ARISTOTELEIO PANEPISTHMIO QESSALONIKHS FILOSOFIKH SXOLH TMHMA FILOLOGIAS

Hassan Atia Hassan Sayed Ahmed Heakal

QEMA: "H EIKONA THS QALASSAS STHN ARGONAUTIKH TOU APOLLWNIOU RODIOU"

Prwteu/ousa Metaptuxiakh/ Ergasi/a

Epo/pthj Kaqhghth/j: A. Regka/koj

QESSALONIKH 2007

Table of Contents

1- Introduction 2 2- I: The Role of Gods in the 2.1. Zeus 6 2.2. and 11 2.3. 25 2.4. Apollo 35 2.5. Poseidon, Triton and Glaucus 46 3- II: The Interaction between the and the Marine Environment in the Argonautica 3.1. Election of the Leader 54 3.2. The Launch of 57 3.3. The Winds and the Navigation 59 3.4. Phineus’ Episode 64 3.5. The or the Planctae 67 3.6. Passage of the Symplegades 78 3.7. The Sirens in and 88 3.8. What did Learn from these Situations? 93 4- III: The Marine Similes in the Argonautica 4.1. Concept of the Simile 97 4.2. The First Book 100 4.3. The Second Book 105 4.4. The Third Book 111 4.5. The Forth Book 112 5- Bibliography 116

1 Introduction

The Argonautica recounts the mythical voyage of the Argonauts who, on the order of King , undertake a long and dangerous voyage to , located on the southeast corner of the Black Sea (modern Georgia), in search of the and, eventually, succeed in returning with it to Greece. They are led by Jason, a young hero who succeeds in winning the Fleece from Aeetes, king of Colchis, with the help of , the Colchian princess expert in magic powers with whom he gets involved in a love affair, and who accompanies him back to Greece, thus providing the setting for ' great tragic play of betrayal and infanticide, Medea. In length the poem may be said to fit perfectly Aristotle's prescription that an epic should be "about as long as the number of tragedies presented at one sitting" (Poet. 1459b 21f). It is without question meticulously structured. Books I and II give the reasons for the voyage, describe the gathering of the crew and relate the voyage to Colchis. They include the encounter with and the Lemnian women (Argo. 1.609-914); the crew's loss of Hylas and Heraldes (1.1207-357); the boxing match between Polydeuces and Amycus (2.1- 97); the encounter with the Harpies and Phineus, and his prophecy (2.178-447); the passage through the Clashing Rocks, or Symplegades (2.549-606); and the long voyage along the southern coast of the Black Sea (2.619-1261). Book III is dedicated to the story of Jason and Medea and the completion of the hero's trials. It includes a memorable depiction of Aeetes, father of Medea and tyrannical ruler of Colchis (3.302-438; also 4.212-40); a dramatic account of the young princess falling in love with the foreign hero (3.275-98, 439-824); and the aristeia of Jason when he yokes the bulls and defeats the earthborn men (3.1246-407). Book IV relates the actual taking of the Fleece (99-182) and the return journey, which follows a quite different route from the outward voyage, bringing the Argonauts home to Greece via the Danube, the Rhone, the western coast of Italy, Corfu, North Africa, and Crete. It includes the murder of Apsyrtus (410-81), the encounter with in Italy (659-752), Orpheus' singing match with the Sirens (885-922), the stay in the land of the Phaeacians (982- 1223), the beaching of the "Argo" on the Libyan shore and the subsequent carrying of the ship back to the sea (1232-587), and eventually the return to Greece via Crete, where the giant Tales is defeated by Medea's magical powers (1638-688). The poem ends with the Argonauts setting foot safely back in Greece, and the poet looking forward to future recitations of his work (1773-774). In the final line he addresses his heroes: "and happily did you step out onto the beach of " (4.1781). The reader is thus offered both easy, natural closure and the possibility of endless repetition of the poem and its

2 story. Apollonius here draws attention to issues such as the relationship between his poem and the Argonautic myth as a whole and the very difficulty of deciding on a beginning and an end in order to mark out his poem within that whole.1 In the first book of Apollonius’ Argonautica, when the Argonauts have assembled on the shore of Pagasae and Jason has been chosen leader of the expedition, the Argonauts ready the ship, sacrifice to Apollo, and feast. They embark at dawn the next day (1.519-534a). A tearful Jason turns his gaze from his homeland as the ship leaves the shore (534b-535), propelled by the oars of his companions to the tune of the song of Orpheus. The sun glints from their armor, and their wake is white behind them (536-546). All the gods look on from heaven at the ship and the Argonauts; the nymphs of , too, on its highest peak look with wonder on the ship, the handiwork of Athena, and on the Argonauts, her oarsmen. Chiron descends from the mountain top to the shore and bids them a fair voyage and return, while his wife holds the infant Achilles up for his departing father to see.

pa/ntej d' ou)rano/qen leu=sson qeoiì hÃmati kei¿n% nh=a kaiì h(miqe/wn a)ndrw½n ge/noj, oiá to/t' aÃristoi po/nton e)piplw¯eskon: e)p' a)krota/tvsi de\ nu/mfai Phlia/dej skopiv=sin e)qa/mbeon, ei¹soro/wsai eÃrgon ¹Aqhnai¿hj ¹Itwni¿doj h)de\ kaiì au)tou/j hÀrwaj xei¿ressin e)pikrada/ontaj e)retma/: au)ta\r oÀg' e)c u(pa/tou oÃreoj ki¿en aÃgxi qala/sshj Xei¿rwn Filluri¿dhj, poliv= d' e)piì ku/matoj a)gv= te/gge po/daj, kaiì polla\ barei¿v xeiriì keleu/wn no/ston e)peufh/mhsen a)phre/a nissome/noisin: su\n kai¿ oi¸ para/koitij, e)pwle/nion fore/ousa Phlei¿+dhn ¹Axilh=a, fi¿l% deidi¿sketo patri¿. (I.547-58)

On that day all of the gods looked down from heaven upon the ship and this race of demi-gods, best of men, who then sailed the sea. And the Nymphs on the topmost heights of Pelion gazed in wonder at the work of Itonian Athena and the heroes themselves plying the oars with their hands. And down from the mountain-top to the sea came Chiron son of Philyra, and where the white surf broke he dipped his feet, and with his stout hand often waving wished them a safe return as they departed. And with him his wife, bearing in her arms Achilles son of , showed the child to his dear father.

1 Foley (2005), 355.

3 The Argonauts are the sons of gods, but we have also learned that Athena helped build the Argo, giving advice to Argus (1.19, 111-112) and placing the divine beam of Dodonian oak in her stem (1.526-527), that it was she who impelled Tiphys to join the expedition (1.109-110), and that Jason has close ties with her (sunhmosu/nhsin, 1.300). We have learned, furthermore, that Apollo - whose dire prophecy to Pelias precipitated his ordering Jason to make the expedition - has given Jason favorable oracles (1.301-302), promising to guide his journey (1.360-362,412-414; cf. the prophesy of Idmon, 1.439-447).1 As Feeney has pointed out, the gods have been conspicuous by their absence from the early episodes of the Argonautica; even Apollo’s response to the sacrifice by the Argonauts on the beach is only conveyed by proxy. Yet the theme of partnership between mortals and immortals has been explicit both in the frequent mention of co- operation between Athena and Argus in the construction of the ship (18-19; 111-14; 226) and in Jason’s invocation of Apollo. Now at last the gods make their entrance into the action proper, affording yet another perspective on events. To some extent these scenes function as the divine equivalent of the earlier scenes of departure from . As before, there are two distinct sets of observers, the Olympians keeping an eye on events from heaven and the local nymphs watching the ship from the vantage point of Mt Pelion. We are not privy to the reaction of the former to what they see and, at first sight, the heavenly gods may appear detached from proceedings. Yet the calculated reference to h(miqe/wn a)ndrw½n in 548, the only time in the poem that the Argonauts are so designated, reminds us of the parentage of many of the crew and that the gods too are implicated in the success of this venture. And in the narrative description of the Argonauts as the best of men then sailing the sea is perhaps to be found a hint of divine approbation.2 It is evident that interactions between the Argonauts and their natural surroundings are of considerable importance in the Argonautica whether they involve construction or other forms of remembrance of the presence of the Argonauts, or whether they result in some change in nature itself, caused by the skill of Orpheus. The poet, by emphasizing awareness of the powers of technē, seems to desire to make clear that the voyage of the Argo was not an insignificant event but one which changed the world, physically and perhaps intellectually also.3 The Argonautica of Apollonius Rhodius is the work of an extremely learned and self-conscious artist, who set out to demonstrate that it was still possible to use the traditional epic form with great originality.

1 Byre (1997),106,110 2 Clare (2002),60-61 3 Williams (1991), 209-210.

4 His similes occur with a frequency close to that of the similes in the , but they are much more evenly spread through the poem and they avoid excessive repetition of theme. Although only a minority of his similes show substantial originality of theme, Apollonius studiously avoids anything like subservient dependence on , and he can often be observed to be consciously ‘improving’ on Homer, particularly in producing much more precise parallels between extended similes and the narrative. 1

1 James (1969), 77.

5 I: The Role of Gods in the Argonautica

Zeus

Jason explains that he is being sent to complete sacrificial offerings of Phrixus (1194-5), and that for some reason, Zeus is angry at the Aiolidae (Zhno\j xo/lon Ai¹oli¿dvsin, 1195). This ambiguity arises out of the appositive nature of verse 1195, for Zeus’ wrath could stem from the sacrificial offerings (quhla/j, 1194), or from the fact that Jason has not completed them (a)mplh/swn, 1195). It is unclear, moreover, how Phrixus is connected to the sacrificial offerings. They could, for instance, be the very offerings that Phrixus made through his act of sacrificing the ram (Fri¿coio = subjective genitive). Although the offerings that Phrixus made were performed in Zeus’ honor, they might also be the cause of Zeus’ wrath (Zhno\j xo/lon Ai¹oli¿dvsin, 1195). Zeus, then, would apparently be angry because the Aiolidae have not completed the sacrificial offerings (a)mplh/swn, 1195). Through his journey to Colchis, Jason will remove Zeus’ anger by somehow completing the offerings. The sacrificial offerings could, on the other hand, be related to Athamas’ attempted sacrifice of Phrixus. Jason would then be sent to complete offerings (quhla/j / ste/llomai a)mplh/swn) that are intended either to placate the ghost of Phrixus (Fri¿coio = objective genitive), or to atone for Athamas’ attempted sacrifice of him (Fri¿coio = objective genitive). Some even argue that Jason uses the participle a)mplh/swn specifically with the sense of atonement, so that Jason is being sent to atone for Athamas’ attempted sacrifice. Such a reading, though, requires an unusual application of the verb a)napi¿mplhmi. When one reads the noun Fri¿coio as an objective genitive, Zeus is either angry because of Athamas’ attempted sacrifice of Phrixus, for which the Aiolidae have not atoned, or because sacrificial offerings, either of atonement or placation, have not been completed. With the first of these possibilities, Jason’s completion of the sacrificial offerings will not necessarily remove Zeus’ anger. In other words, aside from one exception, all of the above interpretations of verses 1194-5 regardless of whether the genitive Fri¿coio is considered subjective or objective-entail that Zeus’ anger will diminish if Jason completes/atones for the sacrificial offerings. Since Jason, moreover, says that he has been sent to complete these offerings (ste/llomai a)mplh/swn, 1195), the majority of interpretations imply that he is ascribing to Zeus an indirect role in causing the expedition. The voyage again seems overdeterrnined, for Jason already referred to Apollo’s role in causing it (1.414). When each of the Iolkian townsmen, in fact, spoke as they gazed at the Argonauts before the

6 start of the voyage (240-7), they addressed Zeus and asked what was the mind of Pelias and where was he sending the Argonauts (Zeu= aÃna, ti¿j Peli¿ao no/oj; po/qi to/sson oÀmilon h(rw¯wn gai¿hj Panaxaii¿doj eÃktoqi ba/llei; 242-3). While referring to Pelias as the instigator of the voyage, they fail to mention any role that Zeus played in the prehistory. Jason, in contrast, highlights Zeus’ role (2.1194-5). Not only does the Argonautic voyage have diverse causes, but the manner in which the divine framework of the prehistory is presented can change as the focalizer changes.1 Hunter agrees with Berkowitz that Zeus is the ultimate instigator of the voyage, as Pelias has dispatched Jason (at least allegedly) in order to appease Zeus’s anger for the attempted sacrifice of Phrixus at the god’s altar (2.1194-5, 3.336-9). All of this, however, remains obscure, and Zeus’s motives seem threateningly inscrutable. But the voyage of Argo instead of appeases Zeus’s anger renews it. His anger at the death of Apsyrtus (4.557-91) is the motive force of a central part of the action in the final book. This last episode is the closest Apollonius comes to the motif of ‘the hostile god’, so familiar from Homer’s Poseidon and Virgil’s Juno; it is indeed the anger of Poseidon in the which Apollonius has in mind here. Nevertheless, though Zeus watches and preserves the moral order, he only rarely displays his hand.2 Feeney emphasizes the same idea when said that Hera’s plan of anger against Pelias harmonizes with Zeus’ plan of anger against the Aeolidae. Almost half the poem is gone by before, at the island of Ares, we discover the origins of Zeus’ motives and responsibility, and the apparent means of appeasing him, by fetching back the fleece. In fact, the Aeolidean Jason will come to disaster despite and yet because of the fact that he succeeds in bringing the fleece back to Greece. The expedition is meant to appease Zeus, but it ends by arousing him to yet another anger, when Jason and Medea incur shameful guilt with the murder of Medea’s brother, . The causal power of Hera’s wrath will receive further attention, but first Apollonius has some more turns on the apparent absence of Zeus. As the Argonauts make their way through the town to the ship, Apollonius inserts the poem’s first direct speech (delivered, most extraordinarily, by no named speaker): ‘King Zeus, what is the purpose of Pelias?’ (Zeu= aÃna, ti¿j Peli¿ao no/oj; 242). The fact that the words are addressed to Zeus makes it all the more remarkable that the directing no/oj is not his but that of the mortal, Pelias.

1 Berkowitz (2004), 28-30. 2 Hunter (1993), 79-80.

7 Zeus’ absence from the narrative has been taken as a strategy for preserving his majesty. Nevertheless Apollonius gladly enters contro- versy when, for example, he describes Ganymede, ‘whom Zeus brought to live in heaven, to share the hearth of the immortals’, postponing to an enjambed position of surprise the salacious shock of Zeus’ motive, ‘because he was filled with desire for his beauty’(to/n r(a/ pote Zeu/j ou)ran%½ e)gkate/nassen e)fe/stion a)qana/toisin, ka/lleoj i¸merqei¿j, 3.115-17).1 In other cases, apparently familiar gods do not behave in the expected way. The most outstanding example is the rewriting of Zeus, which alters the balance of die whole pantheon; not only does he not come to earth (as Homer’s Zeus does not), but he is further marginalised by not appearing in person at all. Zeus is always just around the corner; he influences the action by sending winds (2.993- 94, 2.1098), and his will is mentioned by the narrator (1.1345-48, 4.557-61), or by a character (3.328) and harmonised with moiÍra ‘fate’ (1.1315-17, contrast 2. 16.433-38), but as in tragedy he is never visible and does not speak. Even in punishing the Argonauts after the death of Apsyrtus (4.557-61) his action is a copy of Poseidon’s wrath in the Odyssey in securing a delayed and difficult nostos for the heroes and is not based on the behaviour of Homer’s Zeus; unlike Hera, Athena and Aphrodite he does not recall his Homeric predecessor. Hera plays the part which is taken by Zeus in Iliad XXIV, summon- ing Iris and despatching her to earth to fetch Thetis (4.757-82, Il. 24.74-87). The adaptation exemplifies the way Zeus is pushed into the background in the Argonautica, since in Homer Zeus wishes to speak to Thetis and overrides Hera’s wishes in doing so, whereas in Apollonius Zeus plays no part and the plan is entirely Hera’s.2 Do we can say that Zeus apparently is absence, leaving his role to his wife? Or he was intervening in the Argonautica by indirect way? When you are five lines into the Iliad you read Dio\j d' e)telei¿eto boulh/ (‘the plan of Zeus was being fulfilled’), and you know that this poem’s action will comprise the will or plan of Zeus. After the first hundred lines of the Odyssey, when the council of the gods is over, the same god’s guiding dispensation is also in the open. The epic norms are clear. The Cypria’s proem has the same line as the Iliad’s (F 1. 7 EGF), and Hesiod’s paraphrase of the story of Medea uses very similar language: mega/lou de\ Dio\j no/oj e)ceteleiÍto. (‘the purpose of great Zeus was fulfilled’, Th. 1002). As the no/oj or boulh/ of Zeus reaches its fulfilment (te/loj; telos), so does the plot of an epic. As the reader of

1 Feeney (1991), 58, 64, 66. 2 Knight (1995), 272, 289-299.

8 Apollonius’ Argonautica moves into the poem, whose will and plan is revealed to be the determinant of the action? The reader’s attention is brought brusquely to concentrate on the plan of Zeus when the sea-god Glaucus rears up out of the water at the end of Book I, to tell the quarrelling Argonauts not to go back in search of Heracles, accidentally marooned on the shore of Mysia. ‘Why’, he says, ‘are you eager, contrary to the plan of great Zeus, to take bold Heracles to the city of Aeetes?’ (Ti¿pte pare\k mega/loio Dio\j meneai¿nete boulh/n / Ai¹h/tew ptoli¿eqron aÃgein qrasu\n ¸Hraklh=a, 1315-16). In this part of the poem Apollonius twice more mentions ‘the plan of Zeus’ in connection with the abandonment of Heracles, and of his friend Polyphemus (1. 1345, 2. 154), so that we see that Zeus has some sort of plan for some of the characters; but nothing is said of any wider plan for the expedition (or poem) as a whole. The partial and uncertain nature of any knowledge of the mind of Zeus is given emblematic status in the figure of Phineus, the seer who was blinded by Zeus for revealing the no/oj of Zeus ‘accurately and completely’ (a)treke/wj, 2. 182). Phineus himself explains the implications to the company:

Klu=te/ nun: ou) me\n pa/nta pe/lei qe/mij uÃmmi dah=nai a)treke/j, oÀssa d' oÃrwre qeoiÍj fi¿lon, ou)k e)pi- keu/sw. a)asa/mhn kaiì pro/sqe Dio\j no/on a)fradi¿vsin xrei¿wn e(cei¿hj te kaiì e)j te/loj. wÒde ga\r au)to/j bou/letai a)nqrw¯poij e)pideue/a qe/sfata fai¿nein mantosu/nhjiàna kai¿ ti qew½n xate/wsi no/oio. (II. 311-16)

Listen now. It is not right for you to know everything accurately and completely, but as much as pleases the gods, I will not hide. Before, in my madness, I foolishly revealed the purpose of Zeus straight through, right to the end. What he wants is that the revelations of prophecy to men should be incomplete, so that men should want knowledge of the purpose of the gods.1

Shortly after the Phineus episode appears the most complex exploration of different perceptions of divine action within the poem. Phineus predicts a piece of good fortune on the island of Ares (2.388- 89), where the Argonauts meet the shipwrecked sons of Phrixus. There are three possible points at which the gods could intervene: by arranging the presence of the Argonauts on the island, by raising the storm and by ensuring the safe landing of the sons of Phrixus.2

1 Feeney (1991), 58, 60. 2 Knight (1995), 272, 286-287.

9 Zeus is the ultimate instigator of the voyage, his name is constantly invoked in the meeting of the Argonauts and Phrixus’ sons on the island of Ares; he is clearly of prime importance in the Phineus episode, and we should probably see him working through the blind prophet when the latter foretells that help will come to the Argonauts ‘from the grim sea’ (2.388, cf. 2.1135).1 The poem’s actions were subjected completely to Zeus plan. This plan wasn’t known to the Argonauts. So when they do something against it Zeus was telling them his will by someone else for example Glaucus or Phineus. Who told them according to Zeus plan what they will confront in their voyage. Did Zeus play his role through his plan and why he himself didn’t intervene? Zeus himself, Apollonius tells us, had caused a storm to force the sons of Phrixus, on route from the palace of Aeetes to Greece, onto the island of Ares, so that they could meet the Argonauts. In one of Apollonius’ beautifully gentle narrative moves, the rain from Zeus stops with the sunrise and the two groups meet (2. 1120-2). All through this episode, one epithet of Zeus follows another, relatively uncharged at the moment, but eventually, as the story of Jason and Medea works its way to a conclusion, to be fully invested with force: ‘He who overlooks’ (Ε)po/yioj , 2. 1123); ‘He who protects strangers and suppliants’ (Ξei¿nioj, ¸Ike/sioj, 1132); ‘He who protects exiles’ (Fu/cioj 1147).2 The storm is sent by Zeus (2.1098, 2.1120); at 2.1120 Zeus’ name is used in the weak, ‘meteorological’ sense. Jason believes that the meeting is due to the gods (2.1166-67); Argus suggests that it was Zeus or fate which kept the Argonauts back till the sons of Phrixus landed (3.327-28). Jason suggests that Zeus saved the sons of Phrixus (2.1179-84); at 2.1110 they get hold of the beam by the will of the gods, and Argus says that a god saved them (3.323). There is an indirect hint that Zeus is involved in the simile at 2.1083 when Zeus sends hail.3

1 Hunter, (1993), 80. 2 Feeney (1991), 61. 3 Knight (1995), 287.

10 Hera and Thetis

It is Hera who also occupies the executive position, evident not only in her presiding over the divine council (3.7ff,), but in her tendency to dispatch other gods to perform her behests. But there is no suggestion that she is usurping Zeus’ position and power, as in the Iliad’s theomachian presentation. Rather, it is Zeus’ own remoteness that allows Hera to act so assertively. In Apollonius’ treatment, Hera’s own concerns have a larger impact on the myth’s trajectory. Because of her anger with Pelias, she will see to it, if indirectly, that Medea travels to Greece to slay him. It is Zeus, on the other hand, who develops a hostility to Jason. (4.558-61) over his role in die murder of Apsyrtus, whereas never in Homer, nor in Gilgamesh, the Aqhat, or the Aeneid, does the sky father become angry with the protagonist. Hera will cause storms in response (4.578), acting to direct or channel Zeus’ wrath, much as Zeus does for Poseidon and Helios in the Odyssey.1 When we learn that Jason meets King Pelias at ‘a feast which the king was performing for his father Poseidon and the other gods; but he paid no attention to Pelasgian Hera’. Apollonius here directs us to the traditional versions of the Argonauts’ story, in which the slighted Hera’s desire for revenge against Pelias was the motive force for the expedition. No word, however, of Zeus, while the only individual described as planning and ordaining is the mortal, Pelias (3, 15).2 Let’s see now what Hera did for Jason, I have yet to quote, however, the key-passage in the series. Apollonius has done well in not revealing everything at once. The ominous hint laid down at 1.14 must wait until early in Book III, the occasion of the embassy of Hera and Athena to Aphrodite, for clarification in Hera’s own words. The goddess reveals first her concern for the Argonauts, newly arrived in Colchis and for Jason in particular (3. 59). She is ready to aid the latter with all the strength at her command, no matter what the circumstances (3.61), "lest Pelias become mockingly mirthful at having averted his evil doom (oÃfra mh\ e)ggela/sv Peli¿hj kako\n oiåton a)lu/caj,) (3. 64). What has prompted this declaration is made clear in an attached relative clause:

oÀj m' u(perhnore/v que/wn a)ge/raston eÃqhken. (III. 65)

Perhaps the omission indicated in 1.14 resulted only from an oversight. But the goddess appears convinced not only that she has

1 Foley (2005), 103. 2 Feeney (1991), 58.

11 been dishonored, but also that her discomfiture is the product of calculated arrogance on Pelias’ part. Retribution thus becomes an absolute necessity. But it cannot be fulfilled, Hera avers, unless Aphrodite by setting into movement the complex interplay of causation guaranteed to bring Medea to Jason’s aid guarantees thereby also the return of the Argonauts to with the Golden Fleece. Hera does not spell this out all at once. Yet such is the import of the negatively framed conditional statement which brings to a close her second speech to Aphrodite:

ou)de/ ke lw¯bhn tei¿seien Peli¿hj, ei¹ mh\ su/ ge no/ston o)pa/ssvj. (III. 74)

If Hera understandably loathes Pelias and schemes his downfall, she no less understandably comes again and again to the assistance of Jason and the Argonauts. But there is more to her benefactions than the mere desire to convert Jason (and even more directly Medea) into a tool of her retributory designs. For, just as punishment must be meted out to Pelias for having slighted Hera, so Pelias’ nephew deserves to be rewarded for having done the same goddess a good turn. Actually Hera has repaid Jason’s service several times over before the deed which merits such a generous response is even specified in the Argonautica. And the explanation comes to us not from the poet speaking in his own person, but in a speech assigned to the deity herself. When Apollonius told of Jason’s having lost a sandal in the act of crossing the River Anaurus, his main concern was to establish a connection between the behest of Pelias that his nephew recover the Golden Fleece and the oracular warning that Pelias himself must be on guard against a one-sandalled man. It is left, then, for Hera to explain that Jason has been dear to her ever since the time when, posing as an old lady, she put human virtue under examination (3. 66). Jason passed the test superbly. Coming from the hunt, he took pity on the goddess-in-disguise and carried her on his shoulders across the raging stream (68-73). Was it then that Jason lost his sandal? Hera does not say so; yet the settings for that occurrence and for the youth’s good deed appear to be one and the same. In any case, the doom of Pelias shows indeed some significant connection with the sandal’s loss, though in ways which the victim himself in his imperfect state of knowledge fails to comprehend. He has no inkling that the conspiracy against him originates with a disgruntled divinity rather than with a kinsman eager to dispossess him of his throne. Note, however, the complexity of the causal chain. The nephew is destined to play a role in the uncle’s downfall not out of personal ambition, but because Hera,

12 pleased with the benefactions of the one and ired at the other’s neglect, has chosen to protect the former both out of gratitude and with the ulterior goal of punishing the latter. Consider again the irony of Pelias’ misguided effort to counteract the oracular warning. Not only will Jason survive the expedition, thanks in large part to constant divine aid; he will also bring back the Golden Fleece, requested by Pelias without being seriously desired and Medea, whose lethal advent had never even been reckoned into the monarch’s plans.1 So Hera is motivated by her fondness for Jason and desire to punish Pelias. These dispositions are revealed in the beginning of Book III. Following his invocation of Erato (3. 1-5), the narrator briefly mentions that the Argonauts, now in Colchis, were hidden in thick reeds (6-7). The narrator’s attention then turns to Hera and Athena, who notice the Argonauts and deliberate about how to help them (7-10). Relevant here is that Hera suggests to Athena that they ask Aphrodite to persuade Eros to charm Medea (25-8). They then go to Aphrodite’s house (36-8), and, in response to Aphrodite’s question about why they have come (52-4), Hera explains that she will protect Jason because he previously helped her cross the river Anaurus (61-74). Hera also tells Aphrodite that because Pelias did not make sacrifices to her, she did not want him to escape an evil fate (64-5). Pelias, concludes Hera, will not pay for his outrage against her unless Aphrodite grants Jason a return home (ou)de/ ke lw¯bhn tei¿seien Peli¿hj, ei¹ mh\ su/ ge no/ston o)pa/ssvj, 74-5). Hera informs Aphrodite that she can do this by bidding Eros to charm Medea (85-6). As will become evident, Hera’s fondness for Jason and anger towards Pelias motivates her actions on behalf of the Argonauts in Books III and IV.

Hera in the Proem to Book I:

After the narrator, in the proem to Book I, states the subject of the poem (1-4), he touches briefly upon Hera’s dispositions concerning Jason and Pelias:

Toi¿hn ga\r Peli¿hj fa/tin eÃkluen, wÐj min o)pi¿ssw moiÍra me/nei stugerh/, tou=d' a)ne/roj oÀntin' iãdoito dhmo/qen oi¹ope/dilon u(p' e)nnesi¿vsi damh=nai: dhro\n d' ou) mete/peita teh\n kata\ ba/cin ¹Ih/swn, xeimeri¿oio r(e/eqra kiwÜn dia\ possiìn ¹Anau/rou, aÃllo me\n e)cesa/wsen u(p' i¹lu/oj aÃllo d' eÃnerqen

1 Levin (1971), 16-19.

13 ka/llipen auÅqi pe/dilon e)nisxo/menon proxov=sin: iàketo d' e)j Peli¿hn au)tosxedo/n, a)ntibolh/swn ei¹lapi¿nhj hÁn patriì Poseida/wni kaiì aÃlloij r(e/ze qeoiÍj, àHrhj de\ Pelasgi¿doj ou)k a)le/gizen: aiåya de\ to/ng' e)sidwÜn e)fra/ssato, kai¿ oi¸ aÃeqlon eÃntue nautili¿hj polukhde/oj, oÃfr' e)niì po/nt% h)e\ kaiì a)llodapoiÍsi met' a)ndra/si no/ston o)le/ssv. (I.5-17)

For Pelias heard such an oracle, how a terrible fate awaited him in the future, that he would be subdued by the promptings of this man - whatever man that he should see who was one-sandaled and from the people. And not long afterwards (in accordance with your utterance), Jason, while going by foot through the streams of the wintry Anaurus, saved one sandal out from under the mud, but left the other there, under the mud, held fast in the mouth of the river. He came to Pelias at once, to partake of the banquet that he was offering for his father Poseidon and the other gods (though he did not trouble himself with Pelasgian Hera). Immediately upon looking at Jason, Pelias contrived and prepared for him the trial of a grievous voyage so that in the sea or even among foreign men he might lose his return home.

One can see, then, that the proem to Book I alludes to the events that caused Hera’s fondness for Jason and anger towards Pelias. Hera’s dispositions for Jason and against Pelias appear in earlier works of literature. In Homer’s Odyssey, Circe tells that because Jason was dear to Hera (e)peiì fi¿loj hÅen ¹Ih/swn. 13 .72), she conveyed the world-famous Argo ( ¹ArgwÜ pa=si me/lousa, 70) past the Planctae, or Wandering Rocks. Pherecydes, in addition, mentions Hera’s hatred towards Pelias in his account of the Argonautic legend. When Pelias asks Jason what he would do if an oracular response proclaimed that he was going to be slain by one of the citizens, Jason responds that he would send that person to fetch the Golden Fleece. Hera, Pherecydes continues, put such a response into Jason’s mind so that Medea might come as a bane to Pelias (Tau=ta de\ t%½ ¹Ih/soni àHrh e)j no/on ba/llei, w¨j eÃlqoi h( Mh/deia t%½ Peli¿# kako/n). Many ancient readers of Apollonius’ proem to Book I would, then, have seen allusions to Hera’s traditional disposition in favor of Jason (5-11) and against Pelias (12-4). Through his adherence to this motif, Apollonius anticipates Hera’s actual enactment of her dispositions. Hera, however, does not begin to do this until nearly half of the poem is told.

Hera and Ankaius:

14 When Hera, in Book II, instills Ankaius with boldness (864-8), she acts in a manner that is direct and beneficial to the Argonauts. Idmon and Tiphys die during the Argonauts’ stopover at the Acherousian headland (750-898), and Tiphys’ death produces unendurable grief in the Argonauts (858) so that they fall down in helplessness (860), desire neither food nor drink (861-2), and no longer expect to return home (863). The narrator then relates that they would have been delayed even further (864) if Hera had not thrown immense boldness into Ankaius (ei¹ mh\ aÃr' ¹Agkai¿% periw¯sion eÃmbalen àHrh qa/rsoj, 865-6). Ankaius, in turn, tells Peleus to rouse the Argonauts into remembering the expedition since he and others can steer the ship (869-77). Peleus accordingly informs them that there are other helmsmen in their midst (882-3), and bids them to take action (883- 4). Ankaius, who is directed by the impulse of a god (qeou= e)tra/peq' o(rmv=:, 895), then pledges that he would drive the Argo (894-5). Others, in addition, volunteer to be the new helmsman (896- 7), but the Argonauts choose Ankaius to replace Tiphys (897-8). It is easy to see why Hera singles out Ankaius, for the narrator previously stated that Ankaius was from Parthenia, the abode of Imbrasian Hera (I.187-8). It is implied, then, that Hera’s intervention is motivated by an affiliation with Ankaius.

Hera’s Conversations with Athena and Aphrodite:

Erato, indeed, seems to be the primary cause for Hera’s actions in Books III and IV. In the Olympian scene at the beginning of Book III, Hera sets in motion the chain of events that result in Jason being helped by Medea’s desire for him. Hera suggests to Athena that they ask Aphrodite to persuade Eros into charming Medea (25-8), and when they are actually in Aphrodite’s presence (39-111), Athena does not take part in the conversation. Eros, having been persuaded by Aphrodite (129-53), charms Medea by shooting her with one of his arrows (280-4). Medea, who is now in love with Jason, provides him with the drug of Prometheus (1013-4), which protects him as he performs Aeetes’ tasks. Jason, moreover, is able to seize the Golden Fleece because Medea lulls to sleep the dragon that guarded it (4.145- 63). One can see, then, that due to her interactions with Athena and Aphrodite (3.7-111), Hera is the ultimate reason why Medea’s love helps Jason.1 Gaunt references to the same incident, but he hints at the human imagery of the gods when he said: After a brief invocation of Erato, Apollonius gives us his only set piece in Olympus itself. Hera and Athena, worried by the difficulties which lie before Jason, decide to

1 Berkowitz (2004), 102-105,110-111.

15 invoke Aphrodite’s help in order to make Medea fall in love with Jason. There follows a pleasant Alexandrian scene in which the two goddesses find Aphrodite at her toilette:

leukoiÍsin d' e(ka/terqe ko/maj e)pieime/nh wÓmoij ko/smei xrusei¿v dia\ kerki¿di, me/lle de\ makrou/j ple/casqai ploka/mouj: (III.45-47)

‘She had let down her hair on both sides to cover her white shoulders; she was parting it with a golden comb and was about to braid up her long tresses.’

Hera appeals as a suppliant to Aphrodite, asking that her son Eros shall cause Medea to fall in love. There is a purely formal intervention by Hera at 3. 211-14 (a quick flicker of mist to cover the Argonauts and recall similar occasions in Homer).1 The second half of the poem is dominated by Hera. Pelias’ neglect of her stands prominently in the proem (1.14), Phineus recalls her protection of the Argonauts (2.216-17) and she intervenes crucially after the death of Tiphys (2.865); otherwise she seems notably absent from the outward voyage. Her prominence in the second half is closely linked to the role of Medea, who is to be Hera’s weapon of vengeance against Pelias. When Athena resigns to Hera the leading role in their negotiations with Aphrodite (3.32—5), she is also resigning her role in the poem. Thus, when the sacred beam which Athena placed in the Argo calls out to the Argonauts in Book IV, it does so as the servant of Hera (4.580—3). It might therefore seem strange that Hera apparently disappears from the poem after Medea is safely married to Jason on Drepane and the threat from the pursuing Colchians is at an end. In part this may be ascribed to Apollonius’ resistance to patterns which would impose obvious unity and consistency; in part too, it reinforces the sense of the landing on Drepane as a homecoming, a false end to the troubles. More significantly, Hera’s desire - that Medea should come to Greece to destroy Pelias - now looks like being fulfilled. In the Argonautica, however, such plans are rarely straightforward, and the expedition nearly comes to grief in Africa. The African adventures are in fact linked into the narrative in an apparently casual way:

a)lla\ ga\r ouÃpw aiãsimon hÅn e)pibh=nai ¹Axaii¿doj h(rw¯essin, oÃfr' eÃti kaiì Libu/hj e)piì pei¿rasin o)tlh/seian: (4.1225-7)

1 Gaunt (1972), 124.

16 Not yet was it fated (aiãsimon) for the heroes to step upon the Achaean land, until they had suffered further in the boundaries of Libya.

This unique example of aiãsimon, ‘fated’, may be referred to Zeus’s angry plans for the Argonauts, but it also suggests ‘fate’ as a narrative device for joining two separate parts of the Argonautic legend. The controlling intelligence is that of the poet rather than of Zeus.

Hera’s Conversations with Iris and Thetis:

The Argonauts’ departure from Circe’s territory is noted by Iris, who has been set to watch by Hera (4.753-6). This is an extension of the Homeric situation where gods do their own watching of events on earth, and is part of an amusing systematisation of the domesticity of the Olympians. Why should they bother to watch when they have servants to work for them? There is an interesting parallel in Callimachus’ Hymn to Delos. In that poem Hera sets Ares and Iris to keep watch over the whole world so that Leto should find no haven in which to bear her child (h. 4.61-9). When the island Asterie takes Leto in, Iris, still panting from running and fearful of Hera’s reaction, reports to her mistress in a grovelling and provocative style suited to a flatterer or a pet slave, and then settles down beside Hera’s throne to wait for her next instructions (h. 4.215-36). That passage makes use of motifs associated with the messengers of drama - breath- lessness and fear and is invested with a broad humour. Thetis, like Asterie, had spurned Zeus’s advances, and there is an effect reminiscent of Callimachus in 4.757-69, where Hera despatches poor Iris on a long, triple mission (to Thetis, Hephaestus and Aeolus) which would be enough to make any messenger grumble. Here the spirit of the two Alexandrian poets is very close. When Thetis arrives on Olympus Hera begins by ‘filling in the background’:

oiåsqa me\n oÀsson e)mv=sin e)niì fresiì ti¿etai hÀrwj Ai¹soni¿dhj h)d' aÃlloi a)osshth=rej a)e/qlou...... , (4.784-5)

‘You know how honoured in my heart is the hero, son of Aison, and all of those who help him in his task ..."

How does Thetis know this? We will soon learn that her interest in her ‘husband’ Peleus and his comrades is virtually non-existent. Has Thetis read Odyssey XII with its reference to ArgwÜ pa=si me/lousa, ‘the Argo known to all’ (Od. 12.70), or has she read the Argonautica? Or is

17 the point precisely that she does not know, but Hera treats her as a special confidante as part of a captatio beneuolentiae? We will see that this is by no means the only example of Hera’s shifting rhetoric and of an ambivalent uncertainty which lingers over the whole speech. Hera then recalls her past services to Thetis: she nursed her and arranged her marriage to ‘the best of mortals’ after Thetis had spurned Zeus and Zeus dropped his suit on learning that Thetis was fated to bear a son greater than his father. When Hera has finished, Thetis makes no response to the details of her account of the past, but merely expresses assent to the request and says that she must be on her way. Her own feelings about both Peleus and Hera are suppressed. It is, however, probably not fanciful to see bitterness or sarcasm in her description of the journey in front of her as dolixh/n te kaiì aÃspeton, ‘unspeakably long’ (4.838). This is the same journey which Iris made without any word of complaint. The first destination is the sea-floor, probably between Samothrace and Imbros, from where Iris had fetched Thetis in the Iliad. From there she travels west like the rays of the rising sun (4.847-8) all the way to the west coast of Italy. Unlike Iris, however, Thetis travels ‘through the water’ (4.849), and we are specifically to think of her travelling round the bottom of the Peloponnese and across to Italy.1 Lines 4. 753-921 are largely taken up by a scene in Olympus after the Homeric pattern. Hera summons Thetis, through the agency of Iris, and persuades her to arrange for Argo’s passage between the Plagktai and through the strait guarded by Scylla and Charybdis. The writing here is not particularly distinguished apart from an imaginative description (865-84) of Thetis’ original desertion of her husband Peleus, who is now one of Argo’s crew. Lines 922-81 are of more interest. Here Apollonius tells how the first circle the ship like dolphins, then carry her, and finally throw her from one to another, like girls playing ball (948-55):

ai¸ d', wÐst' h)maqo/entoj e)pisxedo\n ai¹gialoiÍo parqenikai¿, di¿xa ko/lpon e)p' i¹cu/aj ei¸li¿casai, sfai¿rv a)qu/rousin perihge/i: h( me\n eÃpeita aÃllh u(p' e)c aÃllhj de/xetai kaiì e)j h)e/ra pe/mpei uÀyi metaxroni¿hn, h( d' ouà pote pi¿lnatai ouÃdei. wÒj ai¸ nh=a qe/ousan a)moibadiìj aÃlloqen aÃllh pe/mpe diheri¿hn e)piì ku/masin, ai¹e\n aÃpwqen petra/wn: periì de/ sfin e)reugo/menon ze/en uÀdwr.

‘They were like girls near a sandy beach, who tuck up their dresses as far as the waist and play with a rounded

1 Hunter (1993), 87-88, 96-97, 99-100.

18 ball. Then one after another they catch it and send it high above the ground into the air, so that the ball never lands. Even so the Nereids sent the ship running on in the air over the waves, always away from the rocks; they took turns, one after another, and the water bubbled and boiled around them.’

There are here undoubted reminiscences of Nausicaa playing ball with her attendants in Odyssey VI, but the scene which Apollonius depicts is quite different in tone and really very strange. It is not merely a question of a divine touch on the stern, but of the whole ship being first bodily carried and then actually thrown from hand to hand by the attendant Nereids. Well might Hera in panic embrace Athena (959-60) when she saw this amazing flight, which somewhat surprisingly lasted all day (961-2). The reader must surely feel that this picture is, and was intended to be, a fantastic tour de force.1 After Circe cleanses Jason and Medea for their murder of Apsyrtus (4.700-17), Hera enlists the aid of several gods and goddesses. In accordance with Hera’s bidding, Iris informs her when Jason and Medea have left Circe’s house (753-6). Hera then sends Iris on a mission in which she is to fetch Thetis (757-9), bid Hephaestus to calm his bellows until the Argo passes by them (760-4), and tell Aiolus to stop all of the winds but the West Wind until the Argonauts arrive at the island of the Phaiacians (764-9). Thetis goes to mount Olympus (780-1), and Hera makes an eloquent request for her aid (783-832). Thetis is reminded that Hera reared her as a baby (790-1) and treated her with particular affection (791-2). Hera also points out how in the Argonaut Peleus, she gave to Thetis the best of mortals to be a husband (805-7). Hera, moreover, summoned all of the gods to their wedding banquet (807-8) and even held the bridal torch (808-9). Hera then explains that when Thetis’ son Achilles perishes and goes to the Elysian field, he will marry Medea (811-15). Since she is a mother-in-law, Thetis has to assist her daughter-in-law, and also Peleus himself (su\ d' aÃrhge nu%½ e(kurh/ per e)ou=sa, h)d' au)t%½ Phlh=i. 815-6). Thetis, however, is angry at Peleus. The narrator later explains why when he relates that at night, Thetis used to burn Achilles’ mortal flesh (869-70), and then, during the day, rub his body with ambrosia (870-1).This process was going to make Achilles immortal and eternally young (871-2). When Peleus, though, noticed Thetis’ nocturnal activity, he emitted a terrible cry (873-5). This angered Thetis so that she left Peleus and Achilles, never to return (875-9).

1 Gaunt (1972), 121-122.

19 Hera defends Peleus by informing Thetis that although he acted foolishly, foolishness even visits the gods (a)a/sqh, kaiì ga/r te qeou\j e)pini¿ssetai aÃth. 817). Hera accordingly bids Thetis to contrive for the Argonauts a harmless return home (822), a task for which she can employ the aid of her sisters (823-4). Thetis, Hera continues, must not allow the Argonauts to enter Charybdis, or go beside the hiding place of Scylla (825-7).1 One final case, to return us to the specific problem of the gods and human motivation, is the pillow-talk of Queen Arete and her husband Alcinous in Book IV. She wins from him the assurance that he will not hand Medea over to the pursuing Colchians if the fugitive is married to Jason (1107-9). Arete takes his words to heart, gets out of bed, silently summons a herald, and, in her wisdom (vÂsin e)pifrosu/nvsin, 1115), tells the herald to have Jason marry Medea (1111-16). Some eighty lines later, the goddess Hera is mentioned for the last time, in an address from the poet, and Apollonius lets fall the information that it was in fact Hera who instigated Arete’s action: ‘For you put it in Arete’s mind to divulge the prudent utterance of Alcinous’ (su\ ga\r kaiì e)piìfresiì qh=kaj ¹Arh/tv pukino\n fa/sqai eÃpoj ¹Alkino/o, 4. 1199-1200). This jolt is reminiscent, in a way, of Medea’s dream in Book III (616-32), where Apollonius does everything to make us think that the dream is sent by Hera, except actually saying as much. The last mention of Hera is part and parcel of the strange uses of Eros, Erotes, and Hera in Book III.2

Hera’s Attempt to Accelerate the Return Journey:

Hera also intervenes during the Argonauts’ homeward journey. After Jason seizes the Golden Fleece (4. 162-3), and the Argonauts proceed to exit the river Phasis (210-11), Hera causes winds to blow:

àHrhj, oÃfr' wÓkista kako\n Peli¿ao do/moisin Ai¹ai¿h Mh/deia Pelasgi¿da gaiÍan iàkhtai, h)oiÍ e)niì trita/tv prumnh/sia nho\j eÃdhsan Paflago/nwn a)ktv=si, pa/roiq' àAluoj potamoiÍo: (4.241-5)

With the wind blowing swiftly by the will of Hera, so that most quickly, as a bane to the halls of Pelias, Aiaian Medea might come to the Pelas-gian land, the Argonauts, on the third dawn, bound the stern-cables of the ship to the headlands of the Paphlagonians, before the river Halys.

1 Berkowitz (2004), 112-113. 2 Feeney (1991), 89.

20 It is at these headlands that the Argonauts remember how Phineus said that the voyage out of Aia would be different (253-5). This prompts Argos, the son of Phrixus, to relate how they can get to Hellas by means of the river Istros (257-93). After he finishes speaking, a goddess is said to grant them an auspicious sign ( âWj aÃr' eÃfh. toiÍsin de\ qea\ te/raj e)ggua/licen aiãsion, 294-5) as a furrow of light is made in the direction that is passable (296-7). The Argonauts then set off with sails spread out (lai¿fesi peptame/noisin, 299), for breezes and a light of heavenly fire remains until they arrive at the great river Istros (pnoiai¿ te kaiì ou)rani¿ou puro\j aiãglh mi¿mnen eÀwj ãIstroio me/gan r(o/on ei¹safi¿konto., 301-2). The river takes them to the Adriatic (329-30), where they encounter a Colchian force led by Medea’s brother Apsyrtus. The Colchians were able to anticipate the Argonauts because they entered the river Istros by means of a different outlet (303-28). The Argonauts react to them by murdering Apsyrtus, and, as a result, must go to the western Mediterranean to be cleansed by Circe.

Hera and Zeus:

After the Argonauts massacre Apsyrtus’ crew (485-7) and sail on the Adriatic to the island of Elektris (504-6), the Colchian fleet is prevented from looking for the Argonauts because of lightning that was sent by Hera (507-10). The Colchians then disperse and settle in various places (511-3). The narrator relates that some of them dwell in mountains that are called "Thunderbolt" (oi¸ d' e)n oÃressin e)nnai¿ousin aÀper te Kerau/nia kiklh/skontai, 518-9). The mountains received such a name since the time when Zeus’ thunderbolts deterred the Colchians from hastening towards the island of Drepane (520-1). Within the same passage, both Hera and Zeus use thunder and lightning. Whereas Hera intervenes within the action of the primary story for the Argonauts’ benefit, Zeus acts at some future time and does not benefit the Argonauts. This contributes to the impression that Hera replaces Zeus within the action of the primary story. Hera incites winds for a second time when the Argonauts imagine that they see the Thunderbolt Mountains as they are sailing down the Adriatic sea (575-6):

kaiì to/te boula/j a)mf' au)toiÍj Zhno/j te me/gan xo/lon e)fra/saq' àHrh, mhdome/nh d' aÃnusin toiÍo plo/ou, wÕrsen a)e/llaj a)ntikru/: toiì d' auÅtij a)narpa/gdhn fore/onto nh/sou eÃpi kranah=j ¹Hlektri¿doj. (4.576-80)

21 And then Hera took note of the plans and great wrath of Zeus concerning them. Plotting the accomplishment of the voyage, she roused gusts of winds directly opposite them, by which the Argonauts, snatched up violently, were carried back again upon the rocky island of Elektris.

Hera uses these northerly winds to set the Argonauts en route to the western Mediterranean, where Jason and Medea must be cleansed by Circe for Apsyrtus’ murder. The Argo, in fact, tells the Argonauts that they will escape neither the labors of the sea, nor grievous blasts of wind, unless Circe cleanses them (585-8). Such obstacles would apparently be sent by Zeus, for the narrator mentions that when the Argo is speaking (585-91), the Argonauts are hearing the voice and deep wrath of Zeus (ei¹sai¿+ontaj fqoggh/n te Zhno/j te baru\n xo/lon: ou, 584-5). It was Zeus, indeed, who decreed that the Argonauts would not return home until Circe has purified them (557- 61), and Zeus already incited winds earlier in the poem. When Erato is responding to the narrator, Hera causes winds and deters those that would come from Zeus. With this control of the weather, she seems to replace him. I will actually be citing other such replacements, for I see them as signs of Erato’s influence.

Hera in the Phaiakian Episode:

Hera’s actions towards the Argonauts continue until the marriage of Jason and Medea on the island of Drepane. The Argonauts’ landing on the island (993-4) is accompanied by the arrival of a Colchian force intent on bringing Medea back to Aeetes (1000-7). As a result, the Phaiakian king Alkinoos tells his wife Arete that he will not hand Medea over to the Colchians if she is already married (1098-1109). Arete sends report of Alkinoos’ resolution to Jason (1114-20), which prompts the Argonauts to prepare a marriage bed in a cave (1128-43). Giving honor to Jason ( ¹Ih/sona kudai¿nousa, 1152), Hera motivates Nymphs of Drepane to bring flowers to Jason and Medea (1143-52), and Jason and Medea make love for the first time on the prepared marriage bed (1161-69). This is not a very joyous occasion, though, for the narrator relates that Jason and Medea wanted the wedding to take place not on Drepane, but at Iolkos, in the halls of Jason’s father (1161-4). Though melting in sweet love, Jason and Medea were held in fear over whether Alkinoos’ decision would be fulfilled (tou/j, glukerv= per i¹ainome/nouj filo/thti, deiÍm' eÃxen ei¹ tele/oito dia/krisij ¹Alkino/oio., 1168-9). On the following day, when Alkinoos is about to proclaim his decision regarding Medea (1176-7), a celebratory atmosphere, full of

22 song and dance, ensues (1182-1200). Women leave the city walls in order to look at the Argonauts, and rustic men meet with them (1182- 4). They do this because Hera sent forth an unerring rumor about what was taking place (e)peiì nhmerte/a ba/cin àHrh e)piproe/hken, 1184-5). Hera thereby creates a festive mood that offsets the untraditional and disappointing nature of the wedding. It is crucial, after all, for Alkinoos to think that the marriage is legitimate. 1 Hera initiates the intervention in Books III and IV, though she comes to earth herself only at 4.640-41 to shout a warning; she stands in the same relation to the Argonauts in general and to Jason in particular as Athena does to Odysseus in the Odyssey, even to the extent of performing the same transformations on those she favours (as in the beautification of Jason and Odysseus). As Athena’s concern for Odysseus makes her help others such as Telemachus, so Hera’s affection for Jason causes her to help the Argonauts as a group. Hera still harbours strong feelings towards particular mortals or groups of mortals; her hatred of Pelias and desire for vengeance on him (3.64-65, 3.74-75, 3.1134-36, 4.242-43) resembles her attitude towards the Trojans (e.g. 2. 4.44-67).2

Phineus’ Comment about Hera:

During the Argonauts’ stay at the land of Thynia, Phineus, in an entreaty to the Argonauts, alludes to Hera’s subsequent role:

¸Ikesi¿ou pro\j Zhno/j, oÀtij r(i¿gistoj a)litroiÍj a)ndra/si, Foi¿bou t' a)mfi¿, kaiì au)th=j eiàneken àHrhj li¿ssomai, v peri¿alla qew½n me/mblesqe kio/ntej: xrai¿smete/ moi, r(u/sasqe dusa/mmoron a)ne/ra lu/mhj, mhde/ m' a)khdei¿vsin a)formh/qhte lipo/ntej auÃtwj. (2.215-20)

In the name of Zeus, tutelary god of suppliants, one who is most horrible to sinful men, and for Phoibos’ sake, and on account of Hera herself, to whom, before all of the gods, you are an object of care as you are going along, I entreat you: defend me, protect a most miserable man from maltreatment, and do not depart in indifference, leaving me in this manner.

1 Berkowitz (2004),114-118. 2 Feeney (1991), 270-271.

23 Phineus is requesting that the Argonauts drive away the Harpies, who have been punishing him by either snatching away his food or by pouring a foul odor upon it. Phineus’ statement about Hera suggests that she will later assist the Argonauts. Whereas Phineus, though, mentions that Hera cares for the Argonauts as a group, she later acts because of her fondness for Jason in particular. With her action towards Jason, she will surely benefit all of the heroes; but Hera’s assistance of the Argonauts in Book II (864-8) is somehow motivated by her affiliation with Ankaius. Hera, in that passage, is not said to be acting on account of Jason, It is therefore hard to pinpoint what future act(s) of Hera Phineus is referring to, or why Hera is so disposed towards the Argonauts as a group. Phineus, in addition, entreats the Argonauts in the name of three deities, Zeus, Apollo, and Hera. Phineus mentions that the Argonauts are an object of care to Hera before the other gods (217) only in order to be more persuasive. Since Phineus’ reference to Hera is contained within a relative clause that forms part of his request for assistance, we do not have an overt statement about Hera’s subsequent role. The offhanded and ambiguous nature of Phineus’ remark about Hera may be the result of his desire to persuade the Argonauts into helping him, or to his general manner of prophesying, seeing that he is not allowed to divulge the future in its entirety. It is also the narrator’s practice, though, to refer to the gods in a summary fashion when Erato is not responding to him. The public narrator’s style would then operate in conjunction with Phineus’ private rhetorical strategies. In addition to her indirect assistance of the Argonauts through conversations with other goddesses, Hera involves herself in numerous direct interventions. A few examples of these interventions will illustrate their variety. When Jason, the sons of Phrixus, and the Argonauts Telamon and Augeias proceed toward Aeetes’ palace, Hera conceals them by spreading a mist throughout Aia (3.210-4). Later in Book III, Medea agonizes over whether she should use her drugs to help Jason or kill herself (766-823). When she eventually resolves not to kill herself, she is said to be changed by the suggestions of Hera ( àHrhj e)nnesi¿vsi meta/tropoj, 818). Then, in order to receive the drug of Prometheus, Jason, Argos, and Mopsus head for the temple of Hekate, where they can find Medea (912-8). Hera transforms Jason into an exceptional person to look at and address (919-23), and motivates a crow to upbraid Mopsus and inform him that Jason should approach Medea unaccompanied (927-46).

24 Athena

While Hera dominates the central section of the poem, Athena and Aphrodite merely appear in the background. Athena’s presence in Books III and IV, in fact, stands in contrast with the role she previously played. Although she pushed the Argo through the Symplegades (2.598-9), she never again assists the Argonauts. I will attribute to Erato both Athena’s diminished stature and the vivid manner in which she is referred to after the proem to Book III.1 The Odyssey, as its name implies, is the story of a man: the Argonautica too is well named - it is the story of a ship and of a voyage. It was no doubt because he shared such feelings that Nathaniel Haw- thorne in his Tanglewood Tales (1853) made so much of the ‘personality’ of the ship, or, more exactly, of its figurehead, ‘the daughter of the Speaking Oak of Dodona, which in his version of the story of the Golden Fleece so often advises Jason in his difficulties. Apollonius himself only refers twice to this phenomenon. The first occasion is at 1. 524-7:

smerdale/on de\ limh\n Pagash/ioj h)de\ kaiì au)th/ Phlia\j iãaxen ¹ArgwÜ e)pispe/rxousa ne/esqai: e)n ga/r oi¸ do/ru qeiÍon e)lh/lato, to/ r(' a)na\ me/sshn steiÍran ¹Aqhnai¿h Dwdwni¿doj hÀrmose fhgou=. (I.524-7)

‘The harbour of Pagasae rang out terribly, and so also did Pelian Argo, eager to sail. For a divine timber had been fixed in her; Athena had taken it from the oak of Dodona and fitted it in the centre of the prow.’

The description is a little curious, because the verb iãaxen is first applied to the harbour rather than to the ship, whereas in fact one presumes that the noise in the harbour must have been an echo from that made by the ship. The effect is mysterious, as if the poet were deliberately avoiding a reference to the human speech which was usually attributed to the oak of Dodona and hence to Argo herself. The second occasion on which Apollonius makes use of the ‘speaking timber’ motif is at 4. 585 ff., where Argo’s voice

ou) ga\r a)lu/cein eÃnnepen ouÃte po/rouj dolixh=j a(lo\j ouÃte que/llaj a)rgale/aj, oÀte mh\ Ki¿rkh fo/non ¹Ayu/rtoio nhle/a ni¿yeien: (IV.585-588)

1 Berkowitz (2004), 107-108, 114, 120.

25 ‘announced that they would not escape the paths of the long sea- voyage nor the bitter blasts until such time as Circe should purge the cruel murder of Apsyrtus’.

The introductory word is again iãaxen (581), but this time we are told that the beam spoke a)ndrome/v e)nopv=, ‘in human speech’, and Apollonius gives us the gist of what was said. It is noticeable that on neither of the above occasions has the cry or message any very important consequences for the narrative; it seems that Apollonius was not much interested in the ‘speaking timber’ and included these two references only as passing tributes to the demands of the legend. It is perhaps symptomatic of his uneasiness about the motif that the words of Argo are given in reported speech. Careful study of the text suggests that Apollonius may in fact have consciously shunned the motif. At 1. 18-21 he speaks of other versions of the story of the building of Argo:

Nh=a me\n ouÅn oi¸ pro/sqen eÃti klei¿ousin a)oidoi¿ ãArgon ¹Aqhnai¿hj kame/ein u(poqhmosu/nvsi: nu=n d' aÄn e)gwÜ geneh/n te kaiì ouÃnoma muqhsai¿mhn h(rw¯wn. . .(I.18-21)

‘Previous bards sing of the ship, how Argos worked on her at the bidding of Athena. But now I would tell of the lineage and names of the heroes . . .’

Here it would seem that the poet deliberately turns away from the romantic story of how the ship was made and devotes himself instead to the long catalogue of heroes which follows. The only other major allusion which he makes to the building of the ship is at 1. 111-14, where Athena’s part in the construction is again stressed:

au)th\ ga\r kaiì nh=a qoh\n ka/me, su\n de/ oi¸ ãArgoj teu=cen ¹Arestori¿dhj kei¿nhj u(poqhmosu/nvsi: tw½ kaiì pasa/wn proferesta/th eÃpleto nhw½n oÀssai u(p' ei¹resi¿vsin e)peirh/santo qala/sshj. (I.111-114)

‘For Athena herself had constructed the swift ship. And at her bidding Argos wrought with her. Therefore Argo was the swiftest of all ships which, driven by oars, made trial of the sea.’

This account, though it differs in emphasis from the previous one, is compatible with it. Both, however, are minimal, and it would seem that Apollonius, though well aware of Argo’s legendary powers, prefers not to make use of them in his narrative, perhaps because he wishes to concentrate on the ‘specialist’ abilities of his crew. It was, however, well known that Argo was the first large ship ever to be constructed, and

26 that she had other magical properties besides the ability to speak. Thus the elder Pliny tells us that her timbers were supposed to be proof against fire and water. Apollonius does not mention this, though he may be alluding to it at 2. 339-40, where Phineus prophesies that the heroes have no hope of passing through the Symplegades unless the omens are favourable:

ou) ga/r ke kako\n mo/ron e)cale/aisqe petra/wn, ou)d' eiã ke sidhrei¿h pe/loi ¹Argw¯. ( II. 339-40)

‘For you would not escape an evil doom from the rocks, not even if Argo were made of iron.’

Here the Scholiast thinks that the reference is to the size of Argo’s timbers and the skill of Athena which went to her making, but it might equally be an unconscious allusion to the magical qualities mentioned above. We are probably also meant to remember 1. 723, where the poet told us in passing that it was Athena who laid out the ship’s keel- props" in the first instance.1 Though Phineus gives detailed advice on what to do at the Symplegades, he says nothing about any divine help, though he makes predictions about such help in Colchis (2.420-25). Does Phineus not know of it, or does he keep quiet about Athena’s intervention, presumably because he does not wish to repeat his earlier mistake (cf. 2.390-91)? Whether he knows or not, the reader is kept in suspense about what will actually happen at the Symplegades.2 Nymphs and sea-gods are from the lower echelons of divinity, and we have to wait until well into Book II before we see a major god in action, when Athena helps her ship Argo through the Symplegades. The episode is prepared for in Phineus’ prophecy, and is an extensive piece; it repays some study. Phineus tells them to send a dove ahead through the rocks as a test; if it passes through, he says,

mhke/ti dh\n mhd' au)toiì e)rhtu/esqe keleu/qou, a)ll' euÅ kartu/nantej e(aiÍj e)niì xersiìn e)retma/ te/mneq' a(lo\j steinwpo/n, e)peiì fa/oj ouà nu/ ti to/sson eÃsset' e)n eu)xwlv=sin oÀson t' e)niì ka/rtei+ xeirw½n: tw½ kaiì taÅlla meqe/ntaj o)nh/iston pone/esqai qarsale/wj: priìn d' ouà ti qeou\j li¿ssesqai e)ru/kw. (II. 331-6)

1 Gaunt (1972), 117-119. 2 Knight (1995), 44-45.

27

Don’t hold back for ages from going ahead yourselves, but grab your oars firmly in your hands and cut through the narrow strait; for your salvation will not be so much in your prayers, as in the strength of your hands. So the most useful thing is to drop everything else and exert yourselves boldly (though I don’t forbid you to pray to the gods earlier on).

It is, therefore, rather odd, once they have made their prayers (2. 531-3), taken the dove on board, and set off (533-6), that the goddess Athena comes directly into the action for the first time: ‘Nor did their departure escape Athena’s notice’ (ou)d' aÃr' ¹Aqhnai¿hn prote/rw la/qon o(rmhqe/ntej, 2. 537). As this first major deity comes into play, her anthropomorphic corporeality receives very disconcerting notice, in a moment of masterful comedy and poise:

au)ti¿ka d' e)ssume/nwj, nefe/lhj e)piba=sa po/dessi kou/fhj, hÀ ke fe/roi min aÃfar briarh/n per e)ou=san, seu/at' iãmen Po/ntonde, fi¿la frone/ous' e)re/tvsin. (II. 538-40)

Straightaway, in haste, she stepped with her feet onto a cloud, a light one, which could carry her in a moment, despite her weight, and she swept off to the Black Sea, with kindly thoughts for the oarsmen. 1

At the beginning of Book III, where Hera and Athena deliberate on how to help the Argonauts, Athena gives Hera full credit for arriving at the plan to approach Aphrodite, and for its subsequent enactment. Hera makes trial of Athena first (pei¿raze d' ¹Aqhnai¿hn pa/roj àHrh:, 10) and tells her to begin the deliberation (aÃrxeo boulh=j., 11). Hera asks what stratagem she will contrive (do/lon tina\ mh/seai, 12) by which the Argonauts might bring the Golden Fleece to Hellas (12-3). Athena, in response, indicates a certain difficulty in collaborating with Hera:

Kaiì d' au)th\n e)me\ toiÍa meta\ fresiìn o(rmai¿nousan, àHrh, a)phlege/wj e)cei¿reai: a)lla/ toi ouÃpw fra/ssasqai noe/w tou=ton do/lon oÀstij o)nh/sei qumo\n a)risth/wn, pole/aj d' e)pedoi¿asa boula/j. (III.18-21)

Even of me myself, as I turn over such things in my mind, Hera, you bluntly inquire. But I tell you, not yet am I minded to plan this stratagem, whatever will benefit the life of the heroes; though I entertained doubts over many deliberations.

1 Feeney (1991), 72.

28

Athena expresses this frustration in spite of her traditional association with wisdom. Homer calls her "much deliberating" (polu/bouloj ¹Aqh/nh. Il. V. 260, Od. XVI.282), and the narrator of Homeric Hymn XXVIII says she is "much-counseling" (polu/mhtin, 2). It is therefore likely that Athena would have thought of some scheme if given the chance. She says, after all, that she is not yet minded (ouà pw, 19) to plan the stratagem. Erato, however, was called upon to relate how Jason brought the Fleece to Iolkos through Medea’s love (Mhdei¿hj u(p' eÃrwti:, 3). The narrator of Homeric Hymn V states that the works of much-golden Aphrodite are not pleasing to Athena (oi¸ euÃaden eÃrga poluxru/sou ¹Afrodi¿thj, 9). How would Medea’s love be incorporated into an approach formulated by Athena if she is renowned for her virginity? We are prevented from learning about any plan belonging to Athena, for Erato ensures that Hera arrives at one before Athena does ( mhtio/wsa paroite/rh, A.R. 111.24). Hera suggests to Athena that they ask Aphrodite to persuade Eros into charming Medea (25-8). Athena, again, professes an inability to contribute:

"ÀHrh, nh/ida me/n me path\r te/ke toiÍo bola/wn, ou)de/ tina xreiwÜ qelkth/rion oiåda po/qoio: ei¹ de/ soi au)tv= mu=qoj e)fanda/nei, hÅ t' aÄn eÃgwge e(spoi¿mhn, su\ de/ ken fai¿hj eÃpoj a)ntio/wsa." (III.32-5)

Hera, father engendered me as lacking knowledge of the blows of such a boy (Eros), nor do I know of any enchanting need of desire; but if the plan is pleasing to you yourself, indeed I would follow, though you should speak the word once you have encountered her.

Athena explains that because she is ignorant of erotic affairs, she cannot play an active role in Hera’s proposal, let alone speak to Aphrodite. 1 Her decisive intervention is yet to come, for first the heroes follow Phineus’ advice, aiming to row through ‘relying on their own strength’ (ka/rtei+ %Ò pi¿sunoi., 2. 559). But, after all, the peril is beyond their resources (578), and the poet, having screwed the tension to the highest pitch, has Athena prop herself on a rock with her left hand and bat Argo through with her right (2. 598-9). The action is even more abrupt and productive of eÃkplhcij than was the appearance of Glaucus, and the power of the marvel is made more complex by the earlier plays on the god’s nature: the goddess whose feet stand on a light cloud without it giving way has a right hand that can send a ship

1 Berkowitz (2004), 120-122.

29 and fifty-two warriors flying through the air like an arrow (2. 600). The simile of the arrow is not random, for the heroes eight lines earlier row so hard that their oars bend like curved bows (2. 591-2). It is Athena, and not they themselves, who completes the action of the simile. The effect is to cap the sense of climactic anti-climax which has already been achieved by the deflation of Phineus’ solemn words about relying on human strength. Homer, too, brings events to a pitch which only a god can resolve, but he does not announce in advance that the resolution will be a solely human one. 1 After the Argonauts’ exertions, the intervention itself is brief, though not unexpected because Athena has already taken her place ready to act; she pushes the Argo out of danger (2.598-99) and returns to Olympus (2.602-3). The action and its consequences are treated with the swiftly changing focus and the emphasis on visual effect which are characteristic of the whole scene; within ten lines (2.596-605) the reader’s attention is taken from the Rocks to the Argo, to Athena’s action and to the ship again, back to Athena and then for a final glance at the Rocks, now fixed for all time. Athena’s interference is thus consistent in style with what precedes, so that it becomes a natural development rather than a superimposed intrusion. As Athena notices that the time has come for her to act and travels to the Rocks, we are reminded of her activity in the Iliad:

ou)d' aÃr' ¹Aqhnai¿hn prote/rw la/qon o(rmhqe/ntej: (II.537)

(……… their departure did not go unnoticed by Athena.)

Ou)de\ se/qen Mene/lae qeoiì ma/karej lela/qonto a)qa/natoi, prw¯th de\ Dio\j quga/thr a)gelei¿h,.... (Il.4.127)

(And you, Menclaus, the gods, the blessed immortals, did not forget you— and first among them Zeus’ daughter, goddess of spoil.....)

This recalls Athena’s concern for Menelaus; in Iliad IV she deflects an arrow, here the ship resembles one (2.600) and the oars bend like bows (2.591-92). Athena’s mode of transport is not Homeric; she commandeers a cloud which transports her despite her weight and ‘mounts’ it as if it were a ship or a chariot (2.538-40). The Iliadic framework is retained in the simile which follows (2.541-46), which is based on one describing Hera’s ascent to Olympus at 2. 15.80-82. In between these echoes of the Iliad, 2.540 recalls two Odyssean lines where Athena

1 Feeney (1991), 73-74.

30 helps her favourite, Odysseus, as he walks to the city of the Phaeacians:

seu/at' iãmen Po/ntonde, fi¿la frone/ous' e)re/tvsin. (2.540)

(... [she] hastened towards the Pontos to bring welcome help to the rowers.)

pollh\n h)e/ra xeu=e fi¿la frone/ous' ¹Odush=i+..... (Od.7.15)

([Athena] poured a thick mist around him; this was in kindness to Odysseus...)

qespesi¿hn kate/xeue fi¿la frone/ous' e)niì qum%½. (Od.7.42)

([Athena] in protection had shed the enchanted mist all round him.)

This line is echoed again at 3.210 when it is Hera’s turn to protect the Argonauts, in all these passages the goddess’ concern is that her favourite(s) should pass safely through a potentially dangerous zone. Another parallel to Athena’s interventions in Scheria comes as Athena leaves the earth ( ¹Aqh/nh / OuÃlumpo/n d' (Athena [rose up] to Olympus) 2.602-3, cf. Od. 6.41-42). Among the allusions to the Iliad and Odyssey comes an alarming reference to another epic source at the very moment of Athena’s intervention. The phrase skaiv=, deciterv= de\ (2.599) also begins Hesiod, Th. 179, where Kronos prepares to castrate Ouranos. This hints at the sinister and violent aspects of the ‘pre-Olympian’ world around Colchis which the Argonauts now enter as a result of Athena’s action. The Argonauts’ attempt to row past the Rocks, having first tested them with the dove, is described, as we have seen, in language which draws on the Odyssey, while Athena’s behaviour recalls her actions in both the Iliad and another episode of the Odyssey. Even where the allusions in the scene are concerned, Athena’s world is kept separate from that of the Argonauts. The episodes of the Odyssey concerned are all ones which are important in other parts of the Argonautica’, the passage of the Symplegades, as the event which is emblematic of the whole voyage, fuses aspects of some of the most important events in Odysseus’ travels, and is linked by them to other parts of Apollonius’ epic. It does not draw exclusively on the most obvious model, the Homeric Wandering Rocks, but becomes a nexus of similarities to the Iliad, the Odyssey, and Hesiod.

31 ……pollo\n de\ fo/b% prote/rwse ne/onto. hÃdh de/ sfisi dou=poj a)rassome/nwn petra/wn nwleme\j ouÃat' eÃballe, bo/wn d' a(limure/ej a)ktai¿…… (Argo. II.552) e)n d' aÃra me/ssaij Plhga/si dinh/eij eiâlen r(o/oj: ai¸ d' e(ka/terqen seio/menai bro/meon, pepe/dhto de\ nh/ia dou=ra: (595)

(. . . they voyaged in great fear, for the roar of the rocks crashing together was already a constant din in their ears and the sea-battered cliffs echoed with the noise. . . . The eddying current held her in the midst of the Clashing Rocks; on both sides the Rocks shook and thundered, and the timbers of the ship could not move.) kapno\n kaiì me/ga ku=ma iãdon kaiì dou=pon aÃkousa. tw½n d' aÃra deisa/ntwn e)k xeirw½n eÃptat' e)retma/, bo/mbhsan d' aÃra pa/nta kata\ r(o/on: eÃsxeto d' au)tou= nhu=j, e)peiì ou)ke/t' e)retma\ proh/kea xersiìn eÃpeigon. (Od. XII.202)

(‘. . . I saw smoke above heavy breakers and heard a great noise. The men took fright, the tapered oars all flew from their hands to drop with a crash into the sea, and with not a man using his oar the vessel came to rest where she was.’)

dh\ to/t' eÃpeiq' o( me\n wÕrto, peleia/da xeiriì memarpw¯j, EuÃfhmoj pr%¯rhj e)pibh/menai...... (II.555)

(Then Euphemus took a position on the prow with the dove in his hand. . . . .) au)ta\r e)gwÜ katadu\j kluta\ teu/xea kaiì du/o dou=re ma/kr' e)n xersiìn e(lwÜn ei¹j iãkria nho\j eÃbainon pr%¯rhj: (Od. XII.228)

(‘. . . but I put my glorious armour on, took a long spear in either hand and strode up to the half-deck forward. . . .’)

tou\j d' e)la/ontaj eÃxen tro/moj, oÃfra min auÅtij plhmuri¿j, pali¿norsoj a)nerxome/nh, kate/neiken eiãsw petra/wn. (II.575)

EuÃfhmoj d' a)na\ pa/ntaj i¹wÜn boa/asken e(tai¿rouj e)mbale/ein kw¯pvsin oÀson sqe/noj. oi¸ d' a)lalht%½ ko/pton uÀdwr: oÀsson d' u(poei¿kaqe nhu=j e)re/tvsin, diìj to/son aÄy a)po/rousen. (II.588)

(They rowed in trembling fear until the back-wave on its return washed diem into the midst of the rocks. . . .

32 Euphemus went among all the companions shouting at them to put all their force into their oars, and they gave a cry as they beat the water. Whatever progress the rowers made, the ship was thrown back twice as far by the surge. . . .)

th\n d' aÄy hÃpeiro/nde palirro/qion fe/re ku=ma, plhmuriìj e)k po/ntoio, qe/mwse de\ xe/rson i¸ke/sqai. au)ta\r e)gwÜ xei¿ressi labwÜn perimh/kea konto\n wÕsa pare/c: e(ta/roisi d' e)potru/naj e)ke/leusa [e)mbale/ein kw¯pvs', iàn' u(pe\k kako/thta fu/goimen,] kratiì katanneu/wn: oi¸ de\ propeso/ntej eÃresson. a)ll' oÀte dh\ diìj to/sson aÀla prh/ssontej a)ph=men, kaiì to/te dh\ Ku/klwpa proshu/dwn: (Od.9.485)

(‘. . . the swell from beyond came washing back at once and the wave carried the ship landwards and drove it towards the strand. But I myself seized a long pole and pushed the ship out and away again, moving my head and signing to my companions urgently to pull at their oars and escape destruction; so they threw themselves forward and rowed hard. But when we were twice as far out on the water as before, I made ready to hail the Cyclops again...’)

au)ta\r e)gwÜ dia\ nho\j i¹wÜn wÓtrunon e(tai¿rouj (Od. 12.206)

(‘I began to walk up and down the vessel, offering my men words to... hearten...’)1

After the beginning of Book III, Athena continues to be of little consequence. She only appears again in Book IV when Thetis and her sisters assist the Argonauts. Having left the Sirens (4.920), the Argonauts arrive in the vicinity of Scylla, Charybdis, and the Planctae (922-25). As Hera had requested (783-832), the Nereids then come to the Argonauts’ assistance (930-1), and Thetis takes hold of the rudder so as to protect the Argo among the Planctae (931-2). Thetis guides the way (938), and the Nereids, one by one, send the Argo through the air and away from the rocks (953-5). The narrator then describes how Hephaestus and Hera were watching the Nereids (956-9). Athena is also present in this passage, but only as a distant observer: Hera, who is standing in the sky and gazes at the Nereids in fear, is said to throw her arms’ around Athena (958-60). Within this passage, Erato provides the narrator with considerable insight into the actions and thoughts of various divinities. The opposite scenario can be found in the Symplegades episode, which also involves moving rocks that can destroy ships. In that episode, the

1 Knight (1995) 45-48.

33 point of view is centered more on what the Argonauts do and feel, and less on gods and goddesses. After an eddying current, for instance, washes up against the Argo (2.551-2), the Argonauts proceed in fear (fo/b% prote/rwse ne/onto, 552). The sound of rocks dashing against one another then strikes the Argonauts’ ears without pause (533-4), and when the Argonauts actually see the Symplegades separating (559- 60), their hearts dissolve (su\n de/ sfin xu/to qumo/j., 561). Such descriptions of what the Argonauts experience do not occur when they encounter the Planctae (4.920-63). Athena is the only deity to be mentioned in the Symplegades episode, and her appearance is rather brief and simple when compared with the depiction of the gods in the passage from Book IV. Athena appears after the Argonauts depart from Thynia (2.536):

ou)d' aÃr' ¹Aqhnai¿hn prote/rw la/qon o(rmhqe/ntej: au)ti¿ka d' e)ssume/nwj, nefe/lhj e)piba=sa po/dessi kou/fhj, hÀ ke fe/roi min aÃfar briarh/n per e)ou=san, seu/at' iãmen Po/ntonde, fi¿la frone/ous' e)re/tvsin. (II.537-40)

Nor then were they unseen by Athena as they hastened forwards. And straightaway, furiously mounting upon a light cloud with her feet, one that would carry her quickly even though she was stout, she hastened to go to the Black Sea, feeling kindly towards the rowers.

Once Athena touches ground at the Thynian headland (547-8), the narrator’s focus returns to the Argonauts. When the Argonauts, though, are dangerously close to the Symplegades, the narrator relates that Athena held back a sturdy rock with her left hand and with her right hand thrust the Argo into safety (598-9). With her task completed, Athena goes back to Mount Olympus (602-3). Through their protection of the Argo amid the Planctae, Thetis and her sisters perform a physical feat similar to what Athena did in the Symplegades episode. Athena’s inactivity in the passage from Book IV is therefore conspicuous. Since Hera, moreover, causes the Nereids’ intervention, Athena is replaced by the combination of Hera and the Nereids. In a similar way, Athena is also replaced by the combination of Hera and Iris: whereas in the Symplegades episode, Athena both notices the Argonauts (2.537) and provides direct assistance (598-9), Hera, in Book IV, is informed by Iris when Jason and Medea leave Circe’s house (753-6). From Erato’s perspective, the simple type of action that Athena performed in Book II is really a complex process by which one goddess is the brains and others are the muscle. As we

34 shall see shortly, descriptions of falling in love become subject to the same expanded narrative style. 1 Athena may be considered the goddess of navigation; in the Odyssey she helps prepare Telemachus’s ship and in the Argonautica she oversees the construction of the Argo (I.18-19). The bird which goes ahead of the ship is not just an omen, but, as Detienne and Vernant have pointed out, is closely tied to the navigation of the ship both because the ship follows its path and because birds were used in early navigation in order to find land. Athena and her act of guiding the Argo may be considered to be divine representations of the science of navigation itself.2

Apollo

First of all, we may note the recurrent preoccupation with the problems of representing divinity. The visual interest, with the god’s hair, his bow in his left hand, hanging quiver, and eyes, all fixed in the description, no doubt calls forth the plastic art and painting which were part of the audience’s common culture. On the other hand, the archer god’s progress cannot help but put the reader in mind of the first divine appearance of the Iliad, with the arrows clanking on Apollo’s back as he moves (1. 46). The allusion to artistic representations of the god comes with an intimation that these artistic representations are themselves, in some sense, ultimately ‘literary’, while the literary force of the picture is stressed by the fact that Apollo is present, and effective. The island shakes under his feet, and waves crash on the shore (679-80), before he moves on through the air (684). Apollo is not simply seen, in other words; the reaction of nature shows that he is ‘physically’ and weightily ‘there’. 3 Of all the immortals brought into the narrative of the Argonautica Apollo stands as the most conspicuous, even though he does not play an active role. Apollo’s role in the epic is wide-ranging. He is naturally and most frequently mentioned in connection with prophecy. In fact Jason believes that it is under the instruction and the care of Apollo that he has undertaken the journey (1.414). Furthermore, Apollo is propitiated by the band of heroes under many guises4: Savior of ships,

1Berkowitz (2004), 126-127. 2 Williams (1991), 142. 3 Feeney (1991), 75. 4 Apollo )/Aktioj , "Apollo of the Shore," and )Emba/sioj, "Apollo who Favors Embarkation" (1.404). )/Aktioj is a title that was actually employed in shoreline cults of the deity throughout Greece. )Emba/sioj is also attested outside of literary sources, but not until the time of the Roman Empire. However, Pausanias (Periegesis 2.32.2) refers to a shrine of )Apo/llwn )Epibath/rioj, which Diomedes, having escaped a storm

35 Protector of cities, Bringer of dawn, Apollo of shepherds and, most importantly, Apollo Ecbasius. Other individual representations of Apollo are not lacking.1 Apollonius’ Phoebus has nautical connections.2 His associations with seafaring in the Argonautica have counterparts in actual Greek cult; in addition to being a god of poetry and prophecy, Apollo was worshipped as a deity who protected sailors. The seafaring aspect of Apollo’s cult probably occurred as an extension of Delphi’s role in directing colonization; the god who commanded his worshippers to set out across the seas would naturally be called upon to protect the colonists on their journey.3 The importance of Apollo as god of song in the Argonautica is emphasized by his special relationship with the rhapsode Orpheus, who becomes something of a priest or votes in the course of the epic, and (along with Mopsus) assists the Argonauts in religious matters after the death of the prophet Idmon. It is Orpheus who instructs the Argonauts to build an altar and sacrifice to Apollo after the latter’s appearance to them, and then sings a hymn in the god’s honor (2.684ff.); who dedicates his lyre to Apollo (2.927-9); and who orders the Argonauts to dedicate Apollo’s tripod to the gods of the Tritonian Lake (4.1547ff.). The importance of Orpheus in the epic focuses encountered on his return from Troy, supposedly dedicated to the god. )Emba/sioj may be the epic poet’s attempt to express )Epibath/rioj, which cannot be made to fit into dactylic hexameter. Other epithets in the Argonautica that indicate Apollo’s connections with the sea are )Ekba/sioj "Who Favors Disembarking" (1.966,1.1186) and Nhosso/oj, "Savior of Ships" (2.927).The most famous title of Apollo in his seafaring aspect in historical times was Delfi/nioj. Plutarch (de Soll. Anim. 984b) states that many Greek states had shrines dedicated to this aspect of the god, and this is borne out by the epigraphic evidence. The title is probably connected with delfi/j, since dolphins were thought to be beneficial to seafarers; Apollonius himself refers to dolphins as a thing of joy for sailors (nau/tvsi xa/rma, 4.933). Whether this is the true origin of the epithet or not, the connection was made in the literary tradition. It is in the form of a dolphin that Apollo guides the Cretan sailors to Delphi in the Homeric Hymn to Apollo (3.400), and Callimachus, in one of his lyric poems (Branchus fr. 229.12-13), also traces the origin of Apollo’s epithet to the cetacean. Albis (1996), 44-45. 1 Broeniman (1989), 71-72 2 The seaside altar at which Jason is praying was set up to Apollo under the cult epithets of )/Aktioj and )Emba/sioj, god of the shore and embarkation (1.402-4). Book 1 also contains two sacrifices to Apollo under the epithet )Ekba/sioj , god of disembarkation (1.966, 1186). At 1.411, Jason begins his prayer by calling Apollo lord of Pagasae. When the poem ends, then, with the words a)spasi¿wj a)kta\j Pagashi¿daj ei¹sape/bhte. (4.1781), we have a picture of the Argonauts setting foot on shore while the narrator's last three words recall four of the cult epithets by which the Argonauts have called upon Apollo's aid - )/Aktioj, a)/nac Pagasa/j, )Emba/sioj / )Ekba/sioj, and It is just the right kind of groan- raising pun between story and narrative to say that Apollo comes through in the last verse of the poem precisely because he comes through in the end. Harder (2000), 251-252. 3 Albis (1996), 44.

36 attention on Apollo’s connection with song. Therefore, Apollo as the god invoked in the prologue exemplifies the importance of poetry and the poet in the Argonautica.1 Variety is also a keynote of the deities who play the leading roles in protecting the Argonauts. In Books I and II the primary role is played by Apollo. The poem literally begins with him (1. 1) and the oracle which he gave to Pelias to beware of the man with one sandal. We learn from Jason’s speech at 1.359-62 and his inaugurating prayer at 1.411-I4 that the pious hero consulted Apollo’s oracle before setting out (cf. 4.530-2, 1747-8) and that Apollo promised help or guidance along the way. Just as the very opening of the poem ‘begins from Apollo’, so Jason reports Apollo as having pro- mised guidance if Jason should ‘begin with inaugurating sacrifices to [Apollo]’ (1.360-2); this echo reinforces the idea of the poem as itself co-extensive with the voyage, establishes the piety of both Jason and the narrator, and points to a special dependence of Jason upon Apollo and perhaps also a ‘sympathy’ between hero and god. 2

Jason’s Prayer to Apollo:

The importance of Apollo’s oracle may have even incited the narrator to dedicate the poem to him. The same conclusion will also apply for the prayer that Jason delivers to Apollo (411-24) after the launching of the Argo. Within it, he refers to what Apollo had previously promised him in an oracular response:

Klu=qi aÃnac Pagasa/j te po/lin t' Ai¹swni¿da nai¿wn h(mete/roio tokh=oj e)pw¯numon, oÀj moi u(pe/sthj PuqoiÍ xreiome/n% aÃnusin kaiì pei¿raq' o(doiÍo shmane/ein, au)to\j ga\r e)pai¿tioj eÃpleu a)e/qlwn: au)to\j nu=n aÃge nh=a su\n a)rteme/essin e(tai¿roij keiÍse/ te kaiì pali¿norson e)j ¸Ella/da. (1.411-6)

Listen, lord, inhabiting Pagasai and the Aisonian city - the one named after our father -, you who promised to indicate to me, when I was consulting the Pythian oracle, the accomplishment and end of the voyage; for you are responsible for the trials: you yourself, now, bring the ship, with companions safe and sound, to that place and back again to Hellas.

Since the trials (a)e/qlwn, 414) are presumably those associated with the expedition, Jason is telling Apollo that he is responsible for the

1 Williams (1991), 299 2 Hunter (1993), 83-84.

37 voyage. It is unclear, though, whether Apollo is a direct or an indirect cause of the voyage, and whether Apollo is the cause only in Jason’s opinion, or if he actually told Jason that he was the cause in his oracular response. Jason, then, does not indicate how or why Apollo is responsible, and one can delineate several possibilities. With verse 414, Jason could be referring to the oracular response of Apollo that Pelias heard (Peli¿hj fa/tin eÃkluen, 5), which states that Pelias will be subdued by the man whom he sees wearing one sandal (5-7). This oracular response is a cause for the voyage since the Argonauts, as an indirect result of it, go in quest of the Golden Fleece at Pelias’ promptings (e)fhmosu/nv Peli¿ao, 3). Jason’s prayer would then explicitly mention one oracular response that he himself heard (412-4), and allude to another that influenced Pelias (414). Apollo, though, could be responsible for the trials (au)to\j ga\r e)pai¿tioj eÃpleu a)e/qlwn, 414) because of the oracular response that Jason heard. The voyage would then be doubly determined as Pelias’ promptings would not be the only reason for it. Apollo’s oracular response to Jason could have caused the voyage by a direct request for him to undertake it. Alternatively, Apollo would have indirectly caused the voyage if his promise of success (412-4) greatly influenced Jason’s decision to embark on it. Apollo would then be responsible for the voyage in Jason’s view, but not necessarily in the view of himself or the narrator. Finally, as a third scenario, Jason could be attributing his trials to Apollo (414) because of the oracle that he heard, and at the same time, because of what Pelias heard (5). The number of possible interpretations of Jason’s prayer reveals that references to the prehistory can be so incomplete that even a reader with considerable knowledge of the Argonautic legend will have trouble supplementing them. Jason uses an element of the prehistory to serve his rhetorical aims with regard to Apollo, his private narratee. Although it may be hard for the public audience to understand him fully, Apollo would know exactly what he means. 1 Deforest, about this theme says: The Argonautica begins with a misleading declaration of Homeric unity. The narrator sends Apollo a prayer that is reflected by the actions of the heroes inside the poem. They pay their respects to Apollo as a prelude to their adventures. The opening lines honor Apollo, the god of poetry:

¹Arxo/menoj se/o FoiÍbe palaigene/wn kle/a fwtw½n mnh/somai (I.1-2)

1 Berkowitz (2004), 25-27, 59.

38 Beginning with you [or from you], Phoebus, the glorious deeds of ancient men I will commemorate....

The narrator again ties Apollo to the poem with a direct address after he begins the story. Jason is sent after the Golden Fleece because King Pelias receives "your oracle" (1.8) warning him to beware of the man wearing one shoe. By the word your, Apollo is reminded his own oracle has set the story in motion. He is both the god of poetry and the god responsible for the events set forth in this poem. Thus he stands at the start of the poet’s poetic journey and the heroes’ actual one. The Argonautica begins with an invocation to Apollo, as the origin of the expedition, and another to the Muses, as the interpreters of the tradition. In his inaugural speech, Jason echoes the narrator’s ¹Arxo/menoj se/o, "beginning from you," when he announces his intention of starting with Apollo, "from him I will begin" (ou eÀqen e)ca/rxwmai, 1 .362). He alludes to the sacrifice and the cult prayer, but his words go beyond the context to connect the narrator’s prayer with the Argonauts’ activities. Then, in turn, the Argonauts prepare the sacrifice to Apollo in words that echo Jason’s instructions:

"tei¿wj d' auÅ kaiì bwmo\n e)pa/ktion ¹Embasi¿oio qei¿omen ¹Apo/llwnoj...... " (1.359-60)

"Let us meanwhile build an altar of Apollo of Embarkation on the shore ...."

Compare this with:

nh/eon au)to/qi bwmo\n e)pa/ktion, ¹Apo/llwnoj ¹Akti¿?ou ¹Embasi¿oio/ t' e)pw¯numon...... (1.403-404)

They built there an altar on the shore for Apollo, named for him as god of the Shore and of Embarkation ....

Notice the repetition of bwmo\n e)pa/ktion, "altar on the shore", ¹Embasi¿oio "of Embarkation," and ¹Apo/llwnoj, "of Apollo." This is characteristic of Homer and not often found in Apollonius. Jason’s instructions to the Argonauts are repeated in their actions, as reported by the words. The verbal echoes create a sense of religious unity among Jason, the heroes, and the narrator.1 Many scholars have discussed the role of Apollo in the prologue and the hymnic style of invocation. Mooney, Hurst, Vian, and Wilamowitz attribute mention of Apollo to his oracle’s causative role in the quest

1 Deforest (1994), 37, 40, 41- 42.

39 for the Golden Fleece (1.2, 8) De Marco and Phinney see only hymnic elements which are borrowed by Apollonius without thematic integration, and Händel sees no real hymn. Collins argues that the poet makes the invocation in order to share with the god in composing the poem, since Apollo is the source both of "the poem" and of "Apollonius’ poetic art." Blumberg sees "eine Huldigung an den Beschützer der Dichter," and Faerber calls Apollo the patron of the poet. Frankel argues that the epic begins with Apollo because he both motivated the action through his oracle and because he is the god of song. I suggest that mention of Apollo at the very beginning of the Argonautica derives from a number of reasons. First, he was responsible for the oracle which sets the plot in motion, and he is therefore linked to the prehistory of the epic. This is not, however, sufficient reason for his placement in the primary position of a first- line invocation or to have the verb a)/rxomai used of him. Apollo could have been mentioned later in the prologue after a traditional address to the Muses and still have received appropriate credit for his part in causing the action, or the Muses and Apollo could have shared the invocation. For example, in Pythian 4 declares that Apollo gave victory in the chariot race at Delphi but that he, Pindar, will give his song (i.e. Arcesilaus and the Golden Fleece) to the Muses:

t%½ me\n ¹Apo/llwn aÀ te PuqwÜ ku=doj e)c a)mfiktio/nwn eÃporen i¸ppodÈromi¿aj. a)po\ d' au)to\n e)gwÜ Moi¿saisi dw¯sw kaiì to\ pa/gxruson na/koj kriou=: (Pyth.4.66-8)

Apollo and Pytho give glory to Arcesilaus for the chariot race. But I shall dedicate him and the ram’s golden fleece to the Muses.

In Homeric Hymn XXIV, the poet "begins" (a)/rxwmai 25.1) with both Apollo and the Muses, and Callimachus also addresses the Muses and Apollo at the beginning of Iambus XIII:

Mou=sai kalaiì kaÃpollon, oiâj e)gwÜ spe/ndw (Iam.XIII.l = fg. 203 Pf.)

There are many other examples of such a combined hymnic invocation to Apollo and the Muses which are found in Homer, Hesiod, and Pindar. It was certainly possible for the Muses to have been invoked first and Apollo later in the prologue, or for both Apollo and the Muses to be given recognition in the same breath by the poet. The argument that the address to the Muses traditionally precedes a catalogue in Greek epic and that, therefore, the Muses must be

40 invoked at 1.22 does not mean that they could not also have had primary position in the prelude.1 Since Apollo has a role so pervasive throughout the epic it should not be surprising to see a connection between the hero and such an omnipresent immortal, at least on a spiritual level. To Jason, Apollo is his patron deity. The connection between the two, however, is not as wide-ranging as the many different aspects of Apollo show him to be. But rather Apollonius has chosen to impart only one aspect of Apollo to his hero. Let us return to the scholiast’s comment on our initial simile, that the connecting point between narrative and simile is the youthfulness of Jason, or more specifically, as I believe the scholion should be understood, the youthful bloom of beauty, we can see one clear point of contact between hero and his patron deity. Apollo in Greek Literature of all periods has a notoriously bad success rate in his love affairs. Even in the Argonautica two of his many love affairs with sourending are mentioned, one quite extensively. Sinope (2.9460. the daughter of Asopus, after she had requested a favor from Zeus, slighted the god by not giving him her own favors. This same trick she subsequently played on the river god Halys and, Apollonius states, Apollo as well was slighted by this femme fatale: wÒj de\ kaiì ¹Apo/llwna parh/pafen, eu)nhqh=nai / i¸e/menon. More detailed is the pathetic story of Coronis narrated in book 4.603ff. To Apollo Coronis had given birth to Asclepius who later was slain by Zeus’ thunderbolt to punish Apollo.2 Two similes at the start of the voyage (1.307-11, 536-41) seem in fact to identify hero and god, so that Carspecken even concluded that ‘throughout the rest of the poem it is impossible to think of the one without being in some measure reminded of the other’. At one level, of course, there is something importantly Apolline about the ephebic Jason. Pindar had already exploited the likeness (Pyth. 4.87), and the stress on the youth of the chorus in the simile of the young men dancing in Apollo’s honour at 1.536 certainly points towards Apollo’s role as archetypal kouros. Nevertheless, the nuanced com- plexity of Apollonius’ tone must not be missed. The first simile stresses Jason’s youth by being framed on one side by his parents’ misery at his departure, a misery which treats that departure as a kind of death, and on the other by his encounter with Iphias, the aged priestess of Artemis:

t%½ de\ cu/mblhto geraih/ ¹Ifia\j ¹Arte/midoj poliho/xou a)rh/teira, kai¿ min deciterh=j xeiro\j ku/sen: ou)de/ ti fa/sqai

1 Williams (1991), 296-298. 2 Broeniman (1989), 72-73.

41 eÃmphj i¸eme/nh du/nato proqe/ontoj o(mi¿lou, a)ll' h( me\n li¿pet' auÅqi paraklido/n, oiâa geraih/ o(plote/rwn, o( de\ pollo\n a)poplagxqeiìj e)lia/sqh. (1.311-16)

Iphias, the priestess of Artemis, protectress of the city, came up to him, and kissed his right hand. Despite her strong desire she could say nothing as the crowd pressed round him, but she was left behind at the side of the path, as an old woman is left by the young, and he moved off far into the distance.

This vignette suggests both Jason’s regal splendour - it is not unlike Apollo’s apparent ignoring of the Argonauts at Thynias - and also the sense of loss and desolation which his departure causes: Jason leaves his family, Apollo leaves Artemis. So too, the simile of the rowers compared to a chorus in honour of Apollo follows immediately upon a passage which suggests a clear contrast between Jason and the other Argonauts:

eiàlketo d' hÃdh pei¿smata kaiì me/qu leiÍbon uÀperq' a(lo/j, au)ta\r ¹Ih/swn dakruo/eij gai¿hj a)po\ patri¿doj oÃmmat' eÃneiken. (I.533-5)

The ropes were now being drawn in and they were pouring libations of wine into the sea; but Jason wept as he turned his eyes away from his homeland.

No simple equation between Jason and Apollo will account for the stress here on Jason’s difference, and on the grief which surrounds him. 1 In the beginning, the reader is invited to join the narrator, Jason, and the Argonauts, who are themselves joined together in harmonious prayer. This apparent religious harmony is sustained in two similes that frame the Argonauts’ worship of Apollo. When Jason leaves home, he is likened to Apollo visiting one of his many sanctuaries:

åH, kaiì o( me\n prote/rwse do/mwn eÄc wÕrto ne/esqai. oiâoj d' e)k nhoiÍo quw¯deoj eiåsin ¹Apo/llwn Dh=lon a)n' h)gaqe/hn h)e\ Kla/ron, hÄ oÀge Puqw¯ hÄ Luki¿hn eu)reiÍan e)piì Ca/nqoio r(ov=si. toiÍoj a)na\ plhqu\n dh/mou ki¿en.... (1.306-10)

He spoke, and set out to go outside the house. Just as Apollo goes from his fragrant temple up through holy Delos, or Claros, or Pytho,

1 Hunter (1993), 84-85.

42 or broad Lycia, on the streams of Xanthus, so did he move up through the press of the crowd ....

When the Argonauts set off on their journey, they are likened to dancers in one of Apollo’s numerous sanctuaries:

oi¸ d', wÐst' h)i¿qeoi Foi¿b% xoro\n hÄ e)niì PuqoiÍ hà pou e)n ¹Ortugi¿v hÄ e)f' uÀdasin ¹IsmhnoiÍo sthsa/menoi, fo/rmiggoj u(paiì periì bwmo\n o(martv= e)mmele/wj kraipnoiÍsi pe/don r(h/sswsi po/dessin. wÒj oi¸ u(p' ¹Orfh=oj kiqa/rv pe/plhgon e)retmoiÍj po/ntou la/bron uÀdwr,.... (I.536-41)

But the rest, just as young men set up a dance for Phoebus either in Pytho or in Ortygia, or by the waters of Ismenus, and to the accompaniment of the lyre around the altar beat the ground with their swift feet in time to the music, so in time with Orpheus’ lyre they smote with their oars the rushing water of the sea....

The religious tone of the similes reinforces the sense that narrator and heroes are joined in worshipping Apollo, yet the wording reveals the separation between the parties.1 Apollo is celebrated with cult at various places on the outward journey and appears at Thynias, but then largely disappears from the poem until the final scenes. At 4.1547-9 Orpheus realises that the Argonauts have to offer one of the tripods of Apollo which they are carrying to the gods of Lake Triton in order to secure a safe exit, and in the final danger of the voyage the crew is saved from an impenetrable darkness by the gleam of Apollo who reveals to them the island of Anaphe (‘The Revealed’); on this island they found the cult of Apollo Aigletes (‘the Gleamer’). Thus the poem and the voyage both begin and end with Apollo.2 At 1. 307. Jason striding forth from Iolcus to Pagasae was compared with Apollo. Here, however, at 2. 676. the description of the golden-haired god armed with bow and quiver continues without reference to anything else — save for a possible hint to readers thoroughly conversant with the Homeric epics that Zeus’ son gives much the same appearance and produces much the same effect as did Zeus himself or as did Zeus’ brother (and frequent rival) Poseidon. A pair of Zusammenstellungen will show what I have in mind:

a)mbro/siai d' aÃra xaiÍtai e)perrw¯santo aÃnaktoj krato\j a)p' a)qana/toio..... (Il. I.529)

1 Deforest (1994), 42-43. 2 Hunter (1993), 85.

43 .....xru/seoi de\ pareia/wn e(ka/terqen ploxmoiì botruo/entej e)perrw¯onto kio/nti: ( Argo. II. 676)

....tre/me d' ouÃrea makra\ kaiì uÀlh possiìn u(p' a)qana/toisi Poseida/wnoj i¹o/ntoj. (Il. 13. 18)

.....h( d' u(po\ possi¿n sei¿eto nh=soj oÀlh, klu/zen d' e)piì ku/mata xe/rs%. (Argo. II. 679)

How ironic, then, that the very hero who was formerly likened not only to Apollo, but even to a star in the heavens (1. 774), should have become so submerged in the Argonautic mass that he is not once mentioned by name in the entire Thynian island sequence! Presumably he shares in the astonishment of his fellows:

tou\j d' eÀle qa/mboj i¹do/ntaj a)mh/xanon, ou)de/ tij eÃtlh a)nti¿on au)ga/ssasqai e)j oÃmmata kala\ qeoiÍo, sta\n de\ ka/tw neu/santej e)piì xqono/j..... (Argo. II. 681-683)

Helpless amazement seized them as they looked; and no one dared to gaze face to face into the fair eyes of the god.

Leadership of a sort comes at last (o)ye\) (Argo. 2. 684), but from an unexpected quarter. Orpheus steps forth after the departure of the god and in a short speech explains what the Argonauts must now do:

[1] Commemorate the epiphany by renaming the island for Apollo "of the dawn" ( ¸Ew½ioj) (since it was at daybreak (h)w¯ioj) that he appeared (686-688).

[2] Raise a shore side altar (bwmo\j e)pa/ktioj) and perform sacrifices (688).

[3] Perform additional sacrifices in Thessaly, should the god grant safe return (ei¹ d' aÄn o)pi¿ssw gaiÍan e)j Ai¸moni¿hn a)skhqe/a no/ston o)pa/ssv ktl.) (689-691).

[4] Strive for the god’s good will now with savors and with the ritual cry iàlhqi aÃnac, iàlhqi faanqei¿j. (692).

From the standpoint of chronology Items # # 3 and 4 ought to have been interchanged. Yet the progression as it stands is psychologically effective. Moreover the cooperation of Apollo had been secured even in advance of the sacrifice itself. For when one group turned to the task of building an altar (604), while another roamed the woods in search

44 of sacrificial victims (695), the god very conveniently — after all, it was to his own advantage as well as to the advantage of the Argonauts — ensured that game would be available:

toiÍsi de\ Lhtoi¿+dhj aÃgrhn po/ren... (698)

Sacrifical rites are carried out forthwith (698), and the helpful deity is duly addressed as ¸Ew¯ion ¹Apo/llwn (700). But song and dance too become part of the celebration (701), with Orpheus once again in charge. The Thynian island sequence comes to a close with an ai)/tion so typical of Apollonius’ manner that it is worth quoting in full:

au)ta\r e)peidh\ to/nge xorei¿v me/lyan a)oidv=, loibaiÍj eu)age/essin e)pw¯mosan hÅ me\n a)rh/cein a)llh/loij ei¹saie\n o(mofrosu/nvsi no/oio, a(pto/menoi que/wn: kai¿ t' ei¹se/ti nu=n ge te/tuktai keiÍn' ¸Omonoi¿hj i¸ro\n e)u/fronoj oÀ r(' e)ka/monto au)toiì kudi¿sthn to/te dai¿mona porsai¿nontej. (714-719)

Now when they had celebrated him with dance and song they took an oath with holy libations, that they would ever help each other with concord of heart, touching the sacrifice as they swore; and even now there stands there a temple to gracious Concord, which the heroes themselves reared, paying honour at that time to the glorious goddess. 1

As the Argonauts depart from Crete, on their homeward voyage at Apollonius Rhodius Argo. 4, 1694-1730 deep, scary, Hades-like darkness enshrouds their ship. Apollo, invoked by Jason to help, comes down swiftly and alights on the Melantian Rocks (pe/traj/...Melantei/ouj 1706-1707). From there the god raises his golden bow which flashes forth a dazzling ‘gleam’ (ai)/glhn) thus making ‘visible’ (e)faa/nqh) to the Argonauts a small island lying ahead. After casting anchor there, the Argonauts worship Apollo Ai)glh/thj (e)usko/pou ei)/neken ai)/glhj) and name the island )Ana/fh (o(/ dh/ Foi=bo/j min a)tuzome/noij a)ne/fhnen). In a passage which provides the aition of two names associated with light ( )Ana/fh, Ai)glh/thj), the epithet Melantei/ouj appears by contrast to evoke an association with me/laj ’dark’’), especially if one takes into consideration the preceding lengthy description of the nu\c katoula/j and in particular the expression me/lan xa/oj (1697).2 The language and structure of Apollo’s epiphany are traditional: a divine appearance causes mortal qa/mboj and is followed by prayers and

1 Levin (1971), 178-181. 2 Paschalis (1994), 224-225.

45 worship (cf., e.g., Od. 3, 371-394). The god’s flowing hair, the bow in his left hand, and the quiver hanging down his back, however, well exemplify a Hellenistic interest in detailed pictorial representation. Striking also is the suddenness of the god’s appearance. The scene is presented as though Apollo is unaware of the Argonauts’ presence on the island; they see him but he does not see them. Such an experience was highly dangerous for mortal men, as Callimachus states baldly in the fifth hymn (Lav. Pall. 100-102):

Kro/nioi d' wÒde le/gonti no/moi: oÀj ke tin' a)qana/twn, oÀka mh\ qeo\j au)to\j eÀlhtai, a)qrh/sv, misqw½ tou=ton i¹deiÍn mega/lw. (Lav. Pall. 100-102)

Nevertheless, we do not have to assume that Apollo, who after all has a central role in the whole epic, was unaware either of the Argonauts’ presence" or of the effect which his epiphany will have upon them.1

Poseidon, Triton and Glaucus

Poseidon

The final scenes of Book IV also give a prominent place to Poseidon, as befits his traditional role in the foundation myths of Gyrene. It is Poseidon’s horse which guides the Argonauts away from Syrtis (4.1325ff.), his son Triton who receives the tripod of Apollo from them, grants them the miraculous clod, which is received by another son of Poseidon, Euphemus, and guides them out of the lake, and Poseidon and Triton to whom they erect altars (4.1621-2). Although some of the Argonauts are descended from this god, he has otherwise figured in the epic largely in association with the heroes’ opponents, Pelias (1.13), Amycus (2.3), and Aeetes (3.1240-5). His apparent benevolence is therefore a mark of closure as the Argonauts approach their destination. 2 The prehistory to the Argonautica is given by Apollonius over only thirteen verses. In this summarization of events prior to the acceptance of Jason’s mission Apollonius relates how Pelias will ultimately die at the hands of the man with one scandal; Jason has entered the city wearing but one sandal; Pelias at that time was

1 Hunter (1986), 51-52. 2 Hunter (1993), 90.

46 celebrating a festival in honor of the gods, particularly Poseidon; and Pelias contrived the famous labor of Jason. On the surface Apollonius reveals to the reader that Pelias, the enemy of Jason, is to be identified with the god Poseidon. The references to Poseidon in the first two books of the Argonautica are sporadic. In the beginning of book II reference once again is made to Poseidon. The Argonauts have unwittingly brought their ship to the land of the Bebrykians where their king Amycus challenges one and all to a boxing match, a boxing match to the death. Amycus is a completely brutish figure and, owing to the description drawn by Apollonius, a thoroughly detestable person. For the Argonauts, fortunately there is Polydeuces, the son of Zeus, at hand who is a fair boxer himself. From verse 3 we learn that Amycus is the son of Poseidon. Once again the Argonauts find themselves faced with an enemy whom Apollonius has identified with the god Poseidon. These two references to Poseidon-insignificant by themselves- perhaps help Apollonius set the stage for book III and the king who will prove to be the most formidable enemy to Jason in the Argonautica. Aeetes, more cunning, but just as ruthless as Amycus, is compared to Poseidon as he departs from the city to the plain of Ares where Jason, he hopes, will fall in battle (1240-45):

oiâoj d' ãIsqmion eiåsi Poseida/wn e)j a)gw½na, aÀrmasin e)mbebaw¯j, hÄ Tai¿naron hÄ oÀge Le/rnhj uÀdwr h)e\ kaiì aÃlsoj ¸Uanti¿ou ¹OgxhstoiÍo, kai¿ te Kalau/reian meta\ dh\ qama\ ni¿ssetai iàppoij Pe/trhn q' Ai¸moni¿hn, hÄ dendrh/enta Geraisto/n toiÍoj aÃr' Ai¹h/thj Ko/lxwn a)go\j vÅen i¹de/sqai.

Like the early Jason/Apollo and Medea/Artemis similes, locations sacred to the god are central to this simile. Furthermore, as in those earlier similes, correspondences to the narrative are obvious. But nevertheless the implication is clear: Apollonius has once again identified this Olympian deity with an enemy of the Argonauts. In the background surely lies the Odyssey. Many of the hardships which Odysseus endures on his homeward journey originate from Poseidon as a result of Odysseus’ blinding of Polyphemus, the son of Poseidon. Odysseus learns of this fact from the seer Teiresias who further instructs him that Poseidon must eventually be appeased by sacrificing a boar, a ram and a bull, and marking it with an oar. In the Argonautica seemingly only the goddess Hera is involved in the plot on more than the level of curious onlooker. The remaining Olympians do not overtly come into play as showing any favor one way or the other. Apollonius, however, uses references to the Olympian gods to divide them into sides. Apollo is clearly a benefactor of the Argonauts, even

47 though he does not actively affect the outcome of the epic. Throughout the first three books, apart from the catalogue, references to Poseidon show hostility (or potential hostility) to the Argonauts: in book I Pelias, in book II Amycus and in book III Aeetes are identified with Poseidon. Compare a further ironic reference to the god. When the Argonauts are blown back to the Doliones, unaware of one another both sides attack. The Argonauts slay many Doliones. Apollonius relates (1.950-52) that the race of Doliones is descended from Poseidon. Like Odysseus, Jason also brings about the death of Poseidon’s descendants. Apollonius, I suggest, has specifically chosen Poseidon of all the Olympians to be identified with Aeetes in part to mirror the role Poseidon has in the Odyssey, but primarily to maintain the arrangement already established in books I and II of the Argonautica. 1

Triton

The boundaries between divine arid human are also confused in the case of several Argonauts who either become gods or at least do not suffer the usual fate after death. The only god to appear disguised as a human being, Triton, chooses the form of a young man (4.1551), making himself as similar as possible to the Argonauts and thereby further blurring the distinction between the Argonauts and the gods they honour. 2 After a long portage of twelve days and nights, itself sufficiently improbable, the heroes have brought their ship to the Tritonian Lake in N. Africa. Here Argo is trapped, because there proves to be no outlet to the sea. Momentarily the reader feels that Argo is about to be personified, for at 1541 ff. we are told that she was like a serpent which under the burning sun creeps through a rock-crevice to its lair:

wÒj ¹Argw¯, li¿mnhj sto/ma nau/poron e)cere/ousa a)mfepo/l ei dhnaio\n e)piì xro/non. (4.1546-7)

‘Even so Argo, seeking a navigable outlet from the lake, wandered for a long time.’

However, this theme is not developed. In the end the offering of a tripod brought from Delphi brings the demi-god Triton to the heroes’ aid; he shows them the point at which the lake lies nearest to the sea. Then, after sacrifice has been made to him, he takes the form of a sea-

1 Broeniman (1989), 82-85. 2 Knight (1995), 276, 277

48 monster and leads Argo onward until she is floating at last in the Mediterranean. This forms a striking passage:

w¨j d' oÀt' a)nh\r qoo\n iàppon e)j eu)re/a ku/klon a)gw½noj ste/llv o)reca/menoj lasi¿hj eu)peiqe/a xai¿thj, eiåqar e)pitroxa/wn, o( d' e)p' au)xe/ni gau=roj a)erqei¿j. eÀspetai, a)rgino/enta d' e)piì stoma/tessi xalina/ a)mfiìj o)dakta/zonti parablh/dhn krote/ontai wÒj oÀg' e)pisxo/menoj glafurh=j o(lkh/ion ¹Argou=j hÅg' aÀlade prote/rwse. de/maj de/ oi¸ e)c u(pa/toio kra/atoj a)mfi¿ te nw½ta kaiì i¹cu/aj eÃst' e)piì nhdu/n a)ntikru\ maka/ressi fuh\n eÃkpaglon eÃikto, au)ta\r u(paiì lago/nwn di¿kraira/ oi¸ eÃnqa kaiì eÃnqa kh/teoj o(lkai¿h mhku/neto: ko/pte d' a)ka/nqaij aÃkron uÀdwr, aià te skolioiÍj e)piì neio/qi ke/ntroij mh/nhj w¨j kera/essin e)eido/menai dixo/wnto: to/fra d' aÃgen, tei¿wj min e)piproe/hke qala/ssv nissome/nhn, du= d' aiåya me/son buqo/n: oi¸ d' o(ma/dhsan hÀrwej, te/raj ai¹no\n e)n o)fqalmoiÍsin i¹do/ntej. (4.1604-19)

‘When a man is training a race-horse for the open circle of the track, he grasps its thick mane and immediately runs alongside. The horse, obeying him, follows with proudly- arched neck, while the gleaming bit in its mouth clatters sideways as it champs. Even so Triton grasped hollow Argo’s stem and led her on towards the sea. From the top of his head, down over his back and waist as far as the belly, he was completely and strikingly like the immortals in appearance, but below his flanks a forked sea-beast’s tail extended. With its spines, which divided lower down into curved fins like the horns of the moon, he thrashed the surface of the water and so led Argo onward until he brought her to the sea as she went on her way. Then he quickly submerged into the depths. All the heroes cried out as they saw this marvellous portent with their own eyes.’ 1

‘Apollonius’ most extended play on the nature of the gods is his last. Argo is lost in the Tritonian Lake in Libya, when the sea-god Triton meets the company, looking like a sturdy man (ai¹zh%½ e)nali¿gkioj, 4. 1551). The phrase has Homeric (and Pindaric) associations; Homeric, likewise, are the god’s assumption of a human name (4.1561), his swift subsequent disappearance back into his divinity (1590-1), and the humans’ recognition of the fact that they have seen a disguised god (1591-2). Having done the normal thing, Apollonius reintroduces Triton ten lines later, and this time Triton is ‘exactly as he really was to look

1 Gaunt (1972), 122-123.

49 at’ (toiÍoj e)wÜn oiâo/j per e)th/tumoj hÅen i¹de/sqai:, 1603). What is that like? A simile immediately follows, comparing Triton to ... a man: ‘As when a man ...’ (w¨j d' oÀt' a)nh\r..., 1604). ‘His body’, then says Apollonius, ‘from the top of his head, around his back and waist down to his stomach, was exactly like the immortals in its outstanding nature’ (de/maj de/ oi¸ e)c u(pa/toio /kra/atoj a)mfi¿ te nw½ta kaiì i¹cu/aj eÃst' e)piì nhdu/n / a)ntikru\ maka/ressi fuh\neÃkpaglon eÃikto, 1610-12; he goes on to describe the sea-monster that he was in the lower parts). The last line is a tissue of epic phrases, used to compare a human being to a god, or to compare something divine to a human being. But to say that something divine looks like something else divine, when you have compared it to a man and spent a line detailing its anthropomorphism, is to introduce a remarkable confusion of categories. Small wonder, then, that Apollonius reflects on his creation as an ‘extraordinary por- tent’ (te/raj ai¹no\n, 1619) 1 Apollonius emphasizes the power of the demi-god by describing him as a kind of merman, with a celestial’s head and body joined to a tail which is depicted in curious detail. Even this, however, does not quite satisfy, for sea-monsters, though perhaps powerful enough to pull a large ship, are not necessarily equipped for crossing stretches of desert. There is an air of unreality about the scene, and the reader, though he may admire the power of the simile, is left with a feeling of uneasiness. 2 Gaunt remarks that ‘there is an air of unreality about the scene’. Indeed there is, and a very finely realized unreality it is at that. Triton is there to transport the ship through impassable regions, to make the impossible plausible, as an ancient critic would have put it. One may think of Aristotle’s comment on the beginning of Odyssey XIII, of how Homer, ‘by sweetening the absurdity, makes the absurdity disappear with his, other good points’ (Poet. 1460 a 35-b 2). Apollonius’ scene is certainly sweet, but it serves to accentuate the absurdity, not to make it disappear, for the norms of anthropomorphism are adhered to in order to be destabilized.3 The Argonauts’ subsequent encounter with Triton reworks closely two ‘encounter’ scenes of the Odyssey. The first is the scene at the start of Odyssey VII where Athena, disguised as a young girl, shows Odysseus the way to Alcinous’ palace (an important step on the hero’s return home). The second is Athena’s meeting with the hero on the shore of (Od. 13.221 ff.). In that scene, Athena, like Triton, at first disguised herself as a young man, and then appeared, again like Triton, in her true form. In both cases the divine appearance is

1 Feeney (1991), 78-79. 2 Gaunt (1972), 123. 3 Feeney (1991), 79.

50 prompted by a beautiful tripod (4.1547-50, Od. 13.217), and in both cases it takes place in a spot connected with one of the sea-gods, Phorkys in the Odyssey (13.345), and Triton in the Argonautica. Triton rescues the Argonauts from snake-infested territory, and Apollonius instantiates the Argonauts’ plight in the simile of the winding snake which introduces the meeting with Triton (4.1541 - 7). The god’s saving role is also reflected in the names of the episode. Libyan snakes arose from the Gorgon’s blood which dripped onto the earth as Perseus flew over the land. Apollonius provides Perseus’ original name, Eurymedon (4.1514), to link it to Eurypylos, the name which Triton gives himself when he meets the Argonauts (4.1561). To reinforce the point, Triton is given his Hesiodic epithet of eu)rubi¿hj: (4.I552). In contrast to the encounters with the heroines and the Hesperides, the meeting with Triton is marked by a light humour, which centres around the uncertainty concerning the young man’s status. Triton speaks with an irony which is lost on the Argonauts: he is e)pii¿stora po/ntou, ‘one who knows about the sea’ (4.1558, with tou=d' delayed for surprise effect) and an aÃnac, ‘lord’ (4.1559), both of which leave unclear whether he is god or man. He offers a clod as though this is all that he has to give, and Euphemus, another son of Poseidon, receives it pro/frwn, ‘in kindly manner’ (4.1562). This word is often used of a god’s saving intervention or of the party with the advantage or superiority in any situation; here, like his address to the god as hÀrwj, ‘hero’ (4.1564), it rather marks Euphemus’ misunderstanding of the situation. Such play with Triton’s divine status is reinforced by uncertainties about his physical form — just what does he look like (4.1610—12)? 1

Glaucus

Apollonius did not invent the involvement of Glaucus in the Argonautic legend. According to Philostratus (Imag. 2.15) and Diodorus (4.48), there was a tradition that Glaucus appeared to the Argonauts in the Black Sea, where he gave them prophecies. Diodorus even has him predict for Heracles the completion of his labors and his future immortality. According to Possis of (FGrHist 480 F 2), Glaucus built the Argo and was its helmsman in a battle against the Tyrrhenians. Afterwards, in accordance with Zeus’s wishes, he disappeared into the depths of the sea (kata\ de\ Dio\j bou/lhsin e)n t%= th=j qala/sshj buq%= a)fanisqh=nai) and was transformed into a sea divinity. If Possis, who may have come after Apollonius (Jacoby ad loc. reluctantly dates him to around 200 B.C.), did not invent the

1 Hunter (1993), 89-90.

51 metamorphosis of Glaucus, but instead passes on an older tradition, Apollonius may well have this in mind in his portrayal of Glaucus as he emerges from the depths of the sea (toiÍsin de\ Glau=koj bruxi¿hj a(lo\j e)cefaa/nqh,1310) and reports to the Argonauts that they should not proceed contrary to the will of Zeus (Ti¿pte pare\k mega/loio Dio\j meneai¿nete boulh/n; 1315). The fact that Apollonius’s Glaucus holds on to the stern post to control the ship, as Apollonius recounts the story, may allude to his having been the helmsman in one version of the expedition. The central position of this image might suggest that a literary reference underlies the epiphany here. Be that as it may, a tradition that Glaucus was originally a mortal who became immortal goes back to Æschylus (Glaucus fr. 28-29 Radt). Apollonius’s contemporary Alexander Etolus also mentions this in his Halieus (121-22 Powell). In this respect, it is appropriate that Glaucus, a man become god, should intervene and announce the future apotheosis of Heracles, especially since the thrust of Glaucus’s message is that Heracles does not belong among the Argonauts precisely because he is on his way to becoming a god. Gods, however, are not interdependent, and Jason stated on the beach at Pagasae that their expedition required a joint effort (336-37). Heracles, who can drive the Argo by himself, and take the golden apples of the Hesperides from a tree guarded by Ladon by himself, is out of place in such a group. His independence stands in opposition to the unity of the group; but Jason’s dependence on the group and his skill in settling nei/kea, which Apollonius evinces in this concluding episode of Book I, draw the men closer together. In this lies the strength of Jason’s weakness. The appearance of Glaucus thus allows both heroes to pursue their goals in the ways that best suit their personalities and abilities.1 After that, nothing until the shock of Glaucus’ eruption from the sea, towering up in the water to take reader and Argonauts by surprise (1. 1310-28). ‘Abrupt and mysterious’, as Hunter calls it, Glaucus’ intervention is odd in a number of ways. Standing there in all his shaggy glory, with his mighty hand on the gunwales, his function is to tell the Argonauts the plan of Zeus for Heracles (or some of Zeus’ plan), together with the fates of Polyphemus and Hylas. It is significant that he prophesies only about characters with whom they have lost touch, for it is likely that Apollonius knew of versions where Glaucus foretold the destinies of certain crew-members when they were present; it is more characteristic of this poem for him to keep his addressees in the dark. His appearance looks like a random event—Glaucus is part of no pattern, appearing this once only in the poem—; but is he acting as the mouthpiece of Zeus? We are not told, and there is no conversation between deity and humans. Glaucus’ words do, however, fulfil the

1 Clare (2002), 202-204.

52 classic function of a god’s intervention, in providing a solution for a crisis which the humans cannot resolve. The sons of Boreas have prevented the ship turning back to pick up their lost comrades (1. 1300-1), and so the immediate decision has been taken, but bitter quarrels are in train, and are only quelled by the god. Yet Apollonius has told us that Heracles will later kill the sons of Boreas for preventing his rescue (1. 1302-9); is it irrelevant to reflect that if Glaucus had intervened seconds earlier he would have saved their lives? It is Apollonius’ own timing which has condemned them, for his version of their death is unique.1 When the Argonauts depart from the land of Kios (1.1276-7) and realize that they accidentally abandoned Heracles, Polyphemus, and Hylas (1283), they begin to quarrel with one another (1284-6) and Telamon wants to sail back to find Heracles (1298-9). Glaucus, however, appears to them from out of the sea (1310). As the very wise interpreter of divine Nereus (Nhrh=oj qei¿oio polufra/dmwn u(pofh/thj:, 1311), Glaucus tells the Argonauts that it is contrary to the will of Zeus (pare\k mega/loio Dio\j ...... boulh/n, 1315) for them to bring Heracles to Colchis (1315-6), adding that Heracles is destined to accomplish his twelve labors (1317-8) and to live among the gods (1319). Glaucus also relates that it has been fated for Polyphemus to build a city at the mouth of the river Kios (1321-3), and that a Nymph made Hylas her husband (1324-5). Glaucus thereby resolves the dispute over whether the Argonauts should sail back for Heracles. The factors motivating Glaucus’ assistance, though, are not stated.2 Thus Glaukos promptly appears as deus ex machina to prevent any unfortunate decisions on the part of the crew and calm everybody down. The marine divinity is accorded the hl3 u(pofh/thj (Argo. 1.1311/Il. 16.235). In extant literature this rare word reappears only in this passage and in Theocritus’ Idylls". Theocritus always associates it with the Muses and Apollonius himself uses the variant (u(pofh/twr for the function of the Muses in his song (Mou=sai d' u(pofh/torej eiåen a)oidh=j., Argo. 1.22). Since Glaukos’ role parallels exactly the singer Orpheus’ intervention earlier in the poem, Apollonius perhaps wished to underline this connection by associating Glaukos’ prophesy with poetic utterances".4

1 Feeney (1991), 71. 2 Berkowitz (2004), 99. 3 Henceforth the abbreviation hl and hll will be used for hapax legomena and hapax legomena respectively. 4 Kyriakou (1995), 111.

53 II: The Interaction between the Argonauts and the Marine Environment in the Argonautica

Election of the Leader:

The most important aspect of Jason’s speech is of course the insistence upon the election of a leader as a prerequisite for the voyage’s taking place. Up to this point in the poem Apollonius has treated Jason separately from the other Argonauts both in the introduction and in the scenes of departure from Iolcus. The catalogue has concluded with the statement that all of the heroes mentioned have gathered as helpers (summh/storej, 228) of Jason and, given the level of individual attention devoted to him so far, the impression has certainly been created that he is the acknowledged, automatic leader of this quest.1 The Argonauts vote for "someone who will care for each detail, who will deal with our quarrels and our compacts with strangers" (339-40). For if nothing else, Jason has modesty and patience, which will win the day in the coming quarrel with Aeetes and the compact with Medea. Nonetheless, on the surface of things, Jason has definitely been established as second-best. No wonder he is often depressed or in tears. Like Orestes in Euripides’ Orestes, or Electra in his Electra, who act out with reluctance and distaste their inevitable destinies, wearily, always, wearily, Jason is the prisoner and victim of his myth. One could probably say the Alexandrians were enslaved to their tradition in the same way. As a metaphor for the Alexandrian literary scene, Jason functions as the young and therefore tentative new direction in poetry which must contend with the moral authority imposed by the centuries of superlative creativity in the past.2 Clauss agrees with Beye in reason of Jason selection, he said: It is significant that Apollonius incorporates a reference to this argument in a context where the best of the Argonauts is in question, both as to the nature of this hero (man of strength or man of skill) and as to his identity (Jason or Heracles). As in the taking of Troy, the successful completion of the Argonautic expedition will ultimately be achieved not through the strength of a Heracles, but through the skill of a Jason. What emerges as truly remarkable is that the skill identified here—the taking care of details and in particular the handling of conflicts and contracts— not only is not the traditional skill one associates with heroes like Odysseus, Hermes, Idmon, and the like (who generally show more resourcefulness and courage than does

1 Clare (2002), 43. 2 Beye (1982), 83.

54 Jason in the course of the poem) but is quite circumscribed and for this reason unique in the epic tradition. Moreover, what makes Jason the best of the Argonauts—his concern for the details—also reduces him to a)mhxani/h (460) for the first of many times in the poem. Jason is often depicted as a man in the grip of depression and helplessness. But it will become clear at the end of the book, when Heracles has been lost to the expedition, that Jason has the uncanny ability to chance upon timely assistance, often divine, and knows how to snatch victory from the jaws of defeat, especially in the manner in which he deals with nei/kea.1 As I have already suggested, given Apollonius’ complex portrayal of Jason it is perhaps inevitable that much modern scholarship on the Argonautica should focus on the theme of heroism in the poem, a theme to which intimations of tension between Jason and Heracles are central. The election scene plays a vital part in the overall sequence of events at Pagasae, and the rhetoric surrounding the appointment of Jason as leader of the expedition is complex, with close examination of the speeches in the scene revealing hidden undercurrents. As various critics have shown with varying degrees of emphasis, Jason’s list of qualifications for the position of leader of the expedition (339-40) is not perhaps as disinterested as the narrative introduction to his speech - in particular at 331 - would seem to imply, in that someone of Heracles’ ilk is surely excluded. Yet in response to Jason’s request that they should nominate a leader, the Argonauts immediately try to prevail upon Heracles to undertake this responsibility, provoking a robust response from him:

âWj fa/to. pa/pthnan de\ ne/oi qrasu\n ¸Hraklh=a hÀmenon e)n me/ssoisi, miv= de/ e( pa/ntej a)utv= shmai¿nein e)pe/tellon: o( d' au)to/qen eÃnqa per hÂsto deciterh\n a)na\ xeiÍra tanu/ssato, fw¯nhse/n te: Mh/ tij e)moiì to/de ku=doj o)paze/tw: ou) ga\r eÃgwge pei¿somai, wÒj de\ kaiì aÃllon a)nasth/sesqai e)ru/cw. au)to\j oÀtij cuna/geire kaiì a)rxeu/oi o(ma/doio. åH r(a me/ga frone/wn: e)piì d' vÃneon w¨j e)ke/leuen ¸Hrakle/hj. (I.341-9)

So Jason spoke. The young heroes looked towards bold Heracles sitting in their midst, and with one voice all of them urged him to be leader; he, however, from where he sat, stretched out his right hand and said: Let no one offer this honour to me, for I shall not be persuaded and I shall prevent anyone else from standing up. But he who brought us together, let him be leader of the host.

1 Clauss (1993), 83.

55 So he spoke with high thoughts, and they approved what Heracles commanded.1

In his narrative about Heracles’ role in the Argonautica Lawall says: Of the Argonauts listed in the catalogue, Heracles, even after being left behind in Mysia, plays the most extensive role in Apollonius’ exploration of character and action. He serves as a foil not only to Jason, but also to the rest of the Argonauts as a group. In a company of youths, Heracles stands out as the only man of maturity and experience, the only "hero" left from the old order. He has already performed many of his labors, and he is carrying the Erymanthian boar to Mycenae when he hears of the gathering of Argonauts. In contrast, many of these Argonauts are young (ne/oi); the voyage will be their first departure from home, and their first taste of adventure. A semi-divine figure of superhuman stature and strength, Heracles’ typical resource in overcoming obstacles is a primitive brute force which he deploys directly, in frontal attacks, against any situation confronting him. In contrast with Orpheus, who charms the oak trees and leads them from Pieria to Thracian Zone, Heracles exploits sheer strength in carrying the Erymanthian boar on his back, alive and bound. The fetching of the boar is one of several Heraclean expeditions handled so as to parallel and contrast with Jason’s expedition. While Heracles acts alone and uses sheer brute strength, Jason gathers a group of helpers and attains the Fleece only through Medea’s magic. Incidents from Heracles’ fetching of Hippolyta’s girdle are mentioned during the Argonauts’ voyage along the shore of the Euxine (2.774-91, 911-14, 955-7, 966-9), so that the earlier expedition forms a contrasting background to Jason’s. While Heracles won the girdle through ambush and war, Jason will shun any direct confrontation in battle with Aeetes. He circumvents the warlike king and outwits him through a trick. The rowing contest (1.1153-71) comes to focus on Heracles’ strength, and at the same time, it begins to suggest his limitations. He not only outlasts all other Argonauts, but he is also able to propel the ship single handed against adverse winds. His truly incredible performance here contrasts sharply with Apollonius’ otherwise realistic representation of nautical matters on the outward voyage. Heracles is drawn out of the realm of commonplace, contemporary reality, and is placed back in a mythic world of heroic feats. His heroic feat here ends in frustration, however, as his oar snaps in the middle. Heroic will and strength are defeated, and Heracles sits "glowering in silence." Heracles’ particular ability is thus closely circumscribed, in

1 Clare (2002), 43-44.

56 that it does not extend beyond the deployment of sheer strength, and it is easily frustrated. In the other hand, when he talks about Jason he said: In the scene on shore the evening before embarkation, a change comes over Jason. Instead of appearing like Apollo and bearing himself with dignified composure, he "looks like a man who is downcast, pondering each thing within himself (1.460-61). For the first time in the epic, he is described as a)mh/xanoj, "helpless." For the first time, he seems to realize the enormity of the approaching expedition and the weight of responsibility he has agreed to bear. Other fears and anxieties may have been aroused by Idmon’s prophecy of innumerable trials during the voyage and of his own death. Jason, newly conscious of his youthful limitations begins to appear as a credibly human character with human weaknesses, rather than as a stereotyped figure of myth. In keeping with this conception of a human and fallible Jason, each of the three great scenes of Book I is deliberately handled to present Jason as a weak and irresolute leader. At Lemnos Heracles must intervene to end Jason’s and the other Argonauts’ dallying with the Lemnian women; at Cyzicus Jason is careless enough to leave the Argo in a harbor that can be easily blocked by the neighboring giants, and again it is Heracles who, by slaying the giants, saves the expedition. Later in the same scene Jason is foolish enough to land and attack opposing forces at night, and so unwittingly slays his host, Cyzicus. Finally, in the last episode, Jason is heedless enough to sail away from Mysia not knowing that he has left behind three men, and when he discovers the fact, he is helpless and irresolute.1 We agree with Lawall completely, but if we want to select a leader, he must be Jason. He is the suitable man for leading the Argonauts. The voyage of Argo is a teamwork so requirements heroism of the group. We see in this heroism skill, intelligence, trick and the indirect ways. So Jason requested help of the Argonauts, because he can’t achievement this mission by himself. The Argonauts accomplished their roles in good manner. We can say that the Argonauts successed in their mission not only Jason.

The Launch of Argo:

The departure scene has often been admired for its pictorial beauty, its movement from the lofty panorama to the close-up view of the figures on the shore. But the scene is more than merely decorative. It is the climax of the preliminary part of the poem, in which the poet

1 Lawall (1966), 123-125, 148-149.

57 introduces us to his fictional world and gives us the background for the central action of the poem, the voyage to Colchis in search of the Golden Fleece and the return with it to Greece. In this introduction to his fictional world, the poet, through his highly selective presentation (and suppression) of narrative information, manipulates our interpretation of what is going on in the story and our expectations of what will happen later. The departure scene reinforces and confirms one important pattern of expectation: that the Argonauts will accomplish their mission through feats of valor, with the supporting favor of the gods. 1 The launch of the Argo involves a procedure whose similarity is remarkable, especially considering the different nature of the two actions. After setting their clothes lei/% e)pi\ platamw=ni and securing the ship with ropes, the men dig a trench into which they set logs as rollers; once the ship has been set on the first of these, they reverse the oars in the tholes and use these to shove, the vessel forward. The weight of the Argo is such that as it moves forward it causes smoke to billow up from the rollers below. After the ship is in the water, the seats are apportioned. In sum, Apollonius has included in his description of the launch analogues to all the basic components of Hermes’ sacrifice: trench, wood (= rollers), spits (= reversed oars), roasting meat (= smoke under the ship), portions of meat (= division of the seats). Such a comparison, as unlikely as it may seem at first, finds support not only in the borrowed phrase and similar progression of events but also in the extensive preoccupation with the theme of sacrifice before and after the launch, which deepens the sacrificial overtones in these lines.2 The climactic moment of the Pagasaean sequence is the departure of Argo, a scene in which Orpheus also figures prominently. As the ship moves out of the harbour the rowers mark time to the music of Orpheus’ lyre:

wÒj oi¸ u(p' ¹Orfh=oj kiqa/rv pe/plhgon e)retmoiÍj po/ntou la/bron uÀdwr, e)piì de\ r(o/qia klu/zonto: a)fr%½ d' eÃnqa kaiì eÃnqa kelainh\ kh/kien aÀlmh deino\n mormu/rousa perisqene/wn me/nei a)ndrw½n, stra/pte d' u(p' h)eli¿% flogiì eiãkela nho\j i¹ou/shj teu/xea: makraiì d' ai¹e\n e)leukai¿nonto ke/leuqoi, a)trapo\j wÑj xloeroiÍo dieidome/nh pedi¿oio. (I.540-6)

So did the heroes to the sound of Orpheus’ lyre strike with their oars the rough water of the sea, making the waves surge up. On this side and that the dark sea seethed with foam, churning terribly at the strength of

1 Byre (1997), 106. 2 Clauss (1993), 70.

58 these powerful men. Their armour shone in the sun like a flame as the ship advanced, and the ship’s long wake gleamed ever white, like a path clearly visible over a green plain.

Apollonius does not designate Argo as the first ever ship, and its embarkation does not mark the invention of navigation. Yet in these opening moments of the Argonautic expedition the unprecedented nature of what is taking place is emphasised by means of a simile, the symbolic function of which is to point up the status of the voyage as a pioneering venture. The picturesque, painterly quality of the description of Argo’s departure has long been noted, and by means of the striking central comparison the motif of path imagery associated with the voyage continues: the speed of the ship on departure is such that the path made by its white wake is as vivid as a path visible on a green plain. In other words a path is opened up by the movement of Argo in the sea, a mark which in its visual distinctiveness is comparable to a track over land. The simile implies that the ship’s passage imposes order upon the sea, normally that most insubstantial and unpredictable of spaces. This suggestion is reinforced by the juxtaposition of ai)e\n and ke/leuqoi in 545, juxtaposition reminiscent of the cosmic order previously sung of by Orpheus (cf. 1.499-500).

The Winds and the Navigation:

Let us move on now to consider the sequence of events taking place at Pagasae prior to the departure of the ship, a sequence which sheds further light upon the expedition, developing themes and issues already latent in the text. An appropriate starting point for the discussion is Jason’s first address to the assembled Argonauts:

toiÍsin d' Aiãsonoj ui¸o\j e)ufrone/wn mete/eipen: "ÃAlla me/n, oÀssa te nhiì e)fopli¿ssasqai eÃoiken, pa/nta ma/l' euÅ kata\ ko/smon e)parte/a keiÍtai i¹ou=sin, tw½ ou)k aÄn dhnaio\n e)xoi¿meqa toiÍo eÀkhti nautili¿hj, oÀte mou=non e)pipneu/sousin a)h=tai: a)lla\ fi¿loi, cuno\j ga\r e)j ¸Ella/da no/stoj o)pi¿ssw, cunaiì d' aÃmmi pe/lontai e)j Ai¹h/tao ke/leuqoi, tou/neka nu=n to\n aÃriston a)feidh/santej eÀlesqe oÃrxamon h(mei¿wn, %Ò ken ta\ eÀkasta me/loito, nei¿kea sunqesi¿aj te meta\ cei¿noisi bale/sqai. (I.331-40)

And the son of addressed them with goodwill: All the equipment that is needed to fit out a ship lies ready in good order for our departure; therefore we

59 should not because of such matters be delayed long from sailing, once favourable winds blow. But, friends, for common is our return to Hellas afterwards, and common is our path to the land of Aeetes, therefore now ungrudgingly choose the best leader amongst you, the man who will take care of everything, undertaking both our quarrels and agreements with foreign men.

Jason’s address is of vital importance for a number of reasons. To begin, as has frequently been pointed out, his speech reasserts the communal nature of the expedition, implicit in the opening verses of the poem and in the lengthy Catalogue of Heroes. As Jason makes clear to his audience, the quest which lies ahead of them is a shared quest. Second, we are at last afforded some insight into the hero’s own opinion of the mission enjoined upon them, and in this regard his specifications for the journey are particularly enlightening. For the first time in the poem both the outward and return elements of the voyage are seen as a unity: this is to be a journey of there and back again. That Jason’s speech reverses the natural order of the journey, thereby giving precedence to the fulfilment of nostos, is perhaps an early indication of where his priorities lie.1 In the Argonautica, as in any sea story, the winds and weather play an important role in the normal course of the action; they, in fact, must be mentioned by the poet, since the ship Argo is propelled mainly by sail with the occasional aid of oars. Apollonius is able to exploit this necessity and to use the winds and weather as part of his imagery. The winds and weather are included as part of the definition of landscape because even the simple mention of a slight breeze is able to evoke a background; and the type of wind immediately suggests danger or tranquility, good fortune or struggle. The weather also acts as another indication of the importance of skill in the Argonautica because knowledge of the winds is essential for correct navigation. This type of technē is stated to be an honorable and important ability of the helmsman Tiphys (1.105-8). The winds are the most commonly mentioned aspect of weather in the Argonautica and they are used in several ways in the poem. Although most of categories which will be presented here are very different from usages of the winds in lyric poetry and in the Odyssey of Homer, the first type mentioned is quite common in predecessors of Apollonius. Since they are shifting and changeable, the different winds in the poem come to represent external forces beyond human control (both those of the natural world and the emotions of men) and the general instability of human life. It has already been remarked that the simile comparing Jason and Medea to trees shaken in the

1 Clare (2002),59-60, 42-43.

60 wind (3.967-971) is an externalizing image of the force of their emotions. Examples of the winds as symbols of the fickleness of fortune include the wind which turns against the Argo, forcing it back to Cyzicus for the second time (1.1015-1018), thus acting as the agent which helps to cause the death of Cyzicus. The wind also forces the Argonauts onto the sandbank of the Syrtis (4.1232-5, 1251-2) and keeps them there (4.1256-7). Even the loss of wind sets a chain reaction in motion: the calm causes the rowing contest (1.1153-1158) which leads to Herakles’ broken oar and ultimately to the loss of Hylas. Here, the poet stresses the lack of wind through a contrast: he says that not even the "storm-footed" horses of Poseidon would have overtaken the Argo (a)ello/podej 1.1158). At the same time, the adjective reminds the reader that the absence of the wind is important in the passage. In another example, after the Argonauts depart without Herakles, Hylas, and Polyphemus, the poet states that they would have turned back even though the wind was against them (1.1298-9). Thus the wind here becomes a representation of the adversity (i.e. the loss of Hylas) which has overwhelmed the heroes and made their journey more difficult. In the same way, it is the night wind which erases the tracks of Herakles and prevents his friends from finding him (4. 1463). Even the breeze which moves the monument above the graves of the sons of Boreas (1.1306-8) may be interpreted in this manner, since these great heroes, so active in Book II, are said to have been killed by their friend, Herakles. The winds in the Argonautica also react to misfortune, usually as an expression of the god’s displeasure. They thus become a method of communication between the divine and human worlds. After the death of Cyzicus, the winds respond with a storm lasting twelve days which prevents the Argo from leaving (1.1078-1080).1 The number, I believe, is significant. Since twelve Doliones perished along with Cyzicus during the battle (cf. 1040-47), it would appear that the Argonauts must stay on the island one day for each of the warriors they killed. From this, one would conclude that Rhea’s anger springs from the deaths of Cyzicus and the Doliones in addition to those of the Gegeneis. Afterwards, on the thirteenth night, a halcyon, sent by the goddess Rhea, appears over Jason’s head—a detail, as the scholiast ad 1.1085-87b reports, that Apollonius borrowed from a Pecan of Pindar (fr. 62 Snell). Mopsus, who is on guard duty, observes the bird and interprets its cries as a signal that the end of the storm is near. He arouses Jason from sleep and informs him both of this sign and of the need to propitiate Rhea. It is during this battle that Jason unwittingly kills Cyzicus, who thus fulfills his destiny, and that twelve other Dolionian soldiers fall

1 Williams (1991), 211-213

61 at the hands of the Argonauts. Apollonius compares the surviving Doliones in their flight to doves who flee before swift hawks (1049-50). In this second battle, it was the wind, a force that can fan a fire out of control, that drove the helpless Argonauts back to Oros Arkton; and in the bloody battle that ensued the helpless Doliones, attempting a vain defense against their recently departed guest-friends, fled like doves back to the protection of their walls. Like the fire and hawks that characterize the victors, their leader can be seen as the instantiation of an uncontrollable force of destruction, lacking any feeling or rational planning for his actions because of his ignorance of the enemy he faces in an unexpected battle.1 Again in Book IV, Hera devises a storm which the Argonauts are unable to escape until they are purged of murder by Circe (4.576ff.). This storm also demonstrates that the winds are a means of punishment and an indication of displeasure on the part of the gods. In addition, the wind is said to blow by the plan of Hera so that Medea might reach the land of the Pelasgians and thus be an evil for the house of Pelias (4.241-3). The wind, therefore, becomes an agent of the gods. The opposite situation is also true; the gods display their good will towards Jason and his crew by changing the winds. Hera sends Iris to Aeolus to command the winds to stop (4.764-781; 4.820- 2), and Aeolus restrains them until the Argo reaches the Phaeacians. A second use of the winds is connected with departures of the Argo, usually at dawn. The fair wind, which accompanies the dawn departure of the Argo, has a propitious connotation, arising both from the general optimism of a departure and from the positive aspect of sunrise. This is made most clear at the beginning of the Argonautica, where the poet stresses three times the necessity of a good wind before the Argonauts are able to leave Pagasae. Jason states that departure will occur when the breezes are fair (1.334-5), prays for a fair wind (1.423-4), and then embarks by sail at dawn (I.519-523). Another example is found at 1.1273-5 where Tiphys urges the Argonauts to embark at dawn and take advantage of the favoring breeze. Again, the Argonauts set out at dawn with full sails when they unknowingly leave Herakles and Hylas behind (1.1276-83). The Argo also leaves the Bebrycians at dawn with a fair wind and sails through the Bosporus (2. 164-8). The wind acts in the same way at 2.1228- 1230 when the Argo leaves the island of Ares, at 2.720-726 when it leaves the island of Apollo of the Dawn with a west wind, and at the dawn departure at the end of the Ancaeus episode (2.899-903). The dawn departure with a fair breeze which comes between the stories of Peleus and Thetis and the Sirens both acts as a transition and hints at the successful conquering of the Sirens (4.885-891). There is also a

71 Clauss (1993), 166-167, 173.

62 breeze at dawn when the Argonauts leave Circe (4.885ff.), and when the Argo leaves the harbor of Argo before the Talos episode (4. 1620- 4). Since dawn is connected with good fortune in the poem, the fair wind at dawn clearly possess a positive connotation for the departure and for the ensuing episodes and, in general, establishes an optimistic and cheerful tone.1 The rather long digression on the origin of the Etesian Winds (2.500-528) at first seems to be without significance, so that even a scholar who claims to give proper treatment to the often neglected Books I and II of the Argonautica judges it to be superfluous. However, this digression on these winds occurs at a point in the narrative where the Argonauts are forced to delay their voyage because the Etesian Winds oppose their progress. Thus Argonauts, poet, and audience are forced to delay their progress at the same time, for the same reason. Simon Goldhill recognizes this when he says that Apollonius makes a, "joke of self-reflexively delaying the narrative journey with such a lengthy description of the origin of the delay." Winds are a common cause of delay, yet few have such an interesting history behind them as do the Etesian Winds; Apollonius could not always rely on a digression about the winds themselves to mirror the delay experienced by the Argonauts. At 1.1078, fierce winds render the sea unfit for sailing. The Argonauts learn that they can stop the winds by performing rites to the Great Mother. Apollonius then describes these rites in some detail (1.1117-1151). This lengthy description mirrors the long delay caused by the adverse winds. Similarly, when the Argonauts are forced to put in to shore at the mouth of the river Thermodon because of rough seas, Apollonius reflects the delay in their progress by digressing on the unusual characteristics of the river (2.970-984).2 The strong west wind, Zephyrus that blows favorably as the Argonauts sail by island of the Sirens (4.886, 891, 910). It is noteworthy that in his version of the Sirens episode the wind is associated with Orpheus’ music: the wind literally pushes Argo forward (4.891 and 910) while Orpheus propels the ship with his song that saves the crew from the Sirens’ fatal attraction (4.903-909). Another scene from the beginning of the voyage (1.559-579) also points to a clear association of the wind with Orpheus’ music. A strong, shrill (ligu/j 1.566) wind happily blows the sails. Orpheus praises Artemis with his beautiful song and charms the fish which follow him as sheep follow their shepherd who plays on his shrill (ligei/h 1.577) syrinx a beautiful tune. The wind in the form of a divine breath that blows upon the poet was considered by the Greeks a major source of poetic inspiration.

1 Williams (1991), 213-215 2 Albis (1996), 55.

63 Therefore, Apollonius would not allow the Sirens to interfere with a wind that paralleled Orpheus’ functions. Orpheus does start with an advantage, however slight or not immediately recognizable as such, over the Sirens, who lack one attribute of their Hesiodic and Pindaric counterparts.1

Phineus’ Episode:

The Argonauts assemble and begin their voyage to Colchis in Book I, and Book II begins with their adventures in Bebrykia (2. 1-163). From there, they go to the land of Thynia (164-77), where Phineus speaks to them about aspects of their subsequent voyage (311-425). Several passages indicate that even though Phineus was virtually omniscient about the voyage, it was his practice to disclose the future only in a partial manner. His proleptic statements are therefore determined by his particular motives concerning his private narratees (the Argonauts). Since he refuses to tell them all that he knows, his statements can generate false expectations, both for the Argonauts and for the reader.2 Phineus is the most important figure in the second book narrative. The 270-line passage in which he appears (178—448) is by far the longest in the book. The scene in which his prophetic speech of 99 lines appears (311-425) equals almost all the preceding parts of the Phineus narrative, which has been broken down into seven sections; 178-93, the poet’s introduction; 194-208, the physical description of Phineus; 209-39, Phineus’ introduction; 240-61 the reaction of the sons of Boreas and Phineus’ response; 262—300, the Boreades and the Harpies; 301-425, the prophetic speech and aftermath; 426-48, the successful return of the sons of Boreas and Phineus’ response. Phineus is special because he is so old while the crew is so young, again so victimized and defeated while the crewmen are adventuresome, and then a seer where they are all knowing. Apollonius creates his most brilliant portrait when he describes Phineus.

o)rqwqeiìj d' eu)nh=qen, a)kh/rion h)u/t' oÃneiron, ba/ktr% skhpto/menoj r(iknoiÍj posiìn vÅe qu/raze, toi¿xouj a)mfafo/wn, tre/me d' aÀyea nissome/noio a)drani¿v gh/rai te: pi¿n% de/ oi¸ au)stale/oj xrw¯j e)sklh/kei, r(inoiì de\ su\n o)ste/a mou=non eÃergon. e)k d' e)lqwÜn mega/roio kaqe/zeto gou=na barunqei¿j ou)dou= e)p' au)lei¿oio: ka/roj de/ min a)mfeka/luyen

1 Kyriakou (1995), 193-195. 2 Berkowitz (2004), 11.

64 porfu/reoj, gaiÍan de\ pe/ric e)do/khse fe/resqai neio/qen, a)blhxr%½ d' e)piì kw¯mati ke/klit' aÃnaudoj. (II.197-205)

He rose from his bed like a lifeless dream; on shriveled feet he went to the door propping himself on a staff, feeling the walls. His joints as he went trembled with age and weakness. His dry skin was parched from the dirt, only the skin held bones together. Out of the house he came; at the threshhold of the courtyard he sat down, as his knees gave under his weight. Stupor from a rush of blood covered him; the earth seemed to move under his feet. Speechless, enfeebled in a trance, he lay there.1

Apollonius pictures Phineus as ‘a victim of excessive divine vengeance.’ Urged by commiseration for his fellow-creatures he has misused Apollo’s gift and revealed more of the divine plan than is proper, in consequence whereof Zeus has blinded him and made him a prey for the Harpies. Every time he tries to consume a meal these winged, female monsters snatch away his food; the few morsels that are left they sully with a loathsome stench which makes it impossible for anyone to approach him. An oracle has told him that the Argonauts will free him from the Harpies and as soon as he hears the band approaching he rises from his bed. The Argonauts take pity at this miserable sight and, after having been assured that they will not provoke the anger of the gods by interfering, the Boreads, Zetes and Calais, drive Phineus’ tormentors away.2 After that Phineus advises the Argonauts of how they should sail through the Symplegades (317-44). He first describes the Symplegades and emphasizes that no one has ever passed through them (317-23). For this reason, it is imperative that they do as he advises:

tw½ nu=n h(mete/rvsi paraifasi¿vsi pi¿qesqe, ei¹ e)teo\n pukin%½ te no/% maka/rwn t' a)le/gontej pei¿rete, mhd' auÃtwj au)ta/greton oiåton o)le/sqai a)frade/wj i¹qu/et' e)pispo/menoi neo/thti. (II.324-7)

Therefore now yield to our persuasive words, if, truly, you cleave your way with a shrewd mind, heeding the gods, and do not, in vain, strive to perish in a self- chosen fate, senselessly attending to youth.

1 Beye (1982), 111. 2 Nyberg (1992), 82-83.

65 Phineus then tells the Argonauts the circumstances under which they should make their attempt at the Symplegades:

oi¹wn%½ dh\ pro/sqe peleia/di peirh/sasqai, nho\j aÃpo pro/ min eÀntaj, e)fi¿emai. hÄn de\ di' au)tw½n petra/wn Po/ntonde so/h pteru/gessi di¿htai, mhke/ti dh\n mhd' au)toiì e)rhtu/esqe keleu/qou, a)ll' euÅ kartu/nantej e(aiÍj e)niì xersiìn e)retma/ te/mneq' a(lo\j steinwpo/n, e)peiì fa/oj ouà nu/ ti to/sson eÃsset' e)n eu)xwlv=sin oÀson t' e)niì ka/rtei+ xeirw½n: tw½ kaiì taÅlla meqe/ntaj o)nh/iston pone/esqai qarsale/wj:priìn d' ouà ti qeou\j li¿ssesqai e)ru/kw. (2.328-36)

So I lay my command upon you to make trial beforehand with a dove as an omen, having set it loose away from the ship. If it should safely pass through the very rocks to the Black Sea with its wings, you yourselves must no longer hold back from your journey for long; but mightily wielding your oars in your hands cut through the narrow passage of the sea, since now there will not in any way be so much deliverance in prayers as there will be in the strength of your hands. Therefore neglecting the other things, boldly exert yourselves to the utmost; but not in any way do I forbid you to beseech the gods beforehand.

As Phineus commands the Argonauts to make their attempt if a dove safely passes through in advance (329-31), he implies that they cannot pass through safely if the omen (oi¹wn%½, 328) is unfavorable. Such an implication could, in turn, generate the expectation that a favorable omen will lead to their success. Phineus also elaborates on the method by which the Argonauts should cut through the Symplegades. If the omen is favorable, he commands them to make their attempt by rowing (332-3), explaining that their success will rest primarily in the strength of their hands, and secondarily in their prayers (333-4). He thereby implies that rowing will be the main vehicle for their success, and that they may even pass through without divine assistance.1 Phineus closes his speech with the advice that they shall ‘take thought of the artful aid of the Cyprian goddess’:

a)lla\ fi¿loi fra/zesqe qea=j dolo/essan a)rwgh/n Ku/pridoj, (2.423 f.)

As has been observed Apollonius thereby introduces the main love plot in the second book, thus emphasizing the central importance of

1 Berkowitz (2004), 14-15.

66 Aphrodite and the centrality of the love theme in the epic. I would like to point out the symbolic significance of the dove, Aphrodite’s bird, in this context. Her escape from the Clashing rocks possibly not only forebodes the Argonauts’ successful sailing through, but also Jason’s success in making Medea fall in love with him and thus in carrying out his errand. Is it too farfetched interpret the dove’s passage through the rocks as a sexual symbol?1

The Symplegades or the Planctae:

The episode of the Clashing Rocks or Symplegades is one of the most fully described and lengthy in the Argonautica, not just among those passages containing descriptions of landscape, but of all those which recount the adventures of the Argonauts. It is the adventure most closely associated with the Argonautic expedition in the literary tradition. In addition, of all the adventures the Argonauts will experience, it is the only one which is considered important enough by Apollonius to be mentioned in the prologue to the epic. In Greek epic, beginning with Homer, it was customary to use one or two words at the beginning to give the essence of the story. Apollonius follows this tradition by beginning:

mnh/somai oiá Po/ntoio kata\ sto/ma kaiì dia\ pe/traj Kuane/aj basilh=oj e)fhmosu/nv Peli¿ao (I.2-3)

I shall tell of the heroes who sailed through the mouth of the Bosporus and the Clashing Rocks by command of King Pelias ...

For Apollonius, the passage through the Clashing Rocks sums up the entire voyage of the Argo. The episode is the first true danger all the Argonauts as a group encounter in the course of their journey and the first which results from the sea or natural elements. The boxing match in Book II involved only one Argonaut; Herakles protected the heroes from the Earthborn; and the battle at Cyzicus, although fiercely fought, was not caused by the forces of nature, but rather resulted from a mistake in identity. By the time the Argonauts arrive at the Clashing Rocks, they have lost Herakles as their protector and they must put all of their trust in the captain and the helmsman of their ship. On the beach at Pagasae, Jason was helpless (a)mh/xanoj 1.460) and he was taunted by Idas without cause and also without his response.

1 Nyberg (1992), 83-84.

67 These Clashing Rocks are mentioned in several accounts of the Argonautic voyage, most notably in Pindar (Pyth.4.207ff) in what is, for that elliptical poet, a lengthy description:

e)j de\ ki¿ndunon baqu\n i¹e/menoi despo/tan li¿ssonto naw½n, sundro/mwn kinhqmo\n a)maima/keton e)kfugeiÍn petÈra=n. di¿dumai ga\r eÃsan zw- ai¿, kulinde/skonto/ te kraipno/terai hÄ barugdou/pwn a)ne/mwn sti¿xej: a)ll' hÃ- dh teleuta\n keiÍnoj au)taiÍj h(miqe/wn plo/oj aÃgagen. .... (Pyth.4.207-211)

Eager for the dangerous deep, they prayed to the master of ships, , that they might avoid the unavoidable motion of the rocks-which crash together. For the two were alive and they rolled swifter than the ranks of deep-sounding winds. But that voyage of half- gods brought death to the rocks.

Jason, before setting out, prays to Poseidon that the Argo may avoid the danger of the Rocks which swiftly roll together. In Pindar, the passage is placed in the important position of being the only danger the Argonauts encounter after leaving Pagasae and before they are helped by Aphrodite and Medea. The prayer before the dangerous passage is also important evidence for Jason’s piety. In the prologue to Euripides’ Medea, this adventure of the Argo is the one mentioned by the nurse which she uses to sum up all the danger and trouble of that famous voyage:

Eiãq' wÓfel' ¹Argou=j mh\ diapta/sqai ska/foj Ko/lxwn e)j aiåan kuane/aj Sumplhga/daj, (Eur. Medea 1-2)

Would that the ship Argo had never sailed through the Symplegades and into the land of the Colchians...

It is one of only two adventures from the voyage mentioned in the play (the other is Scylla).1 Among the numerous allusions in Homer to deeds of an earlier day, none is more famous than that to the Argonautic expedition in Od. XII. This allusion is usually explained by the passage of Argo through the Symplegades or clashing rocks, also called Cyaneae, and this appears to have been the received explanation among the ancient as well as among modern writers. (VI. 85) says that the Symplegades were formerly called Planctae. Pliny (N. H. VI. 12) has ‘ insulae in Ponto Planctae sive

1 Williams (1991), 129-131,133.

68 Cyaneae sive Symplegades,’ and (IV. 13) says that they were called by the last name ‘ quoniam parvo discretae intervallo, ex adverse intrantibus geminae cernebantur, paulumque deflexa acie coeuntium speciem praebebant ‘ — which explanation is like that often given of the qoasiì nh/soi of Od. XV 299, as islands that seem "to shift and move as you pass them rapidly on shipboard" (Merry). It is easy to see that the Symplegades might well have been called Planctae, giving to that word the derivation from the same root as plh/ssw, but Juvenal goes the whole length of identification when (XV. 19) he refers to the Planctae of Homer as ‘ concurrentia saxa Cyaneis.’ Now the Symplegades were localized at the Bosporus, while the traditional site of the Homeric Planctae is the coast of Italy; so, in order to satisfy the requirements of geography, it has been by some supposed that Homer transferred the Symplegades to the neighborhood of the Italian shore. indeed says so (p.149), taiÍj de\ Kuane/aij e)poi¿hse para plhsi¿wj ta\j Plagkta/j, a)eiì tou\j mu/qouj a)po/ tinwn i¸storiw½n e)na/gwn. In Pindar (Pyth. IV. 370) they are called su/ndromoi pe/trai and are described as tumbling about like animals, which has led Dr. Paley to suggest that there may be some lurking allusion to the existence of icebergs near the mouth of the Euxine at an early date—a highly ingenious suggestion, which seems to me more probable as an explanation than the tame rationalism of Pliny. In the Tragic poets they are Called Sumplhga/dej or kua/neai or kua/neai Sumplhga/dej (Byron’s ‘blue Symplegades’), also sundroma/dej pe/trai The Roman poets called them indifferently Symplegades and Cyaneae. In Apollonius Rhodius their usual name is Kuane/ai pe/trai. Twice they are called Plhga/dej, once su/ndroma petra/wn, and once (IV. 786) they are alluded to as plagktai/. This line is remarkable, because, as we shall soon see, Apollonius has plagktai/ of his own quite distinct from the Symplegades.1 The name of the rocks is known only to the gods in Homer (Od. 12.61); Thetis mentions them to Peleus at 4.860 as if he had not heard of them before. The periphrasis pe/traj ai(/ te Plagktai\ kale/ontai. ‛the rocks which are called Wandering’ may suggest debate over whether Homer was referring to the Wandering or the Clashing Rocks, or reverse Homer’s )Argw\ pasime/lousa the Argo which is of concern to all’ (Od. 12.70); it is now the Rocks which are talked about rather than the Argo.2 The Clashing Rocks are frequently confused with the Planctae or floating rocks through which the Argo passes on its homeward voyage (4.924ff.). The Planctae are mentioned in connection with the Argo in

1 Seaton (1887), 433-434. 2 Knight (1995), 211.

69 the Odyssey (Od.12.59ff) as part of the return voyage and give a clue about the contents of an early epic account of the Argo.

Plagkta\j dh/ toi ta/j ge qeoiì ma/karej kale/ousi.

tv= d' ouà pw¯ tij nhu=j fu/gen a)ndrw½n, hÀ tij iàkhtai, a)lla/ q' o(mou= pi¿naka/j te new½n kaiì sw¯mata fwtw½n ku/maq' a(lo\j fore/ousi puro/j t' o)looiÍo qu/ellai. oiãh dh\ kei¿nv ge pare/plw pontopo/roj nhu=j ¹ArgwÜ pa=si me/lousa, par' Ai¹h/tao ple/ousa: (Od. 12.61, 66-70)

The blessed gods call them Planctae... where not yet any ship of men has passed. If any approaches, the waves of the sea and gusts of deadly fire bear off planks of the ship and bodies of men. Only one sea-going ship has sailed by there, the world-famous Argo, on its way from Aeetes.

Homer mentions the Argo as the only ship which was able to pass safely through the Planctae. It is unclear whether Homer confused the two types of Rocks or whether the Symplegades were unknown to him in connection with the Argonautic legend or whether he knew but simply did not mention them.1 Williams mentioned to the same point: “The multiple traditions about these legendary rocks are thus recalled in a self-conscious way and Apollonius manages to make a statement that echoes this polyphony. Whether Homer knew of the Clashing Rocks but did not mention them or whether he conflated the Clashing Rocks and the Plagktai/ ultimately makes little difference for the study of the Argonautica. Homer apparently modeled Odysseus’ adventure on Argo’s dangerous passage through some moving rocks, whose specific properties or even geographic location were perhaps still fluid in his time and he did not wish or bother to determine them more accurately.”2 In our poem Apollonius makes a clear distinction between the Planctae or ‘Wandering Rocks’ and the Symplegades or ‘Clashing Rocks’. The latter are situated at the entrance to the Black Sea and are passed by the Argonauts on their way to Colchis (2.549-609). Homer’s Wandering Rocks are also most plausibly located at the western end of the Black Sea, in view of the explicit reference to the Argonautic expedition (Od. 12.69-72), and seem to be based on the Symplegades, if one believes that the doves which carry ambrosia to Zeus (Od. 12.62-65) are somehow related to the one which the Argonauts send through in advance of the ship. Timaeus put the

1 Williams (1991), 131-132. 2 Kyriakou (1995), 20-21.

70 Wandering Rocks near Sicily; this entails a very roundabout route for the Argo, a route which Apollonius works into the return voyage by taking the Argo up the Po and down the Rhone and down the west coast of Italy. In turn, Apollonius’ description of the Symplegades in Book II draws on Homer’s Wandering Rocks.1

oiàh te/ sf' e)sa/wsa dia\ Plagkta\j /wntaj pe/traj, eÃnqa puro\j deinaiì brome/ousi qu/ellai, ku/mata/ te sklhrv=si periblu/ei spila/dessin, nu=n de\ para\ Sku/llhj sko/pelon me/gan h)de\ Xa/rubdin deino\n e)reugome/nhn de/xetai o(do/j. (4.786-90)

oiàh L, oiàwj al. Both are correct, but oiàh is more exquisite in itself besides being in much the best MS. and should be kept. Commentators have seen that there is some difficulty in this passage, but have only nibbled at it. They think that it refers to the passage of the Symplegades and they remark that puro\j is therefore wrong, and they also observe that Hera, who speaks in this place, takes credit to herself for saving the Argo there whereas it was Athena who really did so. But the difficulties are very great indeed and cannot be palliated. First plagkta\j cannot mean the Symplegades at all. Apollonius is very careful about distinguishing the two; never does he confuse them. Secondly Hera here says that it was she who sent the Argo through the Planctae, and so she did as we know from Homer, m, 72, (/Hrh pare/pemyen e)pei\ fi/loj h)=en )Ihsewn. It is passing strange that Apollonius should agree with Homer in saying so here and yet should all the time be thinking of something altogether different, and should contradict himself about the Symplegades because he has forgotten that it was Athena who was there at work; he is not given to self- contradiction. Thirdly puro\j is right in reference to the Planctae and wrong in reference to the Symplegades; Merkel’s pa/roj is utterly pointless; it is another extraordinary thing therefore that the text of Apollonius should again agree with Homer about the Planctae and yet he should all the time be thinking of the Symplegades. Fourthly, if we read pa/roj, and if we suppose the Symplegades to be meant, just see what a miserable description it is of them ! "Where dreadful storms always rage and the waves lash the reefs," and not one word about the real danger. It is as if you said that you saved a man out lion-hunting where he might have run his foot through with a porcupine’s quill. Fifthly the last two lines are simply untrue; the Argonauts are not

1 Knight (1995), 210-211.

71 going to return by Scylla and Charybdis at all; they are going to avoid them altogether. Look at de/xetai o(do/j, and consider whether this can fairly be taken to mean anything except that they are to pass that way.1 The confusion of the two sets of rocks made by some ancient authors is suggested at 4.786-88. Despite the echoes of Book II, these lines refer to the Wandering Rocks, both by name and because Hera speaks of her own help and the danger coming from waves and fiery storms. The reference of e)sa/wsa (I saved’ to past events is taken over from Homer, so that the passage of the Wandering Rocks is apparently both in the past and in the immediate future. This is not carelessness, but a substitution of ‘literary time’, as with pa/roj ‘before’ at 4.667; indeed this interpretation supports Merkel’s reading of pa/roj at line 4.787. Hera reminds Thetis of how she (Hera) saved the Argo in past epics, including the Odyssey, and implies that ‘now it is time to do it in this one’. Homer’s exceptional reference to the Argo is in the past for Apollonius (even more so than the events of the Odyssey are), and strict chronology is broken. The location of the Rocks relative to both Scylla and Charybdis is disputed. In both Homer and Apollonius there is a choice of two routes, one leading to the Rocks, the other to Scylla and Charybdis; this is the most natural way to take e)/nqen me\n ga\r pe/trai ‛on the one side are rocks’ (Od. 12.59), oi( de\ du/w sko/peloi ’on the other side are a pair of cliffs’ (Od. 12.73) and t$= me\n.....t$= d'...... a(/lloqi de\ Plagktai\ ‛On one side ... on the other... In another part the . . . Wandering Rocks’ (4.922-24). This might identify the Rocks with the Lipari islands, though the Argo appears to pass through the Straits of Messina; again the ambiguity reinforces Apollonius’ unwillingness to identify Homeric locations in terms of ‘real’ geography in the ‘Odyssean’ section of the Argonautica. It is uncertain quite how the Homeric Wandering Rocks operate; one is deadly to birds (Od. 12.64), the other to ships with waves and fiery storms (Od. 12.68). Homer also mentions the rocks’ steepness and the huge waves (Od. 12.59-60). Od. 12.71-72 claim that the Argo would have been dashed against the rocks if Hera had not protected her. Nowhere is it explicitly slated that the Rocks themselves move; the danger to ships appears to be the ‘storms of fire’ (Od. 12.68) (probably deriving from travellers’ tales of volcanic eruptions) and the waves, which dash the vessel against the rocks. Some ancient scholars held this view; SH ad Od. 12.61 (possibly Aristar-chean) defines Plakta/j (sic) as dia\ to\ prosplh/ssesqai au)tai=j ta\ ku/mata ‘because of the waves’ beating against them’, and the scholiast to

1 Platt (1914), 45-46.

72 Pindar, Pythian.4.208 also suggests (quoting Od. 12.71) that the new/teroi ’more recent authorities’ thought that the rocks were immobile.1 There is no getting out of it; Hera in this passage says that she saved them through the Planctae, not through anything else, and that they are now to go through the strait of Scylla. But this brings us up all standing against the great difficulty which has upset all the commentators. As the poem now stands, the Argonauts have not yet passed the Planctae and therefore Hera could not have said this, and they are not going to pass by Scylla and Charybdis either, though indeed the commentators have never noticed that point. In our poem the Argonauts have not yet passed the Planctae and are not going to pass Scylla; Hera appeals to Thetis to help them through the Planctae instead. But in the first edition Hera helped them through the Planctae by herself, as Homer says, and then appealed to Thetis to save them on their way through the strait of Scylla and Charybdis, which in that edition they did pass. We may well suppose, that critics drew mortifying comparisons between the accounts of Homer and Apollonius; or we need only suppose that Apollonius thought better of it for himself and decided to alter his plot; anyhow alter it he did, and made Hera appeal to Thetis before the Planctae, cutting out Scylla and Charybdis altogether. But altering your plot is a dangerous game to play; it is difficult to get rid of the lines first drawn on the canvas, and the end of it was that Apollonius by an inadvertence which I fully admit is very extraordinary left this unlucky bit in the speech of Hera. Such accidents will happen in such cases. An artist whose shoe-latchet Apollonius was not worthy to unloose has committed a very similar crime in Antigone, and nobody found it out till Mr Drachmann only the other day.2 Apollonius also stresses the size of the waves (4.788, 4.836, 4.924, 4.941, 4.943-44, 4.947, 4.955), and mentions the fiery eruption which occurs just before the Argo reaches the rocks (4.925-29, in 4.955 ze/en retains its literal sense of ‘boil’ as well as ‘seethe’). The smoke from the eruption creates a further hazard by dramatically reducing visibility (4.927-28). Hera requests that Hephaestus cease his activity in the region (760 64, 775 -77); she sees the danger to the Argo as being pe/trai kai\ u(pe/rbia ku/mat(a) ‘rocks and violent waves’ (4.823), while for Thetis the waves and fiery storms are the hazard (4.834-37). The combination of waves and volcanic activity agrees with the Homeric description of the rocks.

1 Knight (1995), 211-212. 2 Platt (1914), 46-47.

73 4.945-47 apparently describe the rocks moving vertically up and down; however; here Apollonius is, as often, focalizing by imagining the scene as it would appear to those present, rather than from a disinterested viewpoint. In a very stormy sea the rocks could appear from a ship toweringly high at one moment and invisible beneath the waves at the next, without actually moving. The urgency of the situation and the disorientation felt by those on board a violently moving vessel would prevent them from observing the rocks in a detached, scientific way, and would leave them only with impressions of how the rocks appeared to behave. This interpretation, like Frankel’s, dispenses with the magical. The ‘realism’ of the rocks’ behaviour creates a twofold contrast. Firstly, it contrasts with the divine intervention of the Nereids who have been prompted by Hera, via Thetis; Hera’s aid has Homeric precedent (Od. 12.72). The contrast is further pointed by the light-hearted simile (4.948-52), set in such a serious situation. It is in keeping with the ‘frivolous’ nature of the divine intervention that the Argonauts appear to feel no fear at what is happening (compare Odysseus’ men at Charybdis (Od. 12.243), although Athena is anxious (4.960). Secondly, there is a contrast with the account of the Symplegades, where Phineus states that the rocks are free-floating (2.320-22), and the description of the actual passage indicates several times that they moved apart and clashed together (2.553, 2.560, 2.564-65, 2.574-75, 2.601-2); in the case of the Wandering Rocks the danger from the waves (and to a lesser extent from fire) is continually stressed and the supernatural properties of the rocks arc completely played down. At the Symplcgades, the Argonauts are afraid (2.575). The verbal similarities are almost entirely limited to words like ku/mata ’waves’, pe/trai ‘rocks’, pu=r ‘fire’ and qu/ella ‘storm’, which directly pertain to the Rocks. These replace the ingenious allusions or adaptations of Homeric material of the kind which can be found in Apollonius’ treatment of the Sirens and Scylla and Charybdis. Instead, the relationship of the episode to the Odyssey could hardly be more straightforward, since it is referred to directly in the earlier epic. The Wandering Rocks are treated in the opposite way to Scylla and Charybdis in that the Argonauts encounter them, but Odysseus does not. The emphasis on natural rather than supernatural dangers is also a feature of Homer’s description of the Rocks, as some ancient critics realised, and Apollonius’ account reflects this line of interpretation. It deliberately introduces ambiguities at 4.786-88, in keeping with the Rocks’ own lack of stability.1 The threat and the maneuver foreshadow the perilous passage between the Symplegades, described in another of Apollonius’ purple

1 Knight (1995), 212-214

74 passages. Here again the water rises up (580-87) and only Tiphys the pilot’s quickness keeps them from the rocks. High up in the air the Argo rides, the rowers’ oars, says the poet, are bent like bows (591- 92), after Athena’s assist the boat speeds on like an arrow (600). The scene has the quality of a Disney fantasy, and is frightening because of that same surreal, exaggerated quality. In the course of the description the poet’s precision creates an image of perfect terror. Euphemus releases the dove which Phineus says must fly between the rocks as good omen; otherwise they are doomed.

toiì d' aÀma pa/ntej hÃeiran kefala\j e)sorw¯menoi: h( de\ di' au)tw½n eÃptato. taiì d' aÃmudij pa/lin a)nti¿ai a)llh/lvsin aÃmfw o(mou= cuniou=sai e)pe/ktupon: wÕrto de\ pollh/ aÀlmh a)nabrasqeiÍsa, ne/foj wÐj: auÅe de\ po/ntoj smerdale/on, pa/nth de\ periì me/gaj eÃbremen ai¹qh/r: (2.562-67)

All raised their head to watch But the dove flew between the rocks, they rushed together, and crashed face to face. Foam flew up in a cloud; the sea roared fearfully; the great air roared all around. The caves beneath the cliffs boomed as the sea poured in. White foam from the crashing wave spewed up. The current turned the boat around. The rocks snipped the tip of the dove’s tail feathers, but she made it through safe, and the rowers cried out.

Eleven lines of suspense and physical terror in that split second during which the bird flies through the rocks are translated moments later into the boat’s birdlike passage, picked up in the air by the waves, held aloft by Athena’s hand, only to have the tail ornament sheared off as the boat slips between the rocks (601-2).1 Some digressions are more closely tied to the plot than others. During their flight from Colchis, the Argonauts land near the River Halys and ponder the instructions that Phineus had given them concerning their return voyage (4.253-256). Phineus had advised them to return home by a route different from the one which they had followed on their way to Colchis. None of the Argonauts have any notion of what this alternate route may be. Argus, the son of Phrixus, tells them of the system of interconnecting rivers that they may follow to return to Greece. He also, in the manner of a historian, tells them the source of this knowledge and how he came to acquire it. Argus’ speech (4.256-293) lasts almost forty lines and contains much extraneous information; he speaks for twenty-five lines before finally getting around to describing the route they should take. Argus’

1 Beye (1982), 110-111.

75 tedious verbosity parallels the delay experienced by the Argonauts at this point. The digressive speech also increases the suspense of the moment; immediately before the Argonauts stop near the Halys, Apollonius describes Aeetes sending a huge force of Colchians to pursue the heroes (4.236-240).1

oiåsqa me\n oÀsson e)mv=sin e)niì fresiì ti¿etai hÀrwj Ai¹soni¿dhj h)d' aÃlloi a)osshth=rej a)e/qlou, oiàh te/ sf' e)sa/wsa dia\ Plagkta\j pero/wntaj pe/traj, eÃnqa puro\j deinaiì brome/ousi qu/ellai, ku/mata/ te sklhrv=si periblu/ei spila/dessin, nu=n de\ para\ Sku/llhj sko/pelon me/gan h)de\ Xa/rubdin deino\n e)reugome/nhn de/xetai o(do/j.(IV. 784-790.)

Thou knowest how honoured in my heart is the hero, Aeson's son, and the others that have helped him in the contest, and how I saved them when they passed between the Wandering rocks, where roar terrible storms of fire and the waves foam round the rugged reefs. And now past the mighty rock of Scylla and Charybdis horribly belching, a course awaits them.

Hera has sent for Thetis, and implores her aid for the Argonauts in passing through the Planctae and to save them from Scylla and Charybdis, but she lays particular stress upon the dangers of the Planctae. Thetis (834 sqq.) promises to guide the ship through the Planctae with the help of her sisters. We read (922 sqq.) that in one direction are Scylla and Charybdis, in another ‘ the wandering rocks (Plagktai/) were booming beneath the mighty surge, where before the burning flame spurted forth from the top of the crags, above the rock glowing with fire, and the air was misty with smoke, nor could you have seen the sun’s light.’ Then the daughters of Nereus, under the command of Thetis, guide Argo through the Planctae, avoiding Scylla and Charybdis altogether. The reference in 786 is taken to be to the passage of the Symplegades in the second book. The objections to this are: 1. It was not Hera, but Athena, who helped the heroes through the Symplegades. This objection might be got over. There are other somewhat similar difficulties in the poem. Thus (3. 375), Aeetes believes that the sons of Chalciope reached Hellas and returned with the Argonauts and (ib. 775) Medea has the same belief. So we may perhaps say that Hera thought she had helped them, or at any rate it was a good enough tale for Thetis. 2. It is a far more serious objection that the Symplegades are never called Planctae by Apollonius. They were confused by many writers,

1 Albis (1996), 56.

76 but always kept distinct by Apollonius. The Symplegades were an incident of the outward voyage, the Planctae of the return. I may perhaps refer to a paper of mine on the differences between them in the Amer. Journ. Phil., twenty-seven years ago. In Apollonius the Symplegades are usually called Kua/neai pe/ptrai, twice Plhga/dej, and once su/nroma petra/wn. 3. We certainly expect a reference to the Planctae in this place even more than to Scylla and Charybdis, because it was especially through the Planctae that the aid of Thetis was required, and Hera alludes to them in 823 as if they had been already mentioned. 4. The reference to fire is quite foreign to the Symplegades, where the only danger was from the rocks clashing together, whereas puro\j qu/ellai are characteristic of the Planctae both in Homer and in Apollonius. For this reason Merkel conjectured pa/roj for puro/j, which I adopted in the Oxford text, but I have, in the Loeb Classical Series, reverted to puro/j. In a notice of Samnelsson’s Aduersaria ad Apoll. Rhod. in the Class. Rev. of 1903, I suggested that the reference is, in fact, to the Planctae, and I believe that a line or so has fallen out between e)sa/wsa and dia/ to the effect that Thetis knew how she (Hera) had saved the Argonauts through the Symplegades, and that she now implores the aid of Thetis to guide them safely through the Planctae. I may say that Samuelsson also suggests a lacuna here, though he takes plagkta/j to refer to the Symplegades. In my recent translation I have, it is true, adopted the current view, but it was not the place for a discussion, and I have called attention to the difficulty in a note. Professor Platt remarks that 789,790 ‘are simply untrue. The Argonauts kare not going to return by Scylla and Charybdis at all, they are going to avoid them altogether." But the words de/xetai o(doj do not imply that they are going to pass between Scylla and Charybdis, but only that these obstacles are in their way. Thetis is asked to save them from that route, which she does, and the reference to Scylla and Charybdis in 789 is satisfied by the statement in 922, 923, that the Argonauts avoid them. Professor Platt also is of opinion that plagkta/j in 786 means the Planctae, and suggests another solution, which, if it could be accepted, would without doubt solve every difficulty. He considers that the line is a remnant of the first edition of the Argonautica, in which Hera, he thinks, helped them through the Planctae by herself, and then appealed to Thetis to save them on the way through Scylla and Charybdis, which in that edition they did pass. This is very ingenious, but is open to a most serious, if not fatal, objection. We know little about Apollonius, but we do know that he published two editions of the Argonautica, and it is highly probable that he was engaged for years on the revision of his poem. Is it, then, conceivable that he would, after brooding on the subject for so long, have left, by

77 an ‘ inadvertence,’ however ‘ extraordinary,’ so palpable a contra- diction in the text ? It is, as the newspapers say, ‘unthinkable.’ 1

Passage of the Symplegades:

The landscape presented in the context of the actual passage between the Rocks may be considered with greater ease if the episode is divided into several shorter sections and the language and narrative style of each discussed in turn. The structure is as follows:

Part A:

(a) Description of the narrow strait. (2.549-554)

Part B:

(b) Euphemus lets dove go. (2.555-573) (1) Euphemus mounts prow. (555-559) (2) Rocks open and dove released. (559-563) (3) Dove flies between rocks. (563-567) (4) Sea rushes in. (568-570) (5) Dove escapes. (571-573)

Part C:

(c) Rocks open again. (2.574-583) (d) Tiphys saves ship. (2.584-592)

Part D:

(e) Description of waves. (2.593-597) (f) Athena saves ship. (2.598-603) (g) Rocks stopped. (2.604-606) (h) Heroes saved. (2.607-610)

The episode may roughly be divided into three main events which are surrounded by the description of the sea and rocks: 1) the passage of the dove, 2) the actions of Tiphys, and 3) Athena’s guiding of the ship.

1 Seaton (1914), 12-14.

78 Part A: Description of the strait (2.549-554):

Oi¸ d' oÀte dh\ skolioiÍo po/rou steinwpo\n iàkonto trhxei¿vj spila/dessin e)ergme/non a)mfote/rwqen, dinh/eij u(pe/nerqen a)naklu/zesken i¹ou=san nh=a r(o/oj, pollo\n de\ fo/b% prote/rwse ne/onto. hÃdh de/ sfisi dou=poj a)rassome/nwn petra/wn nwleme\j ouÃat' eÃballe, bo/wn d' a(limure/ej a)ktai¿: (2.549-554)

When they approached the strait with its twisting passage, hemmed in on either side by rough rocks while a swirling current below washed against the ship as it moved, they went forward greatly afraid. Now the crash of the striking rocks assaulted their ears unceasingly and the sea-washed shores cried out.

The sea between the Clashing Rocks is described from the point of view of an Argonaut on board the ship looking through at the course the Argo must take. The strait is narrow (steinwpo\n 549) and twisted (skolioiÍo 549), and the difficulty of passage is further emphasized by the rough rocks on either side (550) which crowd the strait (e)ergme/non 550). The swirling current (551-2) washes against the ship and the headland (a(limure/ej 554). The difficulty for Apollonius in describing these moving rocks is that he must make the whole episode exciting and dangerous through his description of the landscape, yet he has only sea and rocks to work with and risks becoming tedious through repetition. The poet solves this problem first by presenting the reactions of the Argonauts to the natural world around them, so that their emotional response may enhance the danger of the landscape, and then by introducing many sound effects as the rocks open and crash together. In this section, therefore, the Argonauts advance in fear (fo/b%552), the noise (dou=poj 553) of the rocks crashing (a)rassome/nwn petra/wn 553) strikes their ears (eÃballe 554), and the headlands "cry out" (bo/wn 554).1 As a beginning to applying this style of analysis to the Symplegades, it will prove useful to review first what was stated about these objects classically and second what various modern commentators have said about them. In the light of this information, a new explanation will then be proffered in terms of the psychology of perception and the hydrodynamics of surface waves. Many of the classical references have been listed in Pauly-Wissowa (II. 761). Of these, a number can be construed to imply that, during the epoch within which these rocks moved, they clashed together

1 Williams (1991), 135-137.

79 repeatedly (e.g., Pindar, Pyth. 4. 207ff.; Theocritus, 13. 21ff.; Valerius Flaccus, Argonautica 4. 659ff.; Ovid, Heroides 12. 121ff. and Metamorphoses 15. 337ff. and Tristia 1.10. 33ff.); and Apollonius (Argonautica 2. 553ff.) manages to convey the notion that their motion was, at the least, not uncontrollably irregular. In sum, one could assume that their motion was approximately periodic. By way of explaining their motion, Apollodorus (1. 9. 22) alleges that they were impelled together by the force of winds; whereas it is well known that huge rocks do not glide to and fro under such influence, nor would wind-driven rocks constitute an insurmountable barrier to navigation because passing ships need only await a suitable breeze. Pliny (H.N. 4.13.92ff.), on the other hand, alleges that their apparent motion was an optical illusion produced by the changing line of sight as one sailed around them; but such an explanation does not account for the repetitive clashing attributed to them. Modern authorities generally add but little to our understanding: most confine themselves to textual or literary criticism of the relevant passages of Apollonius while a few dismiss the Symplegades legend as mere fable. One notable exception to these trends was the work of T. C. Smid. which explained the phenomenon in terms of a tsunami, that is a sequence of powerful, seismically-induced waves although this contribution did not explain how a wave, however powerful, could cause rocks of the reputed size of the Symplegades to move, it is one of a class of wave phenomena upon which a defensible explanation might in fact be based. Because Argo-sized rocks do not bob to and fro in the water, the legend must be dismissed as mere fable or one must seek an explanation of how one might come to imagine that they did. The latter task is readily accomplished as the following simple experiment reveals. In the shallow water at the edge of a motorboat-infested lake, position two largish rocks fairly close together so that the air gap between their upper exposed regions is delta-shaped, small on top and larger at the water surface. Then sit down upon the shore and focus on the delta-shaped air gap. When the wake from a passing motorboat impinges upon the rocks they will be ‘seen’ to execute Symplegades-like motions. The key to this illusion appears to be that the wavelength (i.e., the crest to crest distances) within the boat’s wake is large compared to both the rock assemblage and the observer’s effective field of view as he stares at that assemblage. Under such circumstances the wave nature of the phenomenon can easily be missed, as indeed it was initially by this writer when he first observed the illusion with boulders in the quarter-metre range. For larger rocks one requires only a longer wavelength or, equivalently, a longer period (i.e., time span between the passage of successive crests). Because ‘fluctuations-having a period of more than about 30

80 sec are not generally perceived by an observer to be a wave type of phenomenon’, an observer (especially one on board a ship rather than standing on a fixed shore) might never connect a Symplegades illusion with a long period surface wave.1

Part B: The passage of the dove:

In the section dealing with the test by the dove (2.555-573), each of the actions of Euphemus, the rocks, and the dove is briefly presented and then the response of the Argonauts is given. It is through variation in emotional reaction that Apollonius is able to build suspense and the Argonauts’ mood swings wildly along with the movement of the rocks. The first part of this section (555-563) contains actions and human reactions: Euphemus mounts the prow with the dove (555-6) and the rowers row energetically (qelh/mona 557), trusting in their strength (ka/rtei %(= pi/sunoi 559); the rocks open (ta\j....oi)gome/naj 559-560) and the Argonauts become fearful (su\n de/ sfin xu/to qumo/j 561). Then the dove is released (561-2) and the heroes raise their heads to watch (562-3). The dove flies through (563- 4) and, although her tail feathers are shorn off by the quick closure of the rocks (571-3), she is unharmed (a)skhqh/j 573). Again, the heroes respond, this time with a cry (e)re/tai de\ meg' i)/axon 573). Landscape in the second part of this section helps to build suspense in regard to the safety of the dove, for mention of the dove (563-4; 571-3) encircles the description of the landscape. Here Apollonius departs from the style of narration which he employed at the beginning of the episode of the Clashing Rocks. There his description was of a static landscape and now it is of one in movement:

taiì d' aÃmudij pa/lin a)nti¿ai a)llh/lvsin aÃmfw o(mou= cuniou=sai e)pe/ktupon: wÕrto de\ pollh/ aÀlmh a)nabrasqeiÍsa, ne/foj wÐj: auÅe de\ po/ntoj smerdale/on, pa/nth de\ periì me/gaj eÃbremen ai¹qh/r: koiÍlai de\ sph/luggej u(po\ spila/daj trhxei¿aj kluzou/shj a(lo\j eÃndon e)bo/mbeon, u(yo/qi d' oÃxqhj leukh\ kaxla/zontoj a)ne/ptue ku/matoj aÃxnh: nh=a d' eÃpeita pe/ric eiãlei r(o/oj: (2-564-571)

The two rocks again rushed together and crashed into each other, meeting face to face. An abundance of foam boiling up arose like a cloud, and the sea cried out

1 Pickard (1987), 2-3.

81 terribly. Everywhere the great sky roared about them. The hollow caverns beneath the rugged cliffs resounded as the sea washed into them; the white foam of the rushing sea spurted high above the rock face. Then the current turned the ship around.

The rocks come together (cuniou=sai 565), the foam leaps (wÕrto 565), the sea swells (kluzou/shj a(lo\j 569; kaxla/zontoj .... ku/matoj 570), the foam spurts (a)ne/ptue 570), and the current catches the ship and turns it (571). An additional change is that in the beginning the Argonauts were able to look through the strait and they were also able to watch the flight of the dove (iãdonto, 560; e)sorw¯menoi: 563), but now the whole landscape has become confused and the various natural elements serve to hide each other. The foam is like a cloud (i.e. opaque) (a)nabrasqeiÍsa, ne/foj wÐj 566), the sea rushes into the grottos of the cliff (568-9), and the foam and wave dashes high over the rock face (569- 570). Again, Apollonius emphasizes the noise: the rocks (e)pe/ktupon 565), the sea (auÅe de\ po/ntoj / smerdale/on, 566-7), the heaven (eÃbremen ai¹qh/r: 567), the caves (e)bo/mbeon 569) all roar and there is even a final cry of the heroes themselves (iãaxon. 573).

Part C: Second parting of the rocks; Tiphys saves ship:

This section (2.574-592) may also be divided into two parts: in the first is the parting of the rocks (574-583) and in the second, the actions of Tiphys (584-592). The rocks in the first section are very simply described, which again allows suspense to build as the more elaborate language is reserved for moments of danger. The emphasis on the rocks themselves is increased by the brief simile which even compares the great wave which rises up to a steep rock (a)potmh=gi skopiv= iãson: 581). It is interesting that the only adjective used in this section is "steep" in the simile and, in a remarkable economy of description, it may be applied both to the wave and to all the rocks in the passage. In this first part again, as above in Part B, Apollonius alternates action and human response, but this time he describes the movements of the rocks and response of the heroes to them. The rocks open (oiãgonto ga\r auÅtij / aÃndixa. 574-5) and the Argonauts tremble (tro/moj, 575); the tide brings the Argo back within reach of the rocks (eiãsw petra/wn.577) and terrible fear seizes them (ai¹no/taton de/oj 577). The broad sea appears, a great wave rises up (579-581), and the Argonauts think that they will be overwhelmed (581-3) and bow their heads (hÃmusan locoiÍsi karh/asin, 582). The

82 passage illustrates the fact that, for the poet, landscape and men’s emotions are never separate for long. In the second part, the actions of Tiphys take precedence and there is only one mention each of the rocks (petra/wn, 587), the wave (to\ de\ pollo\n (ku=ma) 585), and the water (uÀdwr 590).

Part D: The passage; the help of Athena:

The final part of the episode of the Clashing Rocks (2.593-610) contains the wave which rushes upon the Argo, the help of Athena, and the final clash of the rocks. There is a change in the narrative approach here as well: the focus becomes the sea rather than the rocks themselves, and this recalls the importance of the wave in Phineus’ warning (2.322-3). Since this is the climax of the passage, Apollonius allows the language used of the wave to be more descriptive.

eÃnqen d' au)ti¿k' eÃpeita katarrepe\j eÃssuto ku=ma, h( d' aÃfar wÐste kuli¿ndroj e)pe/trexe ku/mati la/br% proprokatai¿+gdhn koi¿lhj a(lo/j. e)n d' aÃra me/ssaij Plhga/si dinh/eij eiâxen r(o/oj: ai¸ d' e(ka/terqen seio/menai bro/meon, pepe/dhto de\ nh/ia dou=ra: (2.593-7)

Then immediately the roofed wave rushed upon them and the ship like a cylinder ran forth on the furious wave, plunging ahead over the hollow sea. The swirling current held her in the middle of the rocks. On either side the rocks were shaken violently and sounded out, but the ship’s wood held fast.

The wave is roofed (593) and raging (594), the sea hollow (595), and the current whirls (596). Again, the language of the brief simile which compares the ship to a cylinder (kuli¿ndroj 594) could just as easily be used of the wave itself because it emphasizes the rolling and turning movement of the sea in the passage. There are two changes from the description of landscape in the previously mentioned sections: the Clashing Rocks roar as before (bro/meon 597), but they are not moving themselves, they are shaken by an external force (seio/menai 597). Also, the poet does not describe a completely static or moving scene but alternates between movement and the lack of it. The wave rushes (eÃssuto 593) and the ship runs forward (e)pe/trexe 594), then the ship is held by the current (eiâxen 596); the rocks are shaken (597), but the ship is steadfast (pepe/dhto 597). This contrast is finally resolved after Athena pushes the ship through the vigorously Clashing Rocks (nwleme\j e)mplh/casai e)nanti¿ai. 602) and they become rooted in one spot

83 forever (e)rri¿zwqen: 605). The Argonauts make the previously "unrooted" rocks (320) motionless through their success. In this episode one is able to observe that Apollonius describes landscape not through many adjectives but through variation in the type of natural elements focused on (i.e. rocks or the sea), the degree of clarity in the vision of the scene, through describing motion and stillness, and through emphasis on sound. He also links his presentation of landscape very closely to the emotions of his characters. As has been pointed out previously, the three most important actions in the episode are those of the dove, Tiphys, and Athena, and they have an important meaning in the context of the episode and in the epic. These three actions are closely connected, not just because in combination they enable the Argo to safely accomplish its passage, but because they are all, in a sense, aspects of the same thing. Athena may be considered the goddess of navigation; in the Odyssey she helps prepare Telemachus’s ship and in the Argonautica she oversees the construction of the Argo (I.18-19). The bird which goes ahead of the ship is not just an omen, but, as Detienne and Vernant have pointed out, is closely tied to the navigation of the ship both because the ship follows its path and because birds were used in early navigation in order to find land.1 One can determine the truthfulness of Phineus’ implications by analyzing what takes place when the Argonauts actually go through the Symplegades. They arrive in the vicinity of the rocks (549) shortly after leaving Thynia (531-6), and when they encounter a large arched wave (579-81), the Argo is said to be heavy under the rowing (u(p' ei¹resi¿v baru/qousan, 584). In this instance, rowing - the means by which they would proceed through the strength of their hands -, is detrimental and has to be checked. The Argo is then carried into the air (586-7). Although the Argonauts put all of their strength into rowing (kw¯pvsin oÀson sqe/noj, 589), the ship goes in the opposite direction and the oars bend (590-2). The Argonauts, in fact, do not pass through the Symplegades because of their rowing, but rather because Athena pushes the Argo (598-9). The Argonauts’ strength and rowing prove to be ineffectual, and yet Phineus said that their deliverance would not be in prayers so much as it would be in the strength of their hands (e)peiì fa/oj ouà nu/ ti to/sson eÃsset' e)n eu)xwlv=sin oÀson t' e)niì ka/rtei+ xeirw½n:, 333-4). Since such a statement can lead one to expect that they would pass through without divine assistance, Athena’s intervention comes as a surprise.

1 Williams (1991), 137-142.

84 Phineus can therefore generate a false impression about how the Argonauts will pass through the Symplegades. The Argonauts themselves seem to come to such a conclusion. The helmsman Tiphys, after they are safe from the Symplegades, remarks:

)/Elpomai au)tv= nhiì to/g' eÃmpedon e)cale/asqai h(me/aj: ou)de/ tij aÃlloj e)pai¿tioj oÀsson ¹Aqh/nh, hÀ oi¸ e)ne/pneusen qeiÍon me/noj euÅte/ min ãArgoj go/mfoisin suna/rasse, qe/mij d' ou)k eÃstin a(lw½nai. Ai¹soni¿dh, tu/nh de\ teou= basilh=oj e)fetmh/n, euÅte die\k pe/traj fuge/ein qeo\j hÂmin oÃpasse, mhke/ti dei¿diqi toiÍon, e)peiì meto/pisqen a)e/qlouj eu)pale/aj tele/esqai ¹Aghnori¿dhj fa/to Fineu/j. (11.61 1-8)

I think that we surely escaped because of this very ship; nor is any one else the cause of this as much as Athena, who breathed divine strength into it when Argos was putting it together with nails — it is not lawful for it to be subdued. Son of Aison, seeing that a god allowed us to flee out through the rocks, do not fear any longer the command of your king, for Phineus, the son of Agenor, said that thereafter our trials would be easily accomplished.

I will discuss this speech in more detail below. For the time being, it should be noted that Tiphys singles out the Argo as the means by which they escaped (611-2), and claims that Athena was more a cause for this than anyone else (612-4). In other words, Tiphys begins his speech by explaining how they passed through the Symplegades. He may be doing this precisely because the manner in which they went through was not the expected one. Several passages indicate that the Argonauts were adhering to Phineus’ advice and would therefore have detected whether they had been misdirected. One can compare, for instance, verses 573-4, where Tiphys tells the Argonauts to row mightily (e)resse/menai kraterw½j, 574) since the dove passed through the rocks, to verses 329-33, where Phineus commands them, if the dove should safely pass through, to make their attempt while mightily wielding their oars (kartu/nantej ...... e)retma/, 332). The misleading nature of Phineus’ exhortation can be attributed to one or several factors. Since he did not openly say that the Argonauts would pass through because of their rowing, his advice was not exactly false. He may, in fact, have deliberately laid emphasis upon the efficacy of rowing because he knew that if the Argonauts had not rowed so vigorously, they would not have come close enough to the Symplegades to make Athena’s assistance possible. In addition to these possibilities, or perhaps to the exclusion of them, the false expectations that Phineus generated could be the incidental result of

85 his efforts to avoid divine anger. Mentioning Athena, for example, may have been forbidden. The false expectations could, however, be due to a simple mistake. Phineus would not, then, be as knowledgeable as one might initially think. Although the narrator indicates that Phineus was once able to speak the mind of Zeus in an exact manner (181-2), he never says that Phineus retained that ability after his punishment. It is logical, moreover, for the extent of Phineus’ knowledge about the future to be limited. Even if he knew everything that was already resolved in the minds of the gods, he would be less certain about what the gods have not yet determined. We should remember, though, that the present discussion pertains to Phineus’ statements about the passing through the Symplegades, an episode that occurs shortly after the Argonauts leave him. One must consider whether it is plausible for him to be ignorant of events lying so near in the future. One, two, or even several of the above possibilities can explain why Phineus misleads. The narrator, though, does not provide the reader with enough information to verify any of them. Since Phineus’ primary addressees are the Argonauts, it is not necessarily Phineus’ purpose to insure that the reader is adequately informed.1 Athena and her act of guiding the Argo may be considered to be divine representations of the science of navigation itself. The roles, therefore, of Tiphys the helmsman, of the bird, and of Athena taken together are all indications of the importance of the skill of navigation in the Argonautica and demonstrate one more aspect of how technē is of great significance in the epic. It is important not to consider the actions of Athena as evidence of a rescue by the gods when human endeavor has failed, but rather as a positive sign of human success. There is an interesting problem associated with the passage of the Argo through the Clashing Rocks and the exertions of the Argonauts. In Pindar’s version, the Argonauts are able to control their landscape and the forces of nature so that they are even able to "kill" the Clashing Rocks; they bring a teleuta/n to them. A similar control on the part of the Argonauts in Apollonius’ epic is explicitly stated at the end of the passage:

pe/trai d' ei¹j eÀna xw½ron e)pisxedo\n a)llh/lvsin nwleme\j e)rri¿zwqen: oÁ dh\ kaiì mo/rsimon hÅen e)k maka/rwn, euÅt' aÃn tij i¹dwÜn dia\ nhiì pera/ssv. (II.604-6)

1 Berkowitz (2004), 15-18.

86 The rocks became firmly rooted into one place near one another. This was ordained by the gods to happen, whenever some man passed through them in his ship.

The Clashing rocks become "rooted" after the Argo safely passes through them. The question of whether the ability to control nature by stopping the rocks is beneficial is raised by the casual remark in Book IV that the Colchians have passed through the Clashing Rocks in their pursuit of Jason and Medea:

Ko/lxoi d' auÅt', aÃlloi me\n e)tw¯sia masteu/ontej Kuane/aj Po/ntoio die\k pe/traj e)pe/rhsan,, (IV.303-304)

The rest of the Colchians, searching in vain, passed from the Pontos through the Cyanean rocks

And again: ....strato\j aÃspetoj e)cefaa/nqh Ko/lxwn, oiá Po/ntoio kata\ sto/ma kaiì dia\ pe/traj Kuane/aj masth=rej a)risth/wn e)pe/rhsan, (IV.1001-3)

A boundless army of Colchians appeared, who had passed down the mouth of the Pontos and through the Cyanean rocks searching for the Argonauts.

Since the last example almost exactly repeats lines I.2-3 of the prologue, these passages are puzzling. The similarity of the language seems to suggest that the journey of the pursuing Colchians is equal to the great quest of the Argonauts. Also, since the Colchians split up into two groups, one of which went around the Clashing Rocks, the interesting question of why the Argonauts could not have simply avoided the dangerous passage is raised, especially since their great accomplishment seems only to have made life easier for their enemies. I suggest that Apollonius included the episode of the Clashing Rocks in his Argonautica because it was traditionally important, but that he reworked it, perhaps even adding the actions of Athena as his own invention, in order to emphasize the importance of technē in the epic and to illustrate the great power which it could exert. But Apollonius also left ambiguous the question concerning the benefits of technē to mankind, and by allowing the Colchians to pass through the same rocks as the Argonauts, he suggests that the greatest successes of human skill have disadvantages.1

1 Williams (1991), 142-145.

87 The Sirens in Scylla and Charybdis:

The most extreme test faced by the heroes on their homeward journey - and, out of all the perils faced by them on the way to and from Colchis, the occasion when they come closest to the abandonment of their quest - is the stranding of the ship in the gulf of Syrtis. We have seen that Libya has been flagged as early as the first book of the poem (1.79-85 and, in particular, plagxqe/ntaj at 1.81) as an inauspicious location, and it is clear from the beginning of the episode itself that being driven ashore at Syrtis is a potentially disastrous event for the Argonauts:

pnoiv= e)peigo/menoi prote/rw qe/on. a)lla\ ga\r ouÃpw aiãsimon hÅn e)pibh=nai ¹Axaii¿doj h(rw¯essin, oÃfr' eÃti kaiì Libu/hj e)piì pei¿rasin o)tlh/seian: hÃdh me\n potiì ko/lpon e)pw¯numon ¹Ambrakih/wn, hÃdh Kourh/twn eÃlipon xqo/na peptame/noisin lai¿fesi kaiì steina\j au)taiÍj su\n ¹Exina/si nh/souj e(cei¿hj, Pe/lopoj de\ ne/on katefai¿neto gaiÍa: kaiì to/t' a)narpa/gdhn o)loh\ bore/ao qu/ella messhgu\j pe/lago/sde Libustiko\n e)nne/a pa/saj nu/ktaj o(mw½j kaiì to/ssa fe/r' hÃmata, me/xrij iàkonto propro\ ma/l' eÃndoqi Su/rtin, iàn' ou)ke/ti no/stoj o)pi¿ssw nhusiì pe/lei, oÀte to/nde bi%¯ato ko/lpon i¸ke/sqai: (4.1225-36)

But it was not yet destined for the heroes to set foot on Achaea, until they had laboured in the outer limits of Libya. Already they had left behind the gulf named after the Ambracians and, with sails spread wide, the land of the Curetes, next the chain of narrow islands together with the Echinades themselves and the land of Pelops had just come into sight; just then a baleful blast of the north wind caught them in raid-course and swept them towards the Libyan sea for nine whole nights and as many days, until they came far inside Syrtis, from where there is no return for ships, once they have been forced to enter into that gulf.1

As the Argo is carried closer and closer to the threatening danger of Scylla and Charybdis2, the crew becomes entranced by the sound of the Sirens whose lovely song is able to beguile sailors (Seirh=nej si¿nont'

1 Clare (2002), 150. 2 It is uncertain whether Scylla and Charybdis originally came from the Argo legend, although they had been located in Tyrrhenia in earlier poetry. Hera’s speech, like that of Circe to Odysseus, describes Scylla’s parentage, but includes the additional details that Scylla’s mother is Hecate, also known as Crataeis, and her father Phorcys (4.828-29). This information about Scylla’s parents appears to be superfluous, especially in a speech to Thetis, but the name Crataeis is found in Homer (Od. 12.124)

88 ¹Axelwi¿dej h(dei¿vsi qe/lgousai molpv=sin 4.893ff.). The only way in which their enchanting music is able to be conquered is through the power of music itself.1 For a moment the doubts seem to dissipate as the Argonauts surrender all too easily to the charm of the song (4.903-904). To prevent disaster, Orpheus has to intervene immediately and he does so in a resolute manner. He strings his lyre (4.906), and intones a high-pitched, quick-paced song whose sound makes the ears of the listeners roar (4.907-909). His victory is swift and annihilating: the song of the Sirens is not only drowned out by the thunderous lyre but it is also reduced to an inarticulate, a)/kriton (4.911), voice.2 According to some authors, Proteus had told the Sirens that if ever they failed to enchant someone with their singing, they would die; when Odysseus passed them by, they threw themselves off their cliff.3 Orpheus’ performance is accorded four whole lines and the greatest credit to the power of the Sirens is probably the ferocity of Orpheus’ attack.

Bistoni¿hn e)niì xersiìn e(aiÍj fo/rmigga tanu/ssaj, kraipno\n e)utroxa/loio me/loj kana/xhsen a)oidh=j, oÃfr' aÃmudij klone/ontoj e)pibrome/wntai a)kouai¿ kregm%½: parqeni¿hn d' e)noph\n e)bih/sato fo/rmigc, (IV.906-909)

Orpheus strung the Bistonian lyre in his hands and made the strain of the rippling song quickly ring out, so that their ears might be filled with the ring of the sound. The lyre overcame the voice of the maidens.

Orpheus’ purpose was to fill the ears of the Argonauts with his roaring song, oÃfr' aÃmudij klone/ontoj e)pibrome/wntai a)kouai¿ (4.908), and thus block the seductive melody of the Sirens4. Orpheus, a figure with no counterpart in the Homeric Sirens episode, comes across as truly magnificent. He is the absolute, unmatched singer who reduces powerful enemies to the state of babbling children. He sings with the and, as Hecate, she is of wider significance in the poem generally because of Medea’s devotion to her; the additional details thus tie in both to the Odyssey and to other parts of the Argonautica. Knight (1995), 207. 1 Williams (1991), 206 2 Kyriakou (1995), 198. 3 West (2005), 46. 4 The Sirens are magical creatures, and, even though they may represent some sort of natural force (or even the power of song) in the epic, they are not true elements of landscape. Yet since the Sirens traditionally live on an island in South Italy or Sicily, and they lure ships towards themselves, towards the rocks they inhabit, they should be considered here to be part of their dangerous rocky landscape. Also, in the Orphic Argonautica the Sirens jump into the sea and are turned into rocks (Orph. 1285- 1290 Vian). Even though this is a quite late source, it may be based on an earlier tradition, and it suggests that the Sirens are a personified representation of their dangerous coastline. Williams (1991),206-207

89 power of the winds and the waves. It is no coincidence that after the declaration of the defeat of the Sirens Apollonius refers again to Zephyrus and the sonorous wave (4.910) which take the ship out of harm’s way: Orpheus’ music blends with the elements, smoothly collaborating with them to save the ship.1 For Mopsus, himself an Apolline figure, there is no help from Apollo, and the poet nervously adds that the god could not save him even if he were present.2 The reader of the Argonautica, like the Argonauts themselves, does not have a chance to hear the Sirens’ song or learn anything from it and perceives only a faint echo of the song’s quality.3 The Argonauts, unlike Odysseus, do not know about the Sirens before they encounter them. Orpheus improvises the method for passing them safely, drowning them out by playing his lyre and singing loudly. The wind helps Orpheus (4.891, 4.910) whereas in the Odyssey there was galh/nh .... nhnemi/h ’windless calm’ (Od. 12.168-69). Some features of the narrative are similar to Homer’s account; at least one person in the ship can hear the Sirens but others act to prevent them from responding (Orpheus plays his lyre, Perimedes and Eurylochus pile on more chains). The Argonauts do not have to choose which route to take (this choice is made by Thetis on Hera’s advice), and though Thetis mentions the Rocks to Peleus (4.860-61), the crew have no idea of what Scylla and Charybdis are like. They approach them a)/xei+ sxo/menoi ‘in deep grief (4.920) at the loss of Boutes; this backward-looking reaction is typical of the Argonauts’ communal grief at the loss of one of their number or another friend, but it also recalls how Odysseus and his men were weeping at this point in their travels (Od. 12.234). Although we are told the words of the song which the Sirens sing to Odysseus (Od. 12.184-91), nothing is quoted of the one sung to the Argonauts and the reader does not find out whether they claim knowledge of the Argonauts’ past adventures. The Argonauts are in the same position as the reader in being unable to hear the song’s exact words, but nevertheless they are affected by the song to the extent that they are about to put in (4.903-4). The Sirens are not quite as invincible as Homer implies they are, since the Argonauts can hear them briefly and (with one exception) resist them, even if they were about to give in when Orpheus starts to play. Typically, there is a digression at the end of the episode on the fate of the Athenian Routes (4.912-19). As in Homer, one person is captivated by the Sirens’ song but does not suffer the fate of previous visitors.4

1 Kyriakou (1995), 198, 200, 203. 2 Albis (1996), 116. 3 Kyriakou (1995), 204. 4 Knight (1995), 202-203, 208.

90 Until now the route of Argo has depended upon orientation by visible signs and pre-ordained paths, but the Syrtis landscape is something entirely alien and extraneous to this process. And so for a brief period of time the heroes have a state of disorientation thrust upon them which the uncertainty implied by wandering does not even begin to cover. It is not so much a question of not knowing where to go, as there being, quite literally, nowhere to go to: there are no paths at all in this desolate scene. In a place such as Syrtis the challenge facing the Argonauts is fundamental; though they are not lacking in a navigator, they have no means of navigation. Confronted by this prospect of unlimited isolation, the reaction of the Argonauts is given in two stages. First an unknown hero comments as follows:

Ti¿j xqwÜn euÃxetai hÀde; po/qi cune/wsan aÃellai h(me/aj; aiãq' eÃtlhmen, a)feide/ej ou)lome/noio dei¿matoj, au)ta\ ke/leuqa diampere\j o(rmhqh=nai petra/wn: hÅ t' aÄn kaiì u(pe\r Dio\j aiåsan i¹ou=sin be/lteron hÅn me/ga dh/ ti menoinw¯ontaj o)le/sqai. nu=n de\ ti¿ ken r(e/caimen, e)ruko/menoi a)ne/moisin auÅqi me/nein tutqo/n per e)piì xro/non; oiâon e)rh/mh pe/za diwlugi¿hj a)nape/ptatai h)pei¿roio. (4.I25I-8)

What land does this profess to be? Where have the storm winds brought us? Would that, ignoring our deadly fear, we had dared to travel the same path through the rocks; indeed it would have been better for us to have gone against the will of Zeus and perish while venturing some mighty deed. But now what should we do, if held back by the winds to stay here even but a short time? How desolate stretches the coast of this immense land!

Up to now the Argonauts have never rebelled against the various imperatives and divine ordinances according to which their return journey has been arranged. Here, for the first time, the wisdom of their homeward route is questioned. Compared to what they see all around them, return passage through the Clashing Rocks seems an attractive proposition. The rocks, simply by virtue of the fact that the Argonauts once navigated their way through them, at least have the advantage of being a familiar route, in other words a path (1253). When put to the test the heroes would rather face the prospect of return by a known and, so far as they are aware, potentially lethal route than venture the unknown. The familiar journey, even though it is contrary to the will of the gods and, furthermore, may lead to destruction, is preferred to the unknown place. In the atmosphere of communal despair, the only Argonaut whose reaction is given individual treatment is Ancaeus. In the aftermath of

91 the funeral of Tiphys in book II, Ancaeus was instrumental in dispelling the air of despondency among his comrades. On this occasion the role played by him in the action is entirely the reverse. The initial emotional response of the unnamed Argonaut contains a question: what should we do now? This proves to be merely the rhetorical precursor of a doom-laden speech by Ancaeus, analogous to the defeatism manifested by Jason after the death of Tiphys. Ancaeus casts his practised navigator’s eye over their current predicament, and his assessment of the desolate landscape of Syrtis (1261-71) effectively duplicates the earlier narrative description. The ‘changing of the point of view of the report confirms the apparently terminal nature of this crisis, in that the voices of both narrator and character are in agreement on this issue. Ancaeus’ conclusions are both rational and inevitable:

tou/nek' e)gwÜ pa=san me\n a)p' e)lpi¿da fhmiì keko/fqai nautili¿hj no/stou te: dahmosu/nhn de/ tij aÃlloj fai¿noi e(h/n, pa/ra ga/r oi¸ e)p' oi¹h/kessi qaa/ssein maiome/n% komidh=j: a)ll' ou) ma/la no/stimon hÅmar Zeu\j e)qe/lei kama/toisin e)f' h(mete/roisi tele/ssai. (4.1272-6)

Therefore I declare that all hope has been cut off of our voyage and return. Let some one else show his skill; let him sit at the helm who is eager for rescue; but Zeus has no will to bring about the day of our return after our labours.

Matters have now gone from bad to worse. On their outward journey the Argonauts lost their original steersman to illness. On this occasion Ancaeus, his replacement, makes a conscious decision to abdicate his navigational responsibilities, a decision which meets with affirmation rather than protest from those others who are in the know concerning nautical matters (1277-8). Syrtis thus becomes the location and inspiration for the Argonauts’ most abject and most dramatic surrender to amechania (1308) in the entire voyage. It takes an intervention by the Herossae, the local nymphs of Libya, to rescue the situation, and it is the leader of the expedition, apart from the other Argonauts, whom they address:

Ka/mmore, ti¿pt' e)piì to/sson a)mhxani¿v bebo/lhsai; iãdmen e)poixome/nouj xru/seon de/roj, iãdmen eÀkasta u(mete/rwn kama/twn oÀs' e)piì xqono\j oÀssa t' e)f' u(grh/n plazo/menoi kata\ po/nton u(pe/rbia eÃrga ka/mesqe: oi¹opo/loi d' ei¹me\n xqo/niai qeaiì au)dh/essai, h(rw½ssai Libu/hj timh/oroi h)de\ qu/gatrej. a)ll' aÃna, mhd' eÃti toiÍon o)izu/wn a)ka/xhso, aÃnsthson d' e(ta/rouj: euÅt' aÄn de/ toi ¹Amfitri¿th

92 aÀrma Poseida/wnoj e)u/troxon au)ti¿ka lu/sv, dh/ r(a to/te sfete/rv a)po\ mhte/ri ti¿net' a)moibh/n wÒn eÃkamen dhro\n kata\ nhdu/oj uÃmme fe/rousa, kai¿ ken eÃt' h)gaqe/hn e)j ¹Axaii¿da nosth/saite. (4.1318-29)

Unhappy man, why are you so smitten with despair? We know that all of you went in search of the Golden Fleece and we know each of your toils, all the extraordinary deeds you accomplished, both on land and at sea, while wandering over the ocean. We are the shepherd goddesses of the land, speaking with human voice, the Heroines, guardians and daughters of Libya. But arise, do not any longer groan in distress like this. Rouse your comrades; as soon as Amphitrite lets loose the swift- wheeled chariot of Poseidon, then let you all pay recompense to your mother for her travail when she bore you for so long in the womb; in this way you will return to the divine land of Achaea.

Our assessment of this advice is complicated by the intricacies and ingenuity of Apollonius’ allusive technique. The speech of the nymphs recalls no fewer than four disparate scenes from the Odyssey in which Odysseus is offered assistance of various kinds, assistance in which the Homeric hero places varying degrees of trust. Because of these interlocking layers of literary allusion our perception of the nature of the transaction taking place between the nymphs of Libya and Jason is constantly shifting. The first of Apollonius’ four models is the intervention by the sea-nymph Ino Leucothea as Odysseus is harassed by a storm sent by Poseidon.1

What did Jason learn from these situations?

It is the voyage itself, described in Books I and II, which brings about this basic change in Jason. The episodes of the voyage represent a process of education, as well as stages of a geographical journey. In one way or another, these episodes are all educational; they all contain lessons about the nature of man, the world, and the gods. For Jason, the voyage is a discovery of the world in which he must eventually act. It is also a process of shaping Jason into the kind of man who can effectively and successfully act in this kind of world. Each episode teaches its own lesson, and they may be epitomized as follows: Lemnos and the power of love, Cyzicus and the dangers of war, Mysia (where Heracles is left behind) and the impossibility of

1 Clare (2002), 151-155.

93 heroic action for common men, Bebrycia (where Polydeuces rights Amycus) and the possibilities of intelligence and skill, and finally Thynias (along with the remainder of Book II, which is controlled by Phineus’ prophecy) and the necessity of being pious. Here are the great themes in Apollonius’ contemplation of man and the world: love, war, heroism, intelligence, and piety. In passing through this series of episodes, Jason has his first taste of love and war, and he contemplates the fate of Heracles, the triumph of Polydeuces, and the dispensation of Zeus. Books I and II, far from being a loose string of unrelated episodes, constitute a single pattern, a process of paideia, as the reader follows Jason through these stages of his education and views the process through which he becomes the unique actor of Book III. The first stage of this educational voyage is the initiation of a hitherto innocent Jason into love, on the basic level of sex and procreation. The Lemnian women, angry at their husbands’ infidelity, slaughtered all males on the island. They have now become weary of their condition, and fearful of possible attacks from Thrace, they invite the Argonauts to mingle with them, so that the island may be repopulated with male offspring. Jason mates with the queen and the other Argonauts choose women at random. The scene teems with sexual imagery, involving such symbols as plowing, sowing of seed, sleek cattle, and double gates. Even the name of the queen is symbolic: Hypsipyle, "High Gates." There is not the slightest trace of romance or love in a spiritual sense at Lemnos. There is no falling in love at first sight, no torment of unrequited passion. Love at Lemnos is an affair of convenience. The poet is saving romantic love for Book III and Medea. The city of Myrina is, in fact, not unlike a brothel, the place where any Hellenistic youth would naturally come upon his first experience of sexual love. The city of women is thrown open to the Argonauts; they dally there for a time; and then they depart with fond farewells, never to return. For Jason this visit to the brothel city is his first experience of love’s attractions and thus represents an appropriate first step in a process of awakening and discovery during the formative voyage. If one glances ahead, it is clear that Jason’s experience on Lemnos anticipates his exploitation of love as a means to his ends at Colchis. Lemnos is thus one stage in the formation of Jason into the knowledgable and uniquely resourceful actor of Book III. In the Cyzicus episode the poet uses a narrative technique which is odd in that each separate action appears to be an invention based on the names of places in the Cyzicene landscape. This technique and an almost colorless style of reporting events must not blind the reader to a carefully plotted pattern of action which constitutes a tragedy of love and war. The newly married Cyzicus has been advised that when a company of heroes arrives, he must receive them in a kindly manner

94 and not resort to war. Leaving his bridal chamber, he receives the Argonauts with hospitality, and momentarily escapes his fate. The following night the Argonauts are driven by adverse winds back to Cyzicus without knowing it. The Doliones believe that they are being attacked by hostile Macrians, and Cyzicus again leaves his bridal chamber, never to return, for he falls beneath Jason’s spear in the night battle. Here is a tragic misunderstanding, as Jason slays his host, as well as a tragic end to Cyzicus’ and Clite’s love. The Argonauts grieve at sight of the dead king, but the poet shows that his major focus is on the love tragedy as he describes Clite’s suicide, the metamorphosis of her tears into a fountain, and the people’s grief (1.1063-77). The tragic and pathetic aftermath of the night battle stands in sharp contrast to that of the other battle at Cyzicus: Heracles’ slaying of the earthborn giants. The reader has no sympathy for these subhuman creatures, and they lie on the shore the prey of birds and fishes (1.1011). No such neutral reaction is possible to the night battle, for the Argonauts destroy two things of basic human value—a friend and a lover. This tragic movement from love to war is an inversion of the movement in the Lemnian episode from the threat of war to love. For Jason, these episodes are part of a process of discovery, as he comes to experience and contemplate love and war as two major aspects of the human condition. Coming upon them one after the other, Jason may easily evaluate the relative merits of love and war, and while he is so attracted to the former that Heracles must intervene to get the expedition moving again, his reaction to the night battle can only be one of sorrow (stugero\n. . . a)/xoj1.1054). Delay at Cyzicus is forced, not voluntary, and when shown a means of escape Jason rejoices and quickly carries it through. The full impact of the tragic night battle on Jason is best illustrated by his future actions. He departed from home bearing arms and with a martial appearance (a)rh/ioj1.349). True to this traditional heroic attitude, he is the first to slay his man in the night battle. In the future, however, he will avoid war whenever possible, and will be slow to enter battle when it is necessary. While at Cyzicus the Argonauts rout the Doliones as hawks frighten doves (1.1049-50), at Colchis Jason sides with the doves and not the hawks (3.541). The episode at Cyzicus teaches Jason to hate war just as effectively as the episode at Lemnos teaches him the efficacious power of love. These are the only episodes during the voyage in which Jason plays a key role as actor. Only here does Jason learn from his own actions. In the next three episodes Jason is spectator to the actions of others. Apollonius leaves it to the reader to reconstruct in his own imagination the impact these experiences might have on a Jason who

95 has already been described as "pondering each thing within himself (1.460-61). At Mysia the divinely intended removal of the heroic Heracles not only throws Jason back upon his own resources, but also points up the gulf separating the old-time hero from Jason and suggests that, if he is to succeed, he must find some new approach to action in keeping with his purely human abilities. Throughout Book I Heracles has served as crutch to Jason and three times he has saved the expedition single-handed. He is undoubtedly the greatest figure among the Argonauts, but Jason learns nothing from him. Jason did desire his presence on the expedition, but Heracles seems to exist in a realm apart, and Jason never attempts to rise to Heracles’ heroic level. Perhaps Jason intuitively knows that Heracles’ heroic eminence is not for him, a common mortal. If so, his realization is confirmed by Glaucus, who describes the different fate in store for Heracles and advises the Argonauts to have no yearning after him. Events at Mysia thus teach Jason that he cannot rely on Heraclean heroics but must forge his own approach to action. The triumph of intelligence and skill, which Jason witnesses in Polydeuces’ boxing match with Amycus and in Tiphys’ overcoming the wave early in Book II, is a partial indication of what this new approach must be. Phineus’ advice and the revelation of the dispensation of Zeus admonish him to supplement human skill with divine help. These scenes teach Jason how ordinary mortals can survive and succeed through the purely human resources of intelligence and skill and through piety and the gods. What Jason experiences and contemplates on the outward voyage thus goes far toward transforming him into the anti-heroic actor of Book III who will shun war and exploit love, avoid force and utilize divine aid.1

1 Lawall (1966), 149-152.

96 III: The Marine Similes in the Argonautica

Concept of the Simile:

Simile is specifically designated in classical literature by two and only two words, Latin similitudo and Greek eiãkwn. Unfortunately, similitudo (despite Harpers’) does not mean "simile" as the thing adduced for comparison. Like all such nouns ending in -tudo, it expresses an abstract concept and refers rather to the process of adducing, to simile as a device. Cicero shows this in defining similitudo as oratio traducens ad rent quampiam aliquid ex re dispart simile, "a use of language to transfer to any thing some similar quality from a different thing." Unlike similitudo, the word eiãkwn in Greek does mean "simile" as such, the thing compared and not the process of comparison. Exactly as in the case of its English transliteration "icon," the original and predominating sense of the word is "image," the literary usage being secondary. This original meaning may be expressed, however, not only by "image" but by "likeness"; the same root produced the common verb eÃoika, "to be like" (also "to seem," in Attic). The idea of an image or a likeness implies that the Greeks, when they used simile, possibly meant to convey something more than mere similarity in our sense. The situation seems rather to be one of identity, dimly conceived but strongly felt. A notion of identity underlies Latin similis also: its root *sem- appears in Latin simul and Greek aÀma, both expressing temporal identity, and also in Greek. o(mo/j, meaning "one and the same" or "jointly possessed," with its genitive o(mou= becoming an adverb, "together" in space or time. Finally, similis is paralleled morphologically by Greek o(malo\j, meaning "even" or "level" and also "of equal degree." These facts of language do not prove the conjecture advanced here. They do suggest that it may be profitable to examine the uses of simile. At this point the objection could well be raised, that in the case of Homer much solid work has already been done. No one could deny it. Even if the field be limited to books written in English, a number of examples readily came to mind: Jebb’s Homer, which retains striking value after more than a half-century; Bassett’s Sather Lectures, The Poetry of Homer, still considered by many to be the foremost American contribution to this field of scholarship; and Bowra’s Tradition and Design in the Iliad, with its characteristic union of flawless style and compelling argument. From Bowra in particular we have learned the various purposes for which a Homeric simile may be used—to mark, for example, an important pause or crisis in the action, or again to

97 illuminate the different aspects of individual natures or the successive stages of a complex situation, always providing perspective and a kind of relief by altering the focus of attention. A recent book by the German scholar Roland Hampe has provided a needed supplement to Bowra’s remarks. Hampe here argues that the Homeric simile, represents the most concise available means of stating a conception in the most highly poetic manner possible. He also establishes the important related point that the simile does not serve as a mere addition to the main narrative, but actually replaces it, conveying what could not in point of fact be expressed through regular narration. The comparison, he says further, may not infrequently be made in depth, with several points of contact; there is no reason, accordingly, to seize on a single aspect of such similes and dismiss all the rest as irrelevant, though beautiful. Hampe’s claim that the similes replace Homer’s narrative in a vitally meaningful way needs a counter-balance. This is provided earlier in his book, when he states that they are not employed for their own sake, but have in every case a dependent relationship to the characters and events of the poem. Most readers of the Iliad and Odyssey will accept his remark as true, if rather obvious; yet one finds even so admirable a scholar as Professor Notopoulos speaking of the "ornamentation" of Homer’s similes. The choice of terms scarcely seems a happy one, for we are not dealing here with random embellishment. As Mackail pointed out almost fifty years ago, "In poetry of a low heat this [the simile] tends to become merely ornamental . . . but in poetry of a high temperature"-and Mackail is speaking of Homer- "any enrichment which is mere decoration is out of place; it only interrupts and retards, unless together with its quality as ornament it illuminates its context." Perhaps, we need less concern with phonograph records of Jugoslav bards and more awareness that Homeric epic is sophisticated court poetry. The complex of ideas now set up permits us to re-examine the suggestion made earlier that simile actually deals with a kind of identity. It was seen that the Greek and Latin words most closely related to this concept show a powerful tendency toward expressing sameness rapier than likeness in their root meanings. Such a line of argument may seem to be countered by the fact of our traditional definitions of simile and metaphor. We commonly distinguish one from the other by saying that the former maintains’ A is like B, while the latter states or implies that A is B. In doing so we often assume the two categories to be distinct, and indeed mutually exclusive. We argue that such an assumption does violence to the facts. It may be worth mentioning that Aristotle, while he gives the same working definitions as those just mentioned, also has this to say: "The simile is also a metaphor; the difference is but slight. . . . They are really the same thing." The philosophical question of identity raises

98 appalling difficulties, and no attempt will be made here to define the essential nature of the simile within a philosophical frame of reference. Even Plato’s brilliant Theory of Forms, we recall, comes crashing down when the question is raised of just how these archetypes can participate in reality. Yet, without being sure how to define identity, one may find grounds for denying the common assumption that metaphor involves identity while simile does not. It is already known and admitted that Homeric simile on the most primitive level does reflect a strong element of identity. When the nymph Thetis comes out of the sea "like a mist" (h)u/+t' o)mi¿xlh) the comparison reveals her almost certain origin in the sea-mist that steals up onto the land. The half-dozen simile; of Beowulf have this primitiveness; it is the hallmark of saga, and Homeric scholarship has begun to realize that the elaborated similes of the Iliad and Odyssey constitute a different, and later, development. Much has been written concerning the nature of extended simile as we find it first in Homer. Bassett, for example, shows its affinities with the substance and mood of lyric poetry. Some of the practical purposes it serves have been mentioned here, and one cannot readily imagine any important addition being made to Bowra’s remarks. The actual significance of the simile, however, has received surprisingly little attention until very recently. Hasty references to such qualities as "relief," "illumination," and "insight" were the sum of what an English-speaking reader could find, and these plainly were not enough. The situation is different now, thanks to the work of a group of German scholars whose best thinking is represented in Wolfgang Schadewaldt’s exciting collection of essays called Von Welt und Werk. The difference may be said to be a change of direction. No longer is the simile regarded as essentially an ornament; instead, it has been discovered to have an integral and profoundly important part in Homer’s method of presenting reality. Seen in this new light, Homer’s similes convey aspects of experience not at second hand but with immediacy. To say this much is to give only a hint of what might be said. Nevertheless, we must now proceed by indirection, attempting to reveal something of Homer’s technique as we consider two of those who followed him in the epic tradition, Apollonius Rhodius and Vergil. Half a millennium lies between Homer and Apollonius. During those centuries, a wealth of powerful new literary forms had displaced epic in mainland Greece. Only on the coasts and islands of southwestern Asia Minor did it retain the ability to survive; and to this region, to the island of Rhodes, Apollonius came in his disgust with the miniature-makers of Alexandria.

99 Callimachus, the T. S. Eliot of the Alexandrian literary scene, had said me/ga bibli¿on me/ga kako\n, "A lengthy book is a lengthy bore." Apollonius thought otherwise; and out of his conviction was born, in a long travail, the Argonautica. He proposed to relate a story well-known even to Homer, the quest of those who sailed on the Argo to find the Golden Fleece, but the heart and meaning of his work is the fatal encounter between Jason and Medea. He wrote the first romantic epic.1

The First Book:

1- 540-546

The climactic moment of the Pagasaean sequence is the departure of Argo, a scene in which Orpheus also figures prominently. As the ship moves out of the harbour the rowers mark time to the music of Orpheus’ lyre:

wÒj oi¸ u(p' ¹Orfh=oj kiqa/rv pe/plhgon e)retmoiÍj po/ntou la/bron uÀdwr, e)piì de\ r(o/qia klu/zonto: a)fr%½ d' eÃnqa kaiì eÃnqa kelainh\ kh/kien aÀlmh deino\n mormu/rousa perisqene/wn me/nei a)ndrw½n, stra/pte d' u(p' h)eli¿% flogiì eiãkela nho\j i¹ou/shj teu/xea: makraiì d' ai¹e\n e)leukai¿nonto ke/leuqoi, a)trapo\j wÑj xloeroiÍo dieidome/nh pedi¿oio. (1.540-6)

So did the heroes to the sound of Orpheus’ lyre strike with their oars the rough water of the sea, making the waves surge up. On this side and that the dark sea seethed with foam, churning terribly at the strength of these powerful men. Their armour shone in the sun like a flame as the ship advanced, and the ship’s long wake gleamed ever white, like a path clearly visible over a green plain.

Apollonius does not designate Argo as the first ever ship, and its embarkation does not mark the invention of navigation. Yet in these opening moments of the Argonautic expedition the unprecedented nature of what is taking place is emphasised by means of a simile, the symbolic function of which is to point up the status of the voyage as a pioneering venture. The picturesque, painterly quality of the description of Argo’s departure has long been noted, and by means of the striking central comparison the motif of path imagery associated with the voyage continues: the speed of the ship on departure is such

1 Anderson (1957), 81-83.

100 that the path made by its white wake is as vivid as a path visible on a green plain. In other words a path is opened up by the movement of Argo in the sea, a mark which in its visual distinctiveness is comparable to a track over land. The simile implies that the ship’s passage imposes order upon the sea, normally that most insubstantial and unpredictable of spaces. This suggestion is reinforced by the juxtaposition of ai)e\n and ke/leuqoi in 545, a juxtaposition reminiscent of the cosmic order previously sung of by Orpheus (cf. 1.499-500).1

2- 569-579.

As the Argo sails out of the Gulf of Pagasae along the Tisaean headland (1.565 ff.), Orpheus plays his lyre and sings a hymn to Artemis which has the effect of causing fish, large and small, to follow the ship. In a simile which would seem at first to add more color than content, Apollonius compares this delightful picture of the Argo under sail to an idyllic scene in which a shepherd leads his sheep to the accompaniment of a bucolic tune toward his hut:

toiÍsi de\ formi¿zwn eu)qh/moni me/lpen a)oidv= Oi¹a/groio pa/ij Nhosso/on eu)pate/reian ãArtemin, hÁ kei¿naj skopia\j a(lo\j a)mfie/pesken r(uome/nh kaiì gaiÍan ¹Iwlki¿da. toiì de\ baqei¿hj i¹xqu/ej a)i¿ssontej uÀperq' a(lo/j, aÃmmiga pau/roij aÃpletoi, u(gra\ ke/leuqa diaskai¿rontej eÀponto: w¨j d' o(po/t' a)grau/loio met' iãxnia shmanth=roj muri¿a mh=l' e)fe/pontai aÃdhn kekorhme/na poi¿hj ei¹j auÅlin, o( de/ t' eiåsi pa/roj, su/riggi ligei¿v kala\ melizo/menoj no/mion me/loj®wÒj aÃra toi¿ge w¨ma/rteun: th\n d' ai¹e\n e)passu/teroj fe/ren ouÅroj. (I. 569-579)

And for them the son of Oeagrus touched his lyre and sang in rhythmical song of Artemis, saviour of ships, child of a glorious sire, who hath in her keeping those peaks by the sea, and the land of lolcos ; and the fishes came darting through the deep sea, great mixed with small, and followed gambolling along the watery paths. And as when in the track of the shepherd, their master, countless sheep follow to the fold that have fed to the full of grass, and he goes before gaily piping a shepherd’s strain on his shrill reed; so these fishes followed; and a chasing breeze ever bore the ship onward.

1 Clare (2002), 59-60.

101 With the famous sacrifice to Artemis in mind, one will see a rather mundane detail in the preceding simile in a different light. The shepherd playing his pastoral tune was leading his sheep toward his hut, ei¹j auÅlin. Captivated by Orpheus’ hymn to Artemis, fish follow the Argo as it sails to a place where the Argonauts have an experience comparable to the celebrated delay of the Trojan expedition at Aulis.1 The image of the simile is, as so often, Homeric (cf. Il. 13.491-93), but overlaid with more contemporary bucolic additions: cf. Theocritus. 7.89, 20.28. Clauss (105) suggests that "to their steading" (ei¹j auÅlin,, eis aulin) contains a punning allusion to Aulis, and the wind delay that held up the Greek fleet there. I find this ingenious rather than convincing: like so much recent scholarship on the period, it seems determined to beat the Alexandrian pedants at their own game.2 Anti-war accents dominate other Apollonian similes too. As the Argo sails off, Orpheus plays the lyre: the joyous mood is brought out by a simile that alludes to a scene of harvest and dance in the Homeric description of the Shield (1.536 ff.; Il. 18.567 ff.). This mood lasts as the voyage goes on. Orpheus sings, and fishes, great mixed with small, follow gambolling the ship’s course as when countless sheep follow the shepherd who plays his pipe (1.572 ff.). In Homer warriors follow their leaders into battle, "as sheep fat from grazing follow the ram, and the shepherd is happy" (Il. 13.491 ff.). Apollonius transfers the simile to a context of idyllic harmony, thus setting a definitely unwarlike tone right from the start of the expedition. 3 The connection between sea travel and poetry appears here in this simile whereas it concludes the description of the Argo’s outset. The poet describes fish following the ship in order to listen to Orpheus’ song and compares them to a flock of sheep following its shepherd’s piping (1.569-579). By means of this simile, Apollonius emphasizes the continuity of the fishes’ accompaniment of the Argo; they are like sheep that follow the shepherd all the way to the fold. The poet likewise emphasizes that all the while Orpheus plays his music and the fish follow, the breeze continuously (ai)e/n) furthers the progress of the ship. The continuity of both Orpheus’ song and the blowing of the breeze, the sense of which is underscored by the imperfect tense of the verbs (me/lpen, w(ma/rteun, fe/ren), invites one to associate the forward movement of the ship with the composition of poetry.4

1 Clauss (1989), 196-197. 2 Green (1997), 211. 3 Rengakos, A. & T. D. Papahghelis (2001),162. 4 Albis (1996), 48-49.

102 3- 1198-1205.

The last episode in which Heracles plays an active role occurs in the territory of Mysia. Having departed from the land of the Doliones, the Argonauts, finding a windless sea, begin to compete with one another in a rowing contest. However, when the wind arises all the Argonauts but Heracles set aside their oars. Apollonius suggests that the Argonauts were wise to set aside their oars. For when Heracles alone of the Argonauts rowed with all his might the timbers of the ship began to quiver. Heracles had plied his oar so mightily that the oar broke. The breaking of the oar proves to be the motivation behind the Argonauts disembarking on Mysian territory to find a new oar for the hero. Heracles, who on Lemnos was exceedingly eager to stop the interruption of the journey, now delays the expedition himself. This incident suggests in a subtle way how incompatible the strength of Heracles is for the expedition, for despite his amassed energy the goal of the mission cannot be gained according to Apollonius’ version. The Mysians welcomed the Argonauts quite hospitably. After the evening meal the Argonauts prepared for relaxation and bed. But Heracles had something else in mind. He set out (1187ff) to find a tree which he could fashion into a new oar, while Hylas, his squire, was sent to fetch water. Heracles has found a pine tree, erotically described as:

euÂren eÃpeit' e)la/thn a)lalh/menoj ouÃte ti polloiÍj a)xqome/nhn oÃzoij ou)de\ me/ga thleqo/wsan, a)ll' oiâon tanah=j eÃrnoj pe/lei ai¹gei¿roio: to/ssh o(mw½j mh=ko/j te kaiì e)j pa/xoj hÅen i¹de/sqai. (1190-3).

Wandering about he found a pine not burdened with many branches, nor too full of leaves, but like to the shaft of a tall poplar; so great was it both in length and thickness to look at.

This pine he intends to fashion into a new oar. Heracles must rip this young tree out of the ground. Setting his weaponry aside and gripping the tree fast he plucked the tree out of the ground along with the clods of earth. Heracles’ terrific strength and violence seen in the narrative Apollonius magnifies through a simile which compares him to a swift autumn wind blast that unexpectedly strikes a ship and wrenches away a ship’s mast along with the stays.

e)n de\ platu\n wÕmon eÃreisen euÅ diaba/j: pedo/qen de\ baqu/rrizo/n per e)ou=san prosfu\j e)ch/eire su\n au)toiÍj eÃxmasi gai¿hj. w¨j d' oÀtan a)profa/twj i¸sto\n neo/j, euÅte ma/lista

103 xeimeri¿h o)looiÍo du/sij pe/lei ¹Wri¿wnoj, u(yo/qen e)mplh/casa qoh\ a)ne/moio kata/ic au)toiÍsi sfh/nessin u(pe\k proto/nwn e)ru/shtai. wÒj oÀge th\n hÃeiren: (1198-1205).

and he pressed it against his broad shoulder with legs wide apart; and clinging close he raised it from the ground deep-rooted though it was, together with clods of earth. And as when unexpectedly, just at the time of the stormy setting of baleful Orion, a swift gust of wind strikes down from above, and wrenches a ship’s mast from its stays, wedges and all ; so did Heracles lift the pine.

So far in the Argonautica only Jason has been particularized by simile. There are many similes likewise applied to the Argonauts but only collectively, even some of these are potentially as violent as the present simile. But none other than Jason and here Heracles are individualized. This simile, however, stands out distinctly primarily because it particularizes Heracles and similarity because its violent development shows how powerful and violent Heracles is of all the Argonauts and to the expedition, xeimeri¿h o)looiÍo du/sij, pe/lei ¹Wri¿wnoj, e)mplh/casa qoh\...kata/ic and e)ru/shtai along with the vividness of the image add to the violent intensity of the wind, and, by analogy, to that of Heracles. Once again the scholiast felt that the poet has aptly developed this simile, for the analogies which can easily be made between simile and narrative are numerous and distinct. The scholiast has equated the pine tree with the ship’s mast, the whole appearance of the hero with the wintry setting, and specifically the strength of the hero with the powerful wind-blast. Finally the roots of the tree are equated with the forestays of the mast. From narrative to simile the poet has bound together all the loose ends. Yet the scholiast might have added more. More to the point is the fact that the Argonautica is essentially a sea voyage. The expansion of the simile, through which Heracles is portrayed as a violent wind that during the setting of Orion strikes a ship and wrenches away the ship’s mast, suggests that Heracles himself is a danger to the Argonauts and their voyage just as this wind is a danger to the ship in the simile. This simile must surely have been so designed by Apollonius to show how dangerous and unsuitable this hero was for the sea-voyage. Accordingly Heracles was set aside by the Argonauts. Once again this simile suggests how different Heracles is from the Argonauts, for if anyone is antithetical to sea travellers it would be a land traveller.1

1 Broeniman (1989), 118-121, 133.

104 In this simile there is a parallel between skill and force occurs when Herakles pulls the great pine tree from the ground (1.1190). This simile describes his great strength and exertion is that of the wind lifting the mast of a ship (1.1201-1205); through this simile the contrast of might and skill is again expressed. This time, Herakles is likened to a force of nature, the wind, while the tree is ironically compared to part of a ship, the ultimate image of man’s civilization in the Argonautica. The choice of this simile clearly is designed to continue one of Apollonius’ standard themes.

The Second Book:

1- 67-75.

In the Argonautica, as in the Iliad, similes are concentrated in passages of great action; Apollonius places many of his similes in the episodes of the boxing match between Amycus and Polydeuces and of Jason’s contest in the same manner in which Homer uses the majority of his similes in battle scenes. The Amycus simile helps to explain one reason for the many similes containing references to the sea and waves. Of course, such imagery is suitable for a sea journey and these images help to remind the reader that the sea is never far from the Argonauts or the story. But the great achievement of the Argo is that it and its crew are able overcome the sea, the waves, and the length of their voyage, not only in the Clashing Rocks episode but through the whole epic. References to the sea and the waves may be interpreted as reminders of the natural element of the Argonauts, where they are able to function best. As such, they may be considered positive signs, good omens in the poem. For example, in Jason’s contest, the hero withstands the breath of the bulls like a reef at sea (3. 1293-5), the breath of the bulls is like the winds at sea (3.1326-9), and the Colchians cry like the roar of the ocean (3.1370-1). Later the serpent will relax its coils like a wave over the deep (4. 152-3), and the pursuing Colchians in assembly will be as numerous as waves or leaves (4.214-215. All these foes of Jason and the Argonauts are characterized by the imagery of the sea so that they will appear wild and dangerous, yet at the same time there is a suggestion that they will be able to be overcome because the Argonauts are masters of the seas. The content of the similes in these examples helps to suggest danger and thus increase the tension, but at the same time is reassuring. Again, in the Clashing Rocks episode the great wave is "like a rock"(skopi$= i)/son 2.581), a phrase which adds to the rocky landscape, and the foam of the sea is similar to a cloud (2.566). The poet also

105 uses a cylinder to describe the ship (2.594), a simile which does not contain landscape but nevertheless helps to describe the curved and rolling waves of the narrative landscape.1 Now, after the Argonauts left Heracles and Hylas by the will of Zeus, arrived to land of Bebrycians. Whereas the boxing match between Amycus the king of the Bebrycians and Polydeuces.

Oi¸ d' e)peiì ouÅn e)n i¸ma=si diastado\n h)rtu/nanto, au)ti¿k' a)nasxo/menoi r(eqe/wn propa/roiqe barei¿aj xeiÍraj, e)p' a)llh/loisi me/noj fe/ron a)ntio/wntej. eÃnqa de\ Bebru/kwn me\n aÃnac, aÀte ku=ma qala/sshj trhxu\ qov= e)piì nhiì koru/ssetai, h( d' u(po\ tutqo/n i¹drei¿v pukinoiÍo kubernhth=roj a)lu/skei i¸eme/nou fore/esqai eÃsw toi¿xoio klu/dwnoj, wÒj oÀge Tundari¿dhn fobe/wn eÀpet' ou)de/ min eiãa dhqu/nein. (II. 67-75)

Now when they stood apart and were ready with their gauntlets, straightway in front of their faces they raised their heavy hands and matched their might in deadly strife. Hereupon the Bebryeian king—even as a fierce wave of the sea rises in a crest against a swift ship, but she by the skill of the crafty pilot just escapes the shock when the billow is eager to break over the bulwark—so he followed up the son of Tyndareus, trying to daunt him, and gave him no respite.

Not only does Theocritus supply a verbal duel between the combatants-to-be; he also allows more detailed treatment of the actual physical clash (22,80-130) than does Apollonius (II. 67-97). The Syracusan seems much more interested in setting forth a painstakingly realistic account of every stage of the skirmish. His narrative, moreover, is stripped bare of everything which might be considered at all digressive, even imagery. Apollonius, by contrast, crams his version with similes. In the space of thirty-odd verses count at least four. The first (II. 70-76) may be diagrammed as follows:

Polydeuces: Amycus = Skillful Pilot: Threatening Wave

Whereas Apollonius shows Polydeuces to have kept escaping Amycus’ initial onslaught through his own contrivance, much as a ship, thanks to the expertise of its clever helmsman (i¹drei¿v pukinoiÍo kubernhth=roj) (72), narrowly averts becoming swamped in rough seas, Theocritus eschews any attempt at such analogies. He simply attributes to Polydeuces directly the very quality which is

1 Williams (1991), 260, 264-267.

106 attributed to him indirectly by Apollonius. Theocritus’ hero, however, employs his i¹drei¿v not to avert crushing blows, as is the intent of Polydeuces in the Argonautica, but to trick his adversary into fighting with the sun in his eyes (22, 85.) a stratagem which Apollonius never even mentions.1 Here Amycus is depicted as a wave (force and violence), Polydeuces is the steersman who avoids it (skill): as Rose (125) reminds us, Tiphys will soon twice (169-76, 580-87) maneuver Argo clear of huge and dangerous waves, so that "the simile makes: Amycus into a human counterpart to the natural peril of the Rocks".2 "Even as a fierce wave of the sea crests (koru/ssetai) against a swift ship, but she by the skill of the crafty helmsman just escapes the wave….." thus did Amycus pursue Polydeuces, yet the latter through his skill kept him running in vain (2.70). In the Iliad the Greeks storm into battle like a wave which rises in a crest (koru/ssetai) in the sea to break upon the shore (Il. 4.422). By applying it to the blind fury of a fighting barbarian, whose fu/sij succumbs to the superior te/xnh of his opponent, Apollonius lends the simile an anti-Homeric accent." The elemental power of the bulls overcome by Jason is unavailing too. They rage and breathe flames of fire, and their breath rises "like the roar of blustering winds (bukta/wn a)ne/mwn), in fear of which the sailors furl their large sail"; yet soon after they moved on in obedience (3.1326 ff.). In Il. 15.624. Hektor falls upon the Greeks like a fierce wave on a ship; the wind howls and the seamen tremble in fear.3 Polydeuces’ boxing match with Amycus is another illustration of triumphant skill. This event is the first episode after the abandonment of Heracles, and it is a test to see how the Argonauts behave without their experienced and mighty elder. The young men do survive, but through skill rather than brute force (cf. 2.145-53). The scene as a whole symbolizes the victory of civilization over barbarism, of intelligence and skill over brawn. A black-and-white contrast is drawn between Polydeuces and Amycus. The latter is insolent in his challenge, the former righteously indignant (2.19-20). Polydeuces wears a light-weight cloak given him as a present by one of the Lemnian women (note the emphasis on hospitality and civilized conventions), while Amycus wears a dark, double-folded robe with clasps and carries a rough shepherd’s staff made of wild olive (2.30- 34). Amycus’ clothes and weapons are primitive and rustic, as are those of Heracles. Amycus is likened to a son of Typhus, or a monster begotten by Earth in anger at Zeus, whereas Polydeuces, the son of

1 Levin (1971), 140-141. 2 Green (1997), 234. 3 Rengakos, A. & T. D. Papahghelis (2001), 158-159.

107 Zeus, is like a heavenly star in his youthful beauty (2.38-42). Polydeuces tests his skill before the match by swinging his arms, while Amycus stands still, his heart swelling with bloodthirsty thoughts (2.45-50). Amycus’ gauntlets are raw and harsh (2.53) just like his character. Polydeuces’ quiet smile (2.61) reveals his innate noble spirit and his intelligent self-confidence. The scene is thus carefully built up as a confrontation of civilized skill against barbaric force. In the match itself, Amycus’ frontal attacks are parried by Polydeuces’ cleverness. Amycus constantly attacks, not leaving his opponent free for a moment, but Polydeuces remains unscathed, escaping the assault "through his intelligence" (2.74-6). A parallel is drawn between Polydeuces’ skill and that of a helmsman; Amycus is like a wave rearing its crest above a ship, which just barely escapes "through the knowledge of the skillful helmsman" (2.70-73). This simile draws together Apollonius’ two chief examples of technē. For a moment Polydeuces and Amycus are equally matched (2.85-9), but the final scene shows skill and trickery vanquishing force (2.90-96). Amycus rises on his toes (just as the wave in the simile rears its menacing crest) and is about to land a blow on Polydeuces’ head. The latter leans to the side and receives the blow on his shoulder instead. Quick footwork then puts him in a position to deal a death blow to Amycus’ temple. He escapes Amycus’ onslaught as the helmsman does that of the wave.1 There is a mention of shipbuilding occurs in the episode of the boxing match when Polydeuces is said to baffle Amycus by his skill as carpenters strike planks to fasten them with bolts (II.79-83). The same interpretation of skill versus strength is valid here with Polydeuces clearly the superior over the more wild, less civilized Amycus.2 The match as Apollonius tells it developed in three phases, marked by three similes which serve to weight and point the rather cursory narrative. At first Amycus rushed upon his opponent (with elemental vehemence). As when a rough wave puts on a crest and dashes against a swift ship, but the intelligent pilot manages to escape the billow just as it is eager to break over the gunwale: even so (towering) Amycus kept pursuing his (shorter) adversary (and, like the wave that wants to jump the gunwale, tried to climb over his guard with high blows), but Polydeuces dodged cleverly and was never hit (70-76). It did not take Polydeuces long to size up the king’s crude style and to understand its strong and weak points. Soon he stood his ground, and they both exchanged blows (76-78). The simile which illustrates this second phase combines elements from three fields in which

1 Lawall (1966), 132-134. 2 Williams (1991), 264.

108 Apollonius was especially interested: nautical lore, mechanics, and psychology. The noise of the boxing is likened to that to "lie heard in a shipyard; and the hints which the text gives for a more precise interpretation are inconspicuous but adequate:

w¨j d' oÀte nh/ia dou=ra qooiÍj a)nti¿coa go/mfoij a)ne/rej u(lhourgoiì e)piblh/dhn e)la/ontej qei¿nwsi sfu/rvsin, e)p' aÃll% d' aÃlloj aÃhtai dou=poj aÃdhn. wÒj toiÍsi parh/ia/ t' a)mfote/rwqen kaiì ge/nuej ktu/peon, bruxh\ d' u(pete/llet' o)do/ntwn aÃspetoj: ou)d' eÃllhcan e)pistado\n ou)ta/zontej eÃste per ou)loo\n aÅsqma kaiì a)mfote/rouj e)da/massen. (2.79-85)

And as when shipwrights with their hammers smite ships’ timbers to meet the sharp clamps, fixing layer upon layer; and the blows resound one after another; so cheeks and jaws crashed on both sides, and a huge clattering of teeth arose, nor did they cease ever from striking their blows until laboured gasping overcame both.

The pieces of which the curving ribs consist are being fitted together in the yard, and the two edges which are to be joined have dowels stuck into them (similar to teeth projecting from a jaw). As hammers rhythmically pound the lumber from without, the dowels within are forced into the edge of the other piece with a screeching sound: even so did the blows of the boxers rhythmically thud on cheeks and chins outside, and on the inside their teeth crunched. The mechanics, involved are indeed very much alike in both cases, and the sympathetic reader will also appreciate the excruciating pain of the boxers as their teeth were smashed in.1 The importance of mh=tij and te/xnh in nautical matters is also emphasized in a series of similes in the boxing match in book II: mh=tij at avoiding his boxing opponent’s tactics is likened to the skill of a ship’s pilot escaping waves by mh=tij (2.75) as well as to the actual building of a ship (2.79-82). Later we learn that Athena skillfully built the Argo (texnh/sato, 2. 1187). Mh=tij in the Argonautica thus seems to be the plan produced by intellectual application; the mh=tij can be carried out through te/xnh, among other methods.2

2- 262-269.

1 Fränkel (1952), 148-149. 2 Holmberg (1998), 138.

109 Phineus has transgressed Zeus’ will by revealing to mortals the god’s intentions explicitly and completely. He is punished for this humanitarian act by a lengthy old age, blindness, and the harpies. His situation stands as a warning to mortals and points up the need for reverence (opis, cf. 2.181). Man must know his human limits and not transgress on god’s domain. The Boreads see this lesson in Phineus’ predicament, and they refuse to pursue the harpies before Phineus assures them that in so doing they will not incur divine displeasure (2.248-53). Likewise, when in pursuit of the harpies, the Boreads yield to Iris’ oath (2.295) and desist rather than transgressing themis by slaying them (2.288-9). Phineus himself has now learned to respect themis (2.311), and he gives the Argonauts an incomplete prophecy, for such is the will of Zeus (2.313-16). Man’s position in the cosmic hierarchy is thus well defined. Piety and reverence must restrain man’s presumption and ambition. Any transgression of the limits set by Zeus (i.e. themis) will be punished, but if man is piously cautious he may work with Zeus in fulfilling Zeus’ plans, as do the Boreads in driving away the harpies and ending Phineus’ punishment. The plans of Zeus cannot be known fully by man beforehand, but seers can reveal them partially, thus putting man on the right path without making him equal to the gods or depriving him of freedom of will or choice.1

TwÜ me\n eÃpeiq' oÀrk%, kaiì a)lalke/menai mene/ainon: aiåya de\ kouro/teroi peponh/ato daiÍta ge/ronti, loi¿sqion ¸Arpui¿vsin e(lw¯rion: e)ggu/qi d' aÃmfw sth=san, iàna cife/essin e)pessume/naj e)la/seian. kaiì dh\ ta\ prw¯tisq' o( ge/rwn eÃyauen e)dwdh=j, ai¸ d' aÃfar, h)u/t' aÃellai a)deuke/ej hÄ steropaiì wÐj, a)pro/fatoi nefe/wn e)ca/lmenai e)sseu/onto klaggv= maimw¯wsai e)dhtu/oj. oi¸ d' e)sido/ntej hÀrwej messhgu\j a)ni¿axon. (II. 262-269).

Then were those two eager to help him because of the oath. And quickly the younger heroes prepared a feast for the aged man, a last prey for the Harpies; and both stood near him, to smite with the sword those pests when they swooped down. Scarcely had the aged man touched the food when they forthwith, like bitter blasts or flashes of lightning, suddenly darted from the clouds, and swooped down with a yell, fiercely craving for food; and the heroes beheld them and shouted in the midst of their onrush;

The Harpies seem to have had elements in them ab initio of both bird and wind: so Hesiod Theog. 268-69. The wind notion is still there

1 Lawall (1966), 144.

110 in Apollonius’s version (e.g., at 267), but their main inspiration is clearly avian: in particular the scavenging kites and vultures so common in antiquity (and still a regular feature of rural life in India, where their knack of diving on, and carrying off, exposed food is distinctly Harpylike: cf. Green 1993, 785 n. 42). Later literary texts present them as birds with women’s heads, their faces pallid from hunger, their hands ending in long claws: Virg. Aen. 3.210-18, cf. OvidFast. 6.131-34, Hygin.Fab. 14. In the visual arts, however, they were regularly represented as winged humans, with only the most occasional hint at that birdlike form so commonly conceded to the Sirens (cf. 4.891 ff. and n. on 893-99). LIMC, 4.1 (1988), 446-50, and 4.2 266-71, s.v. "Harpyiai", with figs. 1-30, provides a convenient conspectus of the iconography. Odd or monstrous winged creatures abound in this poem: in addition to Harpies and Sirens, we have the murderous birds of Ares, which use their quills as missiles (2.1030- 89), not to mention die enormous eagle with pinions like banks of polished oars (2.1247-59).

The Third Book:

1- 1293-1295.

au)ta\r o( tou/sge euÅ diaba\j e)pio/ntaj aÀ te spila\j ei¹n a(liì pe/trh mi¿mnen a)peiresi¿vsi doneu/mena ku/mat' a)e/llaij: (III.1293-1295)

But Jason, setting wide his feet, withstood their onset, as in the sea a rocky reef withstands the waves tossed by the countless blasts.

The model for this simile is Homer Il. 15.618-21, of the Greek line holding firm against a Trojan attack. Apollonius has adapted the rock to symbolize an individual rather than the collective (Hunter 1989, 242), and has given the sea image an extra twist by using it to evoke the fierceness of bulls (themselves closely associated with the sea god, Poseidon).1

1 Green (1997), 237, 288.

111 The Forth Book:

1- 149-155.

eiàpeto d' Ai¹soni¿dhj, pefobhme/noj: au)ta\r oÀg' hÃdh oiãmv qelgo/menoj dolixh\n a)nelu/et' aÃkanqan ghgene/oj spei¿rhj, mh/kune de\ muri¿a ku/kla, oiâon oÀte blhxroiÍsi kulindo/menon pela/gessin ku=ma me/lan kwfo/n te kaiì aÃbromon: a)lla\ kaiì eÃmphj u(you= smerdale/hn kefalh\n mene/ainen a)ei¿raj a)mfote/rouj o)lov=si periptu/cai genu/essin. (IV.149-155)

And Aeson’s son followed in fear, but the serpent, already charmed by her song, was relaxing the long ridge of his giant spine, and lengthening out his myriad coils, like a dark wave, dumb and noiseless, rolling over a sluggish sea; but still he raised aloft his grisly head, eager to enclose them both in his murderous jaws.

Thus Apollonius invokes the extreme Iliadic fear in his description of the horror caused by the monstrous guard of the fleece. When the monster is gradually being put to sleep by Medea it is compared to soundless sea-waves (4. 152-153); this simile is not only an imitation of II. 14. 16-2217) but it can also be conceived as an inversion of the Homeric similes where the sea roars (cf. II. 2. 209-210 and 394-397, 14. 394-395, 17. 263-266).1

2- 212-215.

ãHdh d' Ai¹h/tv u(perh/nori pa=si¿ te Ko/lxoij Mhdei¿hj peri¿pustoj eÃrwj kaiì eÃrg' e)te/tukto: e)j d' a)gorh\n a)ge/ront' e)niì teu/xesin, oÀssa de po/ntou ku/mata xeimeri¿oio koru/ssetai e)c a)ne/moio: (IV.212-215)

By this time Medea’s love and deeds had become known to haughty Aeetes and to all the Colchians. And they thronged to the assembly in arms; and countless as the waves of the stormy sea when they rise crested by the wind.

Both similes go back to Homer: see, e.g., Il. 2.144-49, 468, 800; 4.422-24; 6.146-48; Od. 9.51. As Livrea says (74), both are set in motion by the violence of the wind, which well conveys the mass fury of the Kolchian army.

1 Kouromenos (1996), 238.

112

3- 930-938.

In the Plagktai/ adventure Apollonius uses only two hll from Iliadic similes, a)gelhdo/n (Arg. 4.934 / Il. 16.160) and a)qu/rw (Arg. 4.950 / Il. 15.364). The context of both similes is violent but Apollonius places the hll in similes entirely different from their original ones. This lack of correspondence is remarkable and can hardly be attributed solely to a desire for an unusual effect. The Nereids1 have to struggle like Iliadic warriors but delightful femininity and the gracious poise of their aquatic movements spill over and transform the grim connotations of the original into light, colored and playful motion. In Il. 16.155-167 the Myrmidons marshal around Achilles like a pack of wolves who, blood smeared from their fresh kill, set off a)gelhdo/n from a small spring. In Arg. 4.933-938 the Nereids surround Argo like a herd of dolphins who play a)gelhdo/n around a ship to the delight of the on looking sailors, the only oblique reference to the Argonauts in this scene (Arg. 4.933-936). The Homeric and the Apollonian similes that share a)qu/rw are considerably closer to each other since the verb occurs in both for games at the beach: w¨j oÀte tij ya/maqon pa/i+j aÃgxi qala/sshj, / oÀj t' e)peiì ouÅn poih/sv a)qu/rmata nhpie/vsin/ aÄy auÅtijsune/xeue posiìn kaiì xersiìn a)qu/rwn. (Il. 15362-364) wÐst' h)maqo/entoj e)pisxedo\n

1 The Nereids are the children of two marine deities: Doris, the daughter of Oceanus, and Nereus, the son of Pontus (Theogony 240-242). Nereus is, however, not merely a water god, but he is described as a)yeudh\j and a)lhqh/j (Theogony 233); he possesses the same sort of powers of truthfulness and memory as the Muses and their mother. That the Nereids inherited these intellectual powers, and not merely the marine aspect of their parents, is clear from some of their names, which contain the same root as nou=j , "mind": Prono/h, Pouluno/h, )/Autono/h (Theogony 161, 194, 258). 36 Similarly, the names Leiago/rh and Eu)ago/rh (Theogony 257) imply a facility for speaking (a)gore/w), and so in this, too, the Nereids resemble the Muses. Those members of Apollonius’ audience especially well versed in Hesiod would recall that one of the Nereids is named "Erato" (Theogony 246), homonymous with the only Muse Apollonius invokes by name. Another way the Nereids and Muses are connected is that they appeared together in the Trojan Cycle, when both came to mourn the dead Achilles: Mou=sai de\ qow½j ¸Elikw½na lipou=sai / hÃluqon aÃlgoj aÃlaston e)niì ste/rnoisin eÃxousai, / a)rnu/menai timh\n e(likw¯pidi Nhrhi¿nv. This comes from the late epic poet Quintus Smyrnaeus (3.594-596), but we know from Proclus’ summary that the Muses and Nereids also joined in lamentation in a cyclic poem, the Aeihiopis. The Nereids, like the Muses, act as guides for the mortals they take under their care. While the Muses are invoked by poets for help in completing their poetic journey, numerous literary references show that the Nereids were often invoked to help seafarers achieve a safe voyage (Sappho 5; Euripides Helen 1584- 1587; Herodotus 7.191; Orphic Hymn 74; Anthologia Palatina 6.349).39 The role the Nereids play in the Argonautica, guiding the Argo through the wandering rocks, is traditional. Albis (1996), 106-107

113 ai¹gialoiÍo parqenikai¿, di¿xa ko/lpon e)p' i¹cu/aj ei¸li¿casai, sfai¿rv a)qu/rou sin perihge/i: (Argo. 4.948-950). Nevertheless, the similarity stops here. In the Iliad Apollo’s ruthless leveling of the Greek wall is likened to a boy’s playful destruction of his sand-castle, whereas in the Argonautica the Nereids who toss Argo back and forth are compared to young girls who play ball at the beach. Connotations of ruthlessness and lack of concern are manifestly present in the unusually bold Homeric simile, since Apollo’s destructive force furnishes a chilly background to the boy’s play and the little boy coolly exerts a wanton destructive power similar in its ease to that of the god Apollo: both Apollo and the boy are all-powerful and distant in their might. They destroy at whim and not even their own effort is of concern to them as they lightheartedly trample everything underfoot. Apollonius’ simile has no such connotations for a variety of reasons. First of all, the hl apart, the chief Homeric model for this simile was obviously Nausikaa’s play at the beach with her maids, the incident which led to Odysseus’ safe return to Ithaca. The graceful suavity of the Odyssean scene imbues Apollonius’ simile which, moreover, is not as "exact" as Homer’s. Although Apollo and the boy are obviously very different from each other, their actions are markedly comparable and, since Apollo was an unshorn boy-god, the association becomes closer and easier. The Nereids, on the other hand, are clearly not playing. Although Apollonius compares them to young girls at play, he stresses that their task was difficult (Arg. 4.961-963). The connection is a loose analogy provided by Apollonius in order to highlight the unusual situation at hand. The Nereids struggle like warriors but they are young girls who have to perform a demanding non-martial task. The striving divinities keep the ship away from the rocks but they are compared to maidens amusing themselves with the ball.1

eÃnqa sfin kou=rai Nhrhi¿dej aÃlloqen aÃllai hÃnteon, h( d' oÃpiqe pte/rugoj qi¿ge phdali¿oio diÍa Qe/tij, Plagktv=sin e)niì spila/dessin eÃrusqai. w¨j d' o(po/tan delfiÍnej u(pe\c a(lo\j eu)dio/wntej sperxome/nhn a)gelhdo\n e(li¿sswntai periì nh=a, aÃllote me\n propa/roiqen o(rw¯menoi aÃllot' oÃpisqen aÃllote parbola/dhn, nau/tvsi de\ xa/rma te/tuktai. wÒj ai¸ u(pekproqe/ousai e)ph/trimoi ei¸li¿ssonto ¹Arg%¯v periì nhi¿: Qe/tij d' iãqune ke/leuqon. (IV.930-938)

Hereupon on this side and on that the daughters of Nereus met them; and behind, lady Thetis set her hand to the rudder-blade, to guide them amid the Wandering rocks. And as when in fair weather herds of dolphins come up from the depths and sport in circles round a

1 Kyriakou (1995), 29-31.

114 ship as it speeds along, now seen in front, now behind, now again at the side and delight comes to the sailors; so the Nereids darted upward and circled in their ranks round the ship Argo, while Thetis guided its course. (IV.930-938)

This image of seaborne Nereids was later borrowed by Virgil, Aen. 10.219 ff. The dolphin simile was popular in Hellenistic poetry (for a collection of parallels, at the same time, it is perhaps worth mentioning that the scene here described was, and indeed still is, a common one in the Aigaian and Mediterranean: the ferry (for instance) from Peiraieus to Mytilene, as I can testify, regularly collects a dolphin escort in the early morning, on the run between Chios and Lesbos.1

1 Green (1997), 301, 330

115 Bibliography

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