kin, born of the

101 Edition: Griffith 1999, who calls this connection between male generation and entrails “novel and striking” (306); cf. Jebb 1906: 189-190. Müller 1967 translates “von deinem Fleisch und Blut” (231); Belloni 2014, “un morte delle tue viscere” (161). This particular example provides a strong model for a sexual-anatomical interpretation of Maecenas’ viscera apud Suet. Vit. Hor., as discussed above (p.32). 102 Or at least from a womb-like structure rather than a phallus (cf. Ovid’s treatment of the male belly-as-womb for fathers like Tereus and Saturn who consume their children, discussed below in Chapter 2, pp. 72-75, and in Chapter 3, pp. 86-89).

36 same belly.103 The word ὁµόσπλαγχνος, though rare, operates in the same way, evidently through an understood spatial association between σπλάγχνα and the womb. In Aeschylus’ Seven Against

Thebes, as the chorus laments the deaths of Eteocles and Polyneices at each other’s hands, the two brothers are described as “pierced through sides that shared a womb” (τετυµµένοι...

ὁµοσπλάγχνων τε πλευρωµάτων, 889-890).104 The heroine of Sophocles’ Antigone uses the same adjective in her declaration that “there is no shame in honoring one’s siblings [or more literally: entrail-mates]” (οὐδὲν γὰρ αἰσχρὸν τοὺς ὁµοσπλάγχνους σέβειν, 511). The appearance of this compound form of σπλάγχνα in association with the Theban saga, especially in moments that reflect on the violent fraternal relationship between Eteocles and Polyneices, embodies another significant precursor to Ovid’s play with viscera: shared wombs become visceral in the context of fratricide and its aftermath.

An instance of σπλάγχνα as womb appearing in a 1st-2nd century C.E. inscription on a cippus presents evidence that the figure of speech in its Greek form may have circulated in Rome proper.105 The funerary verse inscription in iambic trimeter106 commemorates a stillborn infant:

Ῥουφῖνα Κέλερος ἐξ Ἀριστεί | νης τε ἔφυν, | ζωὴ δὲ πλείων µητρὸς ἐν | σπλάγχνοις ἐµή, | ὠδεῖνα λύπης δ᾽ ἡ τεκοῦσ᾽ ἠλλάξατο. | πρώτην ὁδὸν δὲ στέλλο | µαι πρὸς Ἀίδαν, | κλῆρον δὲ µητρὸς τῶιδε | κληρουχῶ τάφωι, | στήληι δὲ φωνῶ ἀντ᾽ἀ<φ>ωνί | ας βίου. 107

103 LSJ s.v. 104 According to Müller 1967: 126, the word is the product of “aischyleische Neubildung” resulting from the author’s desire for an iambic equivalent to ὁµογάστριος. Hutchinson 1985: 194 calls its usage here a “graphic epithet.” 105 The cippus itself does not survive, but a line drawing from the late 19th century preserves the lettering and spacing of the original. 106 With the exception of the first line which, as is not unusual practice for verse inscriptions, breaks metrical convention to allow for unmetrical names. See Kassel 1975 and Petrovic 2016: 365-367.

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I was born Rufina, child of Celer and Aristeina, but my entire existence was in the entrails of my mother, and when she gave birth she exchanged birth pangs for suffering. I set out on my first journey to the house of Hades, and I share with this tomb the lot of my mother, and I speak with this stele…of life.

The speaking voice of the poem belongs to an infant who did not survive birth, and as the poem continues it becomes evident that neither did her mother (5). Context suggests, then, that σπλάγχνα appears for the womb under the circumstances when the process of birth has been interrupted by death. While this association of the σπλάγχνα-womb with death, which uses the imagery of entrails to tie reproduction together with destruction rather than generation, may have its roots in Aeschylus and Sophocles, this formulation might also have been influenced by the play with wombs and viscera in the Ovidian corpus.108

Though Greek literary sources do entertain a connection between entrails and the fertile womb, medical texts in the same language show no interest in the metaphor. This fact is of particular importance, since the most influential medical texts circulating at Rome were written in

Greek.109 Even Soranus’ Gynaikeia, our most detailed source on women’s medicine that covers

107 IGUR III 1322 = GVI 1024 = IG XIV 1977. Printed here is Kaibel’s edition. The reading of line 6 is contested: ΦΩΝΩ --- | AC Guattani; ΦΩΝΩΑΝΤΑΓΩΝΙ | ΑC Akerblad; [τὰς ἀφωνί]ας Kaibel; ἀντ᾽ἀ<φ>ωνίας Wilhelm. 108 Our lack of a secure date for the inscription, however, makes argument for Ovidian influence tenuous at best. Most publications choose to leave the inscription undated. Peek’s Griechische Vers-Inschriften (1955) suggests the 1st-2nd century C.E. (288), though the inscription’s provenance in the private collection of an Italian estate makes its original context especially difficult to trace. 109 Among them Soranus’ Gynaikeia and ’s numerous medical treatises, both penned around the early-mid 2nd century C.E. and heavily influenced by earlier Greek medical theory from the Hippocratic corpus.

38 fertility, pregnancy, and childbirth, demonstrates no visceral treatment of the womb. The ubiquitous medical theory of the wandering womb, in which the uterus is imagined to experience a violent displacement within the body as a result of imbalanced humors from lack of sexual intercourse, refrains from engaging with the visceral lexicon. Medical writers tend to quote on this subject, for whom the womb is µήτρα (matrix) or ὑστέρα (uterus) even as it wanders “like an animal, desirous of child-making, all throughout the body” (ζῷον ἐπιθυµητικὸν ἐνὸν τῆς παιδοποιίας...

πλανώµενον πάντῃ κατὰ τὸ σῶµα, Timaeus 91c).110

Despite the metaphor’s absence from Greek medical writing in Rome, it is evident, at least, that the womb had been conceptualized in visceral terms in Greek poetry and drama by the time of Pindar and Aeschylus, for there was a natural enough connection between σπλάγχνα and the womb that the newly-invented adjective ὁµόσπλαγχνος was sensible to an Athenian audience. In Athenian tragedy, σπλάγχνα as a reproductive term was closely associated with violent outcomes, and by the time of Sophocles could stand in for male generative organs as well as female. Since the tragic dimensions of Ovid’s mythmaking suggest close reading of Greek dramatists like Aeschylus and Sophocles,111 and some allusions to Pindar within his corpus recommend his familiarity with the epinician master,112 it is very likely that Ovid encountered this Greek usage of σπλάγχνα for the womb, and that it factored in the development of the

Ovidian parallel in Latin.

110 Edition: Burnet 1902. On ancient and modern interpretations of this passage: Krell 1975, Dean-Jones 1991, Adair 1996, King 1998. 111 For Ovid’s reception of Aeschylus, Sophocles, and other Greek tragedians, see Hardie 1990, Gildenhard and Zissos 2000, Keith 2002, Janan 2009, Curley 2013. 112 See e.g. Hardie 2002: 295-296 on Ovid’s play with Pindar via Horace Odes 4.2 in Tristia 3.4a. Studies of epinician content in Augustan poetry most often focus on Callimachean precedent, but convincing arguments have been made for specifically Pindaric allusion in Vergil (Wilkinson 1969, Instone 1996: 24, Balot 1998) and Horace (Highbarger 1935, Wilkinson 1970, Harrison 1990); not to mention that Callimachus himself was influenced by Pindar (Parsons 1977, Newman 1986, Fuhrer 1988).

39

The evidence for children as entrails in Greek literature, being far more sparse, leaves open the possibility that visceral children are a distinctly Ovidian invention. Our only extant example of the word σπλάγχνα standing in for children survives in the firmly post-Ovidian author Artemidorus. According to the Oneirocritica, a second-century C.E. work on dream interpretations, a dream of one’s own dissection, in which one sees his own insides in the proper arrangement, is symbolic of children. To support this point, Artemidorus adds that “children are called σπλάγχνα, that is, entrails” (οἱ παῖδες σπλάγχνα λέγονται ὡς ἐντόσθια, 1.44).113 It is unclear to what sources this generalizing λέγονται refers.114 It may be the case that the metaphor was common folk-knowledge or widespread in oral communication. As it stands, textual evidence for the internal organs as a metonym for children in Greek is limited to this single source.

1.5 Figurative children

This is not to say that Ovid plucked the image of visceral children from thin air, for the pre-Ovidian literary tradition was already rich with other bodily metaphors for offspring. The

Roman preoccupation with lineage and kinship is reflected in a great wealth of designations in

Latin for children and offspring.115 In addition to voces propriae like filius/a, liber, natus/a,

113 On this passage, Malosse 2014: 148-149; Harris-McCoy 2012: 445, “A[rtemidorus] conducts a sort of metaphorical dissection of the body. He regards the internal organs as possessing a natural order and therefore as interpretable insofar as it can adhere to or deviate from this order.” Artemidorus goes on in 1.44 to explain that a similar dream of dissection, but one in which the dreamer’s internal organs are missing entirely, is an of bad fortune for that man’s children. 114 Kasprzyk 2010 discusses Artemidorus’ dependence on gnomic wisdom rather than literary expertise; cf. Vinagre 2014 for a case study in Artemidorus’ relationship to a specific literary precedent. 115 On the importance of blood to kinship ties in Rome, specifically the concept of consanguinitas and its significance to both extended family groups and direct lines of descent, see Guastella 1985 and Harders 2013. On the nature of blood in ancient medical theory and its relation to reproduction, see Gourevitch 1993. On gendered medicine and Roman medical approaches to the female body, Flemming 2000.

40 nepos, proles, suboles, and progenies,116 Latin makes copious use of metaphor to describe progeny and future generations (e.g. pignus, stirps, saecula, spes).117 Most relevant to my purposes are two metaphors based on the fluids of the corporeal body: sanguis and semen. The connection between essential, life-giving products of the body (blood and semen) and lines of descent, and in particular the genetic ties between parents and children, builds a significant foundation for the development of the Ovidian viscera-as-child metaphor.

Sanguis is a common metonym for all blood-relations which often applies in a narrower sense to children and descendants. 118 It appears for a parent as early as (o pater o genitor o sanguen dis oriundum; “Oh father, oh begetter, o blood arisen from the gods,” Ann. 108

Skutsch), and is picked up by both Vergil and Horace.119 Sanguis is used of children also in republican prose. In De Finibus, for example, Cicero’s interlocutor Torquatus frames the violence of his ancestors against their own children as a form of cruelty in liberos atque in sanguinem suum (“against children and their own blood,” 1.34). Torquatus refers here to two cases, already cited by Cicero, of fathers who harshly punished their own children: the original

Torquatus who beheaded his son (1.23), and the Torquatus who banished his son for accepting bribes (1.24). It is evident that sanguis, treated here as parallel to liberi and invoked as

116 The differences between these terms are too complex to enumerate here; Wiedemann 1989: 32-34 offers a concise summary of differences. Filius and filia are the primary kinship terms from which more complex terms were formed via compound; see Bush 1971: 413ff. 117 Pignus OLD s.v. 4: “(applied to children as the guarantee of the reality of a marriage).” Stirps: OLD s.v. 5: “a person’s offspring or posterity (collectively or of unspecified number)…b. (w. ref. to an individual child or descendant).” Saecula OLD s.v. 8: “(pl) Future ages, posterity,” and note also in the singular its primary meaning s.v. 1 “the body of individuals born at a particular time, generation.” Spes: OLD s.v. 5b: “[a person or thing in which one’s hopes are centred] applied to offspring as the embodiment of one’s hopes for the future.” 118 OLD s.v. 10: “A person or persons standing in blood-relationship, (usu.) offspring, progeny.” Cf. s.v. 8: “Blood regarded as running through a family, race, etc., and expressing relationship, parentage, or descent.” 119 Aeneid 6.835: proice tela manu, sanguis meus (“cast the weapons from your hand, my blood,” in this sense applying more broadly to all descendants; note the proximity here to neu patria validas in viscera vertite vires (6.833), as discussed above, pp. 35-37). Horace Carm. 2.20.6: non ego pauperum sanguis parentum (“I am not the blood of impoverished parents.”)

41 corporeal metonym for offspring, can serve as a rhetorically charged metaphor in contexts of intrafamilial violence, since it invokes the possessive (suus) relationship between parent and child that is grounded in shared genetic material. To characterize a child as his parent’s sanguis renders episodes of violence or betrayal all the more dreadful and darkly significant, a pattern that Ovid will adapt via his visceral children to emphasize the shock of domestic violence.

Semen, too—generative seed, and more precisely (in human or animal terms, as opposed to vegetation) the bodily fluid responsible for generation—can appear as a stand-in for offspring.120 Vergil’s Georgics describe lion cubs as saeva leonum | semina (“the savage seeds of lions,” 2.151-152). Manilius’ Astronomicon, in its discussion of conflicts between signs, uses semina to suggest that Cancers will attack the children of Capricorns: in Cancro genitos

Capricorni semina laedunt (“children of Capricorn harm those born under the sign of Cancer,”

2.547). Seneca’s Hercules Furens presents Hercules in his madness describing his own children as the “the progeny of an enemy king, the unspeakable seed of Lycus” (proles regis inimici... |

Lyci nefandum semen, 987-988).121 Ciceronian usage of semen for family extends even beyond immediate offspring to encompass the entire Roman bloodline, as his assertion in his fourth

Philippic demonstrates: virtus...quae propria est Romani generis et seminis (“manly character, which is the particular possession of the Roman race and seed,” 4.13).122 Latin semen often stands in for one’s direct descendants or for an entire race (genus) of people who are imagined to share qualities and characteristics determined by genetic connectivity. Thus semen, like sanguis, representing the biological kinship between parent and child, or ancestor and descendant, can

120 OLD s.v. 4b “[semen, sperm] applied more loosely to any pre-natal stages of living creatures” and 5b “offspring, seed; a race, breed.” 121 Edition: Fitch 1987. 122 But note that Fedeli 1982 reads nominis for seminis.

42 serve as a natural metonym for offspring. In common Latin metaphor, then, children can be designated by their parents’ or ancestors’ blood and seed—but never until Ovid, at least according to our written records, as their viscera.123

1.6 Ovid’s new metaphors

While a number of Ovidian commentators have remarked on individual metonymic usages of viscera,124 observing that it appears in “charged contexts” or “for shock effect,”125 a systematic reading of its appearances throughout the corpus has not yet been undertaken.126 I argue in the following chapters that as Ovid explores the bloodiest myths of violence between parents and children, the term viscera acquires a new elasticity. Ovid employs the term frequently in the context of parent-child relationships, such that it applies broadly to reproduction in all of its stages, even far beyond conception, pregnancy, and birth. The potential for both womb and child to become viscera in Ovid is a condition of mortality activated by procreation, since the physical separation of parent and child through birth does not sever their symbiotic bodily connection. Both mother and father are made vulnerable by the production of offspring

123 For viscera as child, Bömer 1976a argues that the image “scheint erst bei Ovid vorzukommen” (173). Bömer dismisses as unfounded claims that Ovid derived the image from rhetoric or common vernacular; the evidence presented above might suggest that Bömer has overlooked relevant extensions of the word’s meaning that exist in rhetoric. In any case, Ovid appears to be the first Latin poet to use the phrase specifically as a stand-in for wombs and children. So, for Bömer: “Aus dieser bildlichen Verwendung von viscera gestaltet Ovid ein nicht gerade geschmackvolles, aber originelles, sehr plastisches und, da er es mehrfach wiederholt, nach seiner Auffassung sicher auch witziges Bild…” (173). 124 Commentators are, of course, limited by the nature of their genre. Most observe the unusual usage in passing and point to similar occurrences without further exploration. Take Knox 1995 ad. Heroides 11.89-90 as illustrative of the conventional approach: “This is a highly emotional way of referring to the product of Canace’s womb, used by O. in other similarly charged contexts, such as…” Naturally, Knox 1995 ad Heroides 11.118 reads simply, “90n.” 125 Knox 1995: 272 and Fantham 1998: 132, respectively. 126 Jacobson 1974 comes the closest to a thematic reading of Ovid’s usages of viscera, though his remarks are fairly cryptic and appear only in a footnote. In response to Palmer 1898 “casually cit[ing] a series of instances” where viscera means son or daughter, Jacobson suggests that Palmer “misses the essential character of this usage.” After pointing out that each of Palmer’s citations refers to a parent killing or sleeping with their child, Jacobson suggests only briefly that “the use of viscera, ‘ones own flesh and blood,’ is deliberately and cogently pointed” (171, n.36).

43 who might someday die; when children are in danger, their parents verbally displace violence against their children’s bodies onto themselves.

Through exploration of the varied valences of viscera as it appears in Ovid, I propose in the following chapters a more nuanced interpretation of the word’s significance within the Latin lexicon.127 The unprecedented semantic stretch from the primary connotations of viscera demonstrated above (butchered animal meat; anatomical organs; sacrificial entrails; spilled and/or consumed human vitals) into reproductive metonymies (wombs and children) encourages a closer examination of its usage throughout the Ovidian corpus. Ovid’s innovative treatment of viscera evidently takes as its springboards the Greek association between σπλάγχνα and the fertile womb, the word’s established rhetorical associations with violence and civil discord, and existing bodily metaphors in Latin for offspring and procreation. Though it seems a natural progression that Ovid’s new visceral metonymies are linked to instances of violence between family members and often act as unmistakable harbingers of civil war, the fact that his chosen referents are specifically reproductive in nature—for which there is precedent in Greek, but never yet in Latin—produces the potential for these metonymies to destabilize the pro-fertility, post-civil-war narrative of the nascent empire.

127 At the very least, the word merits some treatment in discussions of Latin terms for female anatomy. Adams (1982) treats viscera only briefly as “a vague term for the internal organs…applicable to the female internal pudenda” (95), despite his ten-page examination of vocabulary for the womb (100-109).

Chapter 2 Visceral Reproduction and Domestic Violence

2 Wombs and children in Ovid are never visceral without cause. It is the violation not just of physical boundaries but of familial bonds that prompts a word from the blood-and-guts lexicon to designate the uterus or the child; violence between immediate family members—the absolute taboos of patricide, matricide, fratricide, and filicide—consistently triggers the appearance of the poet’s new visceral metaphors. The semantic stretch through which viscera become a comprehensible vehicle for reproductive bodies, appearing precisely under conditions of intrafamilial bloodshed, yields a fundamental correlation between reproduction and domestic discord.

Although it is impossible to identify with certainty the first instance of any given metaphor within the Latin language—not only because the body of literary evidence is so fragmentary, but also because usages of everyday, oral communication are inaccessible to us128—we can examine the initial appearances of viscera as stand-in for womb and child in the

Ovidian corpus.129 The Heroides are among the earliest of Ovid’s surviving works to have circulated in the elite circles of Roman poets and patrons.130 In the eleventh epistle of this elegiac

128 See relevant discussion in Rosenmeyer 1999: 27ff, and Dickey and Chahoud 2010 passim for methods of access to colloquial and oral speech patterns (which, as Dickey emphasizes in the introduction, are not necessarily one and the same). 129 I use the following standard editions for Ovid: for the Heroides, Bornecque 1991; for the Amores, , and , Kenney 1994; for the Metamorphoses, Tarrant 2004; for the Fasti, Bömer 1957; and for the exile poetry, Owen 1915. 130 The relative chronology of Ovid’s early works is a difficult question, especially given that the extant Amores are (as Ovid claims) an edited version of an original five-book collection. Whatever the timeline of his amatory editions, it is likely that Ovid was circulating his experiments with mythical heroines in the epistolary mode even in the earliest phase of his career; for the date and context of the single Heroides, see Thorsen 2014: 9-38. On the readership of the Heroides (internal, external, implied): Kennedy 2002. 44 45 collection,131 in which Ovid imagines Canace’s desperate farewell to her lover and brother

Macareus,132 the visceral womb and visceral child appear in memorable combination.

In Heroides 11, the siblings’ affair is explicitly marked from Canace’s perspective as transgressive, both for the violation of familial boundaries (cur umquam plus me, frater, quam frater amasti, | et tibi, non debet quod soror esse, fui; “Why did you ever love me, brother, more than a brother should, and why was I to you what a sister ought not to be?” 25-26) and for the conception of an illegitimate child (tumescebant vitiati pondera ventris; “the weight of my violated belly was swelling,” 39). This pregnancy, conceived outside the bounds of marriage and within the confines of blood kinship, renders Canace’s womb a venter vitiatus—spoiled, corrupted, deflowered.133 As Canace and her nurse attempt to conceal the affair by removing that secret burden (furtivum onus, 40),134 Ovid reaches for visceral imagery to represent the womb:

quas mihi non herbas, quae non medicamina nutrix

attulit audaci supposuitque manu,

ut penitus nostris (hoc te celavimus unum)

visceribus crescens excuteretur onus.

Her. 11.41-44

131 Ovidian authorship is generally accepted for the eleventh epistle, but the authenticity of other letters is under suspicion. For approaches to refuting (or supporting) the legitimacy of particular entries in the collection, see Knox 1986, Hinds 1993, Knox 1995: 5-14, Kenney 1996: 20-26, Courtney 1998. 132 Jacobson 1974: 174ff and Reeson 2001: 38ff detail Ovid’s sources for this myth, the most important being Euripides’ Aeolus, whose contents survive only in a few fragments (Kannicht 2004, fr. 13a-41) and an incomplete hypothesis (P. Oxy. 2457). On the Euripidean fragments and Ovid’s Canace, see Verducci 1985: 198-204. 133 OLD s.v. 1-3. On the possibility that vitiatus carries suppressed connotations of sexual violence (a theme made explicit in variations of the same myth), Reeson 2001: 59-60; cf. Knox 1995: 263, for whom Ovid “pointedly rejects the version of the myth in which Macareus forces himself upon his sister.” 134 There is precedent for furtivum to refer to the product of illicit love affairs (see e.g. Aeneid 7.660). The word also evokes the elegiac furta (e.g. Cat. 68.136, 140, Verg. Georg. 4.346, Prop. 2.30.28), which denote unsanctioned affairs and signal the violation of patriarchal rights implicit in Macareus’ actions: it is Aeolus’ right to select a husband for his daughter and oversee the production of legitimate heirs.

46

What herbs, what medications did my nurse not bring to me and insert with bold hand, so

that from deep within my viscera—this alone I concealed from you—the growing burden

might be shaken out.

That the abortion is conducted in secret (hoc te celavimus unum, 43)135 and boldly (audaci manu,

42) belies a general apprehension of the procedure, though it is unclear whether Canace’s uneasiness stems from the danger to her health or from qualms about moral transgression.136 Her dilemma lies in a problematic grey area, where her social class encourages reproduction but her unmarried status (and, to some extent, the identity of the child’s father)137 does not.138 Whatever ideological systems inform Canace’s judgment of herself and, in turn, the audience’s judgment of Canace, this is a pivotal moment for Ovid’s new metonymy: Canace’s womb is rendered visceral only once she poses a threat to the child growing within it.

The women attempt to terminate the pregnancy with abortifacient substances (herbae and medicamina, 41). The verb supposuit (42), given the kinetic bearing of its prefix, suggests the insertion of a pessary.139 They attempt these treatments with the express intention that the fetus be “shaken out” (excuteretur, 44), where its egress from Canace’s womb is imagined as

135 Verducci 1985: 214 suggests that hoc te celavimus unum is a signpost that this particular plot point (the abortion) is Ovid’s own innovation. See Knox 1995 ad 11.41; cf. Reeson 2001 ad 41. 136 For the politics of abortion in Rome, see pp. 61-67 below under “Visceral Abortions.” 137 Reeson 2001: 49 emphasizes that “incest is of little concern to the protagonists” (contra Verducci 1985: 190- 197). For Reeson, Aeolus’ rage is inspired primarily (and perhaps only, if he remains unaware of the identity of the child’s father) by the damage to his daughter’s honor. Other accounts in which Aeolus freely orchestrates marriages between his daughters and sons (not least Odyssey 10.5-7) suggest that sibling incest did not traditionally disturb him. 138 Of course, this is a mythical story and Canace is the daughter of a divinity. While there is no exact parallel for her social station in Ovid’s Rome, there is plenty of contemporary evidence (literary, epigraphic, iconographic) where the gods are treated as social comparanda to the princeps and his heirs; see e.g. Koortbojian 2013. At the very least, we can reasonably presume from Aeolus’ violent displeasure that Canace is not to be associated with the class of women for whom extramarital sex is acceptable. 139 OLD s.v suppono 2b; Reeson 2001 ad 42. For methods of abortion in antiquity, see n.162.

47 occurring “from deep within [her] viscera” (41-42).140 The representation of the child’s improbable survival then emphasizes the violence of the attempted abortion: a, nimium vivax admotis restitit infans | artibus et tecto tutus ab hoste fuit (“Ah, too much alive, the infant withstood the stratagems applied to it and was safe from its hidden enemy,” 45-46). Moreover, the concentration of martial imagery in these lines (admotis, restitit, hoste) frames the unborn child as the victim of an enemy attack.141 That the child has managed to achieve safety (tutus fuit, 46) implies the presence of a genuine threat; that this threat is signified by hostis, a word with weighty political implications,142 stresses the gravity of the conflict between parent and child. It is as though the attempted violence—the severing of the connection between mother and fetus, a form of proto-filicide where the unborn child dies with the consent of its mother— activates the visceral potential of Canace’s womb.

Because the abortion is unsuccessful, Canace must conceal the remainder of her pregnancy, the difficult birth, and the newborn itself. Though Macareus has offered to marry her and so render her motherhood legitimate (illius, de quo mater, et uxor eris; “you will be the wife of that man who made you a mother,” 64),143 Canace still understands that the child, as evidence of her crime of extramarital sex, must be hidden from their father (crimina sunt oculis subripienda patris; “our must be snatched away from our father’s view,” 68). Aeolus’

140 Ovid sometimes uses visceribus in a locative sense without a preposition in the context of pregnancy: Met. 7.128, 15.219, Fast. 1.624. It would be unusual, however, to pair crescens as an active participle with visceribus in a locative sense, so it is more likely here that visceribus is ablative of separation with the verb prefix ex-. 141 As noted by Reeson 2001 ad 43-44. 142 OLD s.v. 2: “one engaged in hostile (military) activities” and especially 2b: “an individual citizen regarded as, or declared officially to be, an enemy of the state.” A hostis as a citizen-turned-enemy, like Cicero’s Catiline (In Catil. 1.33), is the worst possible internal threat to the state and a precursor of civil war. 143 Or as legitimate as it could be, considering their sibling relationship (see n.137 above on whether the incest is a factor in Aeolus’ outrage). We might compare here the common solution in New Comedy for citizen girls pregnant outside of wedlock (most often as a result of a ): if the mother and father of the illegitimate child marry, that child is rendered retroactively legitimate—and even better if they can manage to marry while the mother is still pregnant; e.g. ’s Epitrepontes, ’s Hecyra, Plautus’ Aulularia.

48 subsequent discovery of his illegitimate grandchild and demand for its exposure (83-84) produce the conditions for Ovid’s first visceral child:

quid mihi tunc animi credis, germane, fuisse

(nam potes ex animo colligere ipse tuo)

cum mea me coram silvas inimicus in altas

viscera montanis ferret edenda lupis?

Her. 11.89-92

What do you think my state of mind was, brother, at that time (for surely you could

gather it from your own) when, before my eyes, an enemy carried my viscera into the

depths of the forest to be devoured by mountain wolves?

Canace has previously referred to her child as onus (40, 44, 66), crimen (66, 68), and infans (45,

69, 75); now, in imagining the deadly outcome of the newborn’s exposure, she designates it mea…| viscera (91-92).144 Only once the child is threatened by a violent evisceration (viscera montanis… edenda lupis, 92) does Canace conceive of it as an extension of her own vital organs.

The reader is encouraged to imagine at once the literal viscera of the dying infant, spilled as it is devoured by mountain wolves,145 and the echo of its stubborn prenatal occupation of Canace’s visceral womb (44). The child’s vulnerability as a body separate from its mother reconfigures it as the viscera to which it once clung.

144 Note that mea is separated from the noun it qualifies by nearly an entire line. This extreme displacement echoes the separation of mother from child even as she identifies its vulnerable flesh as her own. 145 Since animals feed upon human flesh here, the child also becomes viscera in a horrifying perversion of the natural food chain (we might compare uses of caro, the “unpoetic” equivalent to viscera according to Axelson 1945: 52; cf. OLD 1b).

49

Canace remains fixated on the visceral child as she laments that she cannot properly mourn or bury him, once again claiming ownership over the infant’s body as viscera with the plural possessive adjective nostra:

non mihi te licuit lacrimis perfundere iustis,

in tua non tonsas ferre sepulcra comas;

non super incubui, non oscula frigida carpsi.

diripiunt avidae viscera nostra ferae.

Her. 11.117-120

I was not permitted to weep for you with rightful tears, nor to lay shorn locks on your

grave; I did not lie over you, did not steal cold kisses. Greedy wild beasts are tearing

apart my viscera.

While the possessive poetic plural is common enough in Ovid,146 it also serves here to reincorporate into the mother’s body the body of her child.147 It once grew within (and refused expulsion from) her viscera; though birth separated their bodies, she feels its impending death as

146 I refer here to the plurality of the first-person possessor; noster for meus is an already familiar stylistic device by the time of Canace’s letter, appearing in the Heroides at least twenty-two times before the eleventh epistle (1.16, 1.90, 2.4, 2.8, 2.24, 2.87, 3.80, 3.91, 3.107, 4.18, 4.84, 5.5, 5.152, 6.72, 7.5, 7.111, 7.126, 7.128, 7.187, 7.188, 9.1, 9.167). One of these instances is Penelope’s ambiguous viscera nostra (1.90), most readily interpreted in context (given its direct pairing with tuae opes) as referring to the wealth of ’ Ithacan estate, which is being consumed by the greedy suitors. Perhaps there is room to interpret the suitors’ desire to inherit that estate via marriage to Penelope (and, presumably, the production of a new heir) as an abstract attack on Penelope’s viscera-as- womb, but that shade of meaning is less readily apparent than the womb metonymy in Canace’s letter. 147 The child is the second person addressee in the preceding lines—te at 117, tua at 118—and so can plausibly be integrated into the 1st person possession indicated by nostra at 120. At the same time, the switch to the plural here might encompass Macareus as shared parent of the child; the ambiguity of the possessor leaves room for mother, father, and child to be implicated in this visceral body. Note the distinction here from the nostra modifying viscera at 11.43-44, where the singular addressee (te) is Macareus, who is overtly excluded from the proceedings, and so the choice of noster over mea reads more clearly as a poetic plural.

50 an attack upon the same viscera; now, as the child is ripped apart (diripiunt, 120), those viscera become a shared possession of dying child and mother soon-to-die.148

The evolution of viscera in triplicate within this early Ovidian text demonstrates the particular conditions under which the poet applies his new metonymies. Canace’s visceral womb appears in a context fraught with incest, illegitimate pregnancy, and attempted feticide, where the mother as enemy of the fetus attempts to remove it from a womb that is made visceral by that endeavor. The child, as both product and externalization of that same womb, is rendered visceral in its own right by its vulnerability to postpartum violence. At the same time, Canace is herself vulnerable to pressure from her father to end her own life—she concludes the letter with the clear intention to commit at his behest: mandatum persequar ipsa patris (“I myself will carry out my father’s command,” 130).149 The visceral imagery in this poem is thus intimately connected to the thematics of domestic discord: pregnant mother against unborn fetus, grandfather against grandchild, father against daughter. In this way, Ovidian viscera bind together blood relations with blood violations by appearing in conjunction with those acts of violence that occur at the intersection of physical bodies and abstract boundaries.

The remainder of this chapter surveys instances of viscera that manifest in response to (or anticipation of) intrafamilial violence. Visceral wombs appear when sharers of the same body

148 The thematic doubling of Canace and her child has already appeared in this epistle, when Macareus urges his sister to survive childbirth because her death would destroy “two in the body of one” (vive nec unius corpore perde duos, 62). Canace revisits this doubling at the letter’s conclusion when she requests a shared tomb (socio…sepulcro, 125); “let a single urn, however small, contain the two of us” (urnaque nos habeat quamlibet arta duos, 126). Cf. Ovid’s similar treatment of “two-in-one” deaths elsewhere: pregnant Coronis (“now we die, two in one,” duo nunc moriemur in uno, Met. 2.609), self-obsessed Narcissus (“now we die, two united in one spirit,” nunc duo concordes anima moriemur in una, Met. 3.473), Pyramus and Thisbe (“one night destroys two lovers,” una duos…nox perdet amantes, Met 4.108); even the riddling instructions for the sacrifice of a pregnant cow (“let a single heifer provide two souls for sacrifice,” det sacris animas una iuvenca duas, Fast. 4.666). 149 This in reference to lines 97-100: “Aeolus hunc ensem mittit tibi” (tradidit ensem) | “et iubet ex merito scire, quid iste velit.” | scimus et utemur violento fortiter ense; | pectoribus condam dona paterna meis (“‘Aeolus sends this sword to you’ ([the messenger] handed over the sword) ‘and he orders you to know its meaning according to what you deserve.’”

51 inflict injury upon each other, whether this violence is immediate or fated for the distant future.

Ovid’s numerous representations of abortion emphasize through visceral vocabulary the precise brand of parental violence inherent to the act; counter-examples of violent births without intrafamilial conflict, meanwhile, emphasize that a blood relationship between adversaries is an essential component of the visceral womb. Viscera are also invoked consistently when parents and grown children violate each other’s bodies, especially when such violence is intensified by other social taboos. Fathers cannibalize and commit incest with their visceral children; conflicts between sons and mothers generate a disturbing convergence of womb and wound. Throughout the Ovidian landscape, metonymic viscera materialize persistently to displace uterus and filius in confluence with an irrepressible inclination of natal relations toward bloody domestic conflict.

2.1 Visceral abortions

Ovid consistently frames abortion as a violent act perpetrated by mother against unborn child, whether that mother is a mythical divinity, an elegiac puella, or a proto-Roman matrona.

The poet’s treatment of viscera as a substitution for wombs and children that attends the transgression of familial boundaries means that feticide, which violates that social contract guaranteeing paternal control over female fertility and protecting potential heirs from the violent impulses of their mothers, can only be characterized as a visceral act.

In Ovid’s Rome, the politics of abortion seem to have hinged primarily on the legitimacy of the pregnancy.150 Augustan moral legislation was designed to promote marriage and boost

150 There was also some unresolved conflict among medical writers regarding methods of abortion, stemming from an ambiguity in the Hippocratic oath on whose interpretation readers both Roman and modern disagree—does the oath forbid all abortions or only those administered via specific methods? See Edelstein 1943, Riddle 1992: 7-10, Kapparis 2002.

52 reproduction among the urban elite;151 to abort a fetus conceived by legally married citizen parents was ideologically indefensible, unless done to preserve the health and fertility of the mother and with the father’s full permission.152 Indeed, social disapproval of upper-class abortions had much more to do with the violation of a father’s rights than any concern for the fetus. Roman men had parental claim to unborn heirs, and unsanctioned abortions threatened to disrupt patrilineal structures of inheritance.153 Cicero, for example, cites a case in his Pro

Cluentio where a Milesian widow was executed for having accepted bribes from secondary heirs to abort a rival fetus; his Roman audience would presumably have found this penalty plausible, agreeing that the woman’s actions were a violation of the deceased father’s right to pass on property to his offspring.154 This acute emphasis on paternal permissions for abortion, along with contemporary legal incentives for married citizens to produce numerous children, seem to have cultivated an atmosphere in which upper-class, married women seeking abortions invited suspicion of adulterous affairs.155

151 See Introduction, pp. 18-20. 152 Soranus (1.60), for example, approves of abortions only when performed to protect a mother’s health. For and ideology on abortion, Nardi 1971: 413-458, Watts 1973, Dixon 1988: 71-103, Hirt 2004. Extant Roman writing on the subject provides us with elite male perspectives (primarily disapproving, e.g. Pliny 10.172, Juvenal 6.595-596) but little evidence regarding actual practice or the attitudes of women. 153 “…the sole legal grounds for punishing a woman who sought abortion in Rome was the violation of the father’s patriarchal rights over all his family, born or potential, whether legal personae or not” (Watts 1973: 92). See also Dixon 1988: 94ff. In later centuries unauthorized abortion became an actionable offense: a ruling of prescribed temporary exile for a woman who aborted a pregnancy without the father’s permission, as recorded in Justinian’s Digest, because she “cheated her husband of children”: indignum enim videri potest impune eam maritum liberis fraudasse, Dig. 47.11.4. 154 Cicero frames the abortion as the stealing away of spes parentis, memoria nominis, subsidium generis, heres familiae, and designatum rei publicae civem (“the parent’s hope, the name’s memory, the family’s support, the family’s heir, a designated citizen of the republic,” 11.32; from Rizzo’s 1991 edition); an abortion violating the father’s rights also threatens the familial bloodline and the continuity of the entire state. 155 Dixon 1988: “ancient sources tend to assume that only adulteresses resorted to clandestine abortion” (94). Soranus approves of the party of medical practitioners who refused to perform abortions for the purpose of protecting beauty or concealing adultery, and suggests that wicked midwives might accept bribes in exchange for such services (1.4); abortions performed for these socially unacceptable reasons were thus not unheard of.

53

On the opposite end of the socio-sexual spectrum, medical knowledge of effective abortifacients seems to have been commonplace among sex workers, whose overtly non- reproductive sexual occupation justified contraceptive and abortive practices that would have been frowned upon, if not prohibited, among women of the legitimate reproductive class.156 It was, at the very least, a familiar practical consideration that pregnancy and childbirth diminished a woman’s beauty. The didactic persona of Ars Amatoria 3, as mouthpiece for the desires of male clientele, assumes that the avoidance of full-term pregnancy is a priority for an audience of women who depend upon recreational sex for their livelihoods.157 He emphasizes that childbirth

“shortens youth” (partus faciunt breviora iuventae | tempora, 3.81-82) and urges women who have given birth to assume a sex position that conceals stretch marks from the view of male lovers: tu quoque, cui rugis uterum Lucina notavit, | ut celer aversis utere Parthus equis (“You also, whose belly Lucina has marked with wrinkles, like a swift Parthian make use of backward horses,” 3.785-786).158

Even so, the Ovidian elegiac persona complicates the apparent ideological delineation of abortion according to socio-sexual status with his open displeasure at Corinna’s clandestine abortion in Amores 2.13 and 2.14. Finding himself in the position of a father whose potential offspring has been aborted without his knowledge or consent, the amator casts harsh judgment on Corinna, even though her professional dependence on maintaining physical perfection,

156 Dixon 1988: 95-96 outlines the legal and social distinctions regarding the fertility of courtesans (and any woman not bound by conubium to a Roman man). There is circumstantial evidence for a sizeable body of contraceptive folk knowledge passed orally among female medical practitioners and their patients, especially those unmarried or unmarriageable women for whom family planning was a necessity (Riddle 1992 passim). We also know through Pliny that there were female medical writers in antiquity whose texts addressed fertility and abortion (see e.g. his refutation of Lais and Elephantis at 28.81, with discussion in Richlin 1997: 209). 157 On the audience of the Ars Amatoria, Ovid’s disavowal of married women as readership, and the problem of the social status of elegiac puellae: Gibson 2003: 25-37, James 2003: 35-68, Volk 2006: 237-238. 158 The avoidance of stretch marks is, for the Ovidian amator, a primary reason for women to terminate pregnancies (Am. 2.14.6). Cf. Propertius 2.15.22, where childbirth is a source of shame (peperisse pudet) and a reason for women to cover their bodies.

54 emphasized by his consistent and intense focus on her appearance, means that pregnancy would jeopardize her means of living.159 That his accusatory reaction to her secretive abortion adheres persistently to the lexicon of warfare and weaponry—vocabulary usually reserved for the elegiac trope of militia amoris—fosters the contention that women do shocking violence to their bodies when they attempt to terminate pregnancies.160

Like Canace’s child, Corinna’s pregnancy is an onus ventris (Am. 2.13.1; cf. Her. 11.40,

38, 42, 64), and Corinna herself is rash (temeraria, 2.13.1) for having resorted to abortion (cf. audax manus at Her. 11.42). The amator, meanwhile, assumes a position similar to that of

Macareus, the unwitting father (clam me, 2.13.3) from whom the pregnancy and abortion are concealed. While the majority of Amores 2.13 is devoted to the amator’s prayer for Corinna’s safety, he turns in 2.14 to a larger condemnation of women who seek abortions. The poem begins with an evaluation of abortion in terms of the perils of war, where the instruments of abortion are wound-inflicting weapons, and the act itself is a form of militia (6). “What good does it do for girls to be exempt from battle,” he begins, “…if without war they endure wounds from their own weapons?” (quid iuvat inmunes belli cessare puellas | …si sine Marte suis patiuntur vulnera telis, 2.14.1, 3). The association of abortion with violence persists throughout the poem’s 44 lines: the act is a vitium (10) akin to murder (necare, 15) and a rash violation (temerare, 17) performed by a crudelis manus (24). A woman who aborts her child is, like Medea or Procne,

159 On stretch marks as a serious threat to an elegiac puella’s livelihood, James 2003: 174-176. 160 Am. 2.13 concludes with an admonishment to Corinna never to repeat her mistake, where the ordeal of the abortion is a “battle” (hac tibi sit pugna dimicuisse satis, 28). In Am. 2.14, we see wounds (vulnera, 3), weapons (telis, 3, 27), and other warfare vocabulary applied to mothers (armant, 4, militia, 6) and unborn children (deperitura, 10, casurus, 16) in stark contrast to the usual language of militia amoris (cf. Am. 2.14.21, where the amotor describes himself as periturus amando).

55 stained by the blood of her children (29-30).161 The entire poem is enflamed with the violent vocabulary of battle and bloodshed, language which serves as an emphatic extension of the mother-as-hostis metaphor of Canace’s letter (11.46).

Of course, these characterizations of abortion are focalized through the indignant voice of the Ovidian amator. Whether these accusations are meant in earnest or are merely convenient talking-points for an emotionally and rhetorically charged argument, the poem’s indictment of

Corinna is accentuated by consistent affirmations that abortion is a violent act. It is only natural, then, that the amator integrates into his argument visceral language to strengthen the association between abortion and serious harm to physical and social boundaries. He brings up two methods of abortion in poem 2.14: the dislodging of a fetus through the insertion of a tool, and the medicinal termination of pregnancy through the ingestion or topical application of abortifacients.162 The second method should remind us of Canace, who admits to trying herbae and medicamina (Her. 11.41); for the amator, such substances are “terrible poisons” (dira venena, 28). The visceral wombs in this poem, however, belong to those women who perform

161 Though, unlike Medea or Procne, the amator notes, Corinna has no good reason (i.e. a Jason or a Tereus) to kill her child (31-34). The myths of Medea and Procne will both receive visceral treatment later in Ovid’s career, in the Remedia Amoris and Metamorphoses Book 6, respectively; see below pp. 70-74. 162 We have an abundance of evidence for the substances and procedures by which abortion was attempted in the ancient world; Riddle 1992: 74-86 catalogues and investigates the scientific efficacy of recorded treatments from antiquity. Our best Roman medical source is Soranus’ Gynaikeia (1.60-65), which contains recipes for abortifacients administered orally and via pessary, as well as recommendations for strenuous physical exercise (with the caveat at 1.60 that contraception is preferable to abortion). Dioscorides’ De Materia Medica identifies plantlife with contraceptive and abortive properties (passim; drug affinity is not the primary organizational criterion). There is some limited discussion of abortive materials in Pliny’s Naturalis Historia (14.110, 14.116, 16.110, 20.226, 24.29), included as warnings to women hoping to preserve fertility, but on Pliny’s general moral distaste (e.g. at 25.25) for the topic, see Richlin 1997: 208-210 and Beagon 1992: 216-220. Scribonius Largus opposes abortion in his Compositiones (2.20-2.25 in Sconocchia’s 1983 edition of the preface) but does mention a particular compound that is useful for treating vaginal pain following either an abortion or miscarriage (ex partu abortuve, 121). Galen’s De simplicium medicamentorum temperamentis ac facultatibus includes a variety of recipes with abortifacient properties throughout (e.g. 6.8, 7.10-11). Celsus, while he does not address voluntary abortion, describes in De Medicina (7.29) methods of surgical extraction for a late-term miscarriage. Modern work on abortion in antiquity: Waszink 1950, Noonan 1970, Nardi 1971, Den Boer 1979: 272-288, Carrick 1985: 99-124, Keller 1988, Kapparis 2002, Baccari 2012.

56 manual dislocations, which, as the amator would have it, amounts to “dig[ging] out [their] own viscera with weapons thrust up from below” (vestra quid effoditis subiectis viscera telis, 27).

This martial imagery, particularly the identification of abortive tools as weapons (telis), entangles the process of manual abortion with the spattered blood-and-guts imagery of a battlefield injury.

The amator’s overarching characterization of abortion as violence of mother against child justifies the appearance of viscera in the place of a vox propria like uterus, and this viscerality is doubly activated by the implication that feticide is a brand of self-harm. The unborn children in the pentameter, acting as the recipients of poisons (nondum natis dira venena datis, 28), are thematically parallel to the viscera in the previous line that serve as the objects of abortive weapons. Vestra viscera, then, refers as much to those unborn children—under immediate threat of harm at their mother’s hands—as to the violated wombs themselves. Following the model of

Canace, whose womb became visceral when she attempted abortion, and whose infant became visceral at the moment of its death, the implied success of these abortions allows this instance of viscera to serve as a dual metonymy: we are encouraged to imagine these women performing violence against their own wombs and their own children as a single visceral entity.163 All wombs thus have visceral potential when women must attack their offspring, and by extension their own bodies, in order to end pregnancies.

Ovid addresses abortion again in Book 1 of the Fasti, as his narrator relates a mytho- historical tale about Ausonian matronae, whose social status makes their resolve to end legitimate pregnancies without the consent of their husbands the most ideologically disturbing instance of the act. These Ausonian mothers, when denied the honor of riding in carriages,

163 As noted by McKeown 1998: 307.

57 collectively refuse to carry on their husbands’ family lines.164 All of the women refuse to conceive, and those who are already pregnant perform abortions:

mox honor eripitur, matronaque destinat omnis

ingratos nulla prole novare viros,

neve daret partus, ictu temeraria caeco

visceribus crescens excutiebat onus.

Fast. 1.621-624

Then the honor is withdrawn, and every mother intends not to renew the ungrateful

husbands with offspring, and so that she might not give birth, rashly with blind blow was

each one shaking out the burden growing from her viscera.

Line 624 (visceribus crescens excutiebat onus) is a near-quotation of Canace’s epistle in the

Heroides (visceribus crescens excuteretur onus, 11.44). The aborting matrona is temeraria

(Fast. 1.623) just like Corinna (Am. 2.13.1), while the description of the act itself as a hidden blow (ictu caeco, Fast. 1.623) recalls the martial imagery of both Am. 2.14 and Her. 11. Ovid thus revisits in the Fasti, late in his poetic career, his very first experiments with a now long- established metonym, so that his reflexive linguistic allusions to Canace and Corinna reemphasize abortion’s function as a trigger for the visceral womb.

Throughout Ovid’s poetic corpus, viscera stand in for the womb as the site of violence against offspring—and sometimes concurrently for the offspring contained within that violated womb; both uterus and fetus become visceral when the pregnant parent attacks the unborn child.

By characterizing the abortive womb in terms previously reserved for the entrails of sacrificial animals or wounded human bodies, Ovid associates the removal of a fetus with situations in

164 For a discussion of this episode in relation to Ovid’s general approach to narrating abortion, with consideration of the context of Augustan legislation promoting childbirth, see Green 2004: 284ff.

58 which vital organs are forcibly dissected or expelled. In establishing an evocative connection between the termination of a pregnancy and the dealing of a mortal blow, the poet manipulates the word viscera to link reproduction to intrafamilial violence.

2.2 The un-visceral womb

The visceral womb is a symptom of conflict between blood relations: both parent against child and child against parent, in any number of shocking and disturbing circumstances.

Violence removed from the context of domestic strife, however, is not enough to trigger a womb’s transformation into viscera. There is certainly no call for visceral language in the context of a divinely blessed and healthy birth,165 but even for gruesome births, visceral wombs appear only in concert with the violation of familial bonds.

We might think, for example, of the grotesque and difficult labor suffered by Alcmene, the pain of which she shudders to recall (quin nunc quoque frigidus artus, | dum loquor, horror habet, parsque est meminisse doloris; “but even now, as I speak, cold dread grips my limbs, and to recall it is part of my suffering,” 9.290-291) as she relates the tale to Iole in Metamorphoses 9.

When a jealous Juno, abetted by Lucina, obstructs the birth of Hercules for a full week, Alcmene suffers intense pain: she is tortured (cruciata, 292), out of her mind (demens, 302), and in such torment that she longs to die (cupioque mori, 303). Nevertheless, throughout the ordeal, her womb is referred to as uterus (9.287, 315). Though this episode involves genuine violence done to a pregnant woman’s body, that Alcmene and her son do no harm to each other contravenes the

165 The Fasti’s appeal to Lucina (which punctuates an explication of the Lupercalia as a fertility ritual) illustrates the conditions of an ideal birth: parce, precor, gravidis, facilis Lucina, puellis | maturumque utero molliter aufer onus

(“I pray, kind Lucina, be sparing to pregnant girls, and lift out the ripe burden gently from the womb,” 2.451-452). Healthy births are characterized by ease (facilis) and gentleness (molliter); the womb is uterus.

59 conditions for a visceral womb. The damage done by a jealous quasi-stepmother, ghastly as it may be, does not engage in the violation of blood bonds that triggers Ovid’s visceral wombs.

Take as a second counter-example the birth of Adonis. His mother Myrrha was a visceral child; the social taboo of incest between father and daughter marks the consummation of that affair with visceral language (10.465), and Cinyras’ violent reaction to the revelation of

Myrrha’s identity (475) confirms the appropriateness of viscera as metonym for his daughter.166

Gruesome as the scene of Adonis’ birth is, viscera make no appearance because the relationship between Myrrha and her son violates no boundaries. Though the illicit pregnancy is referred to as crimina (10.470; cf. Her. 11.66, 68), Myrrha’s womb is nevertheless repeatedly called uterus

(470, 481, 495). That this Myrrha-tree maintains human characteristics—her womb is called venter (505) even after her transformation—confirms that her new biology is not what disqualifies this narrative from incorporating a visceral womb. Even as a tree, Myrrha experiences labor much like a human woman (“[the tree] is nevertheless similar to a woman in labor,” nitenti tamen est similis, 508) complete with bending (curvata, 508), groans (gemitus,

509), and tears (lacrimis, 509). At the moment of Adonis’ birth, a fissure opens in Myrrha’s tree through which the child emerges: arbor agit rimas et fissa cortice vivum | reddit onus (“the tree takes on cracks and from the split bark delivers the living burden,” 512-513). Despite the gruesome image of her pregnant tree-body splitting open, there is still no cause here for a visceral womb.

Alcmene has no conflict with Hercules, nor does Myrrha with Adonis—even their painful and grotesque experiences of childbirth do not merit visceral treatment, because the visceral womb concerns itself only with the persons contained within that reproductive body: the parent

166 This passage is discussed in more detail below, pp. 75-76.

60 who possesses the womb, and the child (or children) growing within. It is not violence done to the body that renders a womb visceral, but violence done to the relationship between the possessor and inhabitant of that womb. While the figure of the visceral womb ties together violence and reproduction, it is specifically domestic violence that is at stake in that figure.

Damage done to the bond between mother and child—either during gestation, as in the case of attempted abortions, or postpartum, as in infanticide, or even when the child is fully grown, as in filicide and matricide—these are the incidents that render a womb visceral.

2.3 Filicide, cannibalism, and incest

Like visceral wombs, visceral children are generated by the thematics of domestic violence. While these children belong to no consistent age group or social category, their classification as viscera necessarily depends on their relationship to a parent, since the metaphor is predicated upon a parental claim of ownership over the body of the child—thus the metonym is only possible when the word is paired with a possessive adjective.167 As these children become visceral because their bodies are violated by family members, the possessive quality of the metaphor represents all danger to the child’s body as a threat to the vital organs of the parent. It is often the case that the parent in question is directly responsible for the endangerment of the child, so that the metaphorical displacement of the physical threat onto the parent’s body (my child is in danger = my vital organs are in danger) frames the agent of violence as its primary victim. Indeed, the major thematic implication of the visceral child is that parental violence against offspring is a mode of self-harm.

Medea, the archetypal exemplum of aberrant familial violence, is a natural candidate for

167 Thus mea or nostra viscera in the voice of a parent, and sua viscera from an outsider’s perspective (whether that is another character or the narrative voice). See Appendix A, OLD s.v. 5.

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Ovid’s visceral metonymies. In the Remedia Amoris, she appears in a catalogue of mythological

168 women who could have benefited from some instruction in healing the wounds of love. Her act of filicide is described in the following terms: nec dolor armasset contra sua viscera matrem

| quae socii damno sanguinis ulta virum est (“Nor would pain have armed against her own viscera the mother who took vengeance on her husband at the cost of shared blood,” 59-60). The careful structure of these lines exemplifies the fluidity of the visceral metaphor and the word’s potential to invoke multiple layers of meaning at once.

While the reference to Medea is, in the end, unmistakable, she remains unnamed. Until the information in line 60 clarifies her identity, the valence of viscera continues to adapt as new details generate fresh possibilities for its construal. At first, context indicates only that a mythological woman ruined by love is under consideration, as these lines follow the exempla of

Phyllis (55-56) and Dido (57-58). The reader is presented with subject (dolor), verb (armasset), and prepositional phrase (contra sua viscera), with the direct object delayed: “Pain would have armed ______against his/her/their own viscera.” The word viscera must be understood first in the context of violence, without knowledge of the agent (armed by dolor against sua viscera) to which the third person possessive adjective refers.

The combination of possessive adjective with viscera very often does not refer to children; when no parental relationship is at stake, in fact, it cannot do so.169 A reader in- progress, primed by the exemplum of Dido and the parallelism implied by the conjunction nec

(59), might naturally conclude that armasset contra sua viscera describes suicide, where the viscera are real vital organs. The resolution of line 59 with matrem, however, activates the

168 For the Remedia as an ingenious form of “unlearning” and “unteaching” the didactic instructions of the Ars without erasure of what has previously been taught—and so without a true “retraction” of the previous work—see Rosati 2006. 169 See discussion of Polyphemus’ visceral consumption below, p.73.

62 potential for sua viscera to serve as a metonym for children. With motherhood at stake, the sense of viscera wavers between bloody entrails and violated offspring.

With the revelation in line 60 that the mater in question is Medea (quae socii damno sanguinis ulta virum est; “…she who took vengeance on her husband at the price of shared blood”) the abstraction of sua viscera snaps into focus: Medea is famed not for suicide but for murder, and so these are her own children rendered visceral in the context of maternal filicide.

Yet that initial impression of self-harm, with its evocation of literal gore, is never fully erased. In fact, the metonymic viscera interact with the nature of the children’s deaths to intensify the violent imagery: when Medea kills her own children, her viscera are eviscerated. The careful structure of this couplet produces a kaleidoscope of visceral images in which blood, guts, and children shift, mutate, and merge; in this way, Ovid uses viscera to explore the disturbances caused by the essentially violent nature of natal relationships.

The Ovidian representation of Tereus’ unwitting consumption of his son, Itys, combines the viscerality of a violated child with the social horror of cannibalism. In Book 6 of the

Metamorphoses, the narrator writes that, as he eats, Tereus “gathers his own viscera into his stomach” (vescitur inque suam sua viscera congerit alvum, 6.651).170 The repetition of the possessive pronoun (suam sua) emphasizes Itys’ status as a physical extension of his father and

171 so frames Tereus as self-cannibalizing: by consuming his son, he in turn consumes himself.

Indeed, his initial reaction to the true content of his meal is a desire to tear open his own body and expel the half-eaten (semesa, 664) viscera. Any distinctions between Tereus’ vital organs

170 Note the wordplay on vescitur/viscera; McAuley 2016: 137 calls this a moment of “inverted penetration and parturition.” 171 According to Anderson 1972: 234, when “Tereus seems to be eating himself…the vicious circle of impietas has now been completed.” Cf. Rosati 2009: 348. We might remember that what initiated this “circle of impietas” was Tereus’ kidnapping and rape of his sister-in-law Philomela; the violation of that social boundary is also implicated in Tereus’ visceral punishment.

63 and the dismembered pieces of his son have disappeared as viscera are absorbed into viscera.

The incorporation of the child’s body into the parent’s, a process experienced only symbolically by other visceral children, finds its literal manifestation in Tereus’ cannibalism.172

Of course, cannibalism is always a violent and repulsive subject where viscera often play a prominent role. Another episode of cannibalistic consumption in the Metamorphoses confirms, however, that specific contexts of domestic violence are crucial to the substitution of viscera for children. In Book 14, as Achaemenides describes the terror of witnessing Polyphemus devour his fellow crewmen, he anticipates a similar fate for himself: iam nunc mea viscera rebar | in sua mersurum (“And then I was imagining that he would submerge my viscera into his own,”

14.203-204). The doubled usage of viscera paired with the possessive adjective gruesomely emphasizes the social taboo of consuming human flesh. While the absorption of dismembered viscera into digestive viscera is a horrifying prospect (and closely echoes Tereus’ ill-fated feast), it is essential that the ownership of these viscera—the speaker’s (mea) and Polyphemus’ (sua)— remains separate. Because there are no reproductive relationships involved, both mea viscera and sua viscera contain only the word’s standard blood-and-guts connotations; while it is horrifying that Polyphemus consumes human flesh,173 at least his meals bear no blood relation to him. This is all to say, the phrase mea viscera does not always stand in for a child; when it does, the thematics of parenthood and intrafamilial violence are necessarily at stake.

Indeed, Procne’s and Tereus’ relationship to their own parenthood is an essential factor in

Itys’ death, for he dies at the hands of his mother because he is his father’s son. He is the victim

172 Reeson’s 2001 commentary on Heroides 11 adduces the examples of Andromeda and Itys in combination with Canace’s newborn to suggest that the word viscera is selected “because in each case the child provides flesh for feeding upon” (89). This reading, while valid, does not cover the full range of instances where viscera stand in for children; these instances belong rather to one subcategory of parental violence against children. 173 Polyphemus himself has a tendency toward visceral language (in the sense of dismembered limbs) as he threatens to devour Galatea’s lover (Met. 13.865) and Ulysses (Met. 14.194).

64 of violence from both sides: the intentional and premeditated dismemberment performed by his

174 mother Procne, and the unintentional but equally transgressive cannibalistic ingestion by his father. Despite Tereus’ horror at his son’s death, he is not without responsibility, for it was his rape, imprisonment, and mutilation of Procne’s sister Philomela that inspired their plot to murder the child. Itys’ status as a visceral child reflects a triad of troubling circumstances: his physical dismemberment, the taboo of cannibalism, and the social disruption of filicide instigated by a violent disruption of sexual boundaries. In the landscape of Ovidian myth, it is only fitting that a child perishing under such conditions is rendered a doubly visceral body.

A similarly digestive and transgressive cannibalism occurs in the Fasti, as Ovid stretches the capacity of the visceral womb even beyond the perimeters of the female body through

Saturn’s appropriation of his wife’s reproductive functions:

ille suam metuens, ut quaeque erat edita, prolem

devorat, inmersam visceribusque tenet.

saepe Rhea questa est totiens fecunda nec umquam

mater et indoluit fertilitate sua.

Fast. 4.199-202

[Saturn], fearing his own progeny, as each one is born consumes it and holds it

submerged in his viscera. Frequently Rhea complained, so often pregnant and never a

mother, and she mourned bitterly because of her own fertility.

Rhea’s distress over her exclusion from the role of mater despite her fertility (totiens fecunda nec umquam | mater, 201-202) emphasizes Saturn’s usurpation of that role via the consumption of their offspring; indeed, his choice to deprive Rhea of the fulfillment of her pregnancies by

174 Note his pathetic dying cries of “mater, mater!” at 640. For tragic contaminatio and the mother-son relationship in this episode, see Curley 1997.

65 imprisoning the fruit of her womb within his own belly results in a brand of symbolic impregnation.175 The forcibly supplanted womb is visceral because of the violence perpetrated by father against children, while the established viscera-as-womb metaphor applied to a male body further emphasizes the abnormality of his cannibalistic impregnation.176

The social transgression of incest is also grounds for the formation of a visceral child. In

Book 10, when Cinyras and his daughter Myrrha initiate a sexual relationship, the narrator frames it as “the father receiv[ing] his own viscera into his obscene bed” (accipit obsceno genitor sua viscera lecto, 465). The violation of Myrrha’s body is both physical (the act of sex

177 itself) and social (the sexual perversion of familial ties). Cinyras, like Tereus, is ignorant of the true nature of his transgression, but upon learning the truth, his immediate impulse is towards violence: nitidum vagina deripit ensem (“He snatched his shining sword from its sheath,” 475).

Had Myrrha not immediately fled, her father would have violated her body anew.178

Also like Tereus, Cinyras bears at least a partial responsibility for the violation of his daughter’s body. Though he does not know the identity of his sexual partner, he is informed that her age is equal to Myrrha’s (441) and, in a moment of either surreal irony or subconscious recognition, he addresses her as filia (467) in the bedroom.179 In addition, he willingly engages in an affair while his wife, Myrrha’s mother, is observing ritual celibacy for the festival of Ceres

175 Episodes in Ovid involving symbolic or literal male pregnancy (Saturn, Tereus, Jupiter) are all sourced from Greek myth; Leitao 2012 examines the symbolic importance of male pregnancy in Greek literature. 176 This episode is explored in more detail with reference to the visceral representation of dynastic struggle in Chapter 3, pp. 86-89. 177 Anderson 1972: 514 cites sua viscera as a phrase meant to underscore familial impietas. Bömer 1980: 158 recognizes the metonymy at work, interpreting viscera as “seine eigene Tochter,” but does not comment further. 178 For the physical punning in this line and its relationship with a similar line in the Aeneid, Smith 1997: 71-74. 179 Though I do not engage with psychoanalytic theory, Oliensis 2009 and McAuley 2016 offer cogent demonstrations of its utility for this and other Ovidian passages.

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180 (431-435). As he welcomes his own viscera into his bed, Cinyras is framed as both agent and victim of a form of sexual violence. Read in light of Tereus’ consumption of his own son,

Cinyras’ affair with Myrrha—his amatory consumption of her body—is demarcated as a form of sexual cannibalism. As his body is physically joined to his daughter’s, her body disappears entirely; she is, at a moment of sexual passivity, reduced to the vital organs of her father. The conditions of visceral characterization in Ovid thus go beyond gory forms of violence; even the symbolic defilement of proper familial boundaries is enough to render a child visceral.

2.4 Mother and son, womb and wound

A special confluence of viscera arises in the context of violence between mothers and full-grown sons, where the visceral metaphor creates an unsettling ambiguity between the womb as site and source of violence. In Amores 1.10, for example, in the course of complaints about a domina who is too greedy for gifts, the amator illustrates his point through the mythological exemplum of Eriphyle. To punish his mother for her betrayal of his father, Eriphyle’s son

“pierced with iron the viscera from which he had been born” (e quibus exierat, traiecit viscera ferro | filius, 51- 52).

Grammatically, the word viscera plays two roles: it is both object of the son’s violence

(traiecit viscera…filius) and original source of his life (viscera e quibus exierat). As the postponed antecedent of quibus, viscera stands in clearly for Eriphyle’s womb—perhaps we are

181 to imagine Alcmaeon driving his sword directly into her uterus. Eriphyle’s visceral wound/womb traces her death to her son’s birth, such that the temporal applications of the word

180 The narration frames the wife’s absence in terms of marital legitimacy: legitima vacuus dum coniuge lectus… (“while the bed was empty of its legitimate spouse,” 437). 181 Cf. Tacitus’ account of the death of Agrippina, who demands that the fatal blow delivered by her son’s assassins be aimed directly at her womb: protendens uterum“ventrem feri” exclamavit (Annales 14.8.5).

67 become malleable: has her womb become visceral as a result of the deadly blow, or did

Alcmaeon emerge at birth from a visceral womb in anticipation of the forthcoming matricide?

Because Eriphyle produced a child who would one day bring violence upon her, both life and death find their source in the same viscera. This temporal intersection of viscerality marks the fertile womb as perpetual host to the potential for such violence, and so the shifting connotations of viscera tie the production of children to the looming specter of mortality.

The death of Meleager in the Metamorphoses also illustrates the intricate shades of meaning that enable the word viscera to serve as an embodiment of intrafamilial violence and to create a disconcerting bridge between womb and wound. After Althaea has kindled a fire in which she intends to burn the piece of wood to which her son’s life is supernaturally bound, she declares rogus iste cremet mea viscera (“Let that funeral pyre burn my viscera,” 8.478). Like many other Ovidian parents, Althaea displaces violence against her child onto her own body, even though she is the agent of that violence. Since Ovid emphasizes Althaea’s internal battle between her roles as mother and sister (pugnat materque sororque, 463), it is significant that neither of her brothers (despite their own violent ends) is described in visceral terms. It is only

Meleager, as the child that will die at his mother’s hands, whose body is appropriated for an expression of her suffering.182

Once Althaea has cast the splinter of wood into the fire, Meleager immediately begins to die:

inscius atque absens flamma Meleagros ab illa

uritur et caecis torreri viscera sentit

182 Kenney 2011 suggests that for mea viscera here “potremmo dire ‘carne della mia carne e sangue del mio sangue’” (351). While commentators are consistently drawn to modern idioms of “flesh and blood,” they rarely investigate further.

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ignibus ac magnos superat virtute dolores.

Met. 8.515-517

Unaware and far from that flame, Meleager is burned and feels his viscera torched with

hidden fires, and with his courage he conquers the extreme torment.

Meleager’s death demonstrates that the visceral child’s body is not merely a metaphor for the anguish of the parent, but an entity unto itself. Though Althaea has claimed Meleager as the embodiment of her viscera, the agony of Meleager’s death is localized to the viscera of his own body. The child’s pain is sourced to the very body part where his mother claims to feel the violence that she enacts against him. Her viscera have viscera of their own. We have begun to spiral into a visceral mise en abyme.

The spiral continues. Althaea commits suicide by striking a fatal blow through her viscera: nam de matre manus diri sibi conscia facti | exegit poenas acto per viscera ferro (“For the mother’s hand, aware of its dreadful deed, exacted punishment for itself by means of iron driven through the viscera,” 8.531-532).183 The layered instances of viscera here enrich the symbolic value of Althaea’s death. She dies by a wound inflicted upon the viscera that she appropriated from her son, the same viscera where her son felt the pain of her filicide, the same viscera, in fact, from which that son had been born.184 Since Althaea elects to transform womb into wound as suitable punishment for maternal filicide—and the focused selection of the site for the fatal blow is evident from the guilt (conscia) of the hand that deals it—her death is both a revision of the Ovidian abortion narrative (in which the mother’s womb becomes visceral

183 Kenney 2011: 346 comments on the masculine style of Althaea’s death as typical of female heroines in the Metamorphoses, but this third repetition of viscera draws pointed attention to her womb as site of the death blow. Cf. Niobe’s transformation following the death of her children (for which she is responsible), which concludes with the incursion of stone among her viscera (intra quoque viscera saxum est, Met. 6.309). 184 See McAuley 2016: 139 on this passage: “Ovid draws us into the hidden enclosures of the feminine or feminized body, whose internal organs, viscera, are lingered on, penetrated, and even externalized.”

69 because she kills her own child) and an inversion of the death of Eriphyle (whose womb becomes visceral because her own child kills her). This final occurrence of viscera in the

Meleager episode, when triangulated with its other usages in the same passage and its echoes of similar Ovidian treatments, invokes in a single instance all of its Ovidian meanings: blood and guts, the metonymic child, and the violated womb.185

And so the visceral kaleidoscope continues to refract Ovid’s portraits of domestic conflict, as shades of meaning new and old collide and converge into a fragmented but thematically unified image. The visceral metaphors operate under consistent conditions: family members who bring violence upon each other, despite (or because of) their blood relationship, are marked by the visceral lexicon. The viscera of Canace, Corinna, the Ausonian matronae,

Medea, Tereus, Saturn, Cinyras, Eriphyle, and Althaea are each invoked as grotesque corollaries of violence between blood relations. The methodical interjection of these metonyms into reproductive contexts imbues Ovidian viscera with a vibrant hybridity: even as abstractions, the visceral womb and visceral child retain the ghosts of their literal derivation. The visceral womb produces a flash-forward to a child drenched in natal blood; the visceral child is a mere pile of blood-and-guts, a disembowelment of its parents. The thematics of familial violation trail doggedly along after Ovid’s viscera, forecasting carnage for the inhabitants of visceral wombs and grief for the parents of visceral children.

185 Anderson 1972 ad Met. 8.478 notes the triple repetition of viscera and the interplay between them: “On one level, this well-chosen phrase means what is often said in ‘child of my body.’ But since Ovid shows us at 516 that Meleager feels death attack his viscera, we should understand on another level ‘my child’s vitals.’ Then, inasmuch as Althaea later drives a sword per viscera in suicidal remorse (532), we should sense an even more general application to ‘my own vitals’” (375). Bömer 1977: 151 accuses Anderson here of “Überinterpretationen zu viscera.” Cf. McAuley 2016, who sees this instance of viscera as “completing the circularity of womb-as-tomb with a claustrophobic ring composition” (139).

Chapter 3 Visceral bodies and civil war

3

Ovidian viscera operate on a local scale as markers of familial violence; in the cases discussed thus far, the violence that triggers visceral wombs and visceral children is restricted to conflicts between immediate blood relations. This chapter examines passages in which visceral bodies act even beyond their capacity as indicators of domestic violence to mark impending civil war. These episodes all come from the Metamorphoses and the Fasti, both composed during the latter half of Ovid’s career and likely revised from exile.186 While the threats of civil war signposted by visceral metonymies in the Metamorphoses remain firmly rooted in the foreign mythological landscapes of Africa and the East, visceral bodies in the Fasti presage instances of civil conflict essential to the religio-cultural aetiologies of Rome. Whether the players are foreign, divine, monstrous, or mortal, these are the episodes in which Empires are at stake. In the end, the presence of these visceral bodies in civil war narratives grants us access to a key ideological substrate of Ovidian mythography, as reproduction is linked to civic self-destruction against the backdrop of a dynasty founded on civil war and intent on the growth of its citizen population as a tool for restoring civic harmony.

3.1 Foreign dynasty

In Book 5 of the Metamorphoses, King Cepheus of Ethiopia laments the horrible fate from which his daughter Andromeda has narrowly escaped, describing the monster sent to devour her as quae visceribus veniebat belua ponti | exsaturanda meis (“The sea-beast which

186 Though we cannot know with precision or certainty the relative chronology or revised status of most passages in the Metamorphoses and Fasti, we can reasonably treat them as contemporary works (Bömer 1957: 15-17, Fantham 1998: 2-3, Holzberg 2002: 31-39, White 2002: 14) emerging from the same stage of Ovid’s experiments with mythological narrative; indeed, the two texts encourage interrelated readings (Hinds 1987: 10-11, 42-44, 72-77). 70 71 was coming to gorge itself upon my viscera,” 5.18-19). Even as Cepheus imagines the consumption of his daughter’s body as a direct attack upon his own vital organs, Andromeda’s viscerality extends beyond the immediate limits of the domestic violence that so dependably accompanied the metonymies discussed in Chapter 2. In fact, Andromeda becomes visceral only after she has been rescued, when an attempted coup invites Cepheus to revisit the circumstances of his daughter’s near-demise. The ruler invokes his own visceral child in an appeal to a brother who threatens violence against his chosen successor. Andromeda’s transformation into her father’s viscera extends the standard conditions for the metaphor by marking not just the rupture of familial bonds but also the outbreak of civil war—a reasonable extension, since the necessity of violence between blood relations is what makes civil war such a horrifying prospect.187

Neglect of familial duties—in this case the parent’s obligation to protect the child from the consequences of their own mistakes—is still implicated in Andromeda’s transformation into viscera. She is condemned to die in the first place as scapegoat for the hubris of her boastful mother: inmeritam maternae pendere linguae | Andromedan poenas iniustus iusserat Ammon

(“unjust Ammon had ordered innocent Andromeda to pay the penalties for her mother’s tongue,”

4.670-671). She herself, as the text emphasizes, is undeserving of punishment (inmeritam,

4.670), and when Perseus inquires why Andromeda is in chains, she places the blame squarely on her mother’s maternae…fiducia formae (“confidence in maternal beauty,” 4.687)—though

187 Vergil in particular highlights the familial relationships at stake in civil conflict; see Cairns 1989: 85-108. For the Aeneid’s depiction of the war in Italy as a civil and fratricidal war, see Pogorzelski 2009: 261-263 with accompanying bibliography. See the Introduction (pp. 13-18) for discussion of Rome’s relationship to civil war as both literary theme and political reality.

72 she is interrupted before she can finish her explanation: nondum memoratis omnibus (“before all the details were recounted,” 4.688).188

Meanwhile, the complicity of both Andromeda’s parents in her sacrifice is emphasized in their tacit approval of the exchange demanded by Jupiter Ammon, since they willingly trade their daughter’s life for the protection of the larger kingdom. On the expected occasion of her death, they are present and mournful (genitor lugubris et una | mater adest, 4.691-692), identified specifically by their parental relationships to the victim (genitor, mater), but they conspicuously bring her no aid (nec secum auxilium…ferunt, 4.693-694). For all their public displays of grief

(dignos tempore fletus | plangoremque ferunt vinctoque in corpore adhaerent; “they bring weeping worthy of the occasion, and shrieking, and they cling to her bound body,” 4.693-694), they do not move to unchain her, for doing so would violate the terms of the oracle that established Andromeda’s sacrifice as the only method of placating the sea monster.

The king’s and queen’s responsibility for, and complicity in, their daughter’s sacrifice justifies the absorption of Andromeda’s vulnerable body into her father’s viscera. As with Ovid’s other visceral children, the mortality of the child is envisioned as a physical burden to be borne by the parent, such that the child’s death is a physical blow to the parent’s vital organs. Though

Andromeda manages to survive, the mere memory of her potential disembowelment leads her father to posit a symbolic danger to his own bowels. But even as he recalls with horror a bygone threat to his visceral child, there exists a clear and present danger to his actual vital organs at the hands of his own brother.

188 A moment of playful metapoetry—the author is himself skimming over details of the story from other versions of the myth by allowing the sea-monster to interrupt Andromeda’s explanation; we might understand nondum memoratis omnibus to mean “with not all the details recounted” or “with not all the versions remembered.” The story of Andromeda had numerous variations (see detailed chart at Wright 2005: 68) and was dramatized in eponymous plays by Euripides and Sophocles, as well as by Ennius, Accius, and Livius Andronicus (see Klimek- Winter 1993); cf. another Augustan telling of the story in Manilius 5.538-618.

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Phineus’ revolt against Cepheus and Perseus is itself a quasi-fratricide, as he attempts to overthrow his brother and to kill that brother’s new son-in-law; the immediate conflict of brother against brother, played out on the scale of dynastic struggle, forces the entire cast of Ethiopian nobles to engage in bloody warfare with members of their own race. It is significant that the invocation of Andromeda qua visceral child takes place as Cepheus processes the consequences of the impending civil war and attempts to dissuade his brother from proceeding. As he scolds

Phineus for his ungrateful attitude, emphasizing that he has lost Andromeda not to Perseus but to the Nereids, Ammon, and the sea monster (5.17-19), Cepheus’ reference to mea viscera invokes both the past danger to his daughter’s body and the present threat to his own.189 These viscera thus operate on two planes to mark the disruption of immediate blood bonds—parent and child, brother and brother—where fraternal conflict extends itself to compel the violation of kinship ties amongst the citizens of an entire kingdom.

The bloody war that erupts next, pitting Phineus’ supporters against those who remain loyal to Cepheus, 190 is consistently characterized by the ill-fated familial relationships and dishonorable brand of violence that define civil conflict. The blood kinship shared among the

Ethiopians is given primacy in the opening exposition of Book 5: as guests of the wedding feast listen to Perseus narrating his exploits, his audience is described as an agmen Cephenum (5.1).

These men, who will soon begin to slaughter each other, belong to a unified race labeled with a patronymic derived from the name of their king. All those who will engage in the fight (or be

189 Cepheus’ additional rebuke that Phineus did not help Andromeda though he was both her uncle and betrothed (et nullam quod opem patruus sponsusve tulisti, 5.23) reveals an additional dimension of failed familial obligation— Phineus’ to Andromeda—and acknowledges that it is an important duty of close relations to preserve the safety of their kin. 190 The battle imitates Odysseus’ conflict with the suitors in Book 21 of the Odyssey as well as several episodes in the Aeneid; see Keith 2002a, who demonstrates that Ovid’s Perseid is a sensitive and precise recasting of Vergilian martial poetry.

74 caught in the crossfire), with the exception of Perseus, are members of the same state and civic family, and so the impending war is by definition civil according to the common demographics of its warriors.

The conflict itself is characterized in terms both fratricidal and criminal, with particular blame applied to the inciting faction. Once Cepheus understands what Phineus is attempting, he addresses him immediately as brother (quid facis…germane?; “What are you doing, brother?”

5.13), confronting him in the vocative with the fraternal bond that he threatens to break. The omniscient narrative voice confirms the injustice of the coup throughout the episode: Phineus is belli temerarius auctor (5.8), the “rash instigator of a war” that he will later acknowledge, at least internally, as iniustum (5.210).191 The clamor that attends the earliest rumblings of discontent is identified as the sort which portends fera…arma (“savage arms,” 5.4), and once the battle begins the pious onlooker Emathion, too elderly to fight, denounces these arma as scelerata (“criminal,” 5.102).192 Despite the foreign setting and foreign players, Roman household deities feature in the battle narrative, adding particular emphasis, by virtue of their blood-pollution (pollutos…Penates, 5.155), to the violation of domestic bonds inherent to this dynastic struggle.193 The supporters of Phineus, meanwhile, are conspirators (coniurata… agmina, 5.150-151) who fight pro causa meritum impugnante fidemque (“for a cause that itself battles against desert and loyalty,” 5.151). In contrast, Cepheus is associated with ius, fides, and

191 Cf. the frequent appearance of temerarius for feticidal mothers in Ovidian abortion narratives (see Ch. 2, p. 64, p. 67). 192 Cf. Turnus’ reaction to Allecto’s torch at Aeneid 7.460-462: arma amens fremit, arma toro tectisque requirit | saevit amor ferri et scelerata insania belli, | ira super. The progression of the ages of man in Book 1 of the Met. distinguishes men of the Bronze Race whose tendency to arms was savage but specifically not criminal (ad horrida promptior arma, | non scelerata tamen, 126-127) from those of the Iron Race, with whose criminality the non scelerata of line 127 clearly constrasts, and whose distinguishing features included strife between family members (145-148). 193 Phineus’ disrespect for the gods is evident from his use of an altar to shield himself in battle (5.36-37); see Keith 2002a: 118.

75 hospitii dei, swearing even as he flees from the battle that he does not approve of the rebellion

(testatus iusque fidemque | hospitiique deos ea se prohibente moveri; “[he fled] having sworn by justice and faith and the gods of guest-friendship that this conflict was happening against his will,” 5.44-45). In remaining loyal to Perseus, Cepheus is also described as frustra pius (5.152), a descriptor that echoes through its implied opposite the impietas of unjust civil wars.194

Andromeda, as marriageable (and fertile) daughter, is a moveable object, and ownership of her body consistently represents control over her father’s territory.195 The pre-approved terms of the rescue guarantee for Perseus both marriage to Andromeda and the kingdom of Ethiopia as dowry (regnum dotale, 4.704), while Phineus’ claim that he is not motivated by greed for the kingdom (non nos odium regnive cupido | compulit ad bellum; “neither hatred nor greed for rule drove us to war,” 5.218-219) but fights on behalf of his promised spouse (pro coniuge movimus arma, 5.219) nevertheless acknowledges that the two—spouse and territory—go hand in hand.

His simultaneous denial that odium inspired his actions is another disavowal of responsibility for civil discord—odium features prominently, for example, in Vergil’s representation of the Fury

Allecto’s powers to incite civil wars: tu potes unanimos armare in proelia fratres | atque odiis versare domos (“You are able to pit like-minded brothers against each other in battle and to overturn households with hatred,” Aen. 7.335-336).196

The identification of Andromeda as Cepheus’ viscera is therefore a clear and appropriate harbinger of the civil discord that threatens the Ethiopian race, instigated by a conflict over her

194 Those who follow impia arma are given their own special place in the hellish Underworld of Aeneid 6 (612- 613); Latinus calls the war he wages against Aeneas on Turnus’ behalf impia bella (12.31); see again Keith 2002a for Ovidian echoes of Vergil in this episode. For impietas as necessity of civil discord, see Roller 1996: 321-322. 195 Keith 2009 examines this episode’s narrative of male heroic mastery over feminized landscapes, esp. the Roman “association of marriageable (foreign) women with (Roman) territorial conquest” (269). 196 See Cairns 1989: 101 (who calls this line “a combined allusion to fraternal concord…and its opposite, civil war”) and Keith 2002a: 106.

76 body as representative of the kingdom her husband will inherit from her father. As a visceral child, she highlights the parental negligence that previously enabled the endangerment of her body and underscores the fratricidal civil conflict that will soon be waged over it. The appearance of this visceral metonymy just before the outbreak of violence, in the mouth of a character expressing distress at the near loss of his daughter and disapproval of an internal (and fraternal) threat to his sovereignty, presages the tragic consequences of the ensuing conflict for both family and state: civil war is born of fratricide, and fratricide is compelled by civil war. The mutually guaranteed violation of kinship ties and civic loyalties is naturally, for Ovid, an irresistably visceral occasion.

3.2 Divine regicide

Saturn’s cannibalistic suppression of his children’s births, as it appears in the Fasti, is on an immediate level a violation of paternal duty to offspring and an apt illustration of the visceral womb’s potential to mark instances of familial violence: 197

ille suam metuens, ut quaeque erat edita, prolem

devorat, inmersam visceribusque tenet.

saepe Rhea questa est totiens fecunda nec umquam

mater et indoluit fertilitate sua.

Fast. 4.199-202

[Saturn], fearing his own progeny, as each one is born consumes it and holds it

submerged in his viscera. Frequently Rhea complained, so often pregnant and never a

mother, and she mourned bitterly because of her own fertility.

197 As discussed above in Chapter 2, pp. 74-75.

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But Saturn is no ordinary father and Jupiter no ordinary son; this narrative is also entangled in the cycle of divine regicide that ultimately determines the power structure of the Olympian pantheon. Though Rhea’s maternal distress emphasizes the injustice of her children’s fates on a domestic scale, the stakes of Saturn’s visceral reproductive appropriations extend much further: the victor in this conflict will rule the world.

This power struggle for divine control is one of the oldest narratives in the extant Greek literary canon. Zeus’ ascent to power via the violent overthrow of his father, itself an echo of

Kronos’ succession to the throne following the castration of his father, features prominently in early works of mythology and enjoys a long life of allusions in later literature.198 Ovid is no doubt heavily influenced by Hesiod’s Theogony and the myriad adaptations that followed, and could reasonably presume a readership well-versed in the canonical treatments of that particular myth.199 The aetiology for the hierarchy of divine power that structured Romans’ religious, political, and cultural lives is drenched in patricidal and regicidal blood;200 it is only natural, then, that Ovid would insert a visceral metonym to characterize Saturn’s filicidal efforts to suppress the king-killing and father-killing that he knows from experience will be his son’s path to succession.201

In Ovid’s telling, Saturn’s reason for consuming and imprisoning his children is explicit: he fears them (suam metuens…prolem, Fast. 4.199). This conflict between father and children is a natural outgrowth of the suspicion and paranoia experienced by a ruler who ousted his own

198 The treatment of this myth best known to us is Hesiod’s Theogony (617-735); there was also the now- fragmentary 8th- or 7th-century B.C.E. Titanomachia (on which see West 2002: 110-118). For Hesiod’s significance in the literary and cultural memory of antiquity and his reception in later authors, see Koning 2010 and Scully 2015. 199 On Ovid’s reception of Hesiod: Bilinski 1959, Ludwig 1965: 74-76, Hollis 1970: 128-130, Kenney 1996: 87, Keith 2002b: 250-251, Fletcher 2005, Ziogas 2011 and 2013. 200 For recent perspectives on Jupiter’s primacy in Roman religion, North 2000 and Rüpke 2001 passim. 201 Not only experience, but prophecy, as Hesiod first attests (Theogony 461-465).

78 father from power; he must eliminate his own offspring in order to maintain unchallenged sovereignty. The fact that these children will nevertheless succeed in overthrowing him despite this preventative violence doubly justifies the visceral language of their imprisonment. Indeed, the viscerality of Saturn’s adopted womb anticipates Jupiter’s eventual assault on his throne, supported by the siblings who have been swallowed and submerged within those paternal viscera. That the narrative of Saturn’s overthrow is cut short—the focus of this episode is instead the din of the Curetes and Corybantes as they protect the infant Jupiter on Mount Ida—means that these viscera hint at an impending violence that the text never produces.202 This destabilization of expectations is particularly successful because Ovid’s readership has been conditioned, at this late stage in his literary career, to identify his visceral wombs as harbingers of such impious violence.

The narrative places particular emphasis on Rhea’s distress at Saturn’s suppression of her motherhood: saepe Rhea questa est totiens fecunda nec umquam | mater, et indoluit fertilitate sua (4.201-202). Rhea’s decision to conceal Jupiter from his father and raise him in secret is both directly motivated by Saturn’s actions and an essential factor in his eventual downfall. Though the Fasti does not narrate Jupiter’s ascent to power or the ten-year war preceding it, Rhea’s grief foreshadows that conflict and points to the ultimate cause of Saturn’s defeat: his willful ignorance of Rhea’s agency over her own fertility. It can also be argued that Jupiter and his siblings only declare war upon their father because Saturn committed violence against them. The

202 In fact, the Fasti mentions the conflict between Saturn and Jupiter in Book 3, but the details of that struggle are merely a backdrop for the aetiology of the constellation Milvus (3.793-808), which features a prophecy that whoever burns the entrails of an earthborn bull-snake hybrid will achieve ultimate power over the gods (viscera qui tauri flammis adolenda dedisset | sors erat aeternos vincere posse deos; “whoever casts into the flames to be burned the viscera of the bull, his lot will be the ability to conquer the eternal gods,” 3.803-804). This is an interesting visceral link between the two passages in the Fasti concerned with Saturn’s overthrow, but these viscera do not appear to be implicated in Ovidian reproductive metaphor.

79 act of filicidal consumption, which renders the belly visceral, sets in motion the series of events that will retroactively justify that viscerality.

The visceral entrapment of Saturn’s offspring—an un-birthing that transplants them immediately post-partum into the belly qua womb of the father—thus operates on two levels to mark immediate domestic harm and impending dynastic struggle. In the canon of cosmogonic and theogonic narrative, the intergenerational conflict of the Titanomachy is a fundamental exemplum of civil war, in which all of the warring parties are closely related by blood, and every act of violence is also necessarily a violation of kinship ties.203 The stakes could not be higher than those in a struggle between divine generations, and the certainty of patricide and filicide as basic prerequisites of civil conflict could not be more evident; it seems not just suitable but inevitable, at this point in the Ovidian corpus, for a narrative of violence at the intersection of kinship and kingship to receive such visceral treatment.

3.3 The earthborn civil war

Jason’s encounter in Book 7 of the Metamorphoses with the soldiers sown from dragon’s teeth contains a vivid simile comparing their development and emergence from the earth to the human process of gestation and childbirth:

utque hominis speciem materna sumit in alvo

perque suos intus numeros conponitur infans

nec nisi maturus communes exit in auras,

sic ubi visceribus gravidae telluris imago

effecta est hominis, feto consurgit in arvo

203 According to the Theogony, it is not just Saturn’s children but also his siblings (the and the Cyclopes; 501-506, 617-735) who fight to overthrow him; the threat of fratricide joins patricide and filicide as further domestic conflict implicated in this divine struggle.

80

quodque magis mirum est, simul edita concutit arma.

Met. 7.125-130

And just as an infant takes up the shape of a human in its mother’s belly, and the infant is

assembled within piece by piece, and it does not go out into the common air until it is

fully developed, thus, when the form of a human has been created in the viscera of the

pregnant earth, it rises in the fertile field, and—what’s even more miraculous—

brandishes weapons brought forth at the same moment.

While the “viscera of the earth” 204 and her association with fertility and reproduction205 are already familiar topoi in the Metamorphoses, the detail with which Ovid develops the imagery of a pregnant earth is particularly striking here. The correlative structure of the simile (ut…sic) encourages the reader to imagine the conception and birth of these warriors as a mimesis of human reproduction. The varied repetition of the formulations species hominis (125) and imago hominis (128-129) for unborn children ties together human womb (materna in alvo, 125) with pregnant earth (gravida tellus, 128). Indeed, gravidus is a marked poetic term for pregnant

204 The discovery of mining is imagined as a journey into the viscera terrae at Met. 1.138; the rivers bury themselves in viscera matris (that is, Earth) during Phaethon’s ride in the chariot of the Sun (Met. 2.274). While this second instance primarily draws on an understanding of viscera terrae as referring to the same depths of the earth where mining would take place (and so a natural place for rivers to find refuge from the scorching heat of Phaethon’s ill-fated ride), Terra’s representation as mother also frames the rivers’ withdrawal into her depths as a return to the womb. The fertile earth had long been imagined in both Greek and Roman literature as a reproductive female body (and vice-versa); see Keith 2000: 50f and 2009. Cf. Statius, Theb. 9.451-454 and the cavae…viscera terrae searched by the river god Ismenus in an effort to increase his flood waters. 205 Cf. the Earth’s spontaneous production of new life following the flood in Book 1: fecundaque semina rerum | vivaci nutrita solo ceu matris in alvo | creverunt (“and the fertile seeds of things nourished by living soil as though in a mother’s womb,” Met. 1.419-421). This imagery of Mother Earth as fertile source of life is highly Lucretian: see Nugent 1994 and Gale 1994: 39f.

81 bodies;206 its pairing with tellus in her role as birthing mother defines the gestation of personified earth in terms of pregnancies experienced by human women.207

Yet it is remarkable that the human womb of the simile is an alvo (125), while the womb of Tellus is composed of visceribus (128). The distinction is significant, and traceable to Ovid’s consistent conditions for the visceral womb: the earthborn brothers form within the viscera of their mother because they will destroy themselves in a fratricidal civil war. Once Jason has confused the soldiers by casting a rock in their midst, they die at each other’s hands: terrigenae pereunt per mutua vulnera fratres | civilique cadunt acie (“The earthborn brothers perish through mutual wounds, and fall in civil combat,” Met. 7.141-142). That these soldiers were created in the viscera of the earth anticipates the intrafamilial violence cum civil discord that is emphasized in the narration of their deaths: fratres (141), mutua vulnera (141), civilis acies (142).208 As demonstrated above in Chapter 2, the ordinary Ovidian womb—uterus or venter or alvus—does not host offspring that will die at the hands of their own family members. Ovidian viscera are perfectly suited, however, to breed a single race of men fated to die in civil war. The seeds of

206 Very common in Roman Comedy of pregnant girls (e.g. Plaut. Cist. 617, Truc. 90; Ter. Ad. 475). Of herd animals, Verg. Georg. 2.150, 3.139; of human women, Lucr. 4.1275; Ovid Her. 6.61, 6.120, 16.44; Am. 2.13.1, 2.14.17; Met. 10.505; Fast. 2.451. 207 Anderson 1972 suggests that “Ovid makes no more extensive use of the simile, as Vergil might have, for example, to suggest the difference [Anderson’s emphasis] between the helpless infant and the fearsome warrior” (258). Indeed, Ovid’s interest lies in the similarities that bind together human reproductive processes with the supernatural impregnation and birth of these warriors from their earth-mother. 208 Cadmus’ encounter with the soldiers sown from dragon’s teeth in Book 3 of the Metamorphoses is a natural point of comparison for this episode; their conflict is similarly marked as a fratricidal civil war: civilibus bellis (“civil wars,” 117), cadunt…per mutua vulnera fratres (“the brothers fall through shared wounds,” 123), fraternaeque fidem pacis (“an agreement of fraternal peace,” 128). Though the earth is twice marked as their mother (terrigenis fratribus, “earthborn brothers,” at 118 and sanguineam matrem, “their blood-stained mother” at 125), she has no human or human-like characteristics (and no womb) in this passage. Indeed, the soldiers’ birth is marked primarily by agricultural language: the seeds are scattered on unpersonified soil (humi, 105), the soldiers rise from furrows (de sulcis, 107) and are themselves a seges (“crop,” 110).

82 such domestic bloodshed and civic destruction are most readily formed within a visceral womb.209

This particular civil war, unlike those presaged by Cepheus’ or Saturn’s viscera, is limited in scope. For the soldiers in this battle, there is no kingdom at stake, no succession struggle, no coup for control of the divine order. But while the terrigenae fratres are few in number, and their lives are brief, their fraternal conflict illustrates succinctly the great tragedy toward which every civil war necessarily tends: the extinction of a race of men at its own hands.

Though these soldiers are more supernatural than human, the simile describing their creation in human terms frames their experience as reflective of mortal behavior. They are born and they die in the manner of humans; humans themselves are no less susceptible to the terrible consequences of internecine violence.

Beyond the scope of this self-contained civil war, a further narrative of interfamilial violence looms. Medea watches Jason from the crowd (Met. 7.134), herself the indirect auctor of the earthborn conflict, having provided Jason with the magic spells and stratagems to overcome the impossible challenges set by her father.210 Though the Metamorphoses omits the narrative of their dramatic escape from Colchis, any reader familiar with Medea’s myth knows that the

Colchian princess will murder her own brother and scatter his dismembered body in order to delay her father’s pursuit. The birth of the soldiers from the earth’s visceral womb, then, reflects their immediate fratricidal conflict, staged in gory detail in the text itself, and gestures toward the intrafamilial bloodshed that will arise as part of the larger narrative surrounding their birth, even if that detail is omitted from the text. There is something larger at stake in the earthborn soldiers’

209 This conflict is also presaged by the fact that the earth generates weapons together with the soldiers (simul edita concutit arma, 130). Note the reappearance of the verb stem cutio with a visceral womb, which Ovid has used elsewhere in the context of abortion (Her. 11.44, Fast. 1.624). 210 She is, when Jason escapes Colchis with Fleece in hand, described as his auctor muneris (Met. 7.157).

83 civil war, after all: their total self-destruction is a violent turning point in a series of betrayals that will conclude with Medea’s own act of fratricide. And, as Ovid’s readers surely knew, Medea will not hesitate in the future to violate sacred domestic bonds and upend dynasties.

3.4 Foundational fratricide

While each of the narratives discussed above is far removed from Rome—these conflicts take place in distant locations (Ethiopia, Colchis, Olympus) and their combatants are distinctly othered by ethnicity, or monstrosity, or divinity—Ovid does not, in the end, shy away from incorporating his visceral characterization of civil discord into a distinctly Roman context. The narrative of and Remus, and in particular the fraternal bloodshed which stains the story of Rome’s foundation,211 is perfectly suited to visceral metaphor. In what has by now become a recognizable Ovidian pattern, the viscera of this foundational fratricide appear not just as an immediate marker of familial violation, but also as an early portent of violence fated for the distant future.

Indeed, the viscera in Ovid’s account of Rome’s founding twins appear at the moment of their conception, when Rhea Silvia awakens from the deep sleep cast upon her by to discover that she is pregnant: somnus abit, iacet illa gravis, iam scilicet intra | viscera Romanae conditor urbis erat (“Sleep has departed, and she lies pregnant, already the founder of the Roman city was within her viscera,” Fasti 3.23-24).212 Note that Romulus already overshadows and displaces his twin within the womb—Romanae conditor urbis (24) is pointedly singular. Indeed,

211 On the significance of as figures in Rome’s legendary history, see Cornell 1975 and Wiseman 1995. 212 Ursini 2008 observes the phonetic effect of viscera in these lines, and suggests that the expression intra viscera can appear “inutilmente cruda ad una sensibilità moderna” (87); I would argue that the rawness of the imagery is an essential feature of the metaphor’s texture that communicates to the careful reader of Ovidian mythography the looming threat of violence.

84 the Fasti has already made several references to Remus’ death (2.134, 143, 486), and will stage it in detail in Book 4 (837-852). Since the competition between these brothers forms a common thread in the foundational myths that compose a large portion of the Fasti’s content,213 it is fitting that their conception be developed in visceral terms. This account of Rhea Silvia’s pregnancy is thus defined in clear reference to the fraternal discord that will afflict the lives of her twin sons in the future.

I argued in Chapter 2 that the visceral womb reflects a violated relationship (past, present, or future) between sharers of the same body: this is nearly always the link between mother and child (Canace in Heroides 11, Corinna in Amores 2.13-14, the Ausonian women in Fasti 1,

Eriphyle in Amores 1.10) and sometimes, via male appropriation of the womb, between father and child (Saturn in Fasti 4, Tereus in Metamorphoses 6). Rhea Silvia’s visceral womb is a marked departure from that pattern, because Rhea enacts no violence against her sons.214

Nevertheless, the disputing parties here are still sharers of the same body: the fact that Romulus and Remus are twins makes it possible for a visceral womb to denote fraternal, rather than filial- maternal, conflict. Think again of the earthborn soldiers of Metamorphoses 7, whose fraternal violence is presaged by the viscerality of the womb from which they were all simultaneously born. Sharers of the same womb who are fated to kill each other are excellent candidates for gestation within maternal viscera. The visceral characterization of Rhea Silvia’s pregnancy, then,

213 See Littlewood 2006: lxvii-lxviii. Note that the Fasti’s account of Remus’ death takes direct agency out of Romulus’ hands. Instead, it is Celer, whom Romulus has instructed to protect the walls, who strikes the fatal blow. It is Romulus’ original instruction (neve quis aut muros aut factam vomere fossam | transeat! audentem talia dede neci! “Let no one cross over the walls or the trench made by the plow! Kill the man daring such things!” 4.839-840) that makes him indirectly responsible for his brother’s death. The thematics of civil strife lurk beneath Romulus’ subsequent characterization of his brother as an enemy of the state: sic…meos muros transeat hostis (“thus may the enemy cross my walls,” 4.848). See Pasco-Pranger 2006: 79f on “Ovid’s composition of the Fasti as a close analog to the foundation of Rome itself.” 214 She is, however, unable to protect them from the murderous intentions of her uncle; see discussion below.

85 acts not as an indicator of parental threat against child but as a harbinger of fraternal violence to come.

While conflict over future empire is certainly marked by Rhea Silvia’s visceral womb, the question of kingship is also relevant to the twins’ birth and unusual upbringing. The paranoid jealousy of Rhea Silvia’s uncle, the usurper king (nam raptas fratri victor habebat opes; “for the winner controlled the wealth stolen from his brother,” 3.50), embroils Romulus and Remus even as infants in a dilemma of rightful succession. It is at Amulius’ command that they are abandoned to drown in a river (3.51), and as a result of this forced abandonment that they grow up unaware of their true bloodline.215 As young men, they seek to reestablish the rightful order by killing their great-uncle and restoring their grandfather to the throne (Romuleoque cadit traiectus Amulius ense | regnaque longaevo restituuntur avo; “Amulius falls skewered by

Romulus’ sword and the kingdoms are restored to their aged grandfather,” 3.67-68). The constant struggle for succession that marks the familial conflicts surrounding Rome’s proto- historical foundation is therefore skillfully signaled by the visceral womb of a woman caught between generations of warring brothers.

In this way, visceral bodies in Ovid have the capacity to indicate forthcoming violence at the crossroads of familial and dynastic struggle. When Phineus revolts against Cepheus for control of the Ethiopian kingdom, the king invokes his daughter’s visceral body in direct response to his brother’s betrayal. The earthborn soldiers whom Jason must face in Colchis drive themselves to extinction through a fratricidal civil war that is foreshadowed by their birth from the visceral womb of mother Earth. Saturn’s visceral imprisonment of his children foreshadows the impending conflict for control over Olympus—a struggle whose outcome is of paramount

215 See Rhea Silvia’s prophetic dream at 3.37-38, in which a picus and a lupa preserve her twins’ safety.

86 importance for Jupiter’s position at the head of the divine hierarchy of Roman gods. In like manner, the gestation of Rome’s founding brothers within a visceral womb prefigures the fratricidal conflict that will define the city’s origins.

3.5 The problem of Pythagoras

In light of the consistent association between reproductive viscera and domestic and civic disharmony in Ovidian myth, I must now address an important exception to this pattern.216 The single instance of visceral metaphor in Ovid’s corpus that does not explicitly conform to the poet’s regular conditions for visceral reproduction appears in Book 15 of the Metamorphoses,217 as Pythagoras offers an outline of the stages of human life:

…fuit illa dies, qua semina tantum

spesque hominum primae matris latitavimus alvo:

artifices natura manus admovit et angi

corpora visceribus distentae condita matris

noluit eque domo vacuas emisit in auras.

Met. 15.216-220

That was the day in which we, merely the seeds and hope of men, were hidden in the

belly of our first mother: nature applied her skillful hands and did not wish for bodies

216 I have used my best judgment in determining which instances of viscera in Ovid’s corpus are acting as metonymies for wombs and children; of those I have identified, the example discussed here is the only glaring exception to the pattern of association with domestic and/or civil conflict. See Appendix B for a cross-referenced catalogue of viscera in Ovid—those instances which I do not discuss (because I have judged that they are not clear instances of the metaphors in question) are marked as such. 217 There has been a great deal of scholarly debate about Ovid’s portrayal of Pythagoras, the soundness of his representation of Pythagorean philosophy, and the extent to which it is intended as satire. For recent discussions, see Miller 1994 and Hardie 1995; Segal 2001: 81f treats this passage as a reworking of Lucretius. For a larger consideration of Pythagorean intertext with the Metamorphoses as a whole, see Colavito 1989. For my purposes, Pythagoras is treated as a literary character whose speech can be read as an essential piece of the larger text, independent of the accuracy of its relationship to historical versions of that man or his philosophy.

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buried in the viscera of a stretched mother to be compressed and she sent us out of that

home into the empty breezes.

This passage presents the development of the human body as evidence in Pythagoras’ larger argument for the inevitability of change in the natural world. While the viscera here refer unequivocally to a pregnant womb, there is no immediate or explicit link to the thematics of violent intrafamilial or civil strife.

It is nevertheless significant that the very first change that humans undergo—from seeds

(semina) to bodies (corpora)—entails a transformation of the mother’s womb from alvus to viscera.218 The womb as alvus contains what is small enough to lie hidden (latitavimus, 217); when those semina (216) become corpora (219), natura must step in to relieve the pressures— compressive (angi, 218) and expressive (distentae, 219)—that render the womb visceral. This metamorphosis is presented as natural and human; childbirth is a process guided by natura, who sends infants from the womb (as domestic space: e domo, 220) out into the world. In isolation, then, this speech suggests that the visceral womb is a necessary and inevitable step in the generation of human life, a product of the internal pressures exerted by and on a pregnant body which natura works to decompress.

But Pythagoras’ speech cannot be read in isolation.219 Appearing as it does at the conclusion of Ovid’s sweeping mythological epic, this womb bears the weight of all the viscera that have come before it. The poet’s readers are fully conditioned by now to associate visceral wombs with the most horrifying violations of physical and social boundaries. They have

218 The juxtaposition of alvus and viscera recalls the childbirth simile from Book 7 (123-127, as discussed above, pp. 89-93), with the two words appearing in the same case and positioned in the same metrical sedes. In Book 7, the distinction between alvus and viscera separates the womb of the mortal human woman from that of the personified Tellus. In this case, however, alvus and viscera embody two stages of the same womb. 219 In fact, Myers 1994: 133f argues that Pythagoras’ speech is a microcosm of the poem as a whole.

88 witnessed feticidal mothers tearing out their visceral wombs, cannibalistic fathers consuming visceral children, murderous relatives stabbing, burning, dismembering, and raping their own visceral kin. Moreover, Pythagoras himself, in the lines leading up to this passage, has consistently invoked the visceral lexicon to describe what his philosophy considers the cannibalistic consumption of reanimated human souls.220 There can be no neutral reading of viscera now, no return to its purely anatomical sense in Lucretius or the medical classification that survives for us in Celsus. Ovid has systematically and insistently stained the word viscera with the collective bloodshed of myth’s most unspeakable crimes.

What, then, are we to make of its appearance in Pythagoras’ speech? So far in the

Ovidian landscape, visceral wombs and visceral children inhabit a mythological plane. This is a world where murder, cannibalism, and incest are common occurrences, and where troubled mortals frequently transform into animals, plants, and stars. The thematics of viscerality and reproduction developed thus far are troubling, to be sure, but firmly rooted in a fictional plane.

When Pythagoras inserts the visceral womb into his narrative of human generation, his application of viscera to a real and universal process jerks the thematics of visceral reproduction, with all of its charged associations, firmly into the realm of the human, the possible, and the repeatable: pregnancy is a visceral activity, and everyone is implicated by virtue of being born.

220 Met. 15.88-90: heu quantum scelus est in viscera viscera condi | congestoque avidum pinguescere corpore corpus | alteriusque animantem animantis vivere leto (“Alas, how great a crime it is for viscera to be buried inside viscera and for a greedy body to grow fat upon a digested body, and for a living soul to survive by the death of another living soul.”) Cf. the conclusion to Pythagoras’ lengthy speech, with a final entreaty for men to discontinue consuming meat at Met. 15.458-462: corpora, quae possunt animas habuisse parentum | aut fratrum aut aliquot iunctorum foedere nobis | aut hominum certe, tuta esse et honesta sinamus | neve Thyesteis cumulemus viscera mensis (“Let us allow those bodies, which can contain the souls of our parents or our brothers or of any number of men joined to us by a pact or certainly of humans, to be safe and whole, and let us not pile up viscera on tables like Thyestes”).

89

In light of all the visceral wombs and visceral children that Ovidian texts have produced, then, and the specific conditions of their viscerality (feticide, infanticide, filicide, matricide, patricide, fratricide, cannibalism, incest, and/or civil war), Pythagoras’ suggestion that every productive womb necessarily tends toward a visceral state creates an unsettling link between relatable human experience and those horrific narratives of impiety which seemed distantly and safely mythological. If all humans grow before birth within visceral wombs, and if visceral wombs are a consistent symptom of horrific violations of familial and civic duty, then internal strife—domestic and civil—is an inherent risk of reproduction.221

Pythagoras’ contribution to the discourse of human reproduction, with its destabilizing deployment of a visceral metonymy that, to a sensitive reader of Ovidian viscera, appears to violate established conditions for its usage, in the end implicates all of human life in the impious activity that produces visceral bodies. Though there are no immediate contexts of violence for

Pythagoras’ visceral womb, the long-established Ovidian pattern suggests that where visceral reproductive bodies appear, impious violence is sure to follow. And so this unusual usage, beset by no apparent conditions for strife but attached to a universalizing expression of the human condition, leaves the unsettling impression that with every act of reproduction, with every conception of new human life, strife is always already on its way.

221 Relevant once again is Green 2004: 284f on the tension between Ovidian representations of fertility and the Augustan legislation that encouraged reproduction.

Chapter 4 The Visceral Text and its Legacy

4 4.1 The metamorphosis of viscera

Though reproductive viscera appear only once in Ovid’s Tristia,222 this single occurrence is a significant experiment in metapoetics that demonstrates the poet’s self-conscious authorial engagement with his own visceral game. In the first book of his Tristia, the Ovidian narrator223 reports that when he was forced to depart Rome he decided to cast his copy of the

Metamorphoses into the fire. In doing so, he compares himself to Althaea:

utque cremasse suum fertur sub stipite natum

Thestias et melior matre fuisse soror,

sic ego non meritos mecum peritura libellos

imposui rapidis viscera nostra rogis.

Trist. 1.7.17-20224

Just as the daughter of Thestius is said to have burned her own son in the guise of the log

and to have been a better sister than mother, so I placed my little books, undeserving (of

punishment)—my viscera, about to perish along with me—on snatching funeral pyres.

222 In fact, the word viscera occurs only once in the entirety of the Tristia and Epistulae ex Ponto. There are viscera spattered all over the Ibis, meanwhile, though none of them are unambiguously reproductive. They refer most often to the spilled (and/or cannibalized) inner organs of a mangled human body, which is not surprising given the narrator’s concern with imagining the worst possible torments to inflict upon his enemy. Cf. Krasne 2012, who concludes with the interesting proposal that the addressee known only as ‘Ibis’ (in imitation of a Callimachean model) refers not to any historical enemy but rather to the Muses who inspired his poetry. This interpretation suggests that the thematics of the visceral text discussed below remain very much at play in the Ibis. 223 In the interest of brevity, I will refer to the pseudo-biographical narrative voice of the Tristia as “Ovid,” with the understanding that Ovid’s exile poetry is a literary conceit rather than a biographical account (see the sensible caution of Holzberg 2006). As such, the truth or fiction of this episode and the relationship of Ovid as historical author to his material texts is ultimately unknowable. Even so, the interaction of this passage with the rest of Ovid’s corpus does bear broader implications about authorship and the perils of poetic production. 224 For Ovid’s exile poetry, I use as my edition Owen 1915.

90 91

Ovid here represents his poetic texts—viscera nostra (20)—as his children, rendered visceral by the prospect of material destruction at the hands of their creator. That these viscera designate offspring is clear both from Ovid’s self-identification with the filicidal Althaea and from his continued assumption of a parental relationship to his texts: later in the same poem, he describes them as “orphaned volumes” (orba parente suo…volumina, 35). His claim at 1.7.19, meanwhile, that the burning texts will perish “along with [him]” (mecum),225 recalls those mythological parents who characterize the deaths of their visceral children as a form of physical harm to their own bodies. The association between author and parent is a common figure in Ovid’s exile poetry, even outside the context of destruction.226 By interweaving this author-parent analogue with his visceral child metaphor via a narrative of filicide, Ovid activates a series of intertextual references that confirm the efficacy of his visceral bodies as vehicles for the expression of anxieties about (re)production.227

The judicious reference to Althaea in Tristia 1.7 recalls Ovid’s emphatically visceral representation of Meleager’s death in Metamorphoses 8,228 where Althaea declares, just before burning the piece of wood to which her son’s life is bound, rogus iste cremet mea viscera (“let that funeral pyre burn my viscera,” 8.478). As Meleager begins to die, “he feels his viscera burn with unseen fires” (caecis torreri viscera sentit | ignibus, 8.516-517), and Althaea finally commits suicide by “driving a sword through her viscera” (acto per viscera ferro, 8.532). The viscera-as-child metaphor first serves as a symbolic displacement of violence against the child

225 On the Roman connection between exile and death, see Claassen 1999 passim. 226 For poet-parent comparisons in Ovid’s exile poetry, see Davisson 1984. On issues of poetic production and generational succession, Hardie 1993: 88f. 227 Hinds 1985: 430ff touches upon the nexus between these passages in respect to Ovidian self-referentiality. 228 As discussed above, pp. 77-79.

92 onto the parent, a theme familiar from other Ovidian instances of visceral children.229 Meleager then experiences the pain of his own death in the same body part that his mother just appropriated—and so Althaea’s viscera (as offspring) have viscera (as vital organs) of their own.

Althaea then dies by a wound inflicted upon her own viscera (as womb), a site of injury meant to underscore her betrayal of motherly duty. Within this brief episode, then, Ovid deploys viscera with particular elasticity of meaning: blood and guts, the metonymic child, the violated womb.

And so, at Tristia 1.7.17-20, in the pseudo-filicidal act of burning a physical copy of the

Metamorphoses imagined as his own viscera, Ovid burns also the many instances of viscera contained within that text. This includes all of the visceral wombs and visceral children in the epic narrative stained by domestic and civil bloodshed; most significantly, it includes the tangle of visceral referents in Book 8 to which this simile directly alludes. As Meleager’s visceral organs burn with a hidden flame (Met. 8.516-17), as Althaea agonizes over the murder of her visceral child (Met. 8.478) and pierces her own visceral womb in evocative punishment (Met.

8.532), so the material volume on which their story is inscribed burns around them, itself a visceral manifestation (Trist. 1.7.20) of their creator. We are pulled back into that visceral mise en abyme, even as we are encouraged to imagine the destruction of the text that contains it. The burning volumes are akin to Meleager’s piece of wood, as the material anchor that ties the life of a vulnerable body to the physical realm. The burning of these objects is linked inexorably to the destruction of visceral offspring at the hands of their parents.230

229 Cf. Canace’s newborn, Her. 11.91-92 and 120, Andromeda, Met. 5.19, Itys, Met. 6.651, Myrrha, Met. 10.465, Medea’s children, Rem. 59. 230 Contrast Farrell 1999: 140-141, who translates the viscera of Trist. 1.7.20 as “my own flesh and blood” but concludes from its appearance that “the true correspondence is between [Ovid] and his poetry, resembling the magical relationship between Meleager and the log.” I must disagree: the visceral metaphor here sustains a different network of correspondences between Althaea-Ovid (parent), Meleager-Metamorphoses (child), and log-volumen (material upon which the child’s survival depends). Ovid’s identification of the burning text as his viscera

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This visceral text, among the last of the visceral figures Ovid ever published, contains a weighty implication about the hazards of (sexual or textual) reproduction. In tying authorship to parenthood by visceral means, Ovid’s textual viscera suggest that composition makes an author vulnerable in the same way that reproduction makes parents vulnerable. The act of poetic production is thus entangled in the system of violence that mars so many of the parent-child relationships of Ovidian myths. Whether one produces a child or a text, to produce is to expose a part of the self. Texts are as much an external manifestation of an author’s most vital parts as children are of their parents’. It is presented as a dangerous inevitability that the parent-poet will cause harm to his creation, and, by extension, to himself. Ovid’s willful act of destruction in

Tristia 1.7, in keeping with the experience of all the filicidal parents in his corpus, is also a form of self-destruction. His visceral texts bear with them, and within them, the weight of all the troubled parental relationships whose violations he has authored.

The interlocking metapoetic and intertextual components in Tristia 1.7 and

Metamorphoses 8 exemplify the intricate machineries of Ovidian viscera. The charged self- referential moment in the exile poem activates a mutually dependent triangulation of visceral wordplay, so that Ovid’s metamorphic representation of Althaea’s filicide becomes a proleptic refraction of his troubled authorial relationship with poetic production. This final instance of a visceral reproductive body in the Ovidian corpus, imbued with particular meaning through its appearance in a charged quasi-autobiographical episode—where the narrative voice represents

demonstrates the same parental appropriation of pain that always characterizes his figure of the visceral child, but Farrell’s interpretation overlooks this long-established pattern. Ovid’s health is not materially tied to his text as Meleager’s is to the log—rather, the danger to his body as the parent of a visceral child is symbolic. He is, in this episode, an Althaea through and through, who plans and achieves a death by fire for his offspring, and laments that loss by imagining the dying child as a component part of his still-living body.

94 the author himself, or as near as we can possibly approach an author obscured by the film of literary conceit—punctuates the prolonged process by which the author has linked production to destruction via the semantic metamorphosis he enacts in the usage of the word viscera. In the end, Ovid’s final self-conscious addition to his carefully constructed visceral monument clarifies the most significant contention of his new metaphors, which saturate and stain narratives of familial violation and civic discord, only to be saturated and stained in return: all roads in the

Ovidian landscape lead toward discontinuity and destruction, originating with the act of production itself.

4.2 Visceral Receptions

Despite (or in anticipation of) the fiery demise of that volumen in Tristia 1.7, the closing lines of the Metamorphoses confirm that the is immune to destruction by physical forces like fire: iamque opus exegi, quod nec Iovis ira nec ignis | nec poterit ferrum nec edax abolere vetustas (“Now I have completed this work, which neither the rage of Jupiter nor fire nor iron nor the hungry passage of time will have the power to destroy,” Met. 15.871-872).231 This claim precedes a broader declaration that poetry is an author’s path to immortality, since its continued circulation after his death will preserve his fama and nomen:

cum volet, illa dies, quae nil nisi corporis huius

ius habet, incerti spatium mihi finiat aevi;

parte tamen meliore mei super alta perennis

astra ferar, nomenque erit indelebile nostrum;

231 Since the Metamorphoses was likely revised from exile (see n.3 and n.186), it is difficult to say with complete certainty whether this nod to destruction by fire is winking at the narrative in Tristia 1.7—where the speaker acknowledges that despite his dramatic account of the epic’s fiery death, the existence of other copies means that “the writings were not entirely destroyed, but survive” (non sunt penitus sublata, sed extant, 23-24). See again Hinds 2006: 430ff.

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quaque patet domitis Romana potentia terris

ore legar populi, perque omnia saecula fama

(si quid habent veri vatum praesagia) vivam.

Met. 15.873-879 Let that day, which has jurisdiction over only my body, put an end whenever it likes to

my life of uncertain span; even so, I will be borne eternal above the high stars by a

greater part of myself, and my name will be incapable of erasure; and as far as Rome’s

power stretches over its conquered lands, I will be read on the lips of the people, and

throughout every age because of my fame—if the predictions of seer-poets have any truth

to them—I shall live.

The final word vivam (879) draws upon the close link between text and author that the grieving speaker of Tristia 1.7 invokes with mecum peritura (“destined to perish along with me,” 1.7.19).

Just as text dies with author, so author lives on through text: the work whose destruction coincided with its author’s symbolic death will also, through its own survival, ensure that the author’s name is never forgotten (nomenque erit indelebile nostrum, 15.876). The end of the

Metamorphoses also clarifies the author’s resolute orientation toward the future (perque omnia saecula, 15.878). If the key to immortality is for one’s texts to continue to be read long after one’s death (ore legar populi, 878), there could be no greater fulfillment for the speaker of Met.

15 than for the most prominent and prolific authors of the ages that follow to demonstrate in their own writing familiarity with, and appreciation of, Ovidian works.

There already exists a vast body of scholarship on the reception of Ovid (especially the

Metamorphoses) in later literature and art. The remainder of this chapter offers a focused contribution to the study of Ovid’s literary legacy by addressing the appropriation and repurposing of Ovidian language by his literary successors through the specific lens of visceral

96 metaphor. The reception of visceral reproductive bodies, even (and especially) in those texts whose relationships to the Ovidian corpus are less obvious, provides evidence of Ovid’s influence over later authors and clarifies where traces of Ovidian style persist in later literary programs.

Because instances of these receptions are too numerous for comprehensive treatment, I sample those occurrences most illustrative of each author’s approach to visceral bodies. Viscera in Lucan confirm the relevance of Ovid’s metaphors to narratives of civil discord. Examples from Senecan tragedy, in turn, emphasize the resonance of Ovid’s visceral metonyms in narratives of insidious familial immorality. The dense concentration of visceral wombs and visceral children in the works of the Neronian authors is followed by a sudden and puzzling

Flavian silence, with the exception of a noteworthy nod to Ovid’s visceral texts by Quintilian.

4.3 Lucan’s viscera: Roman civil war

The opening lines of Lucan’s De Bello Civili,232 the quintessential Roman civil war narrative, present the Roman people as a collective stabbing itself in its own most vital parts:

bella per Emathios plus quam civilia campos

iusque datum sceleri canimus, populumque potentem

in sua victrici conversum viscera dextra…233

DBC 1.1-3 We sing of wars, worse than civil, fought on Emathian plains, and right granted to crime,

and a powerful people turning a conquering hand against their own viscera…

232 Edition: Housman 1927. 233 Though there has been some debate over the authenticity of the first seven lines of DBC, stemming mostly from an apparent conflict between explicit praise of and bibliographical details of the author’s life, the lines are generally accepted today as authentic. See discussion in Grimal 2010.

97

These lines have consistently been read, and not unjustifiably, as engaging with Vergil.234 The viscera of DBC 1.3 do echo Anchises’ dire underworld prediction concerning the very civil conflict that will be the focus of Lucan’s epic poem.235 In describing the predestined conflict,

Anchises presents Caesar and Pompey—the immediate players in Lucan’s text—with a warning about that civil war: ne, pueri, ne tanta animis adsuescite bella, | neu patriae validas in viscera vertite vires (“Do not, young men, allow your spirits to grow accustomed to such terrible wars, and do not turn potent strength against the viscera of the fatherland,” Aeneid 6.832-833).

There is a vital distinction, however, between the viscera of Anchises’ prophecy and those of Lucan’s programmatic opening. As I have demonstrated in this study, the appearance of the possessive pronoun in conjunction with viscera is a necessary component of the Ovidian visceral child. While Anchises’ prophecy certainly warns of the dire consequences of civil war, those viscera belong to the imagined body of a personified fatherland (patria, 6.833). As often in late republican literature, the health of a state can be measured by the vulnerability of its most vital organs; any danger posed to the city of Rome, especially if the threat is internal, is easily imagined as potential violence enacted against its viscera.236 The implied parental relationship in the designation patria draws close to the Ovidian figure, but the distinctly familial dimension of

Ovid’s visceral violence is not activated as such. The primary metaphor here is that of an embodied state whose citizens threaten serious injury against it. The dangers of civil war are no doubt indicated by these Vergilian viscera, but reproductive relationships are not overtly entangled in the metaphor.

234 Conte 1966, Thompson and Bruère 1968: 1-2, Narducci 1979: 28-29, Feeney 1991: 274-277, Martindale 1993: 48-54, Putnam 1995: 222-226, Narducci 2002: 18-22, Casali 2011: 83-86, Keith 2011: 112-113, Reed 2011: 24-25. 235 As discussed above in Chapter 1, pp. 35-37. 236 See again Chapter 1, pp. 35-38.

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Lucan’s sua viscera, however, point explicitly to the familial relationships at stake in civil war by adhering pointedly to the Ovidian formula for visceral reproductivity. It is not the viscera patriae but the viscera of the people themselves (populum…in sua conversum…viscera) that are harmed; the danger posed to the viscera in these lines is directly imagined as a brand of self-harm against one’s own (sua) vital organs, just as intrafamilial violence is consistently imagined in Ovidian visceral metaphor. By incorporating into this Vergilian allusion the distinctly Ovidian treatment of viscera, which uses the possessive adjective to entangle the dangers of civil war with the tragic necessity of violence between blood relations, Lucan confirms that Ovidian visceral figures resonate meaningfully in the context of Rome’s most devastating civil conflict.237 The opening lines of the poem thus fully integrate the contexts of those Vergilian viscera (the fated conflict between Caesar and Pompey) with Ovid’s linguistic formula for visceral reproductive bodies. In this way, Lucan is able to characterize his project, from the very beginning, as both direct answer to the forward-looking Vergilian prophecy of

Rome’s self-destructive violence and creative adaptation of Ovidian approaches to staging bloody and shocking conflicts.238

237 Recognition of this visceral allusion will add further support to discussions of Ovid’s extensive influence on Lucan; see Esposito 1987, Tarrant 2002, Wheeler 2002, and Keith 2011, esp. 113-118 on Lucan’s use of Ovid’s Theban saga as a model for civil war narration. 238 Cf. Calpurnius Siculus Eclogue 1.46-50, where the figure of Bellona (during an inset poem about the second Golden Age) is denied the satisfaction of genuine civil war and forced instead to wage civil war against herself: dum populum deus ipse reget, dabit impia victas | post tergum Bellona manus spoliataque telis | in sua vesanos torquebit viscera morsus | et, modo quae toto civilia distulit orbe | secum bella geret (“As long as that god himself rules over the people, wicked Bellona will offer hands bound behind her back and robbed of her weapons she will twist frenzied bites into her own viscera and civil war—what once she scattered the world over—she will wage upon herself.”) Our lack of a secure date for this poet makes it difficult to position him in the literary discourse of viscera; some date his work to the reign of Nero (Townend 1980, Mayer 1980) but others favor a later date (Armstrong 1986, Champlin 1978); Wiseman 1982 connects this poem to the Claudian civil war, and see most recently Stover 2015: 321. Denied the opportunity to incite internal conflict within communities, Bellona tears herself apart from within, and so the viscerality of civic discord is transposed onto the personified body of that concept. Though the viscera that Bellona attacks refer primarily to vital organs here, this usage of viscera feels markedly post-Ovidian and even post-Lucanian, literalizing the notion of civil war as self-harm that Ovid and Lucan play with in their texts.

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Viscera continue to play a prominent role throughout Lucan’s epic narrative, sometimes in the senses more common to Vergil—the spilled vitals of dying men (e.g. at the bloody naval battle at the end of the third book; 3.644, 3.658, 3.677, 3.748) or the entrails of sacrificial animals (1.619, 1.624)—but often with unmistakable debt to the Ovidian metaphors. Laelius, for example, in proclaiming the depth of his devotion to Caesar, insists that his commitment extends to the most heinous violations of familial piety:

pectore si fratris gladium iuguloque parentis

condere me iubeas plenaeque in viscera partu

coniugis invita peragam tamen omnia dextra

DBC 1.376-378

If you should order me to bury my sword in the chest of my brother and in the throat of

my father and into the viscera of my pregnant wife, though with unwilling hand,

nevertheless I will239 carry out those orders.

This visceral womb, a formulation for which Lucan is clearly indebted to Ovidian precedent, stands as the third component of an ascending tricolon of horrific familial violations. Along with the imagined rupture of filial and fraternal bonds, expressed through the piercing of chest and throat, Laelius punctuates his determination to follow Caesar with the stabbing of a pregnant womb, an action that entails the destruction of both conjugal and paternal duties at once. In keeping with Ovidian precedent, viscera materialize here to mark the transformation of womb to

239 At first peragam might naturally read as a present subjunctive in the apodosis of what seems like a future less vivid condition introduced by si iubeas…but as Laelius continues his speech it seems more likely that peragam is in the future indicative in parallel to the future tense verbs miscebit (380) and veniam (382). My thanks to Michael Dewar for pointing out this fact—as he eloquently put it, “Lucan is in fact playing with us – at some point the initial ambiguity is replaced by criminal certainty: the implication at first is that Caesar never would be likely to give such orders, but in his passion Laelius talks himself from unlikely conditions to certainty and intention. Civil war is, after all, madness.” And what better way to express that madness than to display a soldier’s willingness to murder wife and child at once—in the shape of a visceral womb?

100 wound, as an imagined blow by the father’s hand gravely injures mother and unborn child together. Here Lucan’s Laelius articulates in no uncertain terms the link between visceral reproductive bodies and the violated familial ties that are a necessary but tragic element of civil war. In doing so, Lucan uproots what was deeply embedded in Ovidian subtexts and lays it starkly before his audience: all reproductive relationships are inherently dangerous—there can be no trust between brother and brother, father and son, wife and husband, child and father— because civil war demands the violation of familial pietas.240

After thus laying bare the mechanisms of Ovidian viscera in the first book of the DBC,

Lucan proceeds to enact slight adjustments in the conditions for visceral reproductive bodies as his narrative progresses. While viscera are still most likely to denote wombs and children under conditions of shocking violence, it is no longer necessary in Lucan, as it is in Ovid, for that violence to entail the breach of familial boundaries. In Book 3, for example, the narrator describes a set of twin brothers, one of whom is destined to die in battle: stant gemini fratres fecundae gloria matris | quos eadem variis genuerunt viscera fatis (“There twin brothers stand, the glory of their fertile mother, whom the same viscera bore for different fates,” 3.603-604).241

The birth of twins from a visceral womb recalls the pregnancy of Rhea Silvia with Romulus and

Remus in Ovid’s Fasti, where the viscerality of the mother’s womb foreshadowed impending

240 This episode, and its very Ovidian visceral component, is demonstrative of the larger preoccupation with boundaries and their violations in Lucan; as Bartsch 1997 puts it, “[Lucan’s] view of civil war relies on the notion that such conflict is best characterized as the violation of the most important boundaries that constituted human society at Rome before the fall of the Republic” (13) from abstract geographical and social boundaries and “even those that marked the dermal limit where the human body stopped and its environment began” (14). More work on boundaries in Lucan can be found in Wanke 1964: 111-112, Henderson 1987: 139 and 152, Masters 1992: 1-6, 54. 241 Metger 1957: 48-63 has demonstrated that this episode is a reworking of the twin narrative from Aen. 10.390- 392; cf. Leigh 1997: 252-254. Hunink’s (1992) note ad 4.604 on viscera demonstrates an awareness that the word viscera is ill-omened for these brothers (“considering the constant associations of death and destruction connected in BC with viscera, the word seems ominous even here,” 230)—our familiarity with Ovidian precedent clarifies Hunink’s instinct. The visceral womb always bodes ill for its inhabitant(s).

101 fratricide.242 In this case, however, the twin dies not at the hands of his brother but in the act of protecting him. With limbs severed, weapons lost, and his own death a foregone conclusion, he uses his dying body as a shield:

iam clipeo telisque carens, non conditus ima

puppe sed expositus fraternaque pectore nudo

arma tegens, crebra confixus cuspide perstat

telaque multorum leto casura suorum

emerita iam morte tenet.

DBC 3.618-622

Now lacking shield and weapons, not concealed deep within the ship, but out in the open,

using his bare chest as a shield for his brother, he remains, hit by multiple spears, and he

blocks weapons that would have killed his comrades, death already earned.

This soldier’s fraternal devotion then extends to all of his fellow soldiers—his final act is to hurl his mangled trunk onto the enemy ship, causing it to sink (6.622-634). When Lucan incorporates what is unmistakably a visceral womb into a description of pietas maintained rather than violated, he resists the established boundaries of Ovid’s metaphor: while familial relationships are still at stake, and a family member suffers a shocking and violent death, Lucan’s visceral womb marks loyalty over disloyalty and self-sacrifice over self-preservation.243 Nevertheless, the visceral womb remains a clear indicator of the violent and tragic death fated for one of its

242 See above, Chapter 3, pp. 93-95. 243 Cf. the moment of extreme paternal devotion expressed by Argus for his dying son at 3.748, and the triangulation of visceral figures in the mutual of Vulteius and his crew, a self-contained pseudo-civil- war where murder of comrades is framed as an act of extreme devotion (4.511, 545, 566).

102 occupants—no matter the brotherly devotion displayed by the dying man, he still meets his end in the midst of a civil war.244

4.4 Seneca’s viscera: domestic tragedy

Where Lucan uses visceral reproductive bodies to emphasize the strain on familial relationships necessitated by civil war, his uncle and tutor Seneca’s interest in visceral bodies is concentrated in exploration of episodes of domestic violence. While Seneca was a prolific author in multiple genres, it is primarily in his dramatic works that visceral wombs and visceral children appear. Like Lucan, Seneca demonstrates familiarity with the particular Ovidian conditions under which the metonymies originated even as he modifies their potential connotations.245 In reimagining narratives that Ovid has already told, or revisiting themes that Ovid explored,

Seneca deploys visceral metaphors both to acknowledge and to compete with his predecessor’s most vivid mythographies.

Seneca’s Medea builds upon the visceral foundations of her Ovidian predecessors (from the Heroides, the Remedia, and we must assume his lost version of the Medea tragedy) to suggest crimes still more gruesome than what her earlier incarnations managed to accomplish. In addition to the murder of her two children, the Senecan Medea professes a bloodthirsty eagerness to abort any child of Jason’s that may have taken hold in her womb:

si posset una caede satiari manus,

nullam petisset. ut duos perimam, tamen

244 Though he never engages with viscera, Dinter 2012 makes some interesting observations about the thematics of the body (and esp. the severed and mangled body) in Lucan. In addition to the human body, he considers the military body and textual body; see esp. 9-49. 245 Seneca’s tragedies in particular demonstrate close familiarity with Ovid’s work; according to Tarrant, “Seneca’s originality as a poet and dramatist can only be grasped in an Ovidian context” (1978: 263). For other approaches to Ovid’s influence on Seneca, see e.g. Jakobi 1988, Hinds 2011, Trinacty 2014 passim.

103

nimium est dolori numerus angustus meo.

in matre si quod pignus etiamnunc latet,

scrutabor ense viscera et ferro extraham.

Medea 1009-1013246

If my hand could have been satisfied by a single death, it would have sought none.

Though I kill two, nevertheless that number is too small for my suffering. If any child lies

hidden even now within its mother, I will search those viscera with a sword and expel it

with iron.

Medea’s threat demonstrates an unflinching commitment to the visceral conflation of womb and wound, where an act of feticide necessitates a self-inflicted injury. Not content to employ the herbal abortifacients that would terminate the fetus without external penetration of the mother’s body, she envisions an abortion accomplished by the most violent and invasive means possible.

This maternal threat to abort an unborn child as punishment for its father’s betrayal recalls the actions of the Ausonian mothers in Ovid’s Fasti, but incorporates the violent battlefield imagery

(ense et ferro, 1013) of Ovid’s Amores 2.14.

In her willingness to inflict physical harm upon her own body as a means to revenge,

Seneca’s Medea pushes the boundaries of the violence threatened by any of Ovid’s extant

Medeas.247 The Medea of Ovid’s Remedia, for example, enacted a form of violence in sua viscera that evoked physical self-harm before the resolution of the clause clarified the metaphorical significance of those viscera: she did physical harm to her children, not herself.248

246 For each of Seneca’s tragedies, including those of uncertain authorship, I use Zwierlein’s 1986 edition. 247 McAuley 2016: 207-254 discusses Medea’s motherhood in Seneca with frequent reference to Ovidian precedent. Tarrant has done extensive work on Seneca’s reception of Ovid—discussion of Medea passim in Tarrant 1978 and 1995. 248 As discussed above in Chapter 2, pp. 70-72.

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But the metaphorical self-harm accomplished by the imagination of dying children as the vital organs of their parent is not sufficient for Seneca’s Medea; her manic commitment to the punishment of her faithless husband requires her viscera to account for self-harm both literal and metaphorical, so that she must puncture her own vital organs (a visceral womb) in order to extinguish any trace of Jason’s offspring (a visceral child). Seneca’s Medea is therefore both post-Ovidian and über-Ovidian; where the visceral children of Ovid’s Medea were vulnerable externalizations of her body, this Medea deliberately recenters the site of maternal violence to her own womb. In rejecting the role of mater249 and eliding the possessive pronoun, such that there is no indication that the viscera belong to her, she further dissociates the violence from herself even as she envisions an extreme and violent act of self-harm.

Seneca elsewhere draws together the conditions for reproductive viscera from a constellation of episodes elaborated in Ovidian mythography, so that his visceral metaphors compete with and supersede their antecedents. In his Thyestes, the particulars of the title character’s parental cannibalism are clarified in gruesome detail:

quis hic tumultus viscera exagitat mea?

quid tremuit intus? Sentio impatiens onus

meumque gemitu non meo pectus gemit.

adeste, nati, genitor infelix vocat,

adeste. visis fugiet hic vobis dolor.

unde obloquuntur?

249 Boyle 2013 ad 1012-13 makes an interesting observation about the substitution of mater here “where one might have expected a word denoting the part of the body by which a woman becomes a mother, i.e. the womb” (380). I would contend that viscera is the womb word in this passage, and that Medea is dissociating herself from the role of mother (in matre rather than in me) in order to emphasize that not even concern for the integrity of her own body will be an obstacle to revenge. Once again birth and death are linked at the site of the visceral womb.

105

Thyestes 999-1004

What turmoil is this that agitates my viscera? What has trembled within? I feel an

intolerant burden and my chest groans with a groan that is not my own. Come, sons, your

unhappy father calls you, come. This pain will pass away once I have seen you. From

where are they making their reproaches?

The tragic condition of the father who has unknowingly ingested his own children, emphasized by the unwitting double entendre where his agitated viscera denote both his internal organs and his dead offspring (quis hic tumultus viscera exagitat mea? “What disturbance stirs up my viscera?” 999), strongly recalls the experience of Tereus in Metamorphoses 6. As visceral children are absorbed into visceral vitals, the subsequent horror of autophagia confirmed by that disturbing verbal conflation (appearing again at 1041, volvuntur intus viscera), the emphatically visceral imagery of the children’s dismembered bodies (viscera featured in the earlier set-piece of cooked body parts, 765), and Thyestes’ fruitless impulse to free them by tearing at his own bowels (1043-4; cf. Met. 6.633-634) points further to the episode of Itys’ death and ingestion at the hands of his parents in the Metamorphoses.250

But the repulsive crimes of Seneca’s Thyestes are not limited to this act of involuntary cannibalism; he is guilty also of a sexual violation that affiliates him with the incestuous father

Cinyras of Metamorphoses 10.251 At the beginning of the Agamemnon, as the shade of Thyestes recounts his offenses, after admitting to cannibalism via a visceral child metaphor (exedi mea viscera; “I consumed my own viscera,” 27) he confesses to the further crimes of intercourse with and impregnation of his own daughter:

250 The influence of Metamorphoses 6 on Seneca’s representations of Thyestes has been noted in detail; see e.g. Tarrant 1985, Schiesaro 2003, and Chapter 7 of Curley 2013. 251 See above, Chapter 2, pp. 75-76.

106

nec hactenus Fortuna maculavit patrem,

sed maius aliud ausa commisso scelus

gnatae nefandos petere concubitus iubet.

non pavidus hausi dicta, sed cepi nefas.

ergo ut per omnis liberos irem parens,

coacta fatis gnata fert uterum gravem252

me patre dignum, versa natura est retro:

avo parentem, pro nefas, patri virum,

gnatis nepotes miscui—nocti diem.

Agamemnon 28-36

Not yet was Fortune finished staining the father, but having dared another crime more

serious than what was already done, she ordered him to pursue unspeakable intercourse

with his daughter. Without fear I drank in her orders, I seized upon that crime. And so

that I might have parental power over all my children, my daughter, coerced by fate,

bears a pregnant belly worthy of a father like me, and nature is turned upside-down: I

confounded parent with grandfather, husband with father, children with grandchildren—

day with night.

The vocabulary used to designate the incestuous sex between Thyestes and his daughter (scelus,

28; nefandos, 29; nefas, 30, 35) echoes the most pervasive lexical signposts of the unspeakable relationship between Cinyras and Myrrha (scelus, Met. 10.315, 322, 323, 342, 367, 413, 460,

468, 474; nefas, 10.307, 322, 352, 404). At the same time, Thyestes’ explication of confused

252 I prefer the reading uterum gravem in Tarrant 1976 to the OCT edition I am otherwise using (Zwierlein 1986, who reads utero gravi here).

107 familial roles (35-36) directly recalls Myrrha’s tormented discussion of the same subject (tune eris et matris paelex et adultera patris? Tune soror nati genetrixque vocabere fratris? “Will you be your mother’s rival and father’s mistress? Will you be called the sister of your son and the mother of your brother?” Met. 10.347-348). Thyestes’ daughter assumes the role of Myrrha, whom Ovid branded a visceral child at the moment she consummated her lust for her father

(Met. 10.465).253

The visceral consumption that precedes this confession, then—viscera exedi mea (27)— is indicative of crimes beyond Thyestes’ paternal cannibalism. The father’s consumption of his children is both physical and sexual, and so in committing two brands of unspeakable crime— both of which, according to Ovidian precedent, are grave enough to render a child visceral—he becomes a figure parallel to Ovid’s Tereus and Cinyras, but more terrible for having combined their individual violations into a doubly horrifying act of visceral consumption. Like Seneca’s

Medea, his version of Thyestes recalls and then surpasses the crimes of his Ovidian models in a literary competition that generates new resonance for Ovid’s visceral figures.

Another example of Seneca’s hyperbolic competition with and emulative resistance to

Ovidian conditions for visceral bodies appears in the Phoenissae, as Oedipus laments the predetermined fate that marked him even before his birth. In doing so, he compares himself to an unborn infant that dies within the womb:

infanti quoque

decreta mors est. fata quis tam tristia

sortitus umquam? videram nondum diem

253 The narrator of Myrrha’s story is Orpheus—on the influence of this internal narrative voice on the judgments cast upon women for their sexual behavior, see Barchiesi 2006: 284-294.

108

uterique nondum solveram clausi moras,

et iam timebar. protinus quosdam editos

nox occupavit et novae luci abstulit:

mors me antecessit; aliquis intra viscera

materna letum praecoquis fati tulit:

sed numquid et peccavit?

Phoenissae 243-251

Death was decreed for me even as an infant. Who ever drew so grim a lot? Not yet had I

seen the light of day, not yet had I escaped the bonds of the enclosing womb, and already

I was feared. Night has seized some who are newly-born and ripped them from the

unfamiliar light; death found me even before that. Someone, premature in fate, has

endured death while inside his maternal viscera: but has he also committed some sin?

Oedipus frames the pre-partum death of an infant in terms that are clearly influenced by Ovidian figures for the womb: such a death occurs intra viscera | materna (249). Yet Oedipus does not describe himself as having occupied a visceral womb; the viscera here are a point of comparison for an unborn child whose death is still not as lamentable as Oedipus’ fate. Although the many familial violations that characterize Oedipus’ myth (not least patricide and maternal incest) would make him a prime candidate for occupation of a visceral womb in an Ovidian narrative,

Seneca’s Oedipus describes his own fate as worse than the child of a visceral womb, confronting the traditional conditions of Ovidian viscera and boldly inserting himself as comparative

109 material. Seneca imitates the figure but not uncritically, appending it to a context that resists its standard connotations.254

Like Lucan, Seneca allows visceral bodies to shift away from breaches of familial bonds to focus instead on acts of devotion, though the conditions of violent loss remain pertinent. In his

Troades, for example, Andromache invokes viscera in a desperate attempt to redirect violence from her son’s body onto her own:

propone flammas, vulnera et diras mali

doloris artes et famem et saevam sitim

variasque pestes undique et ferrum inditum

visceribus ipsis, carceris caeci luem,

et quidquid audet victor iratus tumens:

animosa nullos mater admittit metus.

Troades 582-586, 588255

Inflict flames, wounds, and the terrible techniques of wretched suffering, and hunger and

savage thirst and many a pestilence from all sides, and iron buried in my very viscera, the

penalty of dark imprisonment, and whatever the enraged and haughty conqueror dares. A

courageous mother feels no fears.

Such is Andromache’s response to Ulysses’ efforts to force her to reveal the whereabouts of her son. Her defiant invocation of a variety of physical torments, culminating in an invitation to be stabbed in her viscera, is an act of maternal protection in which she willingly directs her own

254 Because the tragedies of Oedipus’ story do fit so neatly into the spectrum of Ovidian visceral figures, the fragmentary state of this text (on which, see Fantham 1983, Hirschberg 1989, Frank 1995) is unfortunate. I am inclined to believe that more visceral bodies may have appeared in the lost sections of the play. 255 As Zwierlein 1986 prints it, line 587 has been extracted and moved to precede line 574.

110 body into physical danger in order to safeguard the body of her son. She is willing to sacrifice her visceral organs to prevent her son from himself becoming a visceral body, and she does so explicitly in her capacity as a courageous mother (animosa mater, 588).

Andromache here confronts the tradition of the Ovidian mother who uses viscera figuratively to transfer violence against her child onto her own body (my child is harmed and so I am harmed) while still allowing the child to suffer. Instead, Andromache offers up her own vital organs—her viscera—for physical torment in order that her son not be harmed. This self- sacrificial displacement, demonstrative of the exemplary maternal piety that Ovidian mothers too often lack,256 at once invokes and rejects the Ovidian conditions for visceral children:

Andromache will sacrifice her own physical well-being (encapsulated in visceribus ipsis) in order to prevent her son from becoming a visceral child.

While the visceribus ipsis of line 585 is not unambiguously a visceral metonym,257 there is further reason to interpret this passage as a confrontation with Ovidian precedent. Just a few lines earlier, as Andromache claims ignorance of her son’s location, she imagines that he has become carrion for scavenging beasts (numquid immanis ferae | morsu peremptus pascis Idaeas aves? “Do you feed the Idaean birds, devoured by the maw of a ferocious wild animal?” 566-

567). Such are the exact conditions for other visceral children in Ovid’s corpus, most notably

Canace from Heroides 11—who, in expressing an identical sentiment, imagines wild beasts tearing apart the body of her visceral child (diripiunt avidae viscera nostra ferae, 120).258 It is significant that, while Andromache echoes Canace’s fears about the violent death of her helpless

256 See McAuley 2016 generally for representations of motherhood (pious and impious) in Julio-Claudian and Flavian poetry, esp. 258-293 for Andromache’s maternality in the Troades. See also Fantham 1982 passim. 257 There is also a variation in the manuscript tradition (istis for ipsis), though the reading visceribus appears secure. 258 See above, Chapter 1, pp. 58-59.

111 child, she does not picture that child in visceral terms, instead deploying visceral language as she inserts herself as a physical obstacle between Ulysses, a man who clearly intends to harm her child, and the knowledge that will lead to that child’s location.

Seneca’s uses of viscera elsewhere demonstrate his familiarity with the mechanisms behind Ovidian visceral metaphors. This particular instance, then, uses the inverse of that visceral language—a reference to literal parental viscera rather than metaphorical ones—to emphasize the piety and fulfillment of maternal duty inherent in Andromache’s decisions. Rather than indulging the self-pity so characteristic of Ovidian parents whose children die as a result of their parental failures, Andromache uses visceral language to emphasize her commitment to the protection of her child. Her refusal to allow her son to become a visceral child like so many

Ovidian children in the preceding literary tradition is manifested in the diversion of violence meant for her child onto her own body. In this way, Andromache’s visceral organs are representative of her commitment to protecting her offspring, rather than her failure to do so.

In his tragedies, therefore, Seneca’s reception of Ovidian viscera is marked by a combination of imitation and innovation. Though unmistakable visceral metonymies appear throughout his tragic corpus and maintain close connections with gross instances of violence, they are not exclusive to the contexts of intrafamilial violation that so characteristically attend the appearance of visceral reproductive bodies in Ovid. Some of Seneca’s viscera, as in the case of Andromache, even act in direct contradiction to Ovidian preconditions for visceral bodies.

While Ovidian visceral metaphors saturate his tragedies, several extant examples from

Seneca’s work in other genres confirm his attention to the rich possibilities for their application.

112

In a letter written to his mother from exile (de Consolatione ad Helviam),259 Seneca praises her for never having had an abortion: nec intra viscera tua conceptas spes liberorum elisisti (“You never destroyed the hopes of children conceived within your viscera,” Ad Helv. 16.3). Mothers who receive abortions in Ovid consistently possess visceral wombs. Seneca has observed this connection, established in Ovid’s Heroides (Canace), Amores (2.14), and Fasti (the Ausonian women), and transfers it to a work of epistolary prose. The visceral womb becomes not just a spectre haunting those fictional mothers who populate myth, elegy, and legend, but an affliction applicable to the women of Seneca’s world, to those peers of his mother who do not measure up to Helvia’s standards of honorable womanhood.260

In his Naturales Quaestiones, as he expresses skepticism over the rumored effects of certain waters that lack explainable causes, Seneca mentions that Nile water reportedly aids in fertility: quare aqua Nilotica fecundiores feminas faciat adeo ut quarundam viscera longa sterilitate praeclusa ad conceptum relaxaverit (“Why should water from the Nile make women more fertile, to the extent that in the case of some women it has loosened for conception viscera closed off by lengthy barrenness?” NQ 3.25.11).261 Without any traditionally Ovidian context for a visceral metaphor, the viscera here still apply to a womb that is less than ideal; the womb afflicted by infertility (longa sterilitate praeclusa) becomes visceral to reflect its unsuitability for conception. A womb no longer requires the hostile attack of mother against fetus to be represented by viscera; the mere condition of barrenness, in which a womb is an unwelcome environment for a fetus, now activates that viscerality, too.

259 On this letter generally, see Ferrill 1966, Abel 1967, Meinel 1972, Williams 2006, Sauer 2013. 260 For Seneca’s construction of aristocratic womanhood and especially maternity through Helvia, see Wilcox 2006, Fantham 2007, Caro and Zapata 2014: 28-29, McAuley 2016: 170-199, and Gloyn 2017: 14-47. 261 Commentators on the NQ are (not surprisingly) primarily interested in the philosophical and scientific dimensions of this passage and do not comment on the visceral womb.

113

Seneca shifts the visceral womb further from its Ovidian precedents in Epistle 102. In explaining why death is not to be feared, Seneca frames death as a second birth, and life as equivalent to the gestational period within the womb. Infants are startled and frightened by the experience of birth when, as Seneca describes it, they are expelled ex maternorum viscerum calido mollique fomento (“from the warm and soft protection of the mother’s viscera,” 102.26.7).

He then clarifies that death, like birth, is a process of sundering: nunc tibi non est novum separari ab eo, cuius ante pars fueris (“Now it is not a new experience for you to be separated from something of which you were once a part,” 102.27.1).

Seneca explicates here the logic of separation of part from whole that governs the metaphor of visceral offspring in Ovid: a mother can claim her child as her viscera because it once grew within her belly, where her own viscera are located. Still, the materna viscera in this letter are a universalizing representation of maternity.262 They do not belong to women who enact violence against their children, or whose children will enact violence against them.

Maternal viscera are the warm and safe haven in which children grow and are nourished, and from which they must be unwillingly torn and forced into the startling and unfamiliar world.263

While the designation of a womb through the word viscera here seems to depend upon the originally Ovidian metaphor, its connotations have shifted dramatically.

262 Recalling especially in its description of birth as a universal human experience the maternal viscera in Pythagoras’ speech in Met. 15; see above, Chapter 3, pp. 96-99. 263 Cf. Sen. Epist. 124.8.5: quantulum interest inter eum quicumque maxime vitam accipit et illum qui maternorum viscerum latens onus est; “How little difference there is between the one who has been born and the one who still lies a burden within his mother’s viscera.”

114

4.5 Julio-Claudian interest, Flavian silence

The concentration of visceral metaphors in Lucan and Seneca is suggestive of a keen interest during the late Julio-Claudian period in the thematic contexts in which those figures resonate most strongly: domestic violence, civil war, and the horrifying violations of familial bonds that both entail. While these authors were personally entangled with imperial power—

Seneca as Nero’s tutor and advisor, Lucan once counted among his circle of amici, both forced to commit suicide as a result of their implication in the Pisonian conspiracy264—their literary experiments with visceral metaphor, like Ovid’s, never directly engage with that power.265

Direct engagement does come, however, in the pseudo-Senecan Octavia, the only surviving Roman play to address near-contemporary history, which stages the complex drama surrounding Nero’s unpopular divorce from his wife Octavia.266 When the shade of Agrippina speaks to Nero from the underworld, she laments that he was not killed before being born:

utinam, antequam te parvulum in lucem edidi

aluique, saevae nostra lacerassent ferae

viscera: sine ullo scelere, sine sensu innocens

meus occidisses…

264 Primary evidence for Seneca’s engagement with Nero as tutor and advisor can be found in Suetonius (Nero 7.1; 35.5) and (60.32, 61.3); Griffin 1992 examines Seneca’s role in Nero’s court and the philosophical and literary dimensions of his corpus that reflect political relationships, and Griffin 1984 does the same for Lucan. Lucan’s turbulent relationship with Nero, culminating in his forced suicide, is related in two Vitae Lucani (by Suetonius and Vacca). Our best source for the Pisonian conspiracy is Tacitus (Ann. 15.48-74), though for reasons of chronological distance and authorial bias this version of events is in many ways unreliable. See Pagán 2004: 68-90. 265 Debates over the dating of Seneca’s and Lucan’s texts complicate contemporary historical analysis of their content—without external evidence to corroborate chronology, most of Seneca’s plays could have been written under any of the Emperors from Tiberius to Nero. For various approaches to dating Seneca, see Fitch 1981, Tanner 1985, Nisbet 1990, Marshall 2014; for dating Lucan, Rose 1966. 266 The Octavia was once attributed to Seneca, but is now believed to have been the work of a later author, though likely one who composed it not very long after Nero’s death. Despite the question of its authorship, its close imitation of Senecan style and language makes it just as legitimate a candidate for analysis of visceral receptions as those plays composed by the canonical author. See Ginsberg 2017 for its central significance to studies of Rome’s self-representation and civil war anxieties.

115

Octavia 636-639

If only, before I brought you forth as a newborn into the light and nourished you, savage

beasts had shredded our viscera: without any crime, without any sensation, you would

have died, innocent, my very own…

This instance of nostra viscera is a clear imitation of the conflated visceral womb and visceral child that originated with Ovid’s Canace of Heroides 11. Agrippina, however, instead of expressing the anxiety and distress of a mother imagining the potential death of her child, invokes her own visceral womb as part of a very un-motherly wish that her adult son would have been killed before birth.

While Canace’s infant, an externalization of a womb made visceral by attempted abortion, is rendered visceral by its mother’s post-partum appropriation of its dying body as a symbol of her own vitality, Seneca’s Agrippina adapts and inverts the timeline of that viscerality: her wish is that the attack of wild beasts (which occurs upon Canace’s visceral child after it is born) had happened while Nero was still in utero: thus the beasts (saevae ferae) would have assailed a pregnant body that was both womb and wound.267 In addition, Agrippina’s reason for wishing this unthinkable fate upon her son is motivated by his own filial violence against her:

267 In the Hercules Oetaeus (whose attribution to Seneca is also suspect), Alcmene expresses a similar wish: utinam meis visceribus Alcides foret | exsectus infans! (“If only the unborn Alcides had been cut out from my viscera!” 1805-1806). The association of Alcmene with a visceral womb is already a bold step away from Ovidian treatments of Hercules’ mother, who served in Chapter 2 above (p. 68) as a clear counter-example demonstrating that visceral wombs are not appropriate to good mothers, even when birth narratives are marked by extreme violence. But this Alcmene, it should be noted, is expressing this wish as a way to protect her son from the pain he was fated to suffer, in contrast to Agrippina’s expressed desire to have prevented her son from committing crimes against her. Cf. also Phaedra’s regret in Her. 4 that her production of heirs has done harm to Hippolytus, expressed as a wish that her viscera would have failed in birth: o utinam nocitura tibi, pulcherrime rerum, | in medio nisu viscera rupta forent (“If only my viscera, which were going to do you harm, most beautiful man, had burst in the midst of labor,” 125- 126). The wishing of harm upon one’s children as a retrospective wish imagined as violence enacted during pregnancy and birth upon a visceral womb, then, has some precedent in Ovid.

116 just before she expresses this wish, she cites the genetricis ira, quae tuo scelere occidit (“the rage of a mother who died by your crime,” 635).

This imagination of an unborn child’s violent destruction within the viscera of his mother, whose death he would one day accomplish, draws together the threads of several different Ovidian visceral narratives. In this imagined alternative reality, Agrippina’s womb (and the child it contains) becomes viscera to reflect both the violent maternal impulse that inspires that imagined scenario and the filial violence fated to occur. While the immediate context here

(a mother imagines her child torn to pieces by wild beasts) is a clear echo of Canace, Agrippina is closer in mindset to an Althaea, who seeks to destroy her child as recompense for terrible deeds—and in this contrary-to-fact wish expression, to have done so before he ever had the chance to be born. At the same time, the fact of this child’s responsibility for his mother’s death puts Agrippina in the position of the Eriphyle of Amores 1.10, whose son stabbed her in the very viscera from which he had been born. Much in the vein of Seneca, these maternal viscera are a kind of condensation and overdetermination of Ovid’s use of the metaphor.

This narrative thus pushes the troubled filial relationships of the Neronian family into the realm of myth via a bloody and gruesome reimagination of the visceral story threads of Ovidian heroines like Canace, Althaea, and Eriphyle. Agrippina encapsulates the worst of each of their maternal experiences: Canace’s attempts to kill her own child before his birth, Althaea’s decision to commit filicide as punishment for her son’s deeds, and Eriphyle’s death at the hands of her own son. It is only fitting that the infamously wicked Agrippina would imagine a gruesome and violent death for her son that implicates, in visceral terms, the most troubled mother-son relationships of Ovidian mythography.

The Octavia is one notable exception to an abrupt and remarkable silence in our record: there is not a single clear instance of an Ovidian visceral womb or visceral child in any other

117 work of Roman poetry published after the death of Nero. The word viscera itself does not disappear; on the contrary, it remains a common designator of human vitals and sacrificial entrails.268 But not once in the extensive civil war narrative of Statius’ Thebaid, not once in

Valerius Flaccus, nor in Silius Italicus, not in Martial or Juvenal, do any of the Ovidian metaphors appear. Those instances of viscera that come closest to recalling Ovid are reversions to the viscera populi formulation that pre-dated Ovid, as in the excisae viscera gentis of Statius’

Thebaid (12.53) or the Ausoniae…viscera gentis of Silius Italica’s Punica (3.709). It is not impossible that the silence in the extant record is an unfortunate and misleading coincidence based on what texts survived and what texts did not. Nevertheless, the measurable difference in the occurrence of visceral metaphors in those works which survive in full—Lucan’s civil war narrative versus Statius’, for example—seems telling.

If our extant record gives us anything like an accurate representation of shifting lexical patterns, then we must recognize a shift, however minute, in literary preoccupations occurring at the nexus of the Julio-Claudian and Flavian periods. It cannot be that civil war is no longer a concern—the Flavian dynasty was founded upon civil war, and the content of the Thebaid alone signals that civic strife was as topical as ever for a Roman audience—but Ovid’s metaphors were never just about civil war and familial violence. His visceral wombs and visceral children are most striking for the manner in which they consistently implicate reproduction and fertility in the outbreak of violent conflict. During the Flavian period, the viscera of Roman poetry shift away from their entanglement with reproductive bodies that Ovid pioneered and Seneca and Lucan

268 E.g. Statius Theb. 1.523, 4.417, 4.467, 5.238, 7.768, 8.434, 11.238; 1.206, 6.416, 6.555, 7.359; Silius Italicus Pun. 1.307, 2.464, 4.384, 5.257, 5.528, 6.544, 6.581, 7.490, 7.626, 10.183, 11.357, 11.400, 14.308, 14.598.

118 maintained. After several generations of close association between viscera and fertile bodies, the word slides back to its primarily Vergilian connotations.

4.6 Quintilian and the visceral text

Though visceral wombs and visceral children effectively disappear along with the Julio-

Claudian dynasty, Ovid’s final semantic innovation—the visceral text—makes one notable appearance at the very end of the 1st century. In the proem to the sixth book of his Institutio

Oratoria, Quintilian recounts the extreme grief he suffered at the loss of his wife and children, and in particular the death of his last surviving son, for whom the author, in anticipation of his own demise, had been laboring diligently to complete an inheritance of educational books.269

The untimely death of that son occurred, Quintilian relates, as he was in the midst of composing one of these books. In grief and desperation, he speaks of punctuating his anguish by burning, along with his child’s body, the literary works intended for that child’s education:

Unum igitur optimum fuit, infaustum opus et quidquid hoc est in me infelicium litterarum

super inmaturum funus consumpturis viscera mea flammis inicere...

Instituto Oratoria 6.proem.3270

It would therefore have been best to cast this unlucky work and whatever remained in me

of ill-omened writings onto that untimely pyre, into the flames that were going to

consume my viscera…

Quintilian was a thorough, if not always complimentary, reader of Ovidian texts.271 Modern scholarship tends to emphasize his general disdain for Ovid’s perceived immaturity and lack of

269 On the preface to Book 6, see Ahlheid 1983, Winterbottom 1975, esp. 90-91, Celentano 2003, Leigh 2004. On prose prefaces more generally, Janson 1964: 50-60. 270 I use Radermacher 1959 as my edition of Quintilian.

119 self-restraint.272 Nevertheless, this striking image—an author mournfully casting his writings into flames meant to consume his own viscera—bears unmistakable resemblance to Ovid’s determination to destroy his own visceral texts at Tristia 1.7.19-20: sic ego non meritos mecum peritura libellos | imposui rapidis viscera nostra rogis (“In this way [sc. just as Althaea did] I cast my little books—my viscera, about to perish along with me—on snatching funeral pyres”).

In these lines from the exile poetry (with which this chapter began), Ovid conflates authorship with parentage, stretching the semantic scope of his long-established metaphor of the visceral child to frame texts as the vulnerable offspring of their author. Quintilian’s viscera, as the objects of consumpturis…flammis, denote at once the texts he casts into the flames and the son whose body is being cremated.

This reimagining of the funereal burning of authorial-parental products recenters its

Ovidian model by activating multiple variants of the visceral metaphor: the flames are meant to burn both text (as child) and child itself. Both of these referents, transformed at the moment of their destruction into the vital organs of their creator, become the author’s visceral children; the destruction of the parent’s authorial opus is enacted as a mirror image, a redoubling, of the death

271 Quintilian evaluates Ovid at e.g. Inst. Or. 4.1.77; 6.3.96; 10.1.88, 93, 98. His keen attention to Ovidian language, style, and rhetorical technique suggest that the allusion to Ovid discussed below can hardly be accidental. Inst. Or. 9.3.48 provides evidence that Quintilian read and noted a passage containing one of Ovid’s visceral metaphors, as he quotes Met. 5.17-19 (Cepheus on the sea-beast coming to feast on his vitals) to illustrate the effect of clauses beginning with the same word and joined by asyndeton. Even if Quintilian is influenced in part by visceral bodies in authors later than Ovid, he cannot have been unaware that the figure originated with Ovid. 272 This certainly appears to be the case from Quintilian’s oft-quoted evaluations of Ovid’s work: he is “childish” (puerilis, 4.1.77), “lewd” (lascivus, 10.1.88, and the related verb lascivire at 4.1.77), and “excessively enamored of his own talent” (nimium amator ingenii sui, 10.1.88). Even so, Quintilian’s opinions are frequently taken out of context—when he criticizes Ovid, he often has something redeeming to say (e.g. laudandus tamen partibus, “nevertheless he should be praised in some regards,” 10.1.88). Quintilian’s most frequently quoted critique (Inst. Or. 4.177) concerns Ovid’s transitions in the Metamorphoses—though he calls Ovid’s techniques childish and self- indulgent, he does immediately afterward acknowledge that the necessity of gathering many different topics into the semblance of a unified work justifies those approaches (quem tamen excusare necessitas potest, res diversissimas in speciem unius corporis colligentem.) Wheeler 1999: 122-124 situates Quintilian’s evaluations of Ovid in context; and cf. Keith and Rupp 2007: 18-21.

120 of his child.273 Quintilian skillfully handles the plasticity of Ovidian viscera, at once acknowledging their import as the incarnation of Ovid’s late-career anxieties about textual production, and redirecting them to the semantic epicenter of their function in the larger Ovidian corpus—as an embodiment of dying or dead children.

In a moment of intensely personal tragedy and willful self-destruction, then, Quintilian selects for the fullest expression of paternal (and authorial) grief the Ovidian figure of the visceral child. How did a recognizably Ovidian turn of phrase make its way into an earnest expression of pathos written by an author who is less than enthusiastic about Ovid’s lewd and self-indulgent style? Quintilian was not entirely without praise for Ovid’s talent, as his assessment of the poet’s foray into tragedy suggests: Ovidi Medea videtur mihi ostendere quantum ille vir praestare potuerit si ingenio suo imperare quam indulgere maluisset (“Ovid’s

Medea seems to me to demonstrate how much that man could have excelled, if he had chosen to discipline rather than indulge his talent,” Inst. Or. 10.1.98). In Quintilian’s eyes, it seems, the

Medea was a rare example of Ovidian self-restraint, deserving of the praise that the poet’s tendency toward playful excess so often prevented. It is unfortunate that this Medea is not extant; at the very least, we have evidence that Quintilian recognized Ovid’s capacity to produce compositions of appropriate dignity and restraint. There can perhaps be no evidence more convincing than this—Quintilian’s incorporation of a distinctively Ovidian figure into a solemn expression of personal grief274—that Ovid’s visceral metonymies were striking enough to inspire

273 A few lines earlier, Quintilian had described this second loss of a son as repetito vulnere orbitatis (the duplicate wound of losing a child, Inst. Or. 6.pr.2); cf. Tristia 1.7.35, where Ovid describes his abandoned volumes as orba parente suo. That the death of the text should naturally coincide with the death of the child confirms Bloomer 2011’s assessment of Quintilian’s approach to childhood education: “The maturation of the child is imagined not in biological or social terms but as a correlate to the process of writing” (109). 274 Russell 2002: 3 calls this preface a “masterpiece of emotional writing.” Cf. Leigh 2004, who argues that the preface to this book on emotion is “the rhetor’s cooly impersonal and manipulative control of superficially personal material” (123). Whether this passage is one of sincere bereavement or the pathos is deployed underhandedly for a

121 conscious and thoughtful imitation.275 The absence of visceral figures from Flavian poetry can hardly be blamed on authorial inability to notice or appreciate them; as soon as the image of a reproductive visceral body becomes relevant and resonant, as it does here for Quintilian, it can be incorporated once again with careful attention to Ovidian precedent.

4.7 A Lingering Visceral Legacy Despite the steep drop-off in visceral figures observable in the Flavian period, they do not disappear entirely. Even as literary chronology marches forward and the word viscera continues to shed its Ovidian connotations—where it denotes children and wombs, it appears more and more often in non-violent contexts; where it is included in narratives of war, it is unrelated to questions of fertility—the debt owed to Ovid’s earliest manipulations of the word remains apparent. A 3rd century Roman law recorded in Ulpian’s commentary for example, identifies a woman who receives an abortion as “bringing force against her viscera” (mulierem visceribus suis vim intulisse, Just. Dig. 48.8.8).276 Visceral wombs appear in moralizing passages on infanticide and abortion, as well, like Minucius Felix’s Octavius 30.1-2: Vos enim video procreatos filios nunc feris et avibus exponere, nunc adstrangulatos misero mortis genere elidere. Sunt quae in ipsis visceribus, medicaminibus et potis, originem futuri hominis

larger rhetorical purpose, Quintilian transplants an Ovidian figure into a passage whose tone is far from the playful childishness that he generally attributes to Ovid. 275 This is not the only time that Quintilian demonstrates familiarity with Ovidian visceral bodies. At Inst. Or. 10.3.4, in asserting that the young of larger animals require more time for gestation, he says maiora animalia diutius in visceribus parentis continerentur (“Larger animals are contained for longer in the viscera of their parent”); note also that this claim appears as part of a simile illustrating the importance of devoting plenty of time to study and writing. Cf. a attributed to Quintilian where a man stands accused of killing his own brother, the speaker suggests that a man committing fratricide “arms his hands against his own viscera,” (manus in viscera sua armabit, Decl. 321.9). 276 See Kapparis 2002: 183, and cf. Dig. 25.4.1.1: partus enim antequam edatur, mulieris portio est vel viscerum (“For before the child is born, it is a portion either of the woman or of her viscera.”)

122 exstinguant et parricidium faciant antequam pariant (“For I see that you expose the sons you have produced now to wild beasts and birds, now you destroy them, strangled, in a terrible manner of death. There are those who, in their very viscera, with medicines and potions, stamp out the spark of a future man, and commit murder before they give birth”). Like Canace and

Corinna before them, women who attempt to abort their pregnancies are represented with visceral wombs.

Early Christian inscriptions, on the other hand, use viscera to designate the womb of

Mary in her role as the mother of Christ—a lexical tendency which survives even in today’s

Christian hymns and liturgies.277 It is unfortunate that the visceral language of Christianity is beyond the chronological scope of this dissertation, for the configuration of the womb of Mary as a visceral body has fascinating implications—especially considering modern liturgies where phrases like viscera intacta permanent would appear paradoxical to Ovidian eyes.278 Was

Mary’s womb visceral in early church language as a signpost of her child’s fated death with the divine consent of his father? This question merits further exploration.

It also seems plausible that the modern idiom identifying family members, and especially children, as one’s own “flesh and blood” may be indebted, at least in part, to the Ovidian visceral child. These are all complex questions worthy to be taken up at another time and in another place. For now, it is enough to acknowledge that the visceral reproductive metaphors developed by Ovid throughout his career, which were adapted and imitated by his immediate literary

277 E.g. the dedicatory inscription added to the basilica on the Esquiline hill (i.e., Santa Maria Maggiore) by Sixtus III (c. 440 CE): ILCV 00976 = AE 2008 00186: Virgo Maria tibi Xystus nova tecta dicavi | digna salutifero munera ventre tuo | tu genetrix ignara viri te denique feta | visceribus salvis edita nostra salus | ecce tui testes uteri tibi praemia portant | sub pedibusque iacet passio cuique sua | ferrum flamma ferae fluvius saevumque venenum | tot tamen has mortes una corona manet. See Diehl 1925: 182-3 and Calabuig 2000: 244-5. 278 See Dalmais et al. 1983: 134.

123 successors, survived an apparent lull in usage during the Flavian period to establish a lasting visceral legacy.

Conclusion

In the face of literary and historical categories that tend toward the monolithic—“the

Romans,” “the Augustans,” “Augustan poets,”—this project has worked to demonstrate the efficacy of analysis on a much smaller scale, at the level of the text, the line, and the individual word. This close examination of viscera in Julio-Claudian literature, as it morphed into a reproductive metonym with radical new connotations, has provided evidence of a systematic linguistic reaction to changing political, social, and cultural circumstances. The Ovidian pattern of associating visceral reproductivity with domestic violence and civil war is consistent and persistent, despite the fact that Ovid’s corpus is itself far from monolithic. Visceral wombs and visceral children span genre, meter, content, and chronology in the Ovidian corpus, with fertility politics trailing always in their wake.

Though Ovid devotes much of his poetic career to retelling Greek myths, the sexual politics of these narratives remain anchored in the Rome of his generation, a Rome that had suffered decades of civil war, whose traditional structures of power were disintegrating, and whose citizens were under legal pressure to produce offspring. Ovid appropriates an already threatening word—threatening ever since Cicero and Vergil used it to characterize dangers to the security of the Roman community—and makes it reproductive. Fertility, with all its rewards (tax breaks, political advantages, social capital), was presented in imperial discourse as the solution to

Roman woes, but Ovid’s visceral reproductive bodies frame fertility as an agent of dissolution and disaster.

Ovidian parents reproduce only to kill their children, or to be killed by them, or to see them kill each other. The womb is a site of violence and violation, present and impending, linking birth to death and death to birth in a cycle of pollution and impiety. Ovid stains the word

124 125 viscera with the unholy bloodshed, cannibalism, and incest of the most disturbing and violent

Greek myths, then applies it in turn to the founding brothers of Rome. Fertility becomes a dangerous prospect, because to reproduce is to release and make vulnerable the vital, innermost parts of the self—and so a child is but a disembowelment of its parent, and a text is but a disembowelment of its author.

The link between reproduction and destruction generated by Ovid’s visceral bodies is clear, far-reaching, and methodical. Lucan noticed. Seneca noticed. Quintilian, of all people—as grumpy as he is presumed to be in the face of Ovid’s puerility—noticed, and looked to the

Ovidian figure as a model for telling his own narrative of intensely personal tragedy. As concentrated and forceful an image as it becomes, the visceral metaphor does not remain static; it morphs into new shapes in the hands of authors who express different literary priorities, experience shifting cultural anxieties, and navigate systems of power from fresh perspectives.

After Ovid, viscera remain violent, but gradually lose their association with reproductive bodies, and even shift toward narratives of pietas rather than impietas. There is movement away from the insistent visceral fertility that strained familial and civic bonds in the Ovidian landscape.

This movement is in some ways inevitable, for Ovid’s visceral reactions were keyed to a highly specific cultural and political environment. As Romans hesitated on the threshold of a new, uncertain era, facing immense pressure to rebuild their fractured community through legislated reproduction, Ovid’s visceral corpus methodically transformed wombs and children, the vital mechanisms of fertility and continuity, into dangerous vessels and vulnerable bodies: flesh and blood—and guts.

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Appendix A: Oxford Latin Dictionary uiscus ~eris, n. [dub.] FORMS: nom. Or acc. uiscum CIL 1.2520.33, APUL.Met.2.7 1 (usu. pl.) The soft fleshy parts of the body (as distinct from skin, bone, etc.). b (eaten as meat). per corium, per ~era perque os elephanti transmineret bracchium PL.Mil.29; cui (sc. Herculi) cum Deianira sanguine Centauri tinctam tunicam induisset inhaesissetque ea ~eribus CIC.Tusc.2.20; Spartae…pueri ad aram sic verberibus accipiuntur, ‘ut multus e ~eribus sanguis exeat’ 2.34; sensus iungitur omnis, ~eribus neruis uenis LUCR. 2.905; huic (sc. uitulo) . . plagis . . perempto tunsa per inte- gram soluuntur ~era pellem VERG.G.4.302; nisi haurien- dum sanguinem laniandaque ~era nostra praebuerimus LIV. 9.1.9; OV.Ib.278; ~eribus ossa sunt tecta: eadem reuincta sunt neruis APUL.Pl.I.16;—(sg.) unde cadauera rancenti iam ~ere uermis exspirant . . ? LUCR.3.719; eliso uentre per ora eiectat saniem permixtus ~ere sanguis LUC.3.658; aruina pingue durum quod est inter cutem et ~us SUET.fr.170 (p.272Re); APUL.Apol.49. b eorum (i.e. boum) ~eribus uesci CIC.N.D.2.159; iuuenes . . ~era tosta ferunt taurorum VERG.A.8.180; OV.Met.5.18; epulae ~eribus humanis ap- parantur MELA 2.14; STAT.Theb.I.523;—(sg.) LUCIL.474; qui. . impius humano ~ere pauit equos OV.Ib.400; ne in sacrificio quidem . . temperauit, quin inter altaria ibidem statim ~us . . manderet SUET.Vit.13.3; suis parabat ~um fartim concisum APUL.Met.2.7. 2 (usu. pl.) The innermost parts of the body (esp. as containing the vital organs). b (fig. or transf., applied to the parts of something, esp. a country or state, most essential for its sur- vival). uenae ~erum ueneno inbutae ACC.trag.552; penitus . . in ~era lapsum serpentis furiale malum VERG.A.7.374; sic tua coniectis fodiantur ~era telis OV.Ib.623; telum adactum erat et penetrasse in ~era uidebatur CURT.9.5.24; LUC.10.528; cum ~era febris exurit MART.4.80.5; gladium per ~era exegit (Scipio) FLOR.Epit.2.13(4.2.68); (in fig. phr.) recens uulnus (i.e. bereavement). .non summam cutem rupit, pectus et ~era ipsa diuisit SEN.Dial.12.3.I;—(sg.) haerentia ~ere tela OV.Met.6.290; quaecumque pestis ~ere in nostro lates, procede SEN.Her.O.1249. b periculum . . residebit

149 150 et erit inclusum penitus in uenis atque in ~eribus rei public- cae CIC.Catil.I.31; neu patriae ualidas in ~era uertite uiris VERG.A.6.833; haerere . . aliud in ~eribus Graeciae ingens malum LIV.33.44.8; tyrannum . . haerentem ~eribus nobi- lissimae ciuitatis 34.48.6; superuacuum est redimere pro- ditorem. .uidentes palam, immo gaudentes etiam accepimus intra ~era hostem QUINT.Decl.255(p.46,l.27);—(applied to resources) cur ille gurges . . ad caelum . . exstruit uillam in Tusculano ~eribus aerari . . ? CIC.Dom.124; si pecuniam ereptam ex rei publicae ~eribus dedisset Pis.28; cum de ~eribus tuis et fili tui satis facturus sis quibus debes Q.fr.I.3.7;—(applied to persons) monstrat..senatum:scit cruor imperii qui sit, quae ~era rerum LUC.7.579; hic Andro, ille Samo . . Esquilias . . petunt . . ~era magnarum domuum do- minique futuri JUV.3.72; primum . . intra ipsos . . armorum duces subsistente saeuitia : mox atrocius . . per ipsius ~era senatus grassante uictoria FLOR.Epit.2.9(3.21.4). 3 (usu. pl.) The internal organs of the body (sts. spec. those of the abdomen); (spec.) one of these organs. b (used with ref. to the womb). c (used w. ref. to the testicles). d ~us (~um) sacrum, (app.) the parts involved in secreting urine. de lumbo opscena ~era PL.fr.50; iugulant pecudes et ~era uiuis eripiunt VERG.A.12.214; furit ardor edendi perque auidas fauces incensaque ~era regnat OV.Met. 8.829; haerentem Peleus . . mediam ferit ense sub aluum. prosiluit terraque ferox sua ~era traxit tractaque calcauit calcataque rupit 12.390; ut . . in . . tui caesus ~era patris eas Ib.544; si . . inflammatio est in iis partibus, quibus ~era (i.e. the thoracic organs) continentur, frequenter spirare signum malum est CELS.2.8.35; si. . nullus dolor ~eribus aut capiti aut praecordiis suberit 2.15.2; saeptum id, quod trans- uersum a superioribus ~eribus (i.e. heart and lungs) intestina discernit 7.4.2.A; ubi ebrietas continua ~eribus insedit SEN.Nat.4b.13.5; quoniam et pulmonum uice alia possint spirabilia inesse ~era (sc. ballaenae) PLIN.Nat.9.17; omnia. . principalia ~era membranis propriis . . inclusit prouidens natura 11.198; per omnes ~erum tubos MART.11.61.6; motus astrorum ignoro . . ranarum ~era numquam inspexi JUV.3.44; SUET.Cal.28; (as including the brain) hoc (sc. cerebrum) est ~erum excelsissimum PLIN.Nat.11.135;— (sg.) Tityos . . adsiduas atro ~ere pascit aues TIB.I.3.76; OV.Ib.192; eum, qui, qua parte quodque ~us intestinumue sit, non cognoverit CELS.I.pr.25; alterius . . ~eris morbus, iocineris 4.15.I; V.FL.7.359; potueritne sine illo ~ere (i.e.

151 the heart) hostia uiuere PLIN.Nat.11.186. b neue daret partus, ictu temeraria caeco ~eribus crescens excutiebat onus OV.Fast.1.624; quarundam ~era longa sterilitate prae- clusa SEN.Nat.3.25.II; LUC.2.340; ut maiora animalia diutius ~eribus parentis continerentur QUINT.Inst.10.3.4; si mulierem ~eribus suis uim intulisse, quo partum abigeret, constiterit ULP.dig.48.8.8 c surripuere uiros, exsectaque ~era ferro in uenerem fregere PETR.II9.l.21; PLIN.Nat.20.I42. d PROSERPINA SALVIA, DO TIBI..~UM SACRUM (sc. Ploti), NEI POSSIT URINAM FACERE CIL I.2520.33. 4 (pl.) The innermost parts of the body regarded as the seat of thought, emotion, etc. o beatos illos qui, cum adesse ipsis..non licebat, aderant tamen et in medullis populi Romani ac ~eribus haerebant CIC.Phil.I.36; Att.6.I.8; uox . . ex imis ~eribus emissa SEN.Con.exc.6.8; non toto in pectore portas . . Pompeium? non imis haeret imago ~eribus? LUC.9.72; te ceu uirginitate iugatum ~eribus totis animaque amplexa fouebat STAT. Silv.5.I.47; morientibus ecce lacertis ~era nostra tenens animaque auellitur infans 5.5.9; exiguam . . malorum parti- culam uix ferre potes spumantibus ardens ~eribus JUV. 13.15; tali uerborum incendio flammata ~era sororis APUL. Met.5.21;—(cf.) aperui pectus et conscientiam protuli et . . ~era paene mea in conspectus uestro sunt QUINT.Decl.332(p.308,l.2). 5 (pl., w. poss. adj. or gen.) A person’s flesh and blood, i.e. his kindred, nearest and dearest (usu. w. ref. to offspring.) nec dolor armasset contra sua ~era matrem (i.e. Medea) OV.Rem.59; Tereus . . uescitur inque suam sua ~era con- gerit aluum Met.6.651; 8.478; accipit (Cinyras) obsceno genitor sua ~era lecto 10.465; rogus miserae ~era matris habet Epic.Drusi 264; eripite ~era mea ex uinculis, resti- tuite mihi . . parentem, liberos CURT.4.14.22; canimus populum . . in sua uictrici conuersum ~era dextra cogna- tasque acies LUC.1.3; QUINT.Inst.6.pr.3; (cf.) filium matri eripere conaris et partem ~erum auellis Decl.338(p.335.l.5); —(transf., applied by an author to his writings) ego non meritos mecum peritura libellos imposui rapidis ~era nostra rogis OV.Tr.I.7.20. 6 (pl., transf.) The innermost part, heart (of something, esp. the earth). scopulos auulsaque ~era montis erigit (Aetna) eructans VERG.A.3.575; itum est in ~era terrae OV.Met.I.138; ~era

152 eius (sc. terrae) extrahimus, ut digito gestetur gemma, quo petitur PLIN.Nat.2.158; 33.2; Oceanus . . exesa in uiscera montis. . pelagus. . ingerit SIL.5.396;Vulcanus . . gliscentem . . trahens turris per ~era labem I4.308; APUL.Mun.23; — (of something immaterial) haec.. in dicendo non extrinsecus alicunde quaerenda, sed ex ipsis ~eribus causae sumenda sunt CIC.de Orat.2.318.

Appendix B: Catalogue of viscera in Ovid

This appendix provides a full catalogue of viscera in the extant corpus of Ovid. In the left column you will find line citations; the middle column provides the immediate context in which the word appears; and the right column offers cross-references to discussion(s) of that instance in the body of the dissertation. A single asterisk (*) indicates an occurrence of viscera that I have not discussed. Where I judge an instance not to be illustrative of Ovidian reproductive metaphor,

I have provided a reference to the OLD entry for the definition that I believe best fits the context.

My own best judgment being fallible, and recognizing that Latin words very often contain multiple meanings at once, my hope is to provide the fullest information here for anyone who might disagree.

turba ruunt in me luxuriosa proci

Her. 1.90 inque tua regnant nullis prohibentibus aula; n.146 viscera nostra, tuae dilacerantur opes.

o utinam nocitura tibi, pulcherrime rerum, Her. 4.126 n.267 in medio nisu viscera rupta forent!

iam iam venturos aut hac aut suspicor illac, Her. 10.84 * OLD 1b qui lenient avido viscera dente, lupos.

attulit audaci supposuitque manu,

Her. 11.42 ut penitus nostris (hoc te celavimus unum) 45-47 visceribus crescens excuteretur onus!

Her. 11.90 quid mihi tunc animi credis, germane, fuisse 47-48

153 154

(nam potes ex animo colligere ipse tuo),

cum mea me coram silvas inimicus in altas

viscera montanis ferret edenda lupis?

Her. 11.118 diripunt avidae viscera nostra ferae. 49-50

e quibus exierat, traiecit viscera ferro Am. 1.10.51 66-67, 116 filius, et poenae causa monile fuit.

vestra quid effoditis subiectis viscera telis Am. 2.14.27 53-56 et nondum natis dira venena datis?

nec moriens Dido summa vidisset ab arce

Dardanias vento vela dedisse rates, Rem. 59 60-62 nec dolor armasset contra sua viscera matrem,

quae socii damno sanguinis ulta virumst.

interea tacitae serpent in viscera flammae Rem. 105 * OLD 2 et mala radices altius arbor agit.

nec tantum segetes alimentaque debita dives

poscebatur humus, sed itum est in viscera terrae Met. 1.138 n.204 quasque recondiderat Stygiisque admoverat umbris,

effodiuntur opes, inritamenta malorum.

alma tamen Tellus, ut erat circumdata ponto,

Met. 2.274 inter aquas pelagi contractos undique fonts, n.204 qui se condiderant in opacae viscera matris…

undique circumstant mersisque in viscera rostris Met. 3.249 *OLD 1b dilacerant falsi dominum sub imagine cervi,

155

nec nisi finite per plurima vulnera vita

ira pharetratae fertur satiata Dianae.

in loca plena metus qui iussi nocte venires

nec prior huc veni. Nostrum divellite corpus Met. 4.113 *OLD 1b et scelerata fero consumite viscera morsu,

o quicumque sub hac habitatis rupe, leones.

…potuit de paelice natus

vertere Maeonios pelagoque immergere nautas *OLD 1 Met. 4.424 et laceranda suae nati dare viscera matri et triplices operire novis Minyeidas alis;

nil poterit Iuno nisi inultos flere dolores?

…sedes scelerata vocatur;

viscera praebebat Tityos lanianda novemque Met. 4.457 *OLD 1 iugeribus distractus erat; tibi, Tantale, nullae

deprenduntur aquae quaeque imminent effugit arbor.

quam tibi non Perseus, verum si quaeris, ademit,

sed grave Nereidum numen, sed corniger Ammon, Met. 5.18 70-76 sed quae visceribus veniebat belva ponti

exsaturanda meis.

…stabant cum vestibus atris

ante toros fratrum demisso crine sorores. Met. 6.290 *OLD 1 e quibus una trahens haerentia viscere tela

inposito fratri moribunda relanguit ore.

156

ipsa quoque interius cum duro lingua palato

congelat, et venae desistunt posse moveri; Met. 6.309 n.183 nec flecti cervix nec bracchia reddere motu

nec pes ire potest; intra quoque viscera saxum est.

clamanti cutis est summos direpta per artus

nec quicquam nisi vulnus erat; cruor undique manat

Met. 6.390 detectique patent nervi trepidaeque sine ulla *OLD 1 pelle micant venae; salientia viscera possis

et perlucentes numerare in pectore fibras.

ipse sedens solio Tereus sublimis avito Met. 6.651 62-64 vescitur inque suam sua viscera congerit alvum.

Thracius ingenti mensas clamore repellit

vipereasque ciet Sygia de valle sorores

Met. 6.664 et modo, si posset, reserato pectore diras 62-64 egerere inde dapes semesaque viscera gestit,

flet modo seque vocat bustum miserabile nati.

utque hominis speciem materna sumit in alvo

perque suos intus numeros conponitur infans

nec nisi matures communes exit in auras, Met. 7.128 79-83 sic, ubi visceribus gravidae telluris imago

effecta est hominis, feto consurgit in arvo,

quodque magis mirum est, simul edita concutit arma.

Met. 7.554 pervenit ad miseros damno graviore colonos *OLD 2

157

pestis et in magnae dominator moenibus Urbis.

viscera torrentur primo, flammaeque latentis

indicium robor est et ductus anhelitus…

exta quoque aegre notas very monitusque deorum Met. 7.601 *OLD 2 perdiderant: tristes penetrant ad viscera morbi.

summa ferus geminos direxit ad inguina dentes;

Met. 8.402 concidit Ancaeus, glomerataque sanguine multo *OLD 1 viscera lapsa fluunt, madefactaque terra cruore est.

incipit esse tamen melior germana parente

et, consanguineas ut sanguine leniat umbras, Met. 8.478 67-69 inpietate pia est; nam postquam pestifer ignis

convaluit, “rogus iste cremet mea viscera” dixit…

inscius atque absens flamma Meleagros ab illa

Met. 8.516 uritur et caecis torreri viscera sentit 67-69 ignibus ac magnos superat virtute dolores.

nam de matre manus diri sibi conscia facti Met. 8.532 67-69 exegit poenas acto per viscera ferro.

hirtus erat crinis, cava lumina, pallor in ore,

Met. 8.803 labra incana situ, scabrae rubigine fauces, *OLD 1 dura cutis, per quam spectari viscera possent…

ut vero est expulsa quies, furit ardor edendi Met. 8.829 *OLD 2 perque avidas fauces incensaque viscera regnat.

Met. 8.846 iamque fame patrias altaque voragine ventris *OLD 3

158

attenuarat opes, sed inattenuata manebat

tum quoque dira fames implacataeque vigebat

flamma gulae; tandem demisso in viscera censu

filia restabat non illo digna parente.

accipit obsceno genitor sua viscera lecto Met. 10.465 59, 65-66 virgineosque metus levat hortaturque timentem.

prosiluit terraque ferox sua viscera traxit

Met. 12.390 tractaque calcavit calcataque rupit et illis *OLD 1 crura quoque impediit et inani concidit alvo.

“nunc age” ait Caeneus “nostro tua corpora ferro

temptemus” ; capuloque tenus demisit in armos Met. 12.492 *OLD 1 ensem fatiferum caecamque in viscera movit

versavitque manum vulnusque in vulnere fecit.

viscera viva traham, divisaque membra per agros Met. 13.865 n.173 perque tuas spargam (sic se tibi misceat!) undas.

atque ait: “o si quis referat mihi casus Ulixen,

aut aliquem e sociis, in quem mea saeviat ira, Met. 14.194 n.173 viscera cuius edam, cuius viventia dextra

membra mea laniem…”

et iam prensurum, iam nunc mea viscera rebar Met. 14.203 63 in sua mersurum…

…super ipse iacens hirsuit more leonis Met. 14.208 * OLD 1b visceraque et carnes cumque albis ossa medullis

159

semianimesque artus avidam condebat in alvum.

heu quantum scelus est in viscera viscera condi

congestoque avidum pinguescere corpore corpus Met. 15.88 *OLD 1b alteriusque animantem animantis vivere leto!

…spesque hominum primae, matris habitavimus alvo.

artifices natura manus admovit et angi 86-89 Met. 15.219 corpora visceribus distentae condita matris

noluit eque domo vacuas emisit in auras

flumen habent Cicones, quod potum saxea reddit *OLD 6 Met. 15.314 viscera, quod tactis inducit marmora rebus.

i quoque, delectos mactatos obrue tauros

(cognitas res usu) : de putri viscere passim Met. 15.365 *OLD 1 florilegae nascuntur apes…

…corpora, quae possunt animas habuisse parentum

aut fratrum aut aliquot iunctorum foedere nobis *OLD 1b Met. 15.462 aut hominum certe, tuta esse et honesta sinamus

neve Thyesteis cumulemus viscera mensis

excutior curru, lorisque tenentibus artus

viscera viva trahi, nervos in stipe teneri, Met. 15.525 *OLD 1 membra rapi partim, partim reprensa relinqui…

hic, qui nunc aperit percussi viscera tauri, *OLD 1b Fast. 1.347 in sacris nullum culter habebat opus.

Idibus in magni castus Iovis aede sacerdos Fast. 1.588 *OLD 1b

160

semimaris flammis viscera libat ovis.

mox honor eripitur, matronaque destinat omnis

ingratos nulla prole novare viros, 56-57 Fast. 1.624 neve daret partus, ictu temeraria caeco

visceribus crescens excutiebat onus.

placentur frugum matres, Tellusque Ceresque,

farre suo gravidae visceribusque suis: *OLD 1b Fast. 1.672 commune Ceres et Terra tuentur;

haec praebet causam frugibus, illa locum.

somnus abit, iacet ipsa gravis; iam scilicet intra 83-85 Fast. 3.24 viscera Romanae conditor urbis erat.

cinnama tu primus captivaque tura dedisti *OLD 1b Fast. 3.732 deve triumphato viscera tosta bove.

viscera qui tauri flammis adolenda dedisset *OLD 1b Fast. 3.803 sors erat aeternos vincere posse deos.

reddita Saturno sors haec erat ‘optime regum,

a nato sceptris excutiere tuis.’ 64-65, 76-79 Fast. 4.200 ille suam metuens ut quaeque erat edita, prolem

devorat, immersam visceribusque tenet.

pars cadit arce Iovis, ter denas vaccas

accipit et largo sparsa cruore madet. *OLD 1b Fast. 4.637 ast ubi visceribus vitulos rapuere ministri,

sectaque fumosis exta dedere focis…

161

nocte volant puerosque petunt nutricis egentes,

et vitiant cunis corpora rapta suis; *OLD 1b Fast. 6.137 carpere dicuntur lactentia viscera rostris,

et plenum poto sanguine guttur habent.

quae duo mixta simul sextis quicumque Kalendis *OLD 1 Fast. 6.182 ederit, huic laedi viscera posse negant.

Thestias et melior matre fuisse soror, 90-94, 119-120 sic ego non meritos mecum peritura libellos Trist. 1.7.20 imposui rapidis viscera nostra rogis.

sive manu facta morte solutus ero, *OLD 1b sive per inmensas iactabor naufragus undas,

nostraque longinquus viscera piscis edet, Ib. 146279 sive peregrinae carpent mea membra volucres,

sive meo tinguent sanguine rostra lupi…

iugeribusque novem summus qui distat ab imo *OLD 1b Ib. 180 visceraque assiduae debita praebet avi.

hic et erit ramos frustra qui captet et undas, *OLD 1b Ib. 192 hic inconsumpto viscere pascet avis.

vel tua, ne poenae genus hoc cognoverit unus, *OLD 1 Ib. 278 viscera diversis scissa ferantur equis.

viscera sic aliquis scopulus tua figat, ut olim Ib. 337 *OLD 1

279 Edition: Owen 1915.

162

fixa sub Euboico Graia fuere sinu.

ut qui terribiles pro gramen habentibus herbis *OLD 1b Ib. 400 impius humano viscere pavit equos…

solaque Limone poenam ne senserit illam, *OLD 1b Ib. 458 et tua dente fero viscera carpat equus.

inque tuis opifex, vati quod fecit Achaeo, *OLD 1 noxia luminibus spicula condat apis

Ib. 541 fixus et in duris carparis viscera saxis,

ut cui Pyrrha sui filia fratris erat.

ut puer Harpagides referas exempla Thyestae *OLD 3 Ib. 544 inque tui caesus viscera patris eas.

nudave derepta pateant tua viscera pelle, *OLD 1 Ib. 549 ut Phrygium cuius nomina flumen habet.

Fragment 11 viscere diviso (not enough context) Blänsdorf 2011