Alexandria: The Oxford Undergraduate Classics Journal - Eighth Issue, Part 2

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Amicitiae as a Means to an End: An Analysis of Epicurean Friendship in Horace’s Satire 1.9

SHEENA MCKEEVER

Mankindis troubled by fear of other men, the gods, and death. According to Epicurus, to live fruitfully is not to merely avoid these anxieties, but to live in accordance with attractive (οἰκεῖος) principles that facilitate a pleasant and blessed life. An Epicurean needs only good food, drink, sleep, and genuine companionship to live harmoniously. Epicurus taught that such blessedness is most attainable through friendship, which provides safety, confdence, and pleasure. As a sometime follower of Epicurean philosophy, Horace too suggests in his satires that tranquility (ἀταραξίᾳ), freedom from physical and mental pain, was contingent on the pleasure of friendship. Thus, in Serm. 1.5, he greets the arrival of his friends Vergil, Varius and Plotius with the exclamation (1.5.43-4): o qui complexus et gaudia quanta fuerunt! / nil ego contulerim iucundo sanus amico (“O the embracing! O the rejoicing! Nothing, so long as I am in my senses, would I match with the joy a friend may bring”)1. Horace seems to echo Epicurus’ saying that “friendship dances around the world announcing to all of us that we must wake up to blessedness” (Sent. Vat. 52). I will discuss the principles of Epicureanism in Horace’s Satire 1.9, frst the characteristics of linguistic expression and then of physical action and setting2.

Similar to all Hellenistic philosophical schools, the Epicureans introduced the

1 I quote Horace’s Sermones from: Horace, Satires. Book I, ed. Emily Gowers (Cambridge; New York: Cambridge University Press, 2012). English translations are drawn from: Horace, Satires. Epistles. The Art of Poetry, trans. H. Rushton Fairclough (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1926).

2 I reference John Rist’s “Epicurus on Friendship” and David Armstrong’s treatment of “Horace’s Epicurean Voice in the Satires” in support. For more on Horace and Epicureanism, see Sergio Yona, Epicurean Ethics in Horace (Oxford 2018); James Warren (ed.), The Cambridge Companion to Epicureanism (CUP 2009); Jefrey Fish and Kirk R. Sanders (eds.), Epicurus and the Epicurean Tradition (CUP 2011), in which David Armstrong has a chapter ‘Epicurean virtues, Epicurean friendship: Cicero vs the Herculaneum papyri,’ 105-28.

youth of the ancient Mediterranean elites to a sophisticated, critically-demanding worldview3. Horace’s acquaintanceship with scholarly education, as a participant in Philodemus’ philosophical circle at Herculaneum, leaves no doubt that he was knowledgeable of Epicurean doctrines –including its high regard for friendship – in his youth4. Epicurean friendship is a therapeutic means of securing ἀταραξίᾳ. Philodemus emphasizes the importance of prioritizing a delightful existence, facilitated by the cultivation of friendships (De elect. XIV.5) and philosophical conversations in leisure (De oec. XXIII.1-20)5. The Epicurean high regard for a conscientious existence promotes companionship to a most revered principle. Epicurus outlines that friendship is most useful for securing a sense of tranquility (KD 28; cf. KD 27 = SV 13 and SV 78)6. A genuine companion appreciates that any action that undermines the trust of friends undermines his own confdence and tranquility7

Horace implicitly urges the wise man to lead a life in accordance with Epicurean ideals, one that is isolated from devious individuals. The prominence of amicitiae in Horace’s Satires contextualizes Satire 1.9 as a malum

3 David Sedley, “Epicureanism in the Roman Republic,” in The Cambridge Companion to Epicureanism, ed. James Warren (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2009).

4 David Sider, The Epigrams of Philodemus (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1997), 13; Sedley, “Epicureanism in the Roman Republic,” 33.

5 Voula Tsouna, “Epicurean Therapeutic Strategies,” The Cambridge Companion to Epicureanism, ed. James Warren (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2009), 261.

6 Eric Brown, “Politics and Society,” The Cambridge Companion to Epicureanism, ed. James Warren (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2009), 182-3.

7 Brown, “Politics and Society,” 183. Sider, The Epigrams of Philodemus, 21.

exemplum of Epicurean values. Horace frst outlines the proper guidelines of friendship (Serm. 1.1-6) and then infuses Satire 1.9 with satiric elements and philosophical lessons. The pest, as a paradigm of deceitful companionship, embodies the dangerous consequence of neglecting Epicurean values. Horace’s poor exemplum reinforces correct philosophical conduct.

Concluding the frst diatribe, Satire 1.3 is the frst philosophical discourse on friendship in Sermones Book 1. Just as a lover is blind to the defects of the beloved, so too should a wise Epicurean be indulgent to the weaknesses of his friends: uellem in amicitia sic erraremus, et isti / errori nomen uirtus posuisset honestum (“I wish we made the same blunders in friendship, and that virtue had given a respectable name to that blundering” (3.41-2)). He argues that indulgence should have been named ‘charity’ rather than ‘fault’8. Horace also corresponds Epicurean friendship to familial relationships: ac pater ut gnati, sic nos debemus amici / si quod sit uitium non fastidire (“but we ought, like fathers with their sons, not to be disgusted by a friend’s faults” (3.43-4)). He asserts that a friend should be cared for just as a father with his child, not disgusted at their blemish. Satire 1.3 introduces Horace’s guide to companionship, friendship as an essential component in achieving tranquility that is associated with both intimate and familial love.

Satire 1.5, the journey to Brundisium, ofers several diferent models of friendship. In 37 BC, Horace embarked on a diplomatic mission with Maecenas, the political advisor of Octavian, and other infuential men to speak with Mark Antony. Rather than documenting the peace negotiations between Antony and Octavian, Horace models the amicitiae that abide by one of the key doctrines of Epicureanism, namely that the ‘good is readily attainable’ through friendship.

The satire is motivated by the need for reconciliation amongst estranged friends, the triumvirs Octavian and Marcus Antonius. As a representative for Octavian, Maecenas and others were sent to conduct the negotiations. By contrast with the tense negotiations of the triumvirs, Horace

8 Emily Gowers, Satires Book I (Cambridge; New York: Cambridge University Press, 2012), 219.

characterizes his reunion with Plotius, Varius, and Vergil as exemplary of the blessedness attained through friendship: aversos soliti componere amicos (“old hands at settling feuds between friends” (5.29)). The physical departure of Varius is especially grieved by Horace and his comrades: fentibus hinc Varius discedit maestus amicis (“here Varius leaves us, to the grief of his weeping friends” (5.93)). Despite the political undertones of Maecenas’ mission, Horace replaces the prominence of political manoeuvring with personal friendship, in accordance with the tenets of Epicurean philosophy.

Satire 1.6 too celebrates friendship, this time in relation to Maecenas’ patronage of the poet. In addition to promoting Epicurean indiference to political afairs, this satire attests to Horace’s friendship with Varius, Vergil, and Maecenas. According to Rist, Epicurean friendship arises out of necessity and mutual beneft9. Horace was adopted by Maecenas not on the basis of chance, but his moral purity10. In the prevailing political atmosphere of envy, Horace fulflls his duty as an Epicurean when he provides safety and companionship to his friends. He sets forth the principles upon which Maecenas chooses his friends and defends him as a man who did not look down upon men of lowly birth11. Horace and his amicitiae demonstrate the potentiality and benefts of harmonious Epicurean friendship.

Linguistic expression is both the foundation of Horace’s Sermones and of the cultivation of Epicurean friendship. Horace’s semantics in Satire 1.9 are harmoniously balanced between satirical elements and embedded themes of philosophy. Having encountered Horace ‘coincidentally’, the pest introduces himself with a grand “how d’ye do, my dearest fellow?” (quid agis, dulcissime rerum? (1.9.4)) in an attempt to fatter him. The pest’s impulsive nature, not favoured in Epicurean social intercourse, costs him any opportunity at being true friends with

9 John M. Rist, “Epicurus on Friendship” (The University of Chicago Press, 1980), 128.

10 Gowers, Satires Book I, 217. Cf. Serm. 1.6.54: nulla etenim mihi te fors obtulit

11 Horace, Satires, trans. Fairclough (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1926), 75.

Horace as he dismisses him with a blunt “nothing you want, is there?” (numquid vis? (9.6)). The pest rebounds with a desperate proclamation of his wisdom: “you must know me; I’m a scholar” (‘noris nos,’ inquit; ‘docti sumus’ ( 9.7)), which deviates further from the Epicurean ideal. The pest’s incessant rambling at 9.22-25, used to prove himself as a skilled poet and future companion of Horace, is indicative of his corrupt intention (prava ambitione)12.

Although Epicurean friendship arises out of necessity, wise men are modest in their requests13. As a stranger to Horace, “a man only known by name” (notus mihi nomine tantum (9.3)), the pest overreaches in his attempt to engage the poet in conversation. He implicitly pleads for insider information about Maecenas, “how stands Maecenas with you?” (Maecenas quomodo tecum? (9.43)), and requests to be Horace’s right-hand man (9.45-7):

haberes

magnum adiutorem, posset qui ferre secundas, hunc hominem velles si trader

“You might have a strong backer, who could be your understudy, if you would introduce your humble servant.”

The pest’s linguistic content and style are unappealing to Horace’s philosophical standards of friendship. The pest embodies a selfsh quality that conficts with the modest contubernalitas (tent mate) in which philosophical discussion can be enjoyed. Horace has achieved his friends through his own virtue and brief speech, not through the ambition of exchanging pleasantries in pursuit of material goods14.The pest’s apparent intentions defy the foedus of friendship as he ironically says, “as you love me, do help me here a while!” (‘si me amas,’ inquit, ‘paulum hic ades.’ (1.9.38)), to slyly leverage his dialogue against Horace. The pest manipulates the Epicurean doctrine that a wise

12 Cf. Serm. 1.9.23. In attempts to assert himself as a friend to Horace, the pest says ‘facies,’ a future tense expression.

13 Rist, “Epicurus on Friendship,” 125.

14 Cf. Serm. 1.6.56. Horace spoke modestly to Varius and Vergil, contrasting the pest’s linguistic style; Rist, 125.

man should love his friends no less than himself to his potential advantage15. The pest no longer only grasps Horace by the limb (arreptaque manu, “seizes my hand” (9.4)) but attempts to twist his arm. But his ignorance inadvertently undermines his own interests as he exposes his true nature, expressing a willingness to commit bribery for personal gain16.

The pest further shows himself to be a fool when he announces his belief that laborious toil is necessary to live a successful life: nil sine magno / uita labore dedit mortalibus (“Life grants no boon to man without much toil” (9.59-60))17. This is the view of a man who has not taken his Epicurean medicine to heart. Horace’s status as a well-connected author left him vulnerable to leeching parasites who prioritised monetary success over Epicurean values. Friendships in ancient Rome were typically maintained for proft and power by fgures such as the pest. Epicurus’ philosophy for achieving ἀταραξίᾳ, however, taught that true friendships begin in mutual utility and viewed the search for security (ἀσφαλείᾳ) and goodwill as reciprocally earned from other human beings (ἐξ ἀνθρώπων)18.

Further Epicurean characterization in Satire 1.9 is demonstrated through physical interactions between individuals. The pest

15 Rist, 123.

16 Cf. Serm. 1.9.57: ‘haud mihi dero: / muneribus seruos corrumpam’ (“I’ll not fail myself. I’ll bribe his slaves.” 9.56-7). The pest exposes the extent of his manipulation for personal advancement. Cf. Serm: 1.9.4850: non isto uiuitur illic, / quo tu rere, modo; domus hac nec purior ulla est / nec magis his aliena malis (“We don’t live there on such terms as you think. No house is cleaner or more free from such intrigues than that.” 9.48-50). Horace dispels the notion of corruption that the pest subscribes to.

17 Labor feeds into the endless greed and false notion of success for the average Roman. In reality, as Horace attests, he could rather achieve tranquility by ridding himself of anxieties. Cf. Serm. 1.1.70-72: congestis undique saccis / indormis inhians et tamquam parcere sacris / cogeris aut pictis tamquam gaudere tabellis (“You sleep with open mouth on money-bags piled up from all sides, and must perforce keep hands of as if they were hallowed, or take delight in them as if painted pictures.”) Horace describes the little value of materialistic goods.

18 David Armstrong, “Horace’s Epicurean Voice in the Satires” (Newcastle upon Tyne: Cambridge Scholars Publishing, 2014), 96.

relentlessly follows Horace about Rome and openly comments on his ambition to be a friend to Horace, “I’ll stick to you; I’ll stay with you to your journey’s end” (persequar hinc quo nunc iter est tibi (1.9.16)), striving to recast his tenacious attachment to him as genuine and lifelong loyalty19. This satire documents the disruptive and unwanted action of antagonistic characters, and the pest’s ceaseless physical pursuit motivates Horace’s endless track of wandering20. Horace is not unfamiliar with instances of pernicious friendship, as we see the poor security Aristius provides him from the pest’s ofensive presence. Having addressed Aristius as ‘mihi carus’ (“a dear friend of mine” (9.61)), we expect this character to uphold the Epicurean exemplum of loyalty and security, but the satirical content taints such an outcome. As Aristius enters the scene, Horace is overjoyed in their reunion and especially at the prospect of escaping a dreadful situation. The opposite occurs for satiric efect: Aristius comically abandons Horace to sufer longer with the parasite: fugit improbus ac me / sub cultro linquit (“The rascal runs away and leaves me under the knife” (9.73-4)). Aristius, in failing his obligation as an Epicurean friend to abide by the key doctrines (Κύριαι Δόξαι) and provide security, leaves Horace vulnerable to the pest’s exploitation21. Satire 1.9 continuously engages with the theme of true friendship, and those of manipulators who dish up false companionship.

The ethics celebrated in Horace’s satires are highly consistent with Epicurean philosophical ideals22. Epicurus preached that public life encompassed inevitable hatred and anxieties, exemplifed by the persistent pest in Satire 1.9. As the wise man avoids public spaces and neighbours, he mitigates his exposure to the most difcult of pests: man himself23. Horace, however, does not abide by the ideal living conditions and reaps the consequences in his encounter with

19 Rist, 122.

20 See Serm. 1.9.19, 43 for the pest’s unrelenting pursuit, and see Serm. 1.9.75-8 for its culmination in the pest’s eforts to entangle Horace’s persona in a court case.

21 Armstrong, “Horace’s Epicurean Voice in the Satires,” 102.

22 For further discussion on Epicureanism in Hor. Serm. 1.9, see Sergio, “Flattery, Patronage, Wealth, and Epicurean Ethics,” in Epicurean Ethics in Horace, (2018): 190-220.

23 Rist, 121.

the feared garrulus in the city24. Horace, arreptaque manu, is torn from his state of peaceful philosophical thought25. The city and its menacing characters (βλάβη ἐξ ἀνθρώπων) make the Epicurean ideal setting of security impossible to achieve26. Despite the imagery of undesirable friendship in Satire 1.9, Horace concludes his frst book of Sermones in loving homage to his friends. Satire 1.10 embodies the philosophical lessons of friendship depicted in Satires 1.3, 1.5, and 1.6. Horace allies himself with Maecenas, Varius, and Vergil, among other modern masters, such that mutual admiration is the beneft27 .

Satire 1.9, interspersed with references to the values of Epicurean friendship, is judiciously confgured in Sermones Book I. The linguistic and physical valence of Epicurean amicitiae in Satires 1.3, 1.5, 1.6, and 1.10 urther contextualize the friendship within Satire 1.9 as a malum exemplum of Epicurean values. By asserting the correct guidelines of Epicurean friendship early on, Horace is able to interplay satiric elements with philosophical lessons in Satire 1.9. The pest is used as an instrumental tool to showcase the danger of neglecting Epicurean values. His negative exemplum of un-Epicurean values reinforce correct philosophical conduct. The wise Epicurean should only surround himself with the kind of friends who can inspire him, showing us the pleasure of Epicurean amicitiae. Horace strategically arranges his satires to accommodate his philosophical agenda. His frst satires act as a strong foundation for his Epicurean morality to stand upon, and

24 Theophr. Char. 7.1 ἡ δὲ λαλιά, εἴ τις αὐτὴν ὁρίζεσθαι βούλοιτο, εἶναι ἂν δόξειεν ἀκρασία τοῦ λόγου· (“Garrulity, should you like to defne it, would seem to be an inability to control one’s speech.”)

25 See Serm. 1.9.1-4: Ibam forte Via Sacra, sicut meus est mos / nescio quid meditans nugarum, totus in illis. / accurrit quidam notus mihi nomine tantum, / arreptaque manu (“I was strolling by chance along the Sacred Way, musing after my fashion on some trife or other, and wholly intent thereon, when up there runs a man I knew only by name and seizes my hand”).

26 Armstrong, 97. See also G. Roskam, Live Unnoticed (Leiden: Brill, 2007) which supersedes all earlier treatments of Epicurean politics and analyzes a wide range of Epicurean authors and sources; cf, J. Fish, ‘Not all Politicians are Sisyphus,’ in Fish and Sanders 2011.

27 Gowers, 336.

its strength allows for the application of moral lessons in satiric episodes. Intertwined with light satirical humour, Sermones Book I acts as a guide to true friendship and companionship. As Horace suggests, he represents a doctor with little cakes at 1.25-6: ut pueris olim dant crustula blandi / doctores elementa velint ut discere prima (“even as teachers sometimes give cookies to children to coax them into learning their A B C?”)28 Horace engages Epicurean philosophy to invite the audience to adopt the moral medicine that encourages friendships and Epicurean ἀταραξίᾳ

BIBLIOGRAPHY

• Armstrong, David. “Horace’s Epicurean Voice in the Satires” in The Philosophizing Muse: The Infuence of Greek Philosophy on Roman Poetry. Newcastle upon Tyne: Cambridge Scholars Publishing, 2014.

• Fish, Jefrey and Kirk R. Sanders. Epicurus and the Epicurean Tradition. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2011.

• Horace. Satires. Book I. Edited by Emily Gowers. Cambridge; New York: Cambridge University Press, 2012.

• Horace. Satires. Epistles. The Art of Poetry. Translated by H. Rushton Fairclough. Loeb Classical Library 194. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1926.

• Rist, John M. “Epicurus on Friendship.” Classical Philology 75, no. 2: 121-29. The University of Chicago Press, 1980.

• Roskam, G. Live Unnoticed (Lathe biōsas): on the Vicissitudes of an Epicurean Doctrine. Leiden: Brill, 2007.

• Sider, David. The Epigrams of Philodemus. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1997.

• Theophrastus, Herodas, Sophron. Characters. Herodas: Mimes. Sophron and Other Mime Fragments. Edited and translated by Jefrey Rusten, I. C. Cunningham. Loeb Classical Library 225. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2003.

• Warren, James. The Cambridge Companion to Epicureanism. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2009.

• Yona, Sergio. Epicurean Ethics in Horace: The Psychology of Satire. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2018.

DISSENTINGFEMININITY

PADDY BREEZE

Dissenting Femininity in the Aeneid:

Euryalus’ mother and Thersites

Afterthe deaths of Nisus and Euryalus in Aeneid 9, Virgil chooses to give voice to Euryalus’ mother, seemingly the only Trojan woman to accompany Aeneas and his men after the ill-fated burning of the ships in Aeneid 5. Her character is entirely a literary construct, unlike a fgure like Iulus (who possessed a pseudo-historical personage), and I will suggest that Virgil constructs her in a way which deliberately associates her status as a voice of dissent – against the often masculine and teleological nature of epic – with her femininity. I will argue that a comparison with Thersites in Iliad 2, a link as yet unexplored in scholarship, will allow us to identify the specifcally female nature of her dissent against the orthodoxy of the Trojan mission.1 The difculty with treating the voice of Euryalus’ mother as one of femininity is illustrated well by Alison Sharrock,2 who identifes a binary between the search for female voices and individuality, and the allure of gender blindness, which suggests that such characters ought to be viewed as non-feminine (their womanhood being a catego ry specifcally constructed by and for men); yet, the latter approach risks taking the study of Classics back to a state of female invisibility. With an awareness of Sharrock’s binary and by comparison with Thersites, I will establish Euryalus’ mother as a character who is

1 The “Trojan mission” will be interpreted as the objective assumed by Aeneas in the second half of the Aeneid (on behalf of the Trojan whole) to settle in Italy, which later morphs into the necessity to achieve this aim through confict; its “orthodoxy” refers to the perceived indisputability which this mission assumes in Books 7-12.

Alison Sharrock, ‘Womanly wailing? The mother of Euryalus and gendered reading’, in Eugesta, Vol. 1 (2011), pp.71-2; p.74

2 Alison Sharrock, ‘Womanly wailing? The mother of Euryalus and gendered reading’, in Eugesta, Vol. 1 (2011), pp.71-2; p.74

constructed as conforming to gender stereotypes of motherhood and mourning, without being granted a real voice and agency external to the authorial voice. I will also show that, when Euryalus’ mother is removed from the theatre of war, this repression acts as a reafrmation of masculine authority in the text.3 The mother of Euryalus is never formally named, but is not alone as a mortal female fgure of dissent, forming part of a wider group of Trojan women whom we encounter in Book 5.4 I will argue that Virgil constructs these fgures in similar ways, creating a “female voice of dissent”. The second half of this paper will then ofer a close analysis which directly compares the way in which Homer introduces Thersites as a fgure of dissent in the Iliad, arguing that there are similarities in the construction of dissenting voices between the two epics which might suggest that the Thersites scene in the Iliad is alluded to in Aeneid 9.

In 9.474, Euryalus’ mother is described as hearing of her son’s death from fama (rumour); all warmth leaves her body, and she rushes out to the ramparts. We have met her before: Nisus is reluctant to take Euryalus with him on the expedition for fear of Euryalus’ mother’s potential lament.5 As she looks out at Euryalus’ severed head,6 she mourns his death and the lack of an opportunity aforded to her to say goodbye (cf. Andromache at Iliad 24.743-5). Philip Hardie

3 Ibid., p.70

4 Beyond the scope of this article, although of course of relevance, are the dissenting female voices presented by Dido in Book 4, Amata in Books 7 and 12, and Camilla in Book 11; moreover, further attention should also be paid to divine voices of dissent and their construction.

5 Sharrrock, Womanly wailing, p.60

6 Philip Hardie, Virgil Aeneid Book IX (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1994), p.160

summarises the rhetorical nature of the speech:

“The speech is a carefully constructed representation of violent emotion: four lines of indignant questions to Euryalus are followed by fve lines brooding on the state of the body; the address to Euryalus concludes with a fresh outburst of deliberative and rhetorical questions in three lines; in the last fve lines she turns to herself and asks to be put out of her misery.”7

Just as the death of Amata in 12.594 dampens morale in the city of Latium,8 so lamentation overcomes the Trojans, and they lose their strength for battle. She is eventually removed by Actor and Idaeus, on Ilioneus’ orders (Aeneas is absent), who “catch her up and carry her indoors in their arms” (9.502).9 The implicit suggestion is that this is because she threatens the cohesion of the camp, ofering a voice of dissent, by describing her pain and loss, against the orthodoxy of the Trojan mission. The removal is heightened by the fact that she is moved indoors (sub tecta): she is taken back into the domestic female sphere, where her dissent can do no harm because is it not public, where it is implicitly more dangerous. At the end of the scene, we return sharply to the feld of war with the trumpets blaring (9.503), a stark audible indicator of the fact that the masculine theatre of war reasserts itself when the mother is removed, having temporarily lost its position of superiority within the wider narrative’s power dynamics. The Trojan camp becomes like a city,10 and in mounting the ramparts, Euryalus’ mother enters the traditionally masculine sphere of warfare; by contrast, in Iliad 6, the Trojan women sacrifce in temples to help the war efort, steering clear of the ramparts. The removal of the mother from the masculine sphere of war further contributes to the pervasive sense of misogyny – Virgil allows her to venture out, lets her afect the troops (unlike Thersites, who fails to get the Greeks onside in Iliad 2), but

7 Hardie, pp.161-2

8 Ibid., p.166

9 All translations are from H. Rushton Fairclough, Virgil: Aeneid VII-XII & Appendix Vergiliana, revised by G. P. Goold (Massachusetts: Harvard University Press, Loeb Classical Library, 2000)

10 Hardie, p.160

quickly has her removed, in order to capture the efect of war on marginalised groups, but not to grant them the agency to efect change, or the opportunity to disrupt his narrative.

Virgil uses clearly gendered and implicitly misogynistic stereotypes when he constructs the character of Euryalus’ mother: when she hears of the death, she laments with femineo ulutatu (“a woman’s lamentation” 9.477); she drops her shuttle, the traditional sign of weaving (just as Andromache does in the Iliad).11 The noun ululatus also occurs at 7.395 when Amata and the Latin women rage in bacchic frenzy,12 and twice again in the Camilla story of Book 11, associating grief, madness, and covetousness with femininity –misogynistic at worst, paternalistic at best. Contrast the response of Evander,13 who, upon hearing about the death of his own son, Pallas, gives dignifed lament (11.152-81) without blaming Aeneas or the Trojan cause. She is also described as amens (9.478), yet this is used much more ambiguously by Virgil; Sharrock suggests that it can refer to both men and women, and belongs to “crazy, dangerous” Turnus, to Aeneas before he learns to be a “Roman hero”14 – in a sense, by analogy, Euryalus’ mother is constructed as a character who must be removed from the epic for it to reach its culmination, just as Turnus must die, and the old Aeneas, that amens Aeneas of the frst half, must in Italy become pius Aeneas. Expressing public grief was one way in the ancient world in which women were licensed to enter the public sphere (cf. the role of the “mourning women” fgures on earlier Classical Athenian Stelae).15 Is this scene one such expression? Is the mother of Euryalus deployed here to act as a testament to Euryalus, highlighting the bravery of his deeds, almost as another form of authorial apostrophe, like the one which both young men received just prior to this scene;

or is it that Euryalus’ mother takes the opportunity of a socially approved time for

11 Hardie, p.160

12 Sharrock, Womanly wailing, p.57

13 Ibid., pp.55-6

14 Sharrock, Womanly wailing, p.62

15 Cf. H. Shapiro, ‘The Iconography of Mourning in Athenian Art’, in American Journal of Archaeology, Vol. 95, No.4 (1991), p.629

female voices (grief), and in expressing that very grief, renders herself unable to occupy that space because of its dissenting undertones? Thersites certainly would seem to fall into the latter category – he speaks in the assembly, a public context for speech (although he fails to understand that it is only aristocratic speech); however, he ofers a deviant opinion from the orthodoxy of the Agamemnon-led mission which by its very nature (dissent) becomes inappropriate for public hearing, in the speaking context licensed by the leadership. Perhaps though, Thersites also fulfls the former role, with his speech introducing a “voice of the common soldier”, which serves to highlight, and proleptically eulogise, the future death of these fgures in combat. This ambiguity is a key aspect of the construction of voices of dissent, since in presenting them as both positive and negative forces, both narratively within the text, and in a broader narratological sense, both poets challenge, albeit briefy and with decisive conclusions, the orthodoxy of their own heroes and their missions.

It has also been suggested that “we might see behind the speeches of the mother, Amata, and Dido, the famous letter of Cornelia, mother of the Gracchi, to her surviving son Gaius.”16 Whilst it is plausible that Virgil’s conception of women entering the traditionally male political sphere was informed by popular memory, I fnd it unlikely that it directly and consciously afected his authorial decisions in a more formal sense. What is most interesting in the comparison is the fact that Cornelia operates through the traditional means for elite Roman woman to exercise political power – domestic infuence.17 By contrast, what would have been perhaps most shocking to Virgil’s Roman reader is the fact that Euryalus’ mother makes a political statement, implicitly criticising the Trojan mission for the death of her son, in a public context, a political sphere reserved for men. There is a very strong sense in which epic can be read as a genre dominated by masculinity – the Aeneid tracks not 16 Quotation from Sharrock, Womanly wailing, p.66, citing original idea in J. P. Hallett, ‘The frenzy of noble women in Vergil’s Aeneid and the letter of Cornelia, mother of the Gracchi,’ in W. S. Anderson and L. N. Quartarone (eds), Approaches to Teaching Vergil’s Aeneid (New York: Modern Language Association of America, 2002),

17 Sharrock, Womanly wailing, p.66

only the journey of its male titular character, but is also the product of its author’s views and life experience, which in this period are inseparable from his masculinity. Furthermore, the drive of an epic such as the Aeneid to its teleological endpoint, and the further proleptic echoes within the text to the Roman future beyond its scope, leave it with a fxed structure within which all dissent and delay are contextualised by knowledge of the endpoint.

Challenging this masculine drive, we notice other fgures within the poem who are constructed as specifcally female voices of dissent, including the Trojan women in Book 5. Like Euryalus’ mother, their intervention has “a substantial efect on men’s emotional state, but no efect on policy.”18 Sharrock suggests that this failure derives from the fact that the women do not use traditional means of political engagement with male fgures, domestic infuence; such a view is an attractive one, but Sharrock overburdens the importance which Virgil attaches to normative contemporary political behaviour. Rather than because of the form of the dissent, I think that the interventions fail because of their very nature as dissenting (and specifcally female) voices against the implicitly masculine epic storyline, in an environment where, with the future of Rome looming so large over all of the action, it is possible to overread the signifcance of some of these individual, and ultimately small, diversions from the narrative progression. If we introduce Thersites here, we can identify a spectrum of efect which these dissenting moments have: Thersites efects no change on his crowd, who are already unhappy when he begins; the Trojan women’s dissent rouses themselves but has no efect on the collective whole. Euryalus’ mother, by contrast, causes morale to drop all around the camp. It is thus possible to use the Thersites comparison as a metric to diferentiate subtly between the dissent of the Trojan women and that of Euryalus’ mother, and to identify “efect” as a crucial element in subversive discourse. In Book 5, it is stressed that the women speak with a collective voice (vox omnibus una, 5.615), but in fact “no woman ever speaks in this voice and no man ever hears it.”19

18 Ibid., p.69

19 S. Georgia Nugent, ‘Vergil’s “Voice of the Women” in Aeneid V’, in Arethusa, Vol.25, No.2 (1992), p.255

Unlike Euryalus’ mother, these women do not intrude into the male sphere with their voices, but rather with action, burning the Trojan ships in order to force the Trojans to stay in Sicily.

Eventually, Aeneas decides to leave the Trojan women behind and carry onwards with men alone – by this act, Virgil stresses how the collective whole uses the destabilising dissent of the women as a motivation to push forwards, showing how the masculine voice (of both Aeneas and the whole epic narrative arc) can accommodate and then swiftly dismiss its dissenting female alternative. The Trojan women must be left behind (just as Palinurus, admittedly a male dissenter, must also die –his masculinity sparing him the criticism of his dissent) because they do not support Aeneas’ mission to lead his people to Italy, serving as a visible reminder of the fact that this is Aeneas’ mission, not that of the community. After an omen from Zeus, Aeneas reasserts his leadership, removes dissenting fgures – just as Virgil himself swiftly silences voices of dissent which he has introduced – and leaves Sicily, his faith in his mission renewed and having consolidated his position.

And yet, in Book 9, Euryalus’ mother appears. Hardie suggests that she carries on to Italy with a diferent motive to that of the Trojan men – not an adherence to patriotism, but rather maternal devotion to Euryalus.20 Did Euryalus’ mother travel to Italy, at least in some respects, in order to mourn him when he died? This would accord with the presentation of mothers as fgures of lament elsewhere,21 and indeed would chime with the lamenting nature of the speech she delivers, summarised by Keith:

“Her words rehearse the standard tropes of individual female lament, such as rhetorical questions and reproaches to Euryalus, contrasting her mourning in old age with his youthful death and her wool working with his military adventurism, before giving way to refection on the indignities that may yet be inficted on his corpse, in addition to the pathos of his death far from home and her desire to join him in death. But there is added poignancy in her emphasis on her extraordinary 20 Hardie, p.165

21 Cf. the role of Thetis as a mourner for Achilles in the Iliad, even though he is still alive.

travels (9.492): hoc sum terraque marique secuta? (‘Was it for this that I followed you by land and sea?’)”22 Why then were the other Trojan mothers not motivated by the same desire to mourn their sons? Virgil introduces a clear link between mortality and maternity, yet does not seem to apply the same standard to the other Trojan women. It is perhaps because, as Keith suggests, motherhood and its focus on lament is specifcally retrospective, whereas the required emphasis for the Trojans and Aeneas is forward-looking; the mother of Euryalus is herself forward-looking when she leaves Sicily, focused on following Euryalus, whereas the other Trojan women, like Andromache in Book 3, are concerned to re-found a new Troy on Sicily.23 The reason Euryalus’ mother can no longer form part of the mission in Book 9 is that upon his death she becomes a retrospective fgure, defned by her mourning.

Turning briefy away from Thersites as our primary Homeric comparandum, it is often noted that the lament of Andromache in Iliad 22 acts as a model for the speech of Euryalus’ mother: they have each lost key male relations;:Andromache is taken by surprise when she goes to see what the disturbance is about (Hector’s death) just as Euryalus’ mother fnds out from fama; Andromache is in a domestic space (surrounded by weaving and with a hot bath prepared), just as the mother of Euryalus drops her own weaving.24 Moreover, both Andromache and Euryalus’ mother leave their domestic spheres and go out alone25 – the point of departure in the Virgilian version is the fact that the lament which Euryalus’ mother delivers is dissenting and has a visible efect on the troops, whereas Andromache’s is rather one of many “ritualised opportunities to express the extremes of grief which the epic tradition does not deny, but the consequences of which it does not generally pursue.”26 Andromache also makes it clear that she is entirely

22 A. Keith, ‘Virgilian Matres: From Maternal Lament to Female Sedition in the Aeneid’, in eds. id. and Alison Sharrock, Maternal Conceptions in Classical Literature and Philosophy (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 2020), pp.262-3

23 Keith, pp.260-3

24 Sharrock, Womanly wailing, p.64

25 Idem.

26 Sharrock, Womanly wailing, p.69

dependent on Hector (6.429-32) with little independent agency, just as the mother of Euryalus is entirely defned in the epic by her relationship to her son.

As suggested above, the speech of Thersites in Iliad 2 is an important context in which to read the mother of Euryalus scene. The Homeric poet focuses on the visible disfgurement of Thersites, before the character delivers a speech criticising the leadership of Agamemnon, in particular his greed and dispute with Achilles, and encourages the Greeks to leave Troy. In response, Odysseus rebukes him sternly, beating him with his staf; at this, the assembled troops, though remaining discontented, laugh. The staf represents masculine authority in the realm of public discourse, and by striking Thersites, just as with the trumpets at the end of the Aeneid scene, Odysseus reafrms control over this masculine sphere. There are several further similarities with the mother of Euryalus episode: a fgure of dissent is given a rhetorical speech bemoaning war and is then removed both because of the threat which that dissent poses in the current moment, and because of the threat that this original dissent, or indeed further dissent, might pose in the future. Both speakers address the assembled forces and provoke a reaction (laughter27 and sorrow respectively); both reactions require the leadership to reassert itself. It is remarkable that Euryalus’ mother is never given a name, especially given that Sharrock28 estimates that Virgil specifcally names around one hundred (mortal and divine) female fgures in the Aeneid; by not doing so, he presents her as a universal mother fgure, defned only by her maternity. By contrast, Thersites in the Iliad represents no such universality: he has no patronymic and no place of origin (unique in the Iliad). Rather than the idea that he is a common soldier, which is the usual interpretation, is it in fact the dissenting nature of his speech which renders his genealogical individuality meaningless, since he can only be accepted as an individual, if, like the other characters, he subscribes to both the common goal of the leadership, and indeed the 27 Although to what extent this is as a result of unease at the violence against Thersites is debateable. 28 Alison Sharrock, ‘Intersectional Femininity in Vergil’s Aeneid’, in Vergilius, Vol. 67 (2021), p.98.

narrative arc of the epic? In the case of Euryalus’ mother, her individuality is of no real importance to Virgil, because she operates outside of the traditional sphere of mothers, just as Thersites rashly enters the public sphere of aristocratic discourse.

Why can the Iliad then accommodate Achilles as a fgure of dissent, but not Thersites, since several critics have noted similarities in their speeches (in Iliad 1 and 2)?29 Is it perhaps that Achilles so represents the authorial voice and is so crucial in the arc of the epic that his dissent must be accommodated? Just as the Trojan forces may sympathise with Euryalus’ mother but do not intervene at her removal, so the Greek soldiers laugh at Thersites, but remain discontented; W. G. Thalmann suggests that Thersites is a kind of “scapegoat” character, whose removal acts as communal catharsis.30 Yet, it is clear that catharsis is not achieved, since in both cases discontentment remains – a better way to read both scenes is perhaps as a temporary faring of discontent which is quashed, leaving lingering anger which may build up once again and fash. It may even be possible to stretch the comparison further: does the link between Thersites’ speech and Achilles’ suggest that we can read Euryalus’ mother’s lament as in counterpoise to Aeneas’ anger in Book 12? In each case, violent emotion must be quelled for the common good (the death of Turnus allows the Trojan and Italian communities to become one), and in the case of Thersites and Euryalus’ mother, this must, and does, happen without Achilles/Aeneas present, since their presence would legitimise the comparison and thus Thersites’/Euryalus’ mother’s dissenting voices. It is the singularity of their dissent that is remarkable, as G. S. Kirk notes,31 since neither of them act with popular, vocal support; we can see how both authors have constructed similar scenes of singular dissenting voices crushed by aristocratic manhood which assumes as its right the

29 N. Postlethwaite, ‘Thersites in the Iliad’, in Greece & Rome, Vol. xxxv, No. 2 (1988), p.127

30 W. G. Thalmann, ‘Thersites: Comedy, Scapegoats, and Heroic Ideology in the Iliad’, in Transactions of the American Philological Association, Vol. 118 (1988), pp.17-18

31 G. S. Kirk, The Iliad: A Commentary. Volume 1, Books 1-4 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1985), p.142

support of the whole. Can we then say that Virgil deploys the scene of Euryalus’ mother with that of Thersites in mind? It is impossible to delve into the author’s mind and talk about ‘intention’, but it does seem possible. However, there are some diferences in the two presentations worth briefy addressing before we answer this question fully: Euryalus’ mother does not rebuke Aeneas as Thersites rebukes the kings; Aeneas is absent from this book, and so in fact her lament criticises authority and war in a much broader sense than Thersites’ speech does, and potentially in a much more subversive respect too. Thersites’ ugliness is an integral part of his presentation, but we get no similar physiognomic assumptions in Virgil’s construction of Euryalus’ mother, although perhaps we can draw a comparison between the use of both poor physiognomy and misogyny as diferent authorial techniques used to discredit fgures of dissent.

Even with these diferences, I still maintain that it is plausible to suggest that Virgil draws on the Thersites scene when he constructs the character of Euryalus’ mother as a fgure of dissent. However, it is likely that he has been infuenced by a separate strand of misogynist presentations of discontented women when he establishes the fundamentally female nature of her sedition. When addressed in this way, I suggest that Euryalus’ mother is another example of Virgil engaging with, and distorting Homeric models.

This study has examined the way in which Virgil constructs female mortal voices of dissent, with specifc reference to the mother of Euryalus in Aeneid 9. By drawing comparisons with other Homeric and Virgilian models, I have attempted to show that Virgil uses a very particular language and presentation of female sedition, which derives from a male conception of femininity. There have necessarily been some relevant strands of thought which have fallen outside of the scope of this essay: Egan’s comparison32 of Euryalus’ mother with Mezentius, similarities between Thersites and Drances in the Aeneid, a closer examination of Dido’s characterisation, and the ways in which Virgil constructs divine female voices of dissent, 32 R. B. Egan, ‘Euryalus’ mother and Aeneid 9-12’, in ed. C. Deroux, Studies in Latin Literature and Roman History (Brussels: Société d’études latines de Bruxelles, 1980), p.167

in particular Juno. I would suggest that, if a close comparative study were to be made with regards to Euryalus’ mother and Juno, a sufcient similarity in construction of the two characters might enable us to discern a specifc pattern of female dissent running throughout the Aeneid. Finally, I have also suggested that the fgure of Thersites in the Iliad acts as a model for Virgil’s character, and even if the extent to which the Virgilian character is an allusion to Thersites cannot be established, it has been argued that we can learn much about the specifcally female nature of the dissent of Euryalus’ mother through this comparison.

BIBLIOGRAPHY

• Duckworth, George, ‘The Signifcance of Nisus and Euryalus for Aeneid IX-XII’, in The American Journal of Philology, Vol.88, No.2 (1967)

• Egan, R. B., ‘Euryalus’ mother and Aeneid 9-12’, in ed. Deroux, C., Studies in Latin Literature and Roman History (Brussels: Société d’études latines de Bruxelles, 1980)

• Fairclough, Rushton H., Virgil: Aeneid VII-XII & Appendix Vergiliana, revised by Goold, G. P. (Massachusetts: Harvard University Press, Loeb Classical Library, 2000)

• Feldherr, Andrew, ‘Ships of State: Aeneid 5 and Augustan Circus Spectacle’, in Classical Antiquity, Vol.14, No.2 (1995)

• Giusti, Elena, and Rimell, Victoria, ‘Vergil and the Feminine’, in Vergilius, Vol. 67 (2021)

• Hardie, P, Virgil Aeneid Book IX (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1994

• Keith, A., ‘Virgilian Matres: From Maternal Lament to Female Sedition in the Aeneid’, in eds. id. and Sharrock, Alison, Maternal Conceptions in Classical Literature and Philosophy (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 2020)

• Kirk, G. S., The Iliad: A Commentary. Volume 1, Books 1-4 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1985)

• Nugent, S. Georgia, ‘Vergil’s “Voice of the Women” in Aeneid V’, in Arethusa, Vol.25, No.2 (1992)

• Postlethwaite, N., ‘Thersites in the Iliad’, in Greece & Rome, Vol. xxxv, No. 2 (1988)

• Sharrock, Alison, ‘Intersectional Femininity in Vergil’s Aeneid’, in Vergilius, Vol. 67 (2021)

• Sharrock, Alison, ‘Womanly wailing? The mother of Euryalus and gendered reading’, in Eugesta, Vol. 1 (2011)

• Stuurman, Siep, ‘The Voice of Thersites: Refections on the Origins of the Idea of Equality’, in Journal of the History of Ideas, Vol. 65 (2004)

• Thalmann, W. G., ‘Thersites: Comedy, Scapegoats, and Heroic Ideology in the Iliad’, in Transactions of the American Philological Association, Vol. 118 (1988)

Art by Gabby Murray

The Rape of Cassandra

Art by Sophie Baptista

Tendens Lumina Frustra: The Rape of Cassandra A Metrical Analysis of Virgil’s Aeneid, 2.402-408

“But, oh how wrong to rely on gods dead set against you! Watch: the virgin daughter of Priam, Cassandra, torn from the sacred depths of Minerva’s shrine, dragged by the hair, raising her burning eyes to the heavens, just her eyes, so helpless, shackles kept her from raising her gentle hands. Coroebus could not bear the sight of it – mad with rage he fung himself at the Greek lines and met his death.”

The following metrical analysis considers and investigates Virgil’s stylistic elements in correspondence to their meaning in his literary context1. Scansion is a tool for readers to appreciate Virgil’s technical aptitude and gain a greater sense of the conveyed meaning. In Book 2, Aeneas recalls the unspeakable grief that Dido orders him to renew (infandum regina, iubes renovare dolorem (2.3)), that being the fall of Troy. He blames the naivety of the Trojans on Fate and their deluded minds, since without such detriments the Greeks would have been destroyed and Priam’s kingdom preserved (2.54-6):

et, si fata deum, si mens non laeva fuisset, impulerat ferro Argolicas foedare latebras, Troiaque nunc staret, Priamique arx alta maneres.

“If Fate and our own wits had not gone against us, surely Laocoön would have driven us on, now, to rip the Greek lair open with iron spears and Troy would still be standing – proud fortress of Priam, you would tower still!” Further addressing the fall of Troy,

1 I quote the Aeneid from: Virgil and Randall Toth Ganiban, Aeneid 2 (Indianapolis, Indiana: Hackett Publishing Company, 2008). English translations are drawn from: Virgil, The Aeneid, trans. Robert Fagles (New York: Penguin Press, 2008).

Aeneas recites the episode of Laocoön, the Trojan priest who attempted to save the Trojans from their doomed fate against the Greeks, specifcally from their acceptance of the Trojan horse. Following the two serpents’ attack upon Laocoön and his sons (2.199-233), Aeneas recalls King Priam’s prophetic daughter, Cassandra, and her similar warnings against the Greeks bearing gifts (2.246-7):

tunc etiam fatis aperit Cassandra futuris ora dei iussu non umquam credita Teucris. “Even now Cassandra revealed the future, opening lips the gods had ruled no Trojan would believe.”

It is upon this brief introduction of Cassandra that Virgil contextualizes Aen 2.402-8. Coroebus, as a friend to Aeneas and suitor to Cassandra, incited his army, through fery spirit, to suit themselves in Greek armour and fght for Trojan victory (2.386-391) despite their redundant eforts: si Pergama dextra defendi possent, etiam hac defensa fuissent. (“if one strong arm could have saved Troy, my arm would have saved the city” (2.291-2)).

Coroebus’ downfall derived from his failure to trust the word of his bride, being described as a “poor man, if only he’d marked his bride’s inspired ravings!” (infelix qui non sponsae praecepta furentis / audierit! (2.345-6)). As a result of Cassandra being dragged from Minerva’s temple as a concubine to Agamemnon, Coroebus throws himself into enemy lines on behalf of his lovesick frenzy. Virgil’s dactylic hexameter corresponds to and enhances the action of the episode, both the recurrent problem with piety, and madness in love and war.

Virgil employs a developed type of dactylic hexameter, similar to that of Cicero, Catullus, and Ovid. Each line of this passage concludes with ictus and accent that coincide, particularly of the ffth and sixth feet. Coincidence in the ffth and sixth feet is standard from Ennius onwards –that is, from the frst adaptation of the metre into Latin. ‘Father Ennius’ strived for native Latin-speakers to be able to combine the language’s familiar natural stress accent with the alien, unfamiliar quantitative metre. He provided regular coincidence at the end of the line to aid the listener. These lines also each contain a strong principal caesura with varying placement. The only caesura not placed in the third foot (i.e., penthamimeral) is that of line 403 which is placed in the fourth foot (i.e., hepthamimeral). Line 402 is an emphatic expression that begins with heu nihil (“oh, in no way”) that leads the reader to foreshadow a horrifc event to follow, particularly on behalf of Fate that Aeneas mentioned beforehand. This line contains both dactylic and spondaic feet, arranged so that the spondees are contained within two dactyls of the frst and ffth feet. This stylistic organization naturally slows the middle of this line down, specifcally the phrase: invitis fas quemquam. This middle phrase includes the impersonal verb (fas [est]) and its direct object (quemquam), drawn out to emphasize the cautionary expression that the gods are not easily misled by Coroebus’ Greek armour2. The line also subjectively conveys the efect of what the gods see on the Trojans. The shocking sight of a royal princess being roughly manhandled, and in a holy place at that, arrests the witnesses’ movements. Virgil’s vulgar description is shocking

2 Virgil and Ganiban, Aeneid 2, 66.

in spite of the fact that rape would have been customary of war. The strong caesura of the third foot separates the feet of clash from coincidence. Expressing the unpropitious gods, invitis and divis are separated by the caesura and are situated far away from one another. Considerable emphasis is thereby placed upon invitis, especially considering that Fate’s inability to be thwarted is a major theme of the whole epic. The artistic ‘rhyming’ efect, in which the ending of a word before the caesura is echoed in the last word of the line, is here deeply emotional; often it seems essentially ornamental – but not at this moment of horror. The position of divis at the very end of this line increases tension and suspense, as the threat is not an expected subject such as the Greeks but rather the gods themselves. The gods are recurrent instigators of violence, hence Virgil’s problem with piety that prompts the question: “why are good people sufering?”3 This position of divis also foreshadows the Trojan’s deceptive use of Greek armour that is soon uncovered. The intermingling of trickery and intervention is greatly at play between all three parties: the Trojans, Greeks, and gods.

Line 403 contains both spondaic and dactylic feet, similarly with dactyls containing a spondaic phrase. The spondaic middle feet (the second and third) slow down the phrase trahebatur passis, while the opposing dactylic feet (frst, fourth, and ffth) speed up the beginning and end of the line. Ecce, characterized by a dactyl, quickly begins this line with an unexpected and insistent command. The main verb, trahebatur (“was being dragged”), immediately follows the emphatic beginning,

3 Just 16 lines later, Virgil narrates the deaths of Troy’s most pious men all on behalf of the gods at Aen.

2.424-430: primusque Coroebus / Penelei dextra divae armipotentis ad aram / procumbit; cadit et Rhipeus, iustissimus unus / qui fuit in Teucris et servantissimus aequi / (dis aliter visum); pereunt Hypanisque Dymasque / confxi a sociis; nec te tua plurima, Panthu, / labentem pietas nec Apollinis infula texit. (“Coroebus is frst to go, cut down by Peneleus’ right hand he sprawls at Minerva’s shrine, the goddess, power of armies. Rhipeus falls too, the most righteous man in Troy, the most devoted to justice, true, but the gods had other plans. Hypanis, Dymas die as well, run through by their own men – And you, Panthus, not all your piety, all the sacred bands you wore as Apollo’s priest could save you as you fell.”)

centering the focus of what the audience should be ‘looking’ at, despite the subject (Cassandra) not being explicitly expressed until the following line. Trahebatur speeds up the line just after we have felt the dragging efect of the spondees that precede it. The notably faster rhythm until the end of the line indicates the Greeks’ swift escape. The dactylic and spondaic phrases both contribute to the astonishment towards the inhumane nature of the Greeks. The main verb immediately reminds the audience of Hector being dragged in the Iliad (22.367-404), and more closely references Aeneas’ dream of Hector that occurred just prior to this passage.4 Trahebatur is similarly spondaic to imitate the action of Cassandra being dragged, a drawn out and painful action that Aeneas traumatically witnesses. The hepthamimeral caesura divides Cassandra’s vague and lofty identity, as a virgin and daughter of Priam, from the passive action she undergoes. The caesura allows a suspenseful pause and attributes a sense of weight before revealing Cassandra as victim to the crime. The dactyls of Priameia contribute to this shocking reveal, associated with the initial ecce, to quickly draw the attention of the viewers in astonishment to who is involved, and the spondees of the verb attribute weight to the horrifc action. The noun crinibus that modifes passis, the only clash of this line, appears in the next line. Cassandra’s hair recalls a plausible dispute: has she let her hair down to give expression to her woe as she begged for divine aid, as was customary? Or has her hair been disarranged as a result of rough treatment?

Virgil’s emphatic metrical elements attest that Cassandra’s dishevelled hair recalls both the activity and passivity of her abduction: her act of supplication and dishevelled psychological disposition.5 Line 404 shares the same structural organization of spondaic and dactylic feet as line 403; the frst, fourth, and ffth feet are dactylic and the second and third spondaic. This line is self-contained, as it encompasses Cassandra’s physical abduction and

4 Virgil and Ganiban, 52. Aeneas’ dream recalls Hector being dragged at Aen. 2.270-273: in somnis, ecce, ante oculos maestissimus Hector / visus adesse mihi largosque efundere fetus, / raptatus bigis ut quondam, aterque cruento / pulvere perque pedes traiectus lora tumentis. (“look, I dreamed I saw Prince Hector before my eyes, my comrade haggard with sorrow, streaming tears, just as he once was, when dragged behind the chariot, black with blood and grime, thongs piercing his swollen feet – what a harrowing sight!”)

5 Virgil and Ganiban, 66.

describes such without spilling into the next. Cassandra’s name is delayed and follows the principal caesura to identify, after a pause, which of Priam’s daughters was subjected to such an awful crime. The audience, unlike Aeneas, would know which daughter was raped, yet despite this, Virgil’s stylistic elements grip them in suspense. There is a play of physical movement to and from as ‘a’ describes Cassandra’s physical location, and the ‘ad’ in the next line describes the movement of her eyes to reference an emotional plea towards the gods. A spondaic clash occurs prior to the caesura, templo, which emphasizes the contradictory reward for piety. Despite Cassandra’s earlier eforts to save the Trojans from the invasion of the Greeks, she is raped as a war prize6. Placed in an emphatic position, templo heightens the astonishing violation of this act. Known to Virgil’s contemporary Roman audience, Cassandra was harmed in no ordinary temple, but the temple of the virgin goddess Pallas Athena herself.

Through the violation of the most devout fgures in sacred realms, to which the metre emphasizes, Virgil renders the power of piety negligible. Line 405 is a heavily spondaic line before the caesura and dactylic afterwards. The frst half (the frst, second, and third feet) is spondaic and characterized by clashes while the second half (the fourth and ffth feet) is heavily dactylic and characterized by coincidence. The frst phrase, ad caelum tendens describes the action of Cassandra’s eyes being aimed, or rather drawn, towards the heavens. Its spondaic characterization mimics the action described, contributing weight to Cassandra’s longing eyes, like her dragged body. Both actions are drawn out and slowed down to emphasize 6 Virgil and Ganiban, 48. See Aen. 2.246-7. Cassandra’s prophetic powers are also later referenced at 3.182-7: ‘nate, Iliacis exercite fatis, / sola mihi talis casus Cassandra canebat. / nunc repeto haec generi portendere debita nostro / et saepe Hesperiam, saepe Itala regna vocare. / sed quis ad Hesperiae venturos litora Teucros / crederet? aut quem tum vates Cassandra moveret?’ (“‘My son,’ he says, ‘so pressed by the fate of Troy – Cassandra alone made such a prophecy to me… Now I recall how she’d reveal our destination, Hesperia: time and again repeating it by name, repeating the name of Italy. But who believed a Trojan expedition could reach Italian shores? Who was moved by Cassandra’s visions then?’”)

the agony and pain she experiences. The dactylic subject, Cassandra’s fery eyes, speeds up the line’s fow to characterize her emotions of devastation, rage, and betrayal. This line leads a reader to anticipate the rape of Cassandra with certainty as frustra overtly depicts her failed attempt to obtain mercy. Despite pleading towards the gods with her burning eyes, she fails to escape the clasp of the Greeks. As emphasized by Virgil’s metre, the blame of humans acts as a façade for the true culprits, the gods of supplication and dishevelled psychological disposition7.

Line 406, like lines 402-404, commences and ends with dactylic feet that encompass spondaic feet. This line begins with a shocking repetition of lumina that emphasizes the pathos of Cassandra’s incessant plea towards the gods. She supplicates with her eyes, rather than her voice, illuminating her poignant resignation. Virgil employs the repetition of lumina (2.405-6) to reinforce an explanation of the treachery of the divine. A similar use of repetition is produced at 2.602, divum inclementia divum, an implementation of epanalepsis that is likewise emphatic and emotional. The remainder of line 406 describes Cassandra’s physical restraint on behalf of the shackles. Her description as delicate, teneras, is placed prior to the principal caesura, and, as a spondaic clash, it grants the reader a pause that highlights the violation of her innocence. As a common descriptor in love poetry, Virgil’s teneras- within this violent context - highlights his deliberate and unsettling perversion of romantic imagery. The caesura divides teneras from what it is modifying, palmas, and the word order mimics the action of her hands being restrained from expression. The internal rhyme, of ‘-as,’ at the principal caesura and line ending (teneras and palmas) is a feature of the ‘developed’ hexameter of the late republic and Augustan period, a stylistic element that is much rarer in Ennius and other earlier poetry. The main verb, arcebant, is spondaic to slow the reader down and emphasize the physical restraint of the chains

8 Cf. Aen. 2.601-3: non tibi Tyndaridis facies invisa Lacaenae / culpatusve Paris, divum inclementia, divum, / has evertit opes sternitque a culmine Troiam. (“Think: it’s not that beauty, Helen, you should hate, not even Paris, the man that you should blame, no, it’s the gods, the ruthless gods who are tearing down the wealth of Troy, her toppling crown of towers.”)

weighing Cassandra down, both physically and emotionally. Arcebant is a word composed of three long syllables, metrically termed a ‘molossus.’ By comparison with the internal rhyme of the previous line, this is a relatively old-fashioned stylistic device. Virgil uses a ‘molossus’ near the middle of the line to produce a ‘drag’ on the line. It is almost as if we are being invited to slow down and envisage the scene being described. Cassandra’s helplessness is abundantly obvious and there is no spirit of fghting back in this moment.

Line 407 interweaves spondaic and dactylic feet with one another to mimic the emotional and physical reaction of Coroebus who witnesses the rape of his fancé. Each foot, except the fnal two, clash to stylistically emulate Coroebus’ agonizing reaction to this traumatic event. The principal caesura separates the ablative absolute, furiata mente, from the rest of the line to isolate and pause on Coroebus’ internal reaction before delving into his physical response. The frst, second, and third feet are all dactylic which speed up the pace; there is obvious anticipation for Coroebus to act on behalf of his passion-driven rage. His rabid mania is the same impetuous quality that results in his death at 2.424-6.

Line 408 demonstrates an interplay between metrical feet, the frst and third feet being spondaic, and the second, fourth, and ffth dactylic. This intentional pattern of stylistic metrical feet mimics the pulsing heart of Coroebus, specifcally the elision followingmedium iniecit. The line begins with a solemn frst foot, then speeds up by the elision, and then slows back down before the caesura. This tension between feet illuminates a physical ‘thud’ sound upon the spondees as if the down beats of a pulse; Coroebus is caught in a moment of fght or fight. Despite the tragic content of this line as a Trojan hero hurls himself into the ranks of the enemy to meet his death, there is nevertheless a balance of pace that contributes to a kind of harmony. The frst half of this line is populated with clashes and contains an elision to quickly reach the main verb, highlighting his act of Homeric heroism. The main verb

(iniecit) is spondaic and the caesura placement allows the audience to linger on it for a moment, highlighting the discordance of Coroebus’ action – his suicide as an action that he morally should not have had to commit. Periturus, however, is a coincidence following the caesura, as if to communicate that his death is in accordance with the tragedy that Fate decrees. ‘Pereo, -ire’ repeatedly occurs in book two in relation to physical and metaphoric death and has earlier references to the Georgics8. Coroebus’ spirited actions derived from his lust for war and love, including his successful attempt to rile up his comrades to suit themselves in Greek armour (2.389-90)9. Catullus, Horace, and Virgil each associated pereo with pining away with the kind of love that Coroebus sufers10. Without hesitation, Coroebus acts in a moment of fght or fight and died a hero for his dear love, Cassandra. His act of sacrifce on behalf of Cassandra’s rape recalls moriturus of King Priam who similarly “makes for the thick of battle, out to meet his death” (ac densos fertur moriturus in hostis (2.511)). The twomen who share unremitting love for Cassandra are both grimly determined to die on their feet.Virgil’s metrical application of Cassandra’s curse makes absorbing the impending doom more painful for all his audiences –Aeneas’ Carthaginians and Virgil’s contemporary Romans. His stylistic choices reinforce the notion that Cassandra, despite her innocence, was a vessel of doom for both the society she attempted to save and Coroebus whom she intended to marry. Virgil employs metrical elements amidst this passage that highlight the horrifc rape of innocence and personify Cassandra as Troy’s ultimate cursed fate.

• Cassell’s Standard Latin Dictionary, ed. D. P. Simpson, 1st ed. Webster’s New World, (1854) 1977.

• Harkness, Albert Granger. “The Rhythm of the Aeneid.” The School Review 14, no. 9, (1906): 641-651.

• Homer. Iliad, Volume II: Books 13-24. Translated by A. T. Murray. Revised by William F. Wyatt. Loeb Classical Library 171. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1925.

• Knox, Peter E. “Language, Style, and Metre in Horace”, chapter in Brill’s Companion to Horace. Edited by Hans-Christian Günther. Leiden, the Netherlands: Brill, 2016.

• Morgan, Llewelyn. Musa Pedestris: Metre and Meaning in Roman Verse. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2010.

• Raven, D. S. Latin Metre. Editorial: Bristol: Bristol Classical Press, 2001.

• Virgil and Randall Toth Ganiban. Aeneid 2. Indianapolis, Indiana: Hackett Publishing Company, 2008.

• Virgil. Eclogues. Georgics. Aeneid: Books 1-6. Translated by H. Rushton Fairclough. Revised by G. P. Goold. Loeb Classical Library 63. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1916.

• Virgil. The Aeneid. Translated by Robert Fagles. New York: Penguin Press, 2008.

9 Perituraeque (Aen., 2.660) and periturus (Aen., 2.675) respectively refer to the metaphoric death of Troy and human death. Virgil and J B Greenough, The Bucolics, Aeneid, and Georgics of Virgil (Boston, Ginn, 1900): Virgil describes a most blessed man to be one who is untroubled by Roman law that incites death or doom upon kingdoms, as referenced at G. 2.498: non res Romanae perituraque regna (“untroubled by Rome’s policies spelling doom to kingdoms”)

10 Aen. 2.389-90: mutemus clipeos Danaumque insignia nobis / aptemus. (“Exchange shields with the Greeks and wear their emblems”)

11 Cassell’s Standard Latin Dictionary, ed. D. P. Simpson, 1st ed. (Webster’s New World, 1977), s.v. “pereo.”

All Night Epic

FINLAY MILES

“Gilgamesh is stupendous,” the Austrian poet Rainer Maria Rilke wrote in 1916, “I hold it to be among the greatest things a person can experience!” But to really experience an epic, Rilke believed, you couldn’t just read it as you would a novel – you had to perform it yourself. Though he translated Gilgamesh, Rilke never set it down in writing, instead only speaking it aloud to friends in a few private performances from beginning to end, as he imagined it had been done in the Akkadian language millennia earlier. That Gilgamesh comes alive not on the page or tablet but in the telling of it, is a notion that outgoing Professor of Poetry Alice Oswald took as her guiding principle when she staged an all-night, ffty-person performance of the epic. During her take on Gilgamesh, excecuted on May Day no less, one could see a poem explicitly inviting participation.

Dividing the ten hours of the production between the twelve separate tablets (chapters) of the poem, Oswald assigned each tablet to a specifc group or person, who then rehearsed separately, crucially without the knowledge of what would come before or after. As part of the eighth tablet, with other Oxford students and dancers from the Dartington School of Arts, I found myself speaking words from a poem I had not even read in full by the day of the performance. Our rehearsals began less than a week before the event itself, and were improvisational, explorative, and very loose. Many of us learned the narrative as we acted it out, and spoke lines without knowing exactly where they came from. In our tablet, the city of Uruk stages a funeral for Gilgamesh’s friend and lover Enkidu, where the gods, the people of Uruk and the very ground weep. Accordingly, our roles shifted easily between people, animals, and eventually the Euphrates river itself. Oswald and her husband, the theatre director Peter Oswald, led games of catch the tail and discussions rather than structured run-throughs, and asked us to contribute our own lines to the funeral. We

ended up oscillating between artful and casual: some lamented that “I tried to carve Enkidu’s face in statue, but could not fnd the stones to meet his eyes,” while others simply shrugged “I never knew him, and now I never will.”

This performance represented the live culmination of a project which has spanned Oswald’s whole career: opening up the epic form. In 2022, her Trinity term lecture ‘The Life and Death of Poetry,’ made the case for understanding longform poetry as fundamentally choral. The epic poem, the Odyssey as much as The Waste Land, is for Oswald a carnival of voices speaking to, over and against one another. Her own poetry, too, follows this logic: Dart (2002) charts the course of the titular river as it intermingles the voices of birds, plants, and people, while Memorial (2011) and Nobody (2018) are retellings of the Iliad and Odyssey that sieve out the narrative and structure, leaving only their extended similes and character vignettes. Oswald describes, in the introduction to Memorial, how she wanted to open up the Iliad “as you would lift the roof of a church to remember what you’re worshipping.” The result is something of an unspooled poem, where linear narrative cohesion has been carefully undone, and the raw mechanics of the epic – the Homeric simile that twines images together, or the repetition of stock epithets and formulas – are given an almost ritual emphasis. With Gilgamesh, though, there’s a sense that Oswald’s work has already been done for her. The text, pieced together from stone tablets across the boundaries of cultures, nations, and years, is honeycombed with gaps and ragged edges that turn simple lines into uncertain question marks. In Sophus Helle’s translation, the basis of Oswald’s performance, these instances of emptiness range from single words to stanzas that trail of into nothing, whole spans of unmarked pages. Gilgamesh is already a poem without roof or walls, through which voices fow unan-

chored.Oswald’s approach to this pre-packaged ambiguity was not to bring in any overarching unifer, but to explode the text’s fractiousness further, and fnd through chorus a collective feeling. In tablet eight, one large section of the text towards the end of the funeral is highly scarred, the formulaic opening “he gave his friend” cut of before its object is revealed more than twenty-fve times in a row. Here, after an abortive attempt to fnd enough fowers for an appropriate May Day efgy, we played a game of fll-in the gap, draping Saju Hari, the dancer portraying Enkidu, in cloth, ornaments, our own jewellery, or fragments of verse. Blanks and moments of uncertainty, at least for me, were as present in the acting as the text: I, having no jewellery and really not wanting to take of a sock to give Hari, returned a fallen earring of the foor and “gave my friend what was already given.” Gilgamesh’s funeral speech was separated into ten separate couplets delivered by ten diferent speakers, and a conference of monologues from the perspective of the women, farmers, and wild animals of Uruk was woven between the lines of the tablet. Oswald wrote in an email to our group that she wanted to give the sense of a “multiple-angled poetry”: the laments of the city of Uruk therefore came from the mouths of everyone at once, even those the poem itself only gives cursory mention to, like Enkidu’s lover Shamhat or his adoptive mother the wild lynx. Gilgamesh has been read as an environmentalist paean, a queer love story, and a drama of existential grief. This performance layered all of these and more on top of each other, comfortable in both their irreconcilability and chaos, yet also in the harmony in which each voice sat together.

As much as I thought I understood Oswald’s approach in principle, it wasn’t until the night itself, like all good carnivals, that I really felt how engaging this sense of open participation could be. Outside of our one tablet, we had no role in the unfolding drama. I watched as hours passed and dancers, musicians, schoolchildren, and poets moved across stage and story, Gilgamesh and Enkidu metamorphosing voice and face with each shifting troupe. The performance was a kind of ship of Theseus, with each 15-minute cofee break between tablets apparently allowing a

wholesale transformation of tone, genre and medium to occur within the auditorium. Saju Hari and Marcus Bell were riveting as the protean Bull of Heaven, using a single white sheet and their own contorted bodies to act out the descent, rampage, and killing of a divine bull the size of a city, while Jennifer Wong’s solo performance of the wanderings of Gilgamesh in the ninth tablet blended language, culture, and anachronism together in dreamy spoken word. By the time of Estel Baudou’s directed soundscape-dance performance at 4am, I was sold enough on the sheer undisciplined variety of the night to take a sudden beat drop, and ensuing Godard-meets-Avicii slam poetry rave, in stride. It was pleasing to see just how much of the audience went with it, too. Call and response often shaped the architecture of performance: Stephe Harrop’s summary of the tenth tablet aimed to completely obliterate any contextual gap between Babylon and Oxford, recasting the minor tavern owner Shiduri as a populist YA protagonist “who deserves her own spin-of and stan culture,” and Will Keen’s sleight-of-hand narration of tablet three went down more like a magic trick than a monologue. My own line, delivered a bit before 2am to an audience half-napping, took on a kind of ironic direct address as I looked at a bleary-eyed friend: “what sleep has seized you now?”

In the frst and last tablets of Gilgamesh, the listener is asked to “step across the ancient threshold,” “climb the wall of Uruk,” and “study its brickwork.” Watching, acting in, sleeping through and eating over the performance, I felt totally part of the fabric of the poem as it shifted on and of stage. This long, playful, irreducible interpretation seemed to posit an answer to the question of Theseus’ ship, and to the state of Gilgamesh’s pockmarked text. It doesn’t matter whether the ship by dawn is the same that departed at dusk: as the opening lines note of Gilgamesh’s own journey, it’s the voice you hear and story you make that counts. As Oswald wrote in the event’s programme, “this is a carnival and you are part of it.”

Art by Dowon Jung

Alexandria: The Oxford Undergraduate Classics Journal is rooted in curiosity for all subjects in the world of Classics (including those related to CML, CAMES and CAAH), encouraging exploration beyond the boundaries of tutorial essay questions. We accept academic articles of 1500-3500 words on any Classical topic (think: history, archaeology, philosophy, literature, reception, philology), in addition to commentaries, translations, and Latin and Greek prose and verse compositions.

We are also searching for people interested in editorial and leadership positions, for the ninth issue of the journal. Artists and a creative director are also available positions. Prior experience in editing is not required, all the Alexandria needs is a team of students who are passionate about the ancient world and sharing their thoughts and experience of it.

Please put yourselves forward by emailing alexandriaclassicsjournal@gmail. com to be considered for contribution to the journal in MT23 and beyond!

Kiana Rezakhanlou & Sophie Baptista Alexandria TT23 ‘ Nostos ’