Augostakis, A. - Motherhood and The Other. Fashioning Female Power in Flavian Epic

OX F O R D S T U D I E S I N C L A S S I C A L
L I T E R AT U R E A N D G E N D E R T H E O RY
General Editors
David Konstan Alison Sharrock
Oxford Studies in Classical Literature and Gender Theory publishes
substantial works of feminist literary research, which offer a gender-
sensitive perspective across the whole range of Classical literature.
The field is delimited chronologically by Homer and Augustine,
and culturally by the Greek and Latin languages. Within these
parameters, the series welcomes studies of any genre.
Motherhood and
the Other
Fashioning Female Power in Flavian Epic
A N TO N Y AU G O U S TA K I S
1
3
Great Clarendon Street, Oxford ox2 6dp
Oxford University Press is a department of the University of Oxford.
If furthers the University’s objective of excellence in research, scholarship,
and education by publishing worldwide in
Oxford New York
Auckland Cape Town Dar es Salaam Hong Kong Karachi
Kuala Lumpur Madrid Melbourne Mexico City Nairobi
New Delhi Shanghai Taipei Toronto
With offices in
Argentina Austria Brazil Chile Czech Republic France Greece
Guatemala Hungary Italy Japan Poland Portugal Singapore
South Korea Switzerland Thailand Turkey Ukraine Vietnam
Oxford is a registered trade mark of Oxford University Press
in the UK and in certain other countries
Published in the United States
by Oxford University Press Inc., New York
# Antony Augoustakis 2010
The moral rights of the author have been asserted
Database right Oxford University Press (maker)
First published 2010
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced,
stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means,
without the prior permission in writing of Oxford University Press,
or as expressly permitted by law, or under terms agreed with the appropriate
reprographics rights organization. Enquiries concerning reproduction
outside the scope of the above should be sent to the Rights Department.
Oxford University Press, at the address above
You must not circulate this book in any other binding or cover
and you must impose the same condition on any acquirer
British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data
Data available
Library of Congress Cataloging in Publication Data
Data available
Typeset by SPI Publisher Services, Pondicherry, India
Printed in Great Britain
on acid-free paper by
MPG Books Group, Bodmin and King’s Lynn
ISBN 978–0–19–958441–3
1 3 5 7 9 10 8 6 4 2
Ø ŁºÆÆ, & Ø ŒÆÆ
Ø . . .
(Aeschylus, Agamemnon 958)
o magni mihi numinis instar, cara parens . . .

[et] care pater . . .
(Pun. 13.623–4, 654)
parentibus meis Cretensibus optimis

This page intentionally left blank
Contents
List of Illustrations ix
Preface x
Texts and Translations Used xiii
List of Abbreviations xiv
Introduction: Other and Same: Female Presence in

Flavian Epic 1
(Fe)Male perspectives on cosmopolitanism and identity 1
Motherhood and the Other defined: Julia Kristeva in the
chôra of Strangers 14
Epic within epic: Lemnos and Theban civil war in Statius’
Thebaid 21
Patrio-tic epic? Same and other in Silius’ Punica 23
1 Mourning Endless: Female Otherness in Statius’ Thebaid 30

Defining the periphery: Thebes and Lemnos 34
Between Lemnos and Argos: Hypsipyle’s transgressed
boundaries 37
Eumenidum antiquissima: Jocasta the warmonger or
helpless bystander? 62
In the chôra of sisterhood: Antigone and Ismene—public
gaze and private lament 68
Lament and the poet: Boundaries (re)transgressed 75
2 Defining the Other: From altera patria to tellus mater in

Silius Italicus’ Punica 92
Fathers, sons, and the poetics of patria 97
Capua: Another Rome? A city in the periphery 109
Saguntum as same and other: Breaking the bond with
patria Rome 113
Germana Elissae: A Carthaginian reborn 136
The renewal of tellus 144
viii Contents
3 Comes ultima fati: Regulus’ Encounter with Marcia’s
Otherness in Punica 6 156
Regulus and the Punica: Bridging traditions? 159
Literary convention or subversive speech? 164
Lucan’s Marcia and the foreboding of doom 167
Marcia’s Didoesque farewell—impenetrability wounded 176
‘Securing’ the future 178
Transgressing against nature: The serpent and Virgil’s
Camilla 182
Fashioning a new generation: Marcia ‘sowing the seed’ 188
Li occhi casti di Marzia tua: Embedding Marcia in
the Punica 192
4 Playing the Same: Roman and Non-Roman Mothers in

the Punica 196
Edonis ut Pangaea: Imilce’s art of dissuasion 198
Ne bella pavescas: Mothers as ‘educators’ and the
regeneration of the female 213
Tempus cognoscere manes femineos: The female chôra in
the geography of the Underworld 221
Caelicolum Phrygia genetricem sede: A foreign goddess in
Rome 229
Epilogue: Virgins and (M)others: Appropriations of

Same and Other in Flavian Rome 238
Bibliography 254
Indices 287
List of Illustrations
1. Rome, Cancelleria Relief B, Vespasian’s Aduentus

(Neg. D-DAI-Rom 2007.0010). 243
2. Rome, Cancelleria Relief B, Vespasian’s Aduentus,
detail of Roma (Neg. D-DAI-Rom 2007.0011). 243
3. Rome, Cancelleria Relief A, Domitian’s Profectio
(Neg. D-DAI-Rom 2007.0013). 244
4. Rome, Domus Augustana, lower peristyle, author’s
own picture. 250
5. Rome, Domus Augustana, lower level, from
W. L. MacDonald, The Architecture of the Roman Empire,
vol. I: An Introductory Study (New Haven, CT, and London:
Yale University Press, 1982), fig. 58. 251
Preface
Until the last decade of the twentieth century, Flavian epic poetry
remained in the margins of classical scholarship, as an area in Latin
literature that deserved little attention, if any at all. Fortunately, this
trend has been reversed in the past fifteen years, and the authors
previously known as ‘poets of the Silver Age’ (or even ‘of the decline’)
now figure regularly in both professional conferences in the field of
Classics and also in critical studies on each of the individual authors,
Valerius Flaccus, Silius Italicus, and Statius. This book is the first
study on the role of women in Flavian epic, in particular the Punica
and the Thebaid, and offers a new venue of interpretation, from the
perspective of Julia Kristeva’s theories on foreign otherness and
motherhood, but at the same time it follows in a long tradition of
gender studies and their application to the ancient Greek and Latin
texts. While not claiming to be exhaustive, since I only treat two of
the four epic poems of the period, I hope that my reading will shed
light on the importance of female figures in the epic poetry of the
Flavian age and will initiate further discussion that applies to texts
such as Valerius’ Argonautica or Statius’ Achilleid.
This exciting ‘journey’ in the waters of Flavian epic began as
a dissertation on women in Silius Italicus, completed at Brown
University in 2001 and approved by an especially supportive disser-
tation committee under the direction of M. C. J. Putnam. Michael
offered much valuable guidance and suggestions throughout the
process, while David Konstan, Jeri DeBrohun, and Joe Pucci lent
much appreciated encouragement and help that led to the comple-
tion of the dissertation thesis.
This book, however, owes its inception to a section of one of my
dissertation’s chapters that focused on female otherness. Since then
the dissertation itself changed scope and shape: in this book, I have
only kept part of the second and third chapters of my original thesis,
drastically changed, and refashioned from the perspective of foreign
otherness and the dichotomy between centre and periphery, while
the introduction, the epilogue, and the first and second chapters are
Preface xi
completely new additions. A version of the third chapter of this book
appeared in Ramus, and a version of the fourth chapter appeared in
Classical Philology.
I would like to extend my warmest thanks to the editors of the
series for Oxford University Press, David Konstan and Alison
Sharrock, for the enthusiasm with which they embraced this project
from its inception, their constant support, encouragement, patience,
and erudition, as well as their constructive criticism that saw to its
completion. The anonymous reader offered valuable suggestions and
corrections that helped me improve the manuscript.
I would also like to thank Hilary O’Shea, senior editor for Classics,
Ancient History, and Archaeology at Oxford University Press,
Dorothy McCarthy, assistant commissioning editor, Classics, Ancient
History, and Archaeology, and the production editor, Kathleen
Fearn, who oversaw the swift journey of this book from its manu-
script stage to publication. I am indebted to the copy editor,
Jane Bainbridge, whose erudition and experience have been of tre-
mendous assistance in the process. I would also like to thank the
Deutsches Archäologisches Institut in Rome and Yale University
Press for permission to reproduce copyright illustrations.
I owe special thanks to many people and audiences who heard,
read, and commented on earlier drafts and who shared many insights
and ideas with me during this process: Neil Bernstein, William
Dominik, Brent Froberg, Randall Ganiban, Julia Hejduk, Alison
Keith, Joy Littlewood, Ray Marks, and Carole Newlands. I am grate-
ful for the support I received from Baylor University and the Depart-
ment of Classics, with a summer sabbatical in 2001 to plan the initial
stages of the book and a semester sabbatical in 2005 to complete
a large portion of the volume’s draft, which was finished and sub-
mitted in the summer of 2006. During my stay at Corpus Christi
College at the University of Oxford as a visiting fellow in the autumn
of 2008, I was able to supplement the manuscript with up-to-date
bibliography. I am in Stephen Harrison’s debt for the excellent
hospitality, including the unrivalled resources at the Bodleian,
Sackler, and Corpus Christi College libraries.
During the long process from the beginning to the final touches to
this opus, I have been blessed by the presence of many good friends in
my life, who have brightened my days in so many ways and who have
xii Preface
been present in good or bad moments with their constant support
and encouragement: Lucia Athanassaki, Costas Busch, Carol J. King,
Kostas Kourtikakis, Eleni Manolaraki, Vassiliki Panoussi, John
Thorburn, and Angeliki Tzanetou.
First and foremost, however, this magnum opus is dedicated to my
parents, Georgia and Charidemos Augoustakis, who have incessantly
inspired me with their love and encouragement, rightly and without
exaggeration deserving the titulus to this volume, parentibus optimis.
Antony Augoustakis—
Heraklion, Greece
August 2009
Texts and Translations Used
The consonantal ‘v’ and ‘j’ in the Latin texts has been printed as ‘u’ and ‘i’
and ‘V’ and ‘I’ in capitals. The following standard editions have been used
for quotations from the original Greek and Latin texts (BT ¼ Bibliotheca
Teubneriana; OCT ¼ Oxford Classical Texts):
Livy 21–25 Walters, C. F., and Conway, R. S. OCT 1967.
Livy 26–30 Conway, R. S., and Johnson, S. K. OCT 1968.
Lucan Shackleton Bailey BT 1997, 2nd edn.
Ovid’s Metamorphoses Tarrant, R. J. OCT 2004.
Pliny the Younger Mynors, R. A. B. OCT 1963.
Silius Italicus’ Punica Delz, J. BT 1987.
Statius’ Thebaid Hill, D. E., ed. (1996) P. Papini Stati ‘Thebaidos’
Libri XII, 2nd edn, Leiden.
Suetonius’ Lives Ihm, M. BT 1908.
Valerius Flaccus Ehlers, W. W. BT 1980.
Virgil Mynors, R. A. B. OCT 1969.
Translations of major authors used throughout this book have been

adapted with many changes from the following sources:
Lucan Braund, S. Oxford World Classics 1992.
Silius Italicus Duff, J. D. Loeb 1934.
Statius Shackleton Bailey, D. R. Loeb 2003.
Valerius Flaccus Mozley, J. H. Loeb 1934.
List of Abbreviations
Greek authors and works are abbreviated according to the system of the LSJ,
while Latin authors and works follow the system of the OLD. Any gaps are
supplemented from the abbreviations of the OCD, 3rd edn. The abbrevia-
tion Pun. is used instead of Sil. Periodicals have been abbreviated on the
basis of L’Année Philologique.
LSJ Liddell, H. G., Scott. R., and Jones, H. S., eds (1940) A Greek-
English Lexicon, 9th edn (Oxford: Oxford University Press).
OCD Hornblower, S., and Spawforth, A., eds (1996) The Oxford Classical
Dictionary, 3rd edn (Oxford: Oxford University Press).
OLD Souter, A., Wyllie, J. M., and Glare, P. G. W., eds (1968–82) Oxford
Latin Dictionary (Oxford: Oxford University Press).
MODERN WORKS
ANRW Vogt, J., Temporini, H., and Haase, W., eds (1972– )
Aufstieg und Niedergang der römischen Welt (Berlin and
New York: Walter de Gruyter).
BMC Mattingly, H., ed. (1930), Coins of the Roman Empire in
the British Museum 2: Vespasian to Domitian (London).
Ernout-Meillet Ernout, A., and Meillet, A. (1932) Dictionnaire étymologi-
que de la langue latine (Paris: Klincksieck).
LIMC Lexicon Iconographicum Mythologiae Classicae (1981– )
Zurich.
Suppl. Hell. Lloyd-Jones, H., and Parsons, P., eds (1983) Supplemen-
tum Hellenisticum (Berlin: Walter De Gruyter).
TLL Thesaurus Linguae Latinae (1900– ) Leipzig.
Introduction: Other and Same: Female
Presence in Flavian Epic
(FE)MALE PERSPECTIVES ON COSMOPOLITANISM

AND IDENTITY
omnibus hunc potius communem animantibus orbem

communes et crede deos. patriam inde uocato
qua redit itque dies; nec nos, o nata, malignus
cluserit hoc uno semper sub frigore mensis.
(V. Fl. Argon. 7.227–30)
Rather deem that this world is shared by all living souls, and shared too are
the gods. Thence call this your country, where the sun goes forth and back
again; nor should, my daughter, the inclement climate imprison us always in
this eternal cold alone.
In the seventh book of the Argonautica, Valerius Flaccus expands on

material he draws from Apollonius Rhodius’ third book, where Medea
famously falls in love with Jason. In the passage quoted above, Venus,
disguised as Circe, Medea’s aunt, advises the young girl to pursue her
dream and love, following Jason to Greece, far from her patria,
Colchis.1 When we compare Valerius Flaccus’ adaptation of Chal-
ciope’s similar pronouncement from Apollonius’ own Argonautica,
it becomes apparent that the Flavian poet transforms the Greek
1
See Mozley (1934), 377 n.1: ‘There is a touch of Stoic cosmopolitanism.’ See also
Stadler (1993), 92; Perutelli (1997a), 278; and Liberman (2002), 300 n.125.
2 Motherhood and the Other
epic into a Roman saga of the imperial age—by acclimatising in this
case Chalciope’s words to fit the poet’s Roman standpoint:2
Zçºº Œ ø
HÆ NæÆ Åb ºØ, Iºº Kd ªÆÅ
æÆØ ÆØØ, ¥ Æ Å æ hÆ ˚ºåø.
(Ap. Rhod. Argon. 3.678–80)
How I wish that I did not look upon this palace of our parents or city, but
that I lived at the edge of the world, where no one had ever heard the name
of the Colchians.
Apollonius’ version underscores Chalciope’s escapist tendencies, an
influence on the Hellenistic poet from the Euripidean tragedies,
where characters in distress commonly express the wish to take
wing and fly away to the far ends of the cosmos, an escape from
the unpleasant realities on the stage.3 Chalciope envies Medea’s
potential, bright future away from what she considers to be the
barbaric northern lands of the Colchians. In Valerius’ version, how-
ever, Venus’ exhortation to Medea is expressed emphatically as
a piece of advice from a mother (not an aunt) to her daughter
(o nata, ‘oh, child’, V. Fl. Argon. 7.229) and constitutes a paradigm
unique in imperial epic, a feature that marks the difference between
Flavian epic narratives and the foundational poems of the Augustan
age, in particular those of Virgil and Ovid. In this case, the dichot-
omy between Roman vs Barbarian, Greek vs non-Greek, same vs
other is negotiated from the perspective of an idealised cosmopoli-
tanism.4 In Virgil and Ovid the epic, ktistic narrative hastens towards
the foundation of a centre in Rome, in the heart of Italy, with a
mixture of positive and negative effects, analeptically and prolepti-
cally attached to the future of the empire: consider for instance the
words of Jupiter to Juno in Aeneid 12, where the supreme ruler of
gods and humans elucidates how the two races will merge into one
(faciamque omnes uno ore Latinos, ‘I shall make them all Latins,
2
See Hunter (1989), 172: ‘These verses help to plant the seed of flight in Medea’s
mind.’
3
See e.g. the second stasimon in the Hippolytus (732–51) and Barrett (1964),
297–306. Cf. Euripides’ Hel. 1478–86 and Ion 796–99.
4
Invaluable is Hall’s (1989) study of the construction of ‘Greekness’ and ‘Athe-
nianness’ in tragedy.
Introduction: Other and Same 3
speaking one tongue’, Aen. 12.837).5 Conversely, the post-Augustan
epic narrative becomes increasingly centrifugal, as it hastens away
from the centre to the periphery of the epic landscape: in Valerius, for
instance, the Argonauts set out to seek the golden fleece, but the epic
narrative shifts from Magnesia to Colchis, where the heroes even
participate in a civil war (Argonautica 6), before they embark on the
return trip (a journey that incidentally is never completed, because of
the epic’s breaking off in mediis rebus, in the eighth book).6
Likewise, as we shall see in the subsequent analysis of the Thebaid
and the Punica, on the one hand Statius indulges in rebalancing the
‘middle’7 of the poem from Thebes itself to ‘the trip towards Thebes’,
namely the details of the Argive expedition on its way to the centre of
the action: this reconfiguration ultimately leads to a destabilisation
of the epic genre that struggles to find its own expression, wavering
between different genres at the very end, just before the authorial
voice intervenes to put an end to such ‘dangerous’ enterprises; and
on the other hand, Silius opts for a theme that showcases the long
struggle of Africa to impose itself on the centre—Italy—from which
struggle Rome emerges victorious, yet not unscathed. My discussion
centres on two of the four epic poems of the Flavian period, as they
reflect best a crystallisation of the socio-political and cultural me-
chanisms of the Domitianic regime with respect to the reception of
foreign otherness and the periphery by the centre, as well as the
5
Cf. readings of Roman identity in the Aeneid, such as Toll (1997), who delves
into the long process that constitutes the making of Romanness in Virgil, as an
enterprise of the many, not just one man’s show (namely Augustus). Most recently,
Reed (2007) offers a perceptive discussion of the creation of a multiple and multi-
valent Roman identity out of other nationalities in the Aeneid. As Reed points out,
the Aeneid becomes endlessly rereadable, ‘every angle from which we read it offers a
different way to be Roman in the world’ (12–13).
6
The question here is whether Valerius intends to bring this journey to an end or
leave the poem open-ended, in the tradition of Lucanian epic; cf. Hershkowitz
(1998b), 32:
In a sense the Argonautica does not need an end. The conclusion of this most familiar
of tales has already been written and rewritten. Every reader knows how the story
ends, and so every reader can ‘write’ his or her own ending, guided by external
intertextual knowledge and by internal prolepses.
7
On ‘middles’ in Statius and Silius, see McNelis (2004) and Tipping (2004)
respectively.
amalgamation of ideas of universal cosmopolitanism. Though Valerius’
Argonautica and Statius’ Achilleid can be used as insightful comparanda
for drawing similar conclusions, their unfinished state and the earlier
composition of Valerius’ poem during the transitional period of the
Vespasianic regime8 have led me to focus solely for the purposes of this
study on the Thebaid and the Punica, a mythological and a historical
poem respectively, as representative trends in Flavian, imperial epic.
The passage from Valerius Flaccus, however, with which this chapter
opens, offers an unrivalled glimpse into the ideas concerning univer-
salised cosmopolitanism, later fully developed by Valerius’ epic suc-
cessors. When Valerius reconfigures Chalciope’s secret wish, voiced to
Medea in hypothetical terms, the poet transforms it into a piece of
advice given to Medea by Circe, a person already experienced in the
KåÆØÆ, at the other side of the known world, in the extrema mundi:
Circe has found a new dwelling in Ausonia as the royal wife of Picus
(nunc Ausonii coniunx ego regia Pici, ‘now I am the royal wife of Italian
Picus’, V. Fl. Argon. 7.232). In other words, Circe is already Romanised
(meque vides Tusci dominam maris, ‘you see me being the mistress of
the Tuscan sea’, 7.234),9 and her language precisely reflects this meta-
morphosis, since she stresses her flight from the uncivilised Colchians
uniquely as an act of fas, a strong term borrowed from Roman ritual
and religious activity (fas mihi non habiles, fas et tibi linquere Colchos,
‘it was right for me to abandon the uncouth Colchians; it is permitted
to you too’, 7.231). That is why, when she urges Medea to follow Jason
to Greece, the location seems of secondary significance—the journey is
stressed instead, while the disasters of the future are never revealed by
the skilled and unscrupulous goddess Venus, in disguise. In this play of
idealised cosmopolitanism, the centrifugal mechanism at work is at
times adjusted into a centripetal force, since from the extrema mundi
8
For the dating of Valerius Flaccus’ Argonautica, in the early years of the Flavian
regime, see now Stover (2008) with further bibliographical references; see also n.20.
9
Cf. Virg. Aen. 7.189–91:
Picus, equum domitor, quem capta cupidine coniunx
aurea percussum uirga uersumque uenenis
fecit auem Circe sparsitque coloribus alas.
Picus, the tamer of horses, whose wife, Circe, possessed by lust, having struck him
with her golden stick, changed him with her potions into a bird and sprinkled colours
on his wings.
Medea is ultimately destined to come to the centre, Greece, whence all
action initially begins for the Argonauts.
The most important transformation in the Valerian passage, how-
ever, can be located in the identity of the speakers, two women from
the periphery, to whom the epic, male perspective gives voice, engage
in a dialogue on idealised cosmopolitanism, a paradox in itself, since
the topic is conventionally limited to philosophical discourse and
therefore flourishes in an exclusively male environment, as we shall
see next. This system of ideas concerning universal citizenship found
in Valerius’ Romanised Argonautica (communem animantibus orbem
/ communes et crede deos) is positively based firmly in Stoic philoso-
phy, as exemplified in Roman thought especially by Seneca and
circulated in the literary circles of the Neronian and early Flavian
literature. An example from the philosopher’s eighth book of the
Dialogi, the De otio, serves to illustrate Seneca’s convictions as a
ŒºÅ-çØºç, with regard to universal community:10
Duas res publicas animo complectamur, alteram magnam et uere publicam qua
di atque homines continentur, in qua non ad hunc angulum respicimus aut ad
illum sed terminos ciuitatis nostrae cum sole metimur, alteram cui nos adscrip-
sit condicio nascendi; haec aut Atheniensium erit aut Carthaginiensium aut
alterius alicuius urbis quae non ad omnis pertineat homines sed ad certos.
(De otio 4.1)
Let us try to take in two kinds of states: one big—and truly a state, in which
both men and gods inhabit, in which we do not look at such or such corner,
but where we measure the borders of our city with the sun; the other is the one
in which our accident of birth enrolled us (as citizens); this can be either the
city of the Athenians or of the Carthaginians or of any one else, a city, which
does not reach out to include all human beings, but just certain ones.11
10
Konstan (2009) traces the word ŒºÅ back to the fourth century BCE, in
Euripides (fr. 1047.2; cf. frs. 777, 902 Kannicht), the Socratic thought, Diogenes the
Cynic, and especially Zeno’s Republic. See also Kleingeld and Brown (2002). In Strangers
to Ourselves, Kristeva (1991), 57–63, extensively discusses Stoic cosmopolitanism in the
context of Greeks vs non-Greeks in the Hellenistic age and beyond. For recent con-
tributions to the theory of cosmopolitanism, see Konstan (2009), 484 n.7.
11
See Williams (2003), 79–80; cf. Ep. 28.4–5: cum hac persuasione uiuendum est:
‘non sum uni angulo natus, patria mea totus hic mundus est’ (‘one must live with this
conviction: “I am not born in one corner, my country is the whole world”’).
Seneca’s hyperbolic articulation terminos ciuitatis nostrae cum sole
metimur is nuanced in Valerius’ adaptation, qua redit itque dies: the
natural world fulfils the role of an infinite, visible, and yet almost
invisible, boundary, which nevertheless is incapable of enfolding the
universality of a cosmopolitan human being. Valerius sets the limits
of the cosmos both in the far east and the far west, measuring the
extrema mundi by the course of the Sun’s chariot from sunrise to
sunset, just as the Neronian philosopher does with the phrase cum
sole metimur. In addition, it is perhaps not coincidental that Seneca
chooses to illustrate the example of the minor res publica by a
reference to Athens and Carthage, two of Rome’s greatest opponents,
after whose conquest Rome emerges as the sole power in the
Mediterranean; this subjugation therefore facilitates Rome’s trans-
formation into an all-encompassing empire.12 The sophisticated
nuance evokes the long-standing association of Athens with the
Greek institution of the polis, into the confines of which she returns
after losing an empire; Carthage, similarly, features as the former
power, which in addition exemplifies the other, because as a Phoeni-
cian city it is marked by a well-defined foreignness in the Graeco-
Roman literary imagination. After all Greece is never conquered in
Roman thought in the same terms as the enemy par excellence,
Hannibal, must be conquered, a moment in history that epitomises
the apogee of glorious success for the empire (and the beginning
of the end, at the same time). But most importantly, in Seneca’s
Weltanschauung, Rome constitutes a successful model on the map of
cosmopolitanism, acculturating, but at the same time capable of
absorbing the qualities of the peripheral peoples she conquers.
In this complex panorama of ideas exchanged concerning univer-
sal citizenship, which by implication necessarily becomes a discourse
on empire, it is important to remember, as Konstan maintains, that
cosmopolitanism according to Cynic thought is an elite status and
takes the form of membership in the international community of the
wise and good, an idea adopted by the Stoics of the early empire in
12
Williams (2003), 80, observes: ‘not chosen at random, as S. already identifies
two major centres of political opposition to free philosophical speculation . . . Both
also have turbulent histories . . . with their prime long past.’
Rome.13 This is important for our consideration of imperial epic as a
case study of ongoing negotiation between same vs other. And by
elite status, one must understand the idealised position such a
utopian urbs occupies in the mind both of the philosopher and the
Flavian epicists. According to Konstan, cosmopolitanism is divided
into two categories, ‘a negative, that is, the rejection of allegiance to
any polis, which we associate with the Cyrenaic philosopher Aristip-
pus, and a positive, which presupposes some kind of commitment to
society beyond the confines of the city-state’.14 This second category
that is akin to the ideas recurring in Valerius Flaccus and in Flavian
epic in general, is further distinguished into two groups: the first,
where foreign customs are acknowledged and differences are re-
spected; and the second, where an inborn sameness in all human
beings is presupposed, resulting in the collapse of the polarity be-
tween same and other.15 Though Seneca subscribes to the first
category, that is, to a universal citizenship that rejects the narrow
boundaries of the urbs, he also treads on the territory of the second,
as he is not interested in ‘a supportive blueprint for or an ideal in
conflict with Roman imperial government’.16 In other words, this
philosophical debate is by default uninterested in the historical
13
Konstan (2009), 476.
14
Konstan (2009), 477.
15
As Reydams-Schils (2005), 100, observes: ‘the idea that what would be good
for Rome could be at odds with the well-being of other peoples or with universal
humanity was not unfamiliar to the Romans.’ She also cites the example of
Carneades who talks about the ‘advantages of the fatherland’ being the ‘disadvan-
tages of another state’:
quae sunt enim patriae commoda nisi alterius ciuitatis aut gentis incommoda, id est
fines propagare aliis uiolenter ereptos, augere imperium, uectigalia facere maiora?
(Lactant. Div. inst. 6.6.19)
For what are then the advantages of the fatherland, if not the disadvantages of
another city or people, that is to extend borders by stealing them from others
violently, to augment the empire, and to impose greater taxes?
Reydams-Schills concludes that ‘according to this scenario, Romans and non-Romans
are locked into a zero-sum game’. Carneades is famous for his advocacy of a philoso-
phical truth that is free of fixed and stable binarisms, applicable of course to the
dichotomies discussed here (see Janan [2001], 73 and nn.18–19).
16
Williams (2003) 80; cf. also Williams’s introduction on how this view is
reconciled with Seneca’s thought of practical ethics as a way of life in the ‘real world’.
realities encountered throughout the empire in the hic et nunc of the
late first century CE and rather constitutes a ‘romanticised’ discourse
on the possibilities created by large empires, in this case Roman
hegemony, and the effects of cosmopolitanism on the shaping of
Roman identity.17 This idealised cosmopolitanism, then, is inter-
twined with the perception of Romanness, pervasive in the empire
of the late first century, namely what it means to be a ciuis Romanus,
within or without the ever changing boundaries of a geographically
vast terrain.18
In the extensive analysis of the Thebaid and the Punica that
follows, as we shall see, from the perspective of the epic poets of
the period there seems to be a fluidity in concepts as to what
constitutes Romanness as opposed to non-Roman otherness, with a
shift of focus from the centre of the empire to the periphery and its
inhabitants. This study specifically addresses the split representation
of women along two axes, the intersection of gender and ethnicity, or
more particular Roman vs other,19 and aims at uncovering the in-
sights we can glean from female action in the long, male dominated,
narrative of two diverse poems.20 The larger purpose of this book
17
One may contrast Kristeva’s ideas on cosmopolitanism in modern nations, as
we shall see below. As Sjöholm (2005), 62, affirms: ‘Cosmopolitanism offers a way of
disinvesting the nation: no longer primary objects of identification, but transitory
spaces, preparing the entrance into other, larger communities.’
18
In light of various discussions on what constitutes Romanness, the all but non-
existent Romanitas (used first in Tert. De pallio 4) is used in this study as the all-
encompassing term for the individual concepts of uirtus, fides, and pietas; see, for
instance, the use of the term by Galinsky (1981), Burck (1981a), Janan (2001), Adams
(2003), Dewar (2003), Dominik (2003a), 474 n.8. On Roman ‘nationalism’, Bonjour’s
(1975) study remains extremely useful.
19
This study follows a similar approach to Janan’s interpretation of the split
representation of the erotic and the political in Propertius’ fourth book, though
Janan applies the Lacanian model of subjectivity; naturally, Janan’s analysis and my
interpretation are applied to two very different genres, epic and elegy. As Janan is
keen in observing throughout her insightful study, binary polarities are all the more
emphasised by the poet as he strives to present a surface of uniformity and sameness,
when in truth what breaks forth is a divided subjectivity of variation and otherness.
In Flavian epic, the Lacanian use of the symbol of the phallus has been explored by
Heslin (2005), 277–300, on Achilles’ rape of Deidamia in Statius’ Achilleid.
20
Although we cannot be certain about dating the poetry of this period, we can
roughly place Martial’s first book of the Epigrams in 85–6 CE (Howell [1980], 5), the
completion of Valerius Flaccus’ Argonautica before 92 CE (the year of his death and of
the publication of the Thebaid, according to its author), and Silius’ composition of
then is to explore the dynamics of Romanness and otherness in the
light of female representation and the manipulation of women’s
actions in the poems in order to highlight the fluidity and mobility
of gender and cultural hierarchies. Ultimately, as we shall encounter
in the individual chapters and in the conclusion, the poets of the
Flavian period adopt a rather Senecan point of view, since their
idealised discourse on gender and ethnicity aims at destabilising
boundaries, in a reconstruction according to which sameness and
otherness seemingly converge, while at the same time, surprisingly,
these same boundaries are reshaped from the male perspective of the
epic diction, a narrative destined and often hastening to celebrate the
Œº Æ IæH, thus satisfying the generic expectations for a marginal,
abject female voice.
More specifically, this study is concerned with the tensions be-
tween same and other in the epic poetry of the Flavian age, and
especially with the development of the role of those women,
mothers-daughters-wives, who are portrayed as other, while they
also exemplify the traditional moral values and ethics expected
from Roman matronae. From the analysis of various, often diverse,
characters, the conclusion can be drawn that the construction of
Roman identity ultimately rests upon the absorption of elements
from outside, which bear the marks both of the radically different—
the monstrous—and of Rome’s truest self, that is, its idealised virtues
and merits.21 My discussion of the Thebaid and the Punica is
Punica 15 around 94 CE or shortly thereafter, with the epic’s (hurried?) conclusion

around the time of the death of the emperor, Domitian, in 96 CE (see Marks [2005a],
288). For the chronology of Silius’ work see Wistrand (1956), whose opinion that
Silius starts the composition of the Punica around 80 CE I espouse (cf. the Introduc-
tion in Augoustakis [2010a]) and also Smolenaars [1994], xvi–xviii).
Smolenaars’s study (1996) underscores the need for more comparative work on
Flavian epic. Cf. Hutchinson (1993), 121–3, on Statius and Silius. I think that Steele
(1930) is right to conclude that there is clearly interaction among the three Flavian
epicists; such method is adopted by Lovatt (2010) as she looks for possible readings
back and forth between Statius and Silius, regardless of the issue of priority of
composition.
21
David Konstan correctly reminds me of the truth that we inevitably ground identity
and values in a confrontation with the other that in the end proves unstable. In her
analysis of the fourth book of Propertius’ poems, Janan (2001) points to the inherent
fragility and tenuousness of polarities such as Man/Woman, Roman/non-Roman that
grounded in recent reflections on ethnicity and geographics in the
Roman world. As interest in non-Roman otherness and identity has
increased in the past few years, scholars have sought to re-examine
the Roman perspective concerning the people the Romans conquer
in the process of the formation of the empire. For example, in a
perceptive study on ethnicity and power in the Roman empire,
Konstan has commented on how geographics impinges upon the
construction or (I dare say) deconstruction, of gender roles.22 By
examining the portrayal of foreign queens in Strabo’s Geography,
Konstan shows that in the global, multinational world of the
Roman empire, the polarities between barbarians and civilised peo-
ple on the one hand and between male rulers and capable female
leaders on the other seem often to be destabilised during the early
empire; thus the emergence of powerful female figures outside the
Roman centre is poignantly underscored.23
Though based on the literary portrayal of the foreign/other, as
nourished in the literary imagination of Graeco-Roman authors and
their perception of historical realities, this assessment is also aligned
with the results of anthropological studies on the complex mechan-
isms of Romanisation throughout the Roman Empire. Wells, for
instance, seeks to restore the voice of the subjugated nations and to
trace the influence wrought on the structure of Roman Europe, by
emphasising those methods that work counter to the forces of
Romanisation and mobilise an intermingling of cultural systems
that ultimately result in the amalgamation of a vast, dynamic em-
pire.24 Likewise, in a recent study on unity and diversity in the
Roman Empire, Hingley offers a subtle evaluation of the empire’s
elasticity in adopting and adapting foreign elements; as he rightly
observes:
lead to their own instability and ultimately collapse: ‘Rome’s identity, founded on her
primordial virtues, contains within itself its own inversion’ (61).
22
Konstan (2000).
23
In an earlier study, Konstan (1993) has persuasively pointed out the contrast
between centre and periphery in Juvenal’s Satire 2, where corrupted Rome is shown
also as infecting the periphery. One could also mention Satire 3, where Umbricius
explains his decision to abandon the metropolis (esp. 58–125: ‘true’ Romans ousted
by foreigners). See Freudenburg (2001), 264–77, and Keane (2006), 31–3.
24
Wells (1999).
Roman culture did not directly replace other more localised forms of elite
identity. Part of its strength lay in its malleability, which allowed it to be used
to incorporate and manipulate other cultures and identities in order to
define flexible joint identities that communicated on both the local and
the global level.25
Whether reflecting historical realities or not, Roman identity as a
literary construct invites similar responses from various authors and
texts in the Flavian and post-Flavian periods, as much so as it does in
Virgil’s Aeneid. In two studies of the Germania and the Agricola
respectively, O’Gorman (1993) and Rutledge (2000) have explored
the dynamics of Tacitus’ negotiation of Romanitas and otherness.
More specifically, both authors investigate the historian’s textual
strategy of transforming Germany and Britain into a Roman space,
where one finds Roman values and ideology. At the same time,
however, Tacitus’ narrative reveals certain tensions, since there is a
displacement of ideal morality from the Roman into the German
territory. As the city itself has become alien to its inhabitants, the
Romans now seek recourse to the periphery in order to find true
Romanitas there.26 Similarly, in a recent study on Saguntum in the
first two books of the Punica, Dominik (2003a) persuasively argues
that it is not the Romans themselves, but non-Romans, who become
the true exemplars of fides and pietas in Silius’ poem. Thus, Dominik
continues, the defining bearers of Romanitas are situated at the
empire’s periphery, and not in the centre itself.
It comes as no surprise that among such indispensable compo-
nents of Romanitas, like fides and pietas, female morality plays a
significant role.27 For Tacitus, for instance, as mentioned above, the
wives of the Germans become paragons of what Roman matronae
should exemplify (but unfortunately, the historian complains, do
25
Hingley (2005), 71. Hingley is rightly careful in avoiding espousing the notion of
Romanisation as a simple progression of barbarism toward civilisation. Roth’s (2007)
study of Italian pottery is an excellent example of how evidence from material culture
mirrors the complexities of Romanisation in central Italy during the Hannibalic wars
and beyond.
26
Likewise in Shumate (2006), 81–127.
27
See Langlands’s (2006) study of women’s sexual morality in the Roman world,
especially the section on imperial narratives (319–63). On women and uirtus, see
McDonnell (2006), 161–8.
not).28 To be sure, women can hardly be ignored in this negotiation
of universal citizenship, as they by default represent the other, the
foreign, the marginal, in a word the social group most prone to
acculturation and assimilation into a patriarchal society, such as
the Roman. As early as in the second century BCE in Rome, for
instance, women of upper-class Roman families are being educated
at the elementary and sometimes intermediate level,29 a tradition
aiming precisely at propagating the Roman ideals of motherhood
and matronhood.30 Thus, we learn from our sources that an edu-
cated matrona would embody the exemplary virtues of chastity,
prudence, modesty, unselfishness, veracity, and dedication to her
husband and children.31 Several illustrious women appear in the
sources as paragons of success and prosperity in a Roman family:
besides taking care of their household affairs, Roman mothers super-
vise the moral and intellectual education of their children. Apart
from securing generational continuity, the task of a mother consists
in nurturing her children, especially the young men of the house,
according to the mos maiorum (disciplina ac seueritas).32 Such histor-
ical realities are often included in literary representations of the
female sex, especially in genres, outwardly traditional, such as epic.
As expected in a genre valorising the elite male identity through the
didactics of manliness (uirtus), fertile ground for such portrayals of
women is found in epic narratives, the examples of women who may
exemplify but also at times may not fulfil social expectations.33 In
promoting the ideals of the glorious Roman past, such as the victory
over the Carthaginians, or underscoring the failure of mythological
heroines as mothers and wives, as they become participants in the
vicious and ethically corrupting Theban civil war, the Flavian poets
represent ideals that conform to the world-view of the male audience
28
Cf. Joshel (1997).
29
See Hemelrijk (1999), 17–58.
30
Ibid., 59–96.
31
See Dixon (1990), 71–98. For instance Cornelia, the mother of the Gracchi,
daughter of Scipio Africanus, and therefore granddaughter of Pomponia, Scipio’s
mother, whom we shall examine in the course of our discussion of the Punica. For
Cornelia, see Hemelrijk (1999), 64–7.
32
Dixon (1990), 61–5.
33
Keith (2000), 35. Keith (2000), 8–35 offers a stimulating discussion of the
correlation between epic and the construction of Roman masculinity.
and foster the alignment of female behaviour in accordance with the
mos maiorum. To educated female readers and audience members in
the recitationes,34 epic heroines from the periphery are shown as
espousing Roman ideals of motherhood and matronhood and pro-
pagating the male ideology of the empire. And yet, this old, male
ideology is simultaneously destabilized, as mothers assume a key role
in securing and promoting their sons’ prosperous future. Thus, not
only do women promote Roman ideals of the glorious past but also,
and most importantly, they question the decisions taken by the male
protagonists: without the intervention and presence of the Magna
Mater, that is personified Motherhood herself, at the end of the
Punica, an end to the war is unfeasible.
Though these epics may reflect on the socio-political environment
in which they are created,35 nevertheless we should bear in mind that
we can only glance at the ‘anxiety’ and idealism of their respective
composers: therefore, our interpretation of female action is based on
the reconstruction of the materials gleaned from the narrative but by
no means can it aim at the recovery of historical realities; one can
hope for a partial reflection of such realities, from the subjective
perspective, perception, and political orientation of the author.36 Ulti-
mately, these female figures under consideration represent literary
constructs, remaining enclosed and mapped onto the geography of
34
See Markus (2000).
35
For a socio-cultural, as well as historiographical, study of foreigners in Rome
and their integration in Roman society, politically and religiously, see Noy (2000), as
well two important contributions to the subject by Ricci (2005), especially 3–24 (on
demographics), and (2006), especially 35–52 (on immigration from Africa). Ricci’s
studies focus on the situation in the metropolis of the empire, the centre, not the
periphery, where materials are often irrecoverable. One should note the different
terminology used in everyday life material evidence, such as peregrinus or aduena
(even transmarinus or prouincialis), and the sharp dichotomies cultivated in (epic)
poetry, such as barbarus. On terminology, see Noy (2000), 1–3.
36
For instance, Noy’s conclusion (2000), 287, converges with the ideal representa-
tion of homogeneity and diversity concurrently preserved in the epic tradition: ‘Once
they were settled at Rome, foreigners could try to integrate or to retain at least some
aspects of their “foreign” identity; they might also try to pass this on to their
children.’ Similarly, Ricci (2006), 106: ‘La storia della vita degli stranieri a Roma si
identifica, come in ogni grande città, con la sua stessa storia, . . . constituendo . . . il
segno e la garanzia di soppravvivenza e scambio vitale proprio di una grande
metropoli.’
Roman epic as ideally successful or blatantly failing wives and mothers,
from the centre or the periphery.
MOTHERHOOD AND THE OTHER DEFINED: JULIA

KRISTEVA IN THE CHÔRA OF STRANGERS
My theoretical apparatus in reading women and motherhood in

Flavian epic is indebted to Julia Kristeva’s theory of the role of
motherhood and foreigners in literature, culture, and society, a
point of departure in my analysis of the two epic poems under
consideration. Julia Kristeva’s contribution of several intriguing ana-
lyses of motherhood in Western culture is undeniably of great sig-
nificance. She draws a distinction between the symbolic and the
semiotic: the symbolic enables language to refer (conventions such
as grammar and linguistic structures),37 whereas the semiotic is ex-
pressed in body language (the movement, or the babbling of an
infant, for instance).38 By means of this distinction, Kristeva under-
stands poetry as the necessary process in which the semiotic is
discharged into the symbolic. This is a shared and mutual process,
inasmuch as, without the symbolic (male, paternal), signification
would not make sense—therefore signification requires the rupture
(coupure) of the semiotic continuum—while, without the semiotic
(feminine, maternal) all signification would be devoid of creativity
and effectiveness.39
37
See Miller (2004), 5: ‘The Symbolic . . . is the world of rules and codes. It
includes language and all other shared semiotic systems . . . Poetry as a linguistic
practice takes place in the Symbolic . . . ’
38
Moi (1986), 12: ‘The semiotic is linked to pre-Oedipal primary processes, the
basic pulsions of which Kristeva sees as predominantly anal and oral, and as simul-
taneously dichotomous (life/death, expulsion/introjection) and heterogeneous.’
Whereas the semiotic may be expressed verbally, it is not subject to regular rules of
syntax, as McAfee (2004), 17, points out.
39
See Oliver (2005):
Kristeva describes the relation between the semiotic and the symbolic as a dialectical
oscillation. Without the symbolic we have only delirium, while without the semiotic,
language would be completely empty, if not impossible. We would have no reason to
In effect, Kristeva calls this semiotic domain, chôra, borrowing the
term from the Platonic åæÆ, the third ontological kind, a space
between the archetypical paradigm (ÆæÆªÆ r ) and its
replicas (Ø ÆÆ):
æ Æs ª k e B åæÆ I, çŁæa P æå, æÆ b
Ææ å ‹Æ åØ ª Ø AØ . . .
(Tim. 52a–b)
There is then a third kind, that of the eternal space, that is not subject to
destruction but provides a seat to everything that comes to life . . .
Kristeva defines this space as ‘rupture and articulations (rhythm),

[that] precedes evidence, verisimilitude, spatiality, and temporal-
ity’.40 In other words, in this scheme, the semiotic is preverbal,
since it ‘precedes the establishment of the sign, it is not . . . cogni-
tive’.41 Being pre-Oedipal, the semiotic chôra is linked to the mother,
whereas the symbolic is dominated by the Law of the Father;42 yet
this concept of motherhood is not confined to biological gender, but
is rather transformed into what we can call (m)otherhood.43 The
receptacle womb, therefore, adopted as maternal space (chôra), is
closely related to what Kristeva conceived as genotext, the powers that
bring a text into being. The energies, pulses that take place in this
receptacle, are captured only through the splitting of the semiotic
chôra into the signifying symbolic, which in turn is associated with
speak if it were not for the semiotic drive force. The oscillation between the semiotic
and the symbolic is both productive and necessary.
40
Kristeva (1984), 26. As Moi (1986), 13, points out, Kristeva is aware of the
paradox of trying to theorise ‘the untheorisable chôra’. See also Moi (2002), 169–72,
for possible criticism levelled against Kristeva’s theories. Kristeva’s re-evaluation of
poetic language, in terms different from Lacan’s male-oriented Imaginary and Sym-
bolic Order, was the starting point for her further studies in psychoanalysis, such as, for
instance, in the Powers of Horror (1982), Tales of Love (1986), and Black Sun (1989).
41
Kristeva (1984), 27.
42
Moi (2002), 164.
43
My use of the neologism (m)otherhood here is based on the use of m/other by
Jensen (2002) in her analysis of Walt Whitman’s Leaves of Grass. Jensen examines
Whitman’s struggle with the polarity feminine/masculine through the lens of Kristeva’s
theory of the semiotic and the symbolic. Whereas at the end the symbolic takes over
having repudiated the abject semiotic (m/other), nevertheless, the abject cannot be
fully repressed and resurfaces creating a subject who is ‘forever in process/trial’ (111).
the phenotext, the grammatical or linguistic structures that result
from the genotext.44
The Kristevan semiotic is marginal to language, just as the femi-
nine is marginal under patriarchy.45 Kristeva points to the paradox-
ical status of women as both central but at the same time
marginalised, a condition that, as we shall see, is key to our under-
standing of the role of women in Flavian epic. Spentzou has recently
employed profitably the Kristevan chôra in her interpretation of
Ovid’s Heroides, where she defines the chôra as the place where the
heroines’ suppressed monologue takes place, ‘a discourse that dis-
rupts the Symbolic accounts of the forefathers of classical narratives,
marking their absences, contradicting their complacent certainties,
and occasionally keeping a silence that can muffle the clamour of
boisterous epic and tragedy’.46 The Ovidian, if we can call it so, chôra
of female prolific writing, however, a marginal topos of creative
melancholy, curbed by the restrictions of gender and genre, can
account for several female characters in Flavian epic, as we shall
see, since I submit that the poetry of Statius and Silius displays a
supple grafting of the epic (Virgil) and elegiac (Ovid’s Heroides)
traditions. But for our analysis of female action in epic poetry, the
Kristevan chôra becomes only partly an informative tool; another
44
Konstan (2005), 2: ‘Kristeva understands good poetry to be an irruption of
unconscious or semiotic processes into the logical order of language (the two
domains, while analytically distinct, are always to some degree mixed).’ Konstan
applies Kristeva’s theory to explain Plato’s vision of the mental state of divinely
inspired, possessed poets in Plato’s Ion (533e–534a). Davis (1995) applies Kristeva’s
theory of the abject on Sophocles’ Antigone.
45
As Moi (2002), 166, aptly observes:
If patriarchy sees women as occupying a marginal position within the symbolic order,
then it can construe them as the limit or borderline of that order . . . [W]omen will then
come to represent the necessary frontier between man and chaos; but because of their
very marginality they will also always seem to recede into and merge with the chaos of
the outside . . . they will be neither inside nor outside, neither known nor unknown.
46
Spentzou (2003), 103; on Kristeva, see 99–104. Spentzou uses the Platonic/
Kristevan chôra as the space, where Penelope finds refuge in the isolation of her
bedroom, for instance. Spentzou calls attention to studies on gendered time, such as
Segal (1977). In her most recent study of feminine discourse in Roman comedy,
Dutsch (2008), 220–22 (see 214–16 on the Platonic åÆ), examines the Kristevan
model of interpretation, though she goes on to adopt Irigaray’s theories in order to
elucidate Roman comedy patterns.
aspect of Kristeva’s work will speak well for the interpretation of
foreign otherness, with which this study is occupied.
The implications of the semiotic chôra as a maternal space, how-
ever, are salient in all of Kristeva’s writings, especially those related to
politics and feminism. As a foreigner in Paris, where she came in
1966 from her native Bulgaria (where she was born in 1941), Kristeva
has eloquently been emphasising her otherness from her very first
essays: ‘To work on language, to labour in the materiality of that
which society regards as a means of contact and understanding, isn’t
that at one stroke to declare oneself a stranger/foreign (étranger) to
language?’47 As Moi points out, Kristeva’s writings are influenced by
her ‘own exiled and marginalised position as an intellectual woman
in Paris’48—in other words in her place as a peripheral outsider in the
centre. As Kristeva maintains in ‘Women’s Time,’ motherhood is
intimately and inextricably associated with the sujet-en-procès, that
is with alienation and otherness:
Pregnancy seems to be experienced as the radical ordeal of the splitting of
the subject: redoubling up of the body, separation and coexistence of the self
and of an other, of nature and consciousness, of physiology and speech. This
fundamental challenge to identity is then accompanied by a fantasy of
totality—narcissistic completeness—a sort of instituted, socialised, natural
psychosis. The arrival of the child, on the other hand, leads the mother into
the labyrinths of an experience that, without the child, she would rarely
encounter: love for an other. Not for herself, nor for an identical being, and
still less for another person with whom ‘I’ fuse (love or sexual passion). But
the slow, difficult and delightful apprenticeship in attentiveness, gentleness,
forgetting oneself. The ability to succeed in this path without masochism
and without annihilating one’s affective, intellectual and professional per-
sonality—such would seem to be the stakes to be won through guiltless
maternity.49
47
Moi (1986), 3, quoting from Kristeva’s first book, the ÅØøØå (1969).
48
Moi (1986), 3. Roland Barthes (1970) famously reviewed Kristeva’s first book
(see above n.47) in an article called ‘L’étrangère’, which pointedly alluded to Kristeva’s
Bulgarian nationality but also to her ‘unsettling impact’ as someone who ‘subverts
authority, the authority of monologic science’. See Barthes (1970), 19; Moi (2002),
149; Lechte and Zournazi (2003), 11–14. For a brief and concise account of Kristeva’s
life, see McAfee (2004), 4–9. Kristeva’s relation to feminism has been ambivalent; see
Moi (1986), 9; Oliver (1993), 176–80; and Leitch (2001), 2168.
49
Kristeva (1981), 31; first published in French (1979).
Kristeva implicitly correlates the semiotic chôra with the womb of the
pregnant woman,50 where the separation and coexistence of the self
and other occur, like the rupture of the semiotic into the symbolic. In
other words, motherhood becomes the locus for the expansion of
otherhood. At the same time, however, mother and child bond, as the
mother experiences love. Kristeva defines this ‘love’ as the process
whereby one forgets oneself in a continuous effort to discover the
other. The phrase ‘mother’s species’, which Kristeva borrows from
James Joyce’s phrase ‘father’s time, mother’s species’, points to the
female chôra, the space where time is enacted through the constant
repetition of the regeneration of the human species by means of
motherhood; it also, inevitably, avails itself of a ‘sense of the eternity
of the species’,51 that is to say, the inescapability of lending itself to
becoming ‘man’s time’. This is an important element in Kristeva’s
discourse of the chôra, when we consider woman- and motherhood
in Flavian epic poetry: mothers become marginalised either as
absorbed into the symbolic of male ideology or as subversive voices
of the distorted landscape of civil war, a locus with no future ‘man’s
time’.
In one of her political works,52 Strangers to Ourselves, Kristeva
discusses the role of foreigners as others, with special emphasis on
women as the ‘first foreigners’ or the ‘strangers within us’.53 In the
introductory chapter, Kristeva engages in a multiple dialogue of both
the internal and external manifestations of otherness. The displaced
foreigner emerges as someone who has lost the mother figure: ‘mis-
understood by a loved and yet absent-minded mother, discreet, or
worried mother, the exile is a stranger to his mother’.54 Symbolising
the first foreigners, the Danaids illustrate Kristeva’s discussion of ‘an
50
See Payne (1993), 170.
51
McAfee (2004), 94.
52
The book is obviously preoccupied with the contemporary issue of foreign
workers in France.
53
In 1977, Kristeva establishes the link between exile and women (text quoted
from Moi [1986], 296): ‘A woman is trapped within the frontiers of her body and even
of her species, and consequently always feels exiled both by the general clichés that
make up a common consensus and by the very powers of generalisation intrinsic to
language.’ As Lechte (1990), 79, points out, a woman provides ‘a unique insight . . .
with alienation also comes an insight unavailable to men.’
54
Kristeva (1991), 5.
age-old time when an endogamous society became exogamous’.55
Since the Danaids are virgins, what is preserved is ‘the symbolic
power of the sole father, to the exclusion of any other man’.56 As
Schultz observes, ‘and yet it is precisely the acceptance of the for-
eigner into the community that insures increasing degrees of civilisa-
tion, that is, of a civilisation that recalls in the figure of the stranger
its own unconscious resources, its own radical otherness’.57
Female figures embody the otherness in patriarchal societies, espe-
cially where the factor of alien otherness intrudes. Kristeva expands
her idea of revolution in poetic language by extending the semiotic
chôra into what becomes foreign otherness on a social map.58 In her
Powers of Horror, for example, the foreigner is viewed as abject. In
particular, Kristeva identifies abjection as ‘an operation of the psyche
through which subjective and group identity are constituted by
excluding anything that threatens one’s own (or one’s group’s) bor-
ders’.59 And more specifically, this abjection is linked to the maternal
body. As Kristeva has also pointed out in Tales of Love, in patriarchal
cultures, women have been condensed to the maternal function of
reproduction and to abjection, oppression, and marginalisation.
While Kristeva correctly identifies the abject status of women,
especially applicable to the Greek and Roman societies, she offers a
window of interpretation for many of the female figures under
discussion in the Thebaid and the Punica. In Strangers to Ourselves,
Kristeva maintains that the foreigners are within us, as we are all
foreigners with an uncanny strangeness and disturbing otherness.
Though Kristeva, however, ‘documents how people are both fasci-
nated and repelled by the foreignness in their midst’, she also dis-
cerns, as McAfee states, ‘this attitude towards “foreignness” as a
necessary and constitutive feature of our self-identity’.60 The status
of exile and foreignness become necessary components of what
55
Ibid., 45.
56
Ibid., 44, and in 46: ‘[T]he bride was thought of as a foreigner, a suppliant . . .
neither as a prey nor as a slave.’
57
Schultz (1994), 318.
58
Oliver (1993), 5, observes that ‘just as she sees the pattern and logic of language
within the body, she sees the pattern and logic of alterity within the subject . . . she
makes the social relation interior to the psyche’.
59
Oliver (1998).
60
McAfee (2004) 3. For the voicing of criticism concerning the implications of
Kristeva’s theory on the political and nationalism, as well as a defence, see Ziarek
(2003) and McAfee (2004), 122–5.
constitutes female otherness in Roman epic of the Flavian period, out
of which self-identity, that is Romanness, clearly a component of
male identity and manliness, emerges. Women are seemingly ex-
cluded from the genre traditionally preoccupied with the Œº Æ
IH, and yet they figure in the margin of our narratives with a
distinct, either subversive or complicit, voice. What will become
important terms in the ensuing discussion are also the following: as
Kristeva maintains, the status of a foreigner in a given culture gives
one the autonomy (my emphasis) to ‘confront everyone with the
asymbolia (my emphasis), that rejects civility and returns to a vio-
lence laid bare’.61 As Smith comments on Kristeva’s theory of abjec-
tion and otherness, ‘all women are female voyagers in perpetual
transit over foreign lands in which they never quite feel at home.
Kristeva represents women as foreigners unable to extricate them-
selves from abjection . . . estranged from language, women are vision-
aries, “dancers who suffer as they speak”’.62 Hence, Schultz correctly
identifies the interconnections in the corpus of Kristeva’s writings:
‘does not “the stranger within/without” compel us to negotiate our
identity and difference from the tenuous position of being “subjects-
in-process,” a position that well might enable us, as Kristeva urges,
“to live with the others, to live as others”?’63
In examining the Flavian poems, I particularly focus on the exclu-
sion of women from heroic, male action, which results in their
marginalisation, the status of asymbolia, according to Kristeva.
This asymbolia is directly related to the status of women in the
semiotic chôra: women who have only recourse to Bacchic, frenzied
behaviour as a manifestation of their marginalised otherness. These
women activate a powerful presence in the male world of Roman
epic. At the same time, I trace the process whereby female figures,
especially other, Roman or non-Roman women, intervene, in their
status of autonomy, to voice their opposition to decisions taken by
the male leaders, especially when the latter work to the detriment of
the populace in both the private and public spheres. This portrayal of
61
Kristeva (1991), 7. The term ‘asymbolia’ is understood here as applied to the
marginal status of foreigners and to their shadowy, abject presence.
62
A. Smith (1996), 29.
63
Schultz (1994), 319. On the subject-in-process, see Oliver (1993), 91–113.
female figures allows us to examine the change of attitudes toward
otherness, especially when the notions of otherness and motherhood
are fused in the narrative to suggest a change in the concept of what
constitutes sameness, or in other words Romanness, through depic-
tions of otherness, of women from the (either literal or figurative)
periphery.
EPIC WITHIN EPIC: LEMNOS AND THEBAN CIVIL

WAR IN STATIUS’ THEBAID
In our examination of the two poems, one with a mythological and

one with a historical theme, as representative, coeval movements in
Flavian literature, foreign otherness acquires a broader implication:
women figure as the other, the foreign in our narratives. Though the
field of female figures in Roman epic of the Augustan age has been
well explored by classicists in the past, attention has only recently
been paid to their ‘successors’ in imperial epic. Poets such as Lucan,
Valerius Flaccus, Statius, and Silius Italicus, though relegated for a
long time to the margin of classical studies, have in the past two
decades begun to win their way back to the literary canon.64 For
instance, Keith’s study of women in Roman epic constitutes a land-
mark for subsequent studies on the role of female figures in the male
world of epic poetry, as characters who open to further scrutiny the
masculine world-view.65
In the first chapter, I turn my attention to the manifestations of
foreign otherness in Statius’ Thebaid. The central part of the epic is
occupied with a long digression from the main narrative, an error, in
64
Negative criticism of the Flavian epicists (e.g. Butler [1909], 179–250) will not
be replicated here, as I find that in recent studies authors such as Silius Italicus and
Statius are commendably redeemed (cf. on Silius: Ariemma [2000b] and Marks
[2005a], 7; on Statius: Heslin [2005], Ganiban [2007], and McNelis [2007]). Bassett
(1953) and Muecke (2010) offer a magisterial overview of different, positive attitudes
concerning imperial epic (and more precisely Silius) in previous centuries.
65
As Keith (2000), 133, recognises: ‘the genre’s negotiation of modes of mascu-
linity . . . requires further scrutiny’, a scrutiny to which the present work hopes to
contribute.
which Hypsipyle, an exiled former queen of Lemnos, entertains the
Argive warriors with stories from her homeland and her personal
travails in search of a new home, in the court of the Nemean king
Lycurgus as a nurse to the royal offspring, Opheltes. In Kristevan
terms, Hypsipyle is the exiled foreigner, a displaced mother with
misplaced affections: in her eagerness to quench the thirst of the
Argive army, she entertains the warriors with a didactic story from
her past, the bloody civil war and slaughter of the Lemnian males. In
her Kristevan asymbolic status in the outskirts of the Theban land-
scape, Hypsipyle remains a Lemnias, marked from the outset as the
other, who nevertheless voices her autonomy by recounting the
Lemnian labours and entertaining the Argive troops with her belli-
gerent narrative: how she saves her father in the midst of Bacchic
frenzy but ultimately loses her children. The semiotic chôra of the
Lemnian women’s frenzy breaks into the symbolic chôra of Hypsi-
pyle’s narrative. Hypsipyle’s digression lends itself to a Kristevan
reading, not just because of her status as a foreigner but precisely
because as a mother she lulls the Argives into listening to her story, in
a seemingly safe place, that is her own chôra of weaving and rewriting
her (Euripidean and Ovidian) past, a landscape that nevertheless
highlights the horrors that they will soon encounter in Thebes, in
Statius’ own Thebaid, the centre of their murderous actions.
Motherhood turns into an indispensable aspect of the Theban civil
war, as the accursed mother, Jocasta, prominently figures as the
mediator between the two brothers. But both Jocasta and her daugh-
ter Antigone are eventually transformed into Maenads in their final
attempts to appease the brothers in book 11 and forestall the inevi-
table fratricide. Both are transformed into the abject other, while
Ismene finds consolation by regressing into her private chambers, a
personal space/chôra, which however is not safe at all either. The
frenzy of the Theban civil war penetrates deep into the Theban oikos,
with no hope for a better future, as the threat of the next generation
of hostilities, launched by the Epigonoi, looms large over the Theban
territory. Even Hippolyte who comes to Athens accompanying The-
seus’ victorious chariot, is still portrayed as a barbara: the future in
store is uncertain. Within the civilised space of Greece, the Amazon
remains monstrous, therefore asymbolic, and yet paradoxically
autonomous.
In both the middle and the last book, consolation proves impos-
sible, inasmuch as the persistent lamentation comes full circle at the
end of the Thebaid. What begins in the semiotic chôra of Lemnos,
with the frenzied slaughter of the Lemnian husbands, is repeated by
the Theban women, now assimilated to Bacchants about to commit
nefas. The semiotic chôra, however, to use Kristeva’s term, once again
finds space in the symbolic chôra of the Thebaid, as the poet rehearses
the female lament that takes place at the very end of book 12, only to
dismiss it and confess powerlessness in front of such great task.66
Thus, the semiotic remains a genotext, left to the reader’s imagina-
tion, since female lament as ululation lies outside the territory of the
male world of epic poetry, trespasses the limitations of the genre, and
is therefore discarded. In the world of the Thebaid, in Kristevan
terms, ‘Woman can never feel at home in the symbolic as can man.
She becomes the female exile.’ 67
PATRIO-TIC EPIC? SAME AND OTHER

IN SILIUS’ PUNICA
Silius’ preference to compose an epic with a historical theme follows

in Lucan’s footsteps but at the same time announces the Punica as the
literary precursor of and antagonist to the De bello ciuili. The choice
of subject provokes a closer reading of representations of foreignness
in the poem, as Rome is struggling against its chief rival, the other par
excellence, Carthage. The Punica offers a way out of the stalemates of
the Thebaid, especially with regard to the role of the periphery and its
influence on the centre. In Silius’ reconstructed version of the past,
and in his idealistic vision of, and hope for, a prosperous future, the
conflation of Romanness and otherness does not constitute a danger
but rather a condition for Rome’s success and stability as a cosmo-
polis. Absorbing otherness, however, is experienced throughout the
66
What Janan (2001), 30, aptly observes for the fourth book of Propertius is true
for Statius’ conclusion to the Thebaid: distinctions such as Roman/non-Roman,
male/female collapse under ‘the weight of their own instability’.
67
A. Smith (1996), 28.
course of events as a prolonged process, reaching its climax in the
final book of the epic, after the stumbling blocks of an ineffective
Roman male leadership have been overcome by the rise to power of
Scipio Africanus.
In the second chapter, attention is paid to the construction of
what constitutes same and other in the early books of the poem, by
looking at the role of patria, Italy and Africa respectively: the word
patria is closely associated with the male protagonists of the poem
who try to protect their respective fatherlands, quite unsuccess-
fully. By studying several pairs of fathers and sons, not only is the
ground prepared for our examination of mothers and sons in
subsequent chapters, but what comes to the surface from these
pairs of male heroes in the Punica is the close relationship fostered
between the warriors and their respective patriae or the lack
thereof. This close association reveals the problematics of a per-
iphery recalcitrant to Roman rule and civilisation, while at the
same time it often discloses the lack of care for the Roman patria
on the Roman side. In the process of discovering and organising
the semantic register of true Romanness, the Romans fail miser-
ably: paradoxically, Hannibal is the ‘hero’ who embodies the very
elements of ‘Roman’ identity, namely care for his patria, pietas
towards his ancestors, uirtus in battle operations. And yet until
the very end of the poem, Hannibal is portrayed as utterly con-
fused, displaying uncharacteristic attachment to the Italian tellus,
which nevertheless endeavours to expel and reject him from her
body. Hannibal becomes asymbolic, in Kristevan terms, the for-
eigner that cannot be absorbed by the centre, the other that cannot
become same.
Alienation from one’s patria is also evident in Rome’s allied cities,
especially Saguntum. A closer look at the construction of the second
book, however, elucidates Silius’ organisational strategy of this mini-
epic around transgressive women. On the one hand, the poet intro-
duces Asbyte, an African Amazon, whose telling silence, IØÆ,
and decapitation in the first half of the book locates her in the
asymbolic, semiotic chôra, in Kristeva’s terms. Her death unleashes
Hannibal’s rage against what he perceives to be a Romanised city,
Saguntum, a hybrid existence like Rome, whereas in reality the
Spanish city embodies the other, having been transformed into the
foreign, with its women metamorphosed into ‘Amazons’. The book
comes to a close with the suicide of the Saguntine people, instigated
by the Fury Tisiphone, Juno’s docile instrument, in order to wreak
havoc on the Romans. We witness the Saguntines striving to erase all
vestiges of their identity, either Greek or Roman, by burning their
heirlooms. Saguntum expunges her ties with the Roman state, a state
absent from the allied city’s tribulations. The women, urged on by
Tiburna’s Bacchic voice, constitute a salient case of asymbolia and
autonomy: like Asbyte, the Saguntine women are in truth silent; their
voice is not their own but instead borrowed, as they submissively
reproduce the commands of the Fury.
Another symptom of a misplaced patrio-tic affection occurs in
book 8, where Anna Perenna emerges from the waters of the River
Numicius to help the Carthaginian general. Anna’s status as both
Roman and non-Roman at the same time constitutes a key in the
interpretation of her presence in the middle of the poem. Anna’s
exiled, foreign, position gives her a subversive autonomy to act as
both a Roman and a Carthaginian, a role fully fleshed at the end
of the poem with the importation of the cult of the Magna Mater
in Rome.
Nevertheless, contrary to the trend we observed in the Thebaid,
where mothers like Hypsipyle and Jocasta are portrayed as dis-
placed others, in the Punica it becomes apparent from a look at
the appearance of Tellus in book 15 that the reorganisation of the
Roman army under Scipio Africanus is not a process that takes
place without the implicit transformation at the level of patria as
well: Tellus transforms our expectation of what ‘fatherland’ really is,
from a concept closely linked to fathers and sons into a female
presence that counters the models of Dido–Hannibal and (Italian?)
Anna–Hannibal. Tellus here is metamorphosed into the ultimate
incarnation of the female space, the chôra, the same and other at the
same time, into which the male warrior can recede and from which
he can recover the powers necessary for success. This imagery of
mother-earth empowering the male warriors to initiate war con-
stitutes the first step in what, as we shall see, becomes the process of
discovering a new identity, a new Romanness, where same and
other, male and female, are merged, a condition for the future
success of the Roman state.
From the imagery of same and other with regard to patria and
tellus, especially as mother-earth, the third chapter moves on to an
examination of Roman motherhood, and in particular a distinct
Roman mother in book 6, Marcia, the wife of M. Atilius Regulus.
Within the time frame of the poem’s narrative, Marcia represents the
near past, as Silius offers a long digression on Regulus’ adventures in
Libya and his death in Carthage; in this sense, the analeptic narrative
on the hero’s exploits during the First Punic War is proleptically
exploited by the poet to reflect on Roman affairs in the Second Punic
War. Marcia’s appearance is centred on the figure of her husband
and son. Her offspring, Serranus, wounded after the battle at Lake
Trasimene, finds refuge at the house of Marus, his father’s faithful
companion during his capture in Carthage. Marus offers an author-
ial, androcentric narration of Regulus’ heroic and Stoic resistance
during the First Punic War and thus through inspiration educates the
young man. Yet the figure of his mother, Marcia, and her reaction to
the presence of the uncompromising Regulus at Rome, present us
with the narrative of a distraught woman, who attempts to dissuade
her husband and son from taking part in enterprises that under other
circumstances would betoken a heroic attitude. In Regulus’ repre-
sentation in the Punica as the Stoic hero par excellence, there are
some dark traits, as attested in book 6, underscored by Silius, in
particular the killing of the serpent at the Bagrada river. An impor-
tant aspect, on which I place particular emphasis in this episode, is
Marcia’s presence at the threshold of her house, an aspect that under-
lines her liminality as an outsider to her own culture, as her auton-
omous voice distinctly differentiates her from the behaviour expected
from a Roman matrona. Marcia undermines Regulus’ heroic stature
by emphasising his status as a self-exile, a foreigner in his own patria,
painting a portrait contrary to the Roman philosophical tradition of
Regulus, inherited by Silius, as the hero par excellence. In this
episode, the poet again stresses the weaknesses of the Roman political
leadership at the time of the First Punic War. Even during the first
years of the Second Punic War, Rome has not yet found any flawless
general who might extol her glory in heaven. And Silius chooses
Marcia as the primary author of her husband’s subversive portrait, a
woman who deconstructs and suspends the androcentric narrative of
Marus, before being relegated to her marginal space in the periphery
of the narrative, as her voice is silenced by the oars of the boat that
takes Regulus back to Carthage. As I have noted before, in this
instance also, Marcia’s motherhood becomes the locus for the ex-
pansion of her otherhood and alienation from the patria, the father-
land as traditionally represented by the men in her household. In
fact, Marcia’s autonomous and subversive voice cancels this mechan-
ism of transition that would allow her presence to be absorbed into
the symbolic of the male ideology and signifies that in the search for
Romanness there may be no future ‘man’s time’, until Scipio’s emer-
gence in Roman politics.
Finally, the fourth chapter shifts the focus on two classes of women
juxtaposed to Roman matronae, like Marcia. By contrast to Marcia’s
non-Roman presence in the centre of action—Rome—Imilce, Han-
nibal’s wife, is portrayed as a Roman matrona but is nevertheless
marginalised in the narrative by being assimilated to a frenzied
Bacchant. The second category comprises those women who prove
to be catalysts, as wives and mothers, for the Roman victory over
Carthage. The disparity between the two pairs of female figures
reveals an ideological orientation of the poem with regard to Roman-
ness and Otherness.
More specifically, at the end of book 4, Imilce, Hannibal’s wife,
tries to stop the sacrifice of her child, thus refusing to comply with
the ancestral customs of the Carthaginians. Imilce defies the poet’s
portrait of her transformation into a Bacchant by delivering a
powerful speech in which she condemns the nefas of the impend-
ing sacrifice. To borrow from Kristeva’s language, Imilce’s Bacchic
behaviour is contained within a semiotic chôra at first, that of
the woeful lamentation of a mother, nearly bereaved of children.
However, Imilce forthwith delivers a persuasive speech, denoun-
cing the barbaric custom of sacrifice, thus implementing a success-
ful evolution from the semiotic to the symbolic. Imilce’s
autonomous voice encompasses the reasonable thoughts of a civi-
lised Roman philosopher denouncing nefas, while at the same time
her voice is marginalised and becomes asymbolic. She becomes,
what I call a hybridic, unclassified, other. Her presence constitutes a
telling paradox, as she is a non-Roman, who nevertheless espouses
Roman ideals, unavailingly, as her husband leads Carthage to utter
destruction.
Conversely, in the last pentad of the Punica (books 13–17), an
important phase in the development of Scipio’s ‘career’ is his en-
counter with significant members of his family in the Nekyia. The
meeting with his mother constitutes the missing link without which
Scipio may not become a true Roman. During his descent to the
Underworld in book 13, Scipio first meets his mother, Pomponia,
who unlike Imilce or Marcia, urges her son to pursue war and to fight
intrepidly for his country’s common weal. Scipio’s ‘educational’
encounter takes place symbolically in a neutral—and by definition
marginal—place, the chôra of the dead; by reconnecting with his
mother, Scipio acquires the missing link that equips him with the
essential valour to defeat the Carthaginians. At the same time,
Masinissa’s mother displays the characteristics of a woman-uates
who urges her son to pursue alliance with the Romans. Both Pom-
ponia and the anonymous aged mother in book 16 possess prophetic
power. However, unlike the prophetic power of Imilce’s foreboding
in book 3 and Marcia’s warnings in book 6, Pomponia and Masinis-
sa’s mother conform to the Roman ideals of a matrona. While Imilce
and Marcia give in to grief and sorrow and thus appear frantic and
distraught, Pomponia and the aged woman in book 16 totally reverse
this negative image of motherhood by turning it into a picture of the
ideal (Roman) mother.
As the poem comes to a close, Silius opts for a positive portrayal of
female action which reflects the successful shift of power in the
Roman political scene, that is, Scipio’s emergence as supreme com-
mander. This change is sanctioned by a woman (Masinissa’s mother)
and culminates in the image of Claudia Quinta: here, Romanness
and otherness are joined, while Roman values are reshaped in such a
way as to enable both to become an ideology of empire.
What takes place at the end of the Punica conforms with a well-
known pattern throughout the history of humanity, according to
Kristeva’s analysis of foreign otherness and the semiotic chôra:
We cannot gain access to the temporal scene, i.e., to political affairs, except
by identifying with the values considered to be masculine (dominance,
superego, the endorsed communicative word that institutes stable social
exchange) . . . Others, more bound to the mothers, more tuned in as well
to their unconscious impulses, refuse this role and hold themselves back,
sullen, neither speaking nor writing, in a permanent state of expectation
punctuated now and then by some kind of outburst: a cry, a refusal, an
‘hysterical symptom’.68
As Oliver points out, ‘Kristeva argues that Western culture puts
women into a double-bind. Either women can enter the sym-
bolic—language, politics, time, culture—only by identifying as
men, or they can withdraw into their silent bodies as hysterics.’69
Silius does portray such a transition, whereas Statius professes the
inability to carry on female lamentation within the boundaries of his
epic poem. Silius’ idealised vision translates into the mutual inter-
dependence of ethnicity and motherhood and into the gradual col-
lapse of polarities such as same and other, male and female.
In the epilogue to this book, we return to the coda of those two
poems and to the poets’ complex negotiation of gender boundaries,
to glean an insight into possible political and literary strategies as
reflected in Domitian’s Flavian and cosmopolitan Rome. The femi-
nine ending of the Thebaid,70 a poem about to compete with the
divine status of its predecessor, the Aeneid, confronts us with
the impossibility of female lament, as we witness a return into the
semiotic chôra—the boat returns to a safe haven, the port where
female (literary) voice is silenced. On the other hand, in the Punica,
Silius jubilantly celebrates the apotheosis of Scipio (and Domitian),
who is hailed as a parens patriae and son of Jupiter in the very last line
of the poem (prolem . . . Tonantis, Pun. 17.654), a strong reminder of
the hero’s descent, not only from the king of gods but also from
Pomponia, his Roman mother, who is ultimately responsible for
revealing to the Roman general his genealogy.
68
Quoted from Moi (1986), 155, from Kristeva’s essay ‘About Chinese Women’
(published in 1974).
69
Oliver (1993), 108.
70
See Dietrich (1999).
1
Mourning Endless: Female Otherness
in Statius’ Thebaid
Not belonging to any place, any time, any love. A lost origin, the
impossibility to take root, a rummaging memory, the present in
abeyance. The space of the foreigner is a moving train, a plane
in flight, the very transition that precludes stopping. As to
landmarks, there are none. His time? The time of a resurrection
that remembers death and what happened before, but misses
the glory of being beyond: merely the feeling of a reprieve, of
having gotten away.
(Julia Kristeva, Strangers to Ourselves, 7–8)
Many critics have suggested that the ending of Statius’ Thebaid is

noteworthy and unique in Roman epic, especially because the poet
fuses female lamentation together with the impossibility of poetic
expression.1 The poet’s sphragis has also attracted the attention of
scholars examining Statius’ relationship with Virgil and his own inser-
tion in the line of a long epic tradition.2 In what follows, I shall try to
examine some of the same well-studied passages from a different
perspective; my focus will be on the role of foreign otherness in terms
1
See e.g. Dietrich (1999); Lovatt (1999); Pagán (2000a). An overview of female
figures in the poem is given by Lesueur (1986) and (1992) but with an emphasis on
the typology of the characters rather than an interpretation of their action. Dominik
(1994b), 120–23, offers an outline of the stylistic features (topoi) of lament in the
Thebaid. Braund (1996), 17–18, surveys the three predominant trends in the inter-
pretation of the Thebaid: the optimistic, the pessimistic, and the pluralistic.
2
See e.g. Pollmann (2000), Dominik (2003b), and Markus (2003).
Mourning Endless 31
of gender differentiation. By studying the ending of the poem in
conjunction with the Lemnian digression of books 4–6, with particular
attention to manifestations of otherness through female lamentation,3
I shall touch on several related questions: What is the distinction
between Theban and Argive women? How does the Lemnian digression
contribute to the framework of the Thebaid? Does the epilogue con-
stitute a step towards the dissolution of boundaries that separate the
two sides of the war? And finally, how does the connection between
lament and poetics contribute to our understanding of the poem’s
closure?
In Hypsipyle’s narrative, as we shall see, the poet exploits the
Lemnian woman’s otherness as a foreigner (Lemnias), the epitome
of the Kristevan autonomous, yet asymbolic other, who fails in
her tasks both domestically and publicly. First and foremost, the
Lemnian queen is a dislodged mother, without time and place. As
we saw in the preceding pages of the introduction, Kristeva insists
on the formation of motherhood as otherhood from pregnancy:
the arrival of the child escorts the mother into an experience that,
without the child, she would rarely encounter, namely love for an
other, what Kristeva calls, ‘the slow, difficult and delightful appren-
ticeship in attentiveness, gentleness, forgetting oneself ’. This is pre-
cisely the problematic locus for Hypsipyle’s misplaced affections:
separation from her children and by extension her country, though
she is still identified as Lemnias and mater. Hypsipyle’s task is to tend
to Opheltes, to lull him into sleep, to nurse him as a mother does in
the Platonic/Kristevan semiotic chôra of a symbolic womb/lap, to
protect him against the dangers hidden in the Nemean landscape.
Her forgetfulness, however, turns Hypsipyle into a ‘lost’ (m)other,
who chooses an unreliable proxy, tellus, for the completion of a task
that should have been her own, and thus perpetuates the horror
of death and destruction. The heroine orchestrates the role of a
(m)other with supplanted attentiveness to another gender (genre?),
the men who arrive in Nemea, and especially their prime ‘leader’
Polynices, himself an exile also. Her asymbolic status of a foreigner
3
On the long tradition of lament, see Alexiou (2002) and on its oppositional
power, see Holst-Wahrhaft (1992). Indispensable for this study has been Loraux
(1998).
and exile gives Hypsipyle the autonomy to recount her toils and
weave a story that lulls the Argives into a metaphorical sleep, during
which they forget the purpose of their expedition: it is the genre itself
ultimately that fights the war with elegy, as the middle of the Thebaid
is transformed into an extensive Herois,4 borrowing a well-known
script from Ovid upon which Hypsipyle embroiders her personal,
post-Ovidian story: how she saves her father in the midst of Bacchic
frenzy but ultimately loses her children. The semiotic chôra of the
Lemnian women’s frenzy breaks into the symbolic chôra of Hypsi-
pyle’s narrative. This space may seem maternal and therefore safe, but
soon enough, with its manifestations into the symbolic, it infests the
male (battle)ground with death, despair, and lament, a rehearsal and
repetition of the end of the poem, even though Hypsipyle herself is
reunited with her two sons, who serve as supporters of their mother’s
lamentation.
The baby’s death underscores Hypsipyle’s narrative’s disastrous
effects; she disrupts generational continuity for Lycurgus’ Nemean
house, the place where the Argive army finds temporary relief from
thirst. Furthermore, Hypsipyle’s narrative is transformed into the
narrative of civil conflict, foreshadowing the forthcoming war against
Thebes: Hypsipyle’s failure as a queen on the public level, and as a
daughter (her saving of Thoas is marked as fraus) and mother in
the private arena,5 forebodingly anticipates a mingling of warlike
violence and endless lamentation, with which the last book both
opens and closes (just as does its counterpart, book 6). Immense
loss and destruction, now on Theban territory, are laid before the
reader. Not only then is Hypsipyle’s digression both incorporated
and abject in the poem, but the heroine herself by embodying a
‘disfigured’ mother puts an end to what Kristeva calls ‘man’s time’,
since the heroine’s neglected task as a nurse aborts the act of the
4
See Parkes (2008), 382, on the Achilleid:
The tension between amor and arma is at the poem’s core, in terms of both content
(the protagonist is torn between desire for battle and desire for Deidamia) and style
(the narrative veers between high epic manner, as exemplified by the catalogue, and
language of a more elegiac hue drawn from the Heroides and Ars Amatoria).
5
Newlands (2006) perceptively points to the lack of ideal mothers in Statius’
poetry and the abundance of ‘dangerous mothers’ instead; cf. Jamset (2005), 100–65.
Mourning Endless 33
repetition of the generation of the human species. In other words, the
Thebaid becomes a landscape replete with death but no regeneration,
with the story of the Epigonoi marginalised in the background of
the narrative but never proleptically becoming part of the Statian
epic cycle.6 And most importantly, the didactic story narrated by
Hypsipyle translates into the unsuccessful mingling of same and other,
as Theban or Argive identity cannot be clearly defined in the nefarious
world of the poem:7 Hypsipyle remains an exile and the Argives’ first
stop in Nemea becomes just a first test and taste for the war at Thebes
that will result in the permanent alienation of the two peoples. In this
sense, Nemea may be construed as alterae Thebae, whereas Argos at the
end remains alienum Argos.
The dichotomy established by the poet’s digression on Hypsipyle
and the Nemean adventures is further exploited by Statius in his
portrayal of Jocasta and her two daughters. The accursed mother
strives for a peaceful resolution to the conflict, accompanied by Anti-
gone and Ismene: in book 7 she digresses from—and transgresses—the
seemingly safe boundaries of the Theban house; and yet the develop-
ment of the plot deprives her of the fruition of an unfeasibly happy
ending to the poem. Jocasta enters the world of male uirtus but her
problematic (m)otherhood as mother/wife of her own child (and
therefore mother/grandmother of Oedipus’ offspring) prohibits the
resolution of the crisis and is doomed to utter failure. As Antigone and
Jocasta are both transformed into Maenads in their final attempt to
appease the brothers in book 11, Ismene finds consolation by regres-
sing into her chambers, the safe chôra of the Theban oikos, an act that
nevertheless now proves equally perilous because of the death of Atys,
her foreign fiancé, and Jocasta’s suicide. Atys exemplifies the uneasy
relationship between Thebans and others, an association that can only
be realised in the surreal chôra of dreams.
Nothing remains impervious to the frenzy of the Theban civil war. At
the end of the epic, there appears a clear dichotomy between Antigone
and Argia in their attempt to bury Polynices, and by extension between
6
Compare Parkes’s (2005) comments on Arcadia as a land famously associated
with ‘primitivism’ that is now infected by the fraternal quarrel.
7
I borrow the term ‘nefarious world’ from Ganiban’s recent discussion of the
poetics of nefas in the Thebaid (2007).
the Theban and Argive women, just as there is one between the brute
Amazons and the Athenian population upon Theseus’ return from his
campaign. Both Theban and Argive women share losses and unbearable
pain, both are assimilated to Bacchants, and we are faced with the
impossibility of a solution to the civil war that has shattered the lives of
so many, a conflict that results in endless lamentation and poetic
powerlessness. In an effort to bring the two peoples together and to
celebrate the collapse of binarisms, such as same/other, male/female,
Theban (Roman)/Argive (non-Roman),8 and by extension epic/elegy,
Statius professes the breakdown of the authorial voice and brings
the poem to an end. Boundaries are reset, as same and other cannot
converge at this junction, while there is utter refusal to provide any
future hope for a possible resolution. With lament, we return to the
semiotic chôra, where the Kristevan genotext results in asymbolia, not
in the expected phenotext: the cries of the women, unutterable by
the poet, ultimately signify the collapse of the traditional epic genre,
as the ground of celebration for the Œº Æ IæH, now subsumed into a
landscape of the ŒºÆ-Æ ªıÆØŒH.9
DEFINING THE PERIPHERY: THEBES AND LEMNOS
The poet noticeably states at the beginning of the Thebaid that the
centre of his poem and its action will be Thebes:10
8
On Thebes as Rome, see Hardie (1990), McGuire (1990), 28, and most recently
Keith (2004–5) and Braund (2006). Braund replaces the prevalent Iliocentric view with
a Thebano-centric perspective concerning the role of Thebes in the ancient literary
imagination, especially in Statius. Braund also argues for the role of the poem as a
‘lesson about the Romans’ fear of lapsing into the ancient pattern of self-destruction’
(271); constrast Ganiban (2007), 43: ‘Statius’ Thebes represents an anti-Rome, a place
where the imperial ideology of the Augustan Aeneid has gone terribly wrong.’
9
The two verbs Œºø (> Œº ) and ŒºÆø are not of course etymologically
related in Greek, but the pun is intended here merely to illustrate the departure from
the traditional arma uirumque theme of martial epic.
10
For Statius’ choice of mythological, as opposed to a historical, epic see Ahl
(1986), 2812–16. For an extensive consideration of the opening of the Thebaid, see
Kytzler (1960); Schetter (1962); Vessey (1973), 60–67; Criado (1998); Mauri (1998);
A. Barchiesi (2001a), 321–32; Keith (2002), 382–5 (on Ovidian influence on the
prologue); as well as the relevant commentary in Heuvel (1932) and Caviglia (1973).
Mourning Endless 35
Fraternas acies alternaque regna profanis
decertata odiis sontesque euoluere Thebas
Pierius menti calor incidit. (1.1–3)
The Pierian fire falls upon my mind to unfold the strife of brothers and
alternate reigns fought for in unnatural hatred and the guilty city of Thebes.
For a moment, Statius sets clear boundaries (limes) by confining his
topic to the distraught house of Oedipus and by omitting any mention
of Argos, a city that consequently becomes peripheral to the poet’s
song:11 limes mihi carminis esto / Oedipodae confusa domus, . . . (‘The
troubled house of Oedipus shall be the limit to my song . . . ’, 1.16–17).
Ahl has rightly contended, however, that Statius acknowledges ‘the
arbitrary nature of his focus on the house of Oedipus and admits his
defined boundaries are indistinct’.12 I submit that the poet makes clear
that the bulk of his composition will revolve around the cursed house
of the Labdacids: the narrative of the first six books ‘progresses’
towards Thebes. Compare, for instance, the beginning of the Theban
epic cycle in the Greek tradition: @æª ¼Ø, Ł, ºıłØ, Ł
¼ÆŒ . . . (‘Muse, sing of thirsty Argos, whence the kings . . . ’, Theb.
fr. 1 W). Conversely, Statius excludes Argos from the prologue13 and
thus demarcates the two places that will constitute the centre and the
periphery of the poem. Reference to Argos as the semina belli is saved
until later, when in his first appearance in the poem14 Jupiter uses the
same phrase as Statius in the prologue to locate the seed of the strife
11
Cf. Heuvel (1932), 64, for limes as initium. Aptly and poignantly, Henderson
(1991) ends his exploration of the Thebaid as the ‘antipolitics of Thebes’ with a
question: ‘ . . .And Argos?’ (61).
12
See Ahl (1986), 2821. Cf. also Hershkowitz (1995), 63: ‘Statius endeavours to set
a limit for his subject . . . but like the widespread destruction caused by the avalanche,
his epic spreads in all directions, limite non uno.’ Consider the two brothers in Theb.
1.135–6: in diuersa trahunt atque aequis uincula laxant / uiribus et uario confundunt
limite sulcos (‘they pull in different directions, with equal strength they relax the
harness, and they mix up the furrows with their separate course’). Georgacopoulou
(2005), 188, calls attention to the generic struggle between carmen (epic song) and
confusa domus (tragedy).
13
See Georgacopoulou (1996b),184 and n.56, who, pace Carrara (1986), points to
the absence of the Muse and the focalisation on heroes.
14
On the role of gods, and Jupiter among them, in Statius, see Legras (1905),
157–205; Schetter (1960), 21–9; Vessey (1973), 82–91 and 230–69; Schubert (1984);
Feeney (1991), 337–91; Criado (2000); and most recently Hill (2008). On divine
madness, see Hershkowitz (1998a), 260–68.
precisely in Adrastus’ court, the marriage of Argia to Polynices, a fated
wedlock that will wreak havoc on both houses, of Oedipus and of
Tantalus:15 belli mihi semina sunto / Adrastus socer et superis adiuncta
sinistris / conubia. (‘Let Adrastus’ gift of his daughter in a marriage
unblessed of heaven be my seed of battle’, 1.243–5). From the limes
esto, we now progress to the belli semina sunto.16 As the epic progresses
from the initial hostilities to the marching of the Argive army against
Thebes in the fourth book, various oppositions between sameness and
otherness operate simultaneously on different levels in the Thebaid. As
Thebes constitutes the desired centre of the action, where the fratricide
will take place, Argos is perceived as the hostile periphery, driven in
haste to attack the city of Cadmus. The same pair of oppositions,
however, can be reversed: the Argives venture an expedition into the
unknown territory of Theban otherness. Polynices returns to a differ-
ent city, as his patria has now become hostile ground; what used to be
familiar has changed colours. In books 2 and 3, the action moves back
and forth, from Argos to Thebes, until the beginning of book 4, when
Statius proceeds to catalogue the Argive army (4.38–344).17 As Lovatt
has recently suggested, it is no easy task to establish fixed identities or
identifications in the Thebaid.18 The Thebans resemble the Trojans
and the Carthaginians, whereas the Argives represent the Greek
world at large. While Thebes as another Rome destroys itself, Argos
is unable to achieve any victory, engaging instead in ‘an expedition to
foreign parts that ends in chaotic retreat’. And of course, Argos itself
can be conceived as another doublet for the Romans, since their
Peloponnesian expedition maps onto Roman imperialism.19 As we
will see, the problematics of transgressing boundaries becomes a
15
Consider, however, that Polynices identifies himself to Adrastus as a son of
Jocasta, not of Oedipus, in 1.681: est genetrix Iocasta mihi (‘my mother is Jocasta’).
16
See Cowan (2002), 144–244 on foundation myths in the poem: from the fratricide
of the Spartoi, to the sons of Oedipus, and finally Romulus vs Remus in Rome.
17
On the structure of the catalogue, see Kytzler (1969), 219–26; Georgacopoulou
(1996a), 103–7; McNelis (2007), 81–8; and the relevant sections in the recent commen-
taries by Parkes (2002), Steiniger (2005), and Micozzi (2007). Lovatt (2005), 181–8,
identifies the regional voices in the catalogue that ‘splinter any idea of a united Greece’.
18
See Lovatt’s discussion (2005), 146–91 on national identity in the poem.
19
Though see Lovatt (2007) for the impossibility of defining an Argive identity
either; in a sense, Argos and Thebes share a lot in common. Lovatt investigates how
Argos and Thebes are assimilated in the parade at Opheltes’ funeral (6.268–95).
Mourning Endless 37
salient topos inside the Theban house, but also on the battleground,
because the poet exploits the polarity of same vs other to reveal the
prominence of female figures as indispensably momentous both for
the progress of the Thebaid and for its desired ending (or lack
thereof).
BETWEEN LEMNOS AND ARGOS: HYPSIPYLE’S

TRANSGRESSED B OUNDARIES
Right in the middle, as the Argive army advances from the periphery
towards the centre of the epic’s theme (beginning at 4.646), comes a
digression that occupies a large section of the Thebaid. By definition,
the digression itself constitutes a displacement of the action from the
centre to the margin, into the unknown, nefarious, and deadly
Nemean landscape. Needing an invocation to Phoebus,20 when the
poet is about to digress from his subject matter, Statius makes clear
that what follows is an error, a wandering from the main narrative:21
quis iras
flexerit, unde morae, medius quis euntibus error,
Phoebe, doce: nos rara manent exordia famae. (4.649–51)
Who turned their wrath aside, whence their long wait, how, halfway there, they
went astray, great Phoebus tell; we have only scattered beginnings of the story.
Desirous of a halt to the Argive army’s advancement, Bacchus causes
the streams to dry up (4.652–715), with the exception of the stream
Langia,22 who will become famous (manet ingens gloria nympham,
20
On invocations in Statius, see Steiniger (1998).
21
See Feeney (1991), 339, on Statius’ Virgilian motif of ‘divagation’. The death of
Opheltes, according to Feeney, is not only the beginning of æ (‘death’), but also of
mora (‘delay’): an epic of ‘stasis’ (Henderson [1998], 250).
22
Appropriately alluding to languidus (‘indolent’), the toponymic defines the long
time the Argives will spend in Nemea. Lesueur (2003a), 1.150 n.59, observes that the
motif of thirst could have been drawn from Antimachus or Euripides’ Hypsipyle ; on the
problems of establishing the exact relationship with Antimachus, see Vessey (1970c),
Venini (1972), and Matthews (1996) for a thorough introduction to the poet and his
fragments. The discovery of the Lille Papyri of Callimachus’ Victoria Berenices has also
revealed that Statius owes much to Callimachus’ description of Nemea; cf. Parsons
‘a great fame awaits the nymph’, 4.727) precisely on account of the
Argive ‘digression’ and its aftermath.23
Finally the Argives find fair Hypsipyle nearby.24 Hypsipyle is from
the outset marked as different, not just because of her gender but also
on account of her pulcher maeror :25
tandem inter siluas (sic Euhius ipse pararat)
errantes subitam pulchro in maerore tuentur
Hypsipylen; illi quamuis et ab ubere26 Opheltes
non suus, Inachii proles infausta Lycurgi,
dependet (neglecta comam nec diues amictu),
regales tamen ore notae, nec mersus acerbis
extat honos. (4.746–52)
At last as they wander in the forest (so Bacchus himself had planned it),
suddenly they see Hypsipyle, fair in her sadness. Opheltes, not hers but the
(1977). As McNelis (2004), 275, has argued, ‘the interest in the foundation of the
Nemean games retards the Argive march towards battle . . . [t]he Argive army is stopped
by Callimachean geography . . . by Statius’ interest in Callimachean poetry’; cf. McNelis’s
recent study (2007) on the poetics of civil war and Callimachean aesthetics.
23
See Vessey’s apt comment (1986), 2993:
The narrative of Hypsipyle may be read as a domain inscribed in a domain, a
digression, a detour in absolute textual terms. In it a past is re(-)presented in a
present that is always already both past and future. The Argives wish to ‘know,’ and
we, knowing already, to read . . . it is a diversion, which is both within and outside the
Theban story. Our expectation that a diversion should lead us continuously to the
same destination as a straight road should not blind us to the fact that it may be as
much a divertissement as a déviation: that the mora may have no moral.
24
The similarities and differences between this scene and Virgil’s Aeneid 1–4
(Aeneas, Venus, Dido) have been well discussed: Götting (1969), 60–61; Gruzelier
(1994); Nugent (1996); Frings (1996); Casali (2003); and Gibson (2004).
25
Although dismissed as a frivolous digression in early Statian criticism (see e.g.
Legras [1905], 152 and 277: ‘parfaitement inutiles’), the Hypsipyle episode has received
deserved notice in the past few decades: Götting (1969); Vessey (1970a) and (1973),
170–87; Brown (1994); Taisne (1994a), 238–44; Dominik (1994a), 54–63; Delarue
(2000), 333–7; Rosati (2005); Ganiban (2007), 71–95; Lösch (2008). For its relationship
with Valerius Flaccus’ version of the slaughter in Lemnos in Argon. 2.77–427 (and
Apollonius’ Argon. 1.601–909), see Helm (1892), 153–6; Bahrenfuss (1951); Krumbholz
(1955), 125–39; Vessey (1985); Aricò (1991); and most recently Augoustakis (2010b), as
well as the relevant commentary in Poortvliet (1991). On the role of Valerius’ Hypsipyle
within the Argonautica, see Hershkowitz (1998b), 136–46; Schenk (1999), 341–87; and
most recently Clare (2004).
26
I prefer the reading ab ubere (in Hall’s new edition of the Thebaid) to Hill’s
ad ubera.
Mourning Endless 39
ill-starred child of Inachian Lycurgus, hangs from her breast (her hair is
dishevelled, her clothing poor); yet on her face are marks of royalty, and her
dignity, not sunk in her misfortune, is evident.
Notice how the poet alienates the child from Hypsipyle in 749, non
suus, and then unites the two by means of the enjambment dependet, in
750. Also from the outset, the dual nature of Hypsipyle in terms of
binarisms is established by a series of nec . . . nec . . . tamen: she main-
tains a royal appearance, though obviously in a servant’s attire. Statius
alerts the reader that Hypsipyle may be hiding more under the surface
after all. And indeed by losing her own children, Hypsipyle’s motherly
feelings have already undergone a psychological change. Opheltes
hangs from her breast, the very source of motherhood, ab ubere, while
the nurse readily forsakes him on the grounds of pursuing another task:
simul haerentem, ne tarda Pelasgis
dux foret, a! miserum uicino caespite alumnum
(sic Parcae uoluere) locat ponique negantis
floribus aggestis et amico murmure dulces
solatur lacrimas. (4.785–9)
The poor baby, alas!, clings to her; and lest she be too slow a guide for the
Argives, she places him on the ground nearby (so the Parcae wished), and
when he refuses to be put aside, she consoles his tears with bunches of
flowers and loving murmurs.
The heroine’s bosom becomes a receptive chôra, where as we expect the
baby boy is nursed, the safe receptacle before the male’s emancipation
and entrance into the heroic, martial world. And yet, the grouping of
simul haerentem with alumnum betokens the close bond between
nurse and child, which if examined in depth is unnatural, because it
functions merely as a substitute: Hypsipyle is not the real mother and
therefore is ready to replace Opheltes (uicino caespite . . . locat). But the
baby boy is not ready for the transition (ponique negantem) from the
genotext to the phenotext, from the semiotic to the symbolic, whereas
Hypsipyle hastens and forces the transition of status, as she feels the
urge of entering the male landscape of epic and of ‘quenching’ the
Argives’ thirst with her tale. In fact, she tries this first on Opheltes:
she sets the boy on the ground and lulls him with soothing words
(solatur), with a lullaby, (amico murmure), a genotext itself, not with
words/speech, as she does later with the men of Argos. Opheltes is
finally memorialised as the first victim of the war and becomes forever
inscribed in the Nemean landscape as the ‘sacrificed’ male, an ‘exile’
without a mother.27
As Hypsipyle helps the Argives discover Langia, she becomes
negligent of her own maternal duty by dropping Opheltes. Thus
Hypsipyle betrays the trust of Eurydice, the mother of Opheltes,
who claims to have relied on the Lemnian woman and to have
entrusted the baby to Hypsipyle’s motherhood, a safe and rich source
for Opheltes’ health and security:
primitias egomet lacrimarum et caedis acerbae,
ante tubas ferrumque, tuli, dum deside cura
credo sinus fidos altricis et ubera mando.
quidni ego? narrabat seruatum fraude parentem
insontesque manus. (6.146–50)
I bore the first fruit of tears and untimely death before trumpet and sword,
while in indolent neglect I believed in a nurse’s trusty bosom and handed
over my baby to her breasts.28 But why not? She was telling me how she
saved her father by cunning and kept her hands innocent.
In reality, Eurydice herself has fallen prey to Hypsipyle’s mesmerising
narrative of saving Thoas as well, a story able to halt an army from its
decided (fated) destination, as if the bereft mother attended Hypsi-
pyle’s ‘lecture’ of the Lemnian massacre once upon a time. To be sure,
Hypsipyle has rehearsed the script many a time in the past! In her
tirade, Eurydice blurs the boundaries between filial piety and mother-
hood, by underscoring Hypsipyle’s asymbolia in both. The emphasis
on the verb narrabat undercuts Hypsipyle’s voice as a narrator and
reduces her narrative into a collection of fictions. Eurydice constructs
the Lemnian nurse into the other, who intrudes in the narrative proper
to delay, digress, and deviate from the prescribed course of the epic
telos, by leading astray the army into a feminine discourse akin to elegy
and by rewriting her story and its aftermath.
27
See Jamset’s (2005) study of Parthenopaeus in the Thebaid as a warrior unable
to break free from his mother Atalanta: his ambition and claim to be an epic hero is
therefore challenged by the narrator. Cf. also Sanna (2008).
28
See Håkanson (1973), 39–40, for the expression fidos altricis et ubera mando, as
an inversion of mando uberibus (sc. infantem).
Mourning Endless 41
Hypsipyle’s yearning to avoid being a tarda dux (4.785–6) results
in a ‘bankruptcy’ towards her alumnus:
at puer in gremio uernae telluris et alto
gramine nunc faciles sternit procursibus herbas
in uultum nitens, caram modo lactis egeno
nutricem clangore ciens iterumque renidens
et teneris meditans uerba inluctantia labris . . . (4.793–7)
But the boy in the bosom of the vernal earth, the lush herbage, now butts
and levels the soft grasses with his forward plunges, now calling for his dear
nurse, crying thirsty of milk; and again he smiles and endeavours for words
that struggle with his tender lips . . .
The baby cannot survive in isolation; even the idyllic surroundings
cannot suffice to console him. He finds a substitute nurse in gremio
uernae telluris. The negligent nurse easily forsakes her role to another
nurse, the mother-earth, who manifests herself as other, as a different
and new environment that will lure the baby to his death. Opheltes
longs for his cara nutrix by crying loud, in need for milk (modo . . .
egeno, 795), in other words in need of staying within the maternal
space, a space however provided by a (m)other.29 Hypsipyle’s negli-
gence and casual display of trustworthiness towards tellus, speaks for
the Lemnian woman’s effort to take off her garment as a nurse and
put on the garment of the narrator. The innocent clangor of the baby
in book 4 will be transformed into the lament of Hypsipyle in book 5
and of Eurydice in book 6, in this ongoing fluctuation back and
forth between the semiotic and the symbolic, and eventually into the
lament of the Argive widows at the end of the poem, which the poet
will all too readily silence.
The female receptacle exemplified by the presence of the tellus/earth
in this significant juncture in the narrative, when Hypsipyle lays
Opheltes on the grass, works as a signifier for the complete perversion
of the mother-earth as a symbol for an all-encompassing Motherhood.
Tellus becomes a proxy, but unbeknownst to Hypsipyle, tellus and
patria are terrains of death and utter destruction, in the Peloponnese,
29
Jamset (2005), 145–64, examines the figure of Chiron in the Achilleid as a
substitute ‘mother’ to Achilles, just as Hypsipyle is to Opheltes. See also Heslin
(2005), 157–91.
Thebes, and Lemnos. Consider the role of humus, for instance, in
the swallowing up of Amphiaraus in book 7 (humus . . . / dissilit, ‘the
ground is split’, 7.816–17). When the Argives elect Thiodamas as the
seer’s successor, one of his first acts is to placate the earth (Tellurem
placare parat, ‘he prepares to placate Tellus’, 8.297), by praying to the
goddess and begging for conciliation. In his invocation, Thiodamas
captures the essence of the role of mother-earth as generator of
the animate and inanimate world,30 but also as the ground upon
which he expounds Stoic theories on universal citizenship, which
nevertheless cannot function properly within the disordered cosmos
of the Thebaid:
o hominum diuumque aeterna creatrix, . . .
nos tantum portare negas, nos, diua, grauaris? . . .
. . . an quia plebes
externa Inacchiis huc aduentamus ab oris?
omne homini natale solum, nec te, optima, saeuo
tamque humili populos deceat distinguere fine
undique ubique tuos; maneas communis . . . (8.303, 317, 318–22)
O eternal creatress of gods and humans . . . why do you, goddess, refuse to
bear us alone, why do you find us too heavy? . . . Or is it that we have come
here from the foreign shores of Inachus? Every soil is common to man by
birthright, nor would it befit you, noble one, to differentiate by means of
such a cruel and base boundary between peoples, who are yours from
everywhere and anywhere. May that you stay common (to us all) . . .
Thiodamas here rehearses the topoi of a universal citizenship that we
have seen in Valerius’ Argonautica in the Introduction. With the
phrase omne homini natale solum, the seer tries to elicit an alliance
between Tellus and the Argives. A state without boundaries (distin-
guere fine), however, contradicts the imperialistic aims of the Argive
expedition: the army has trespassed into hostile territory to claim
back the throne, a prize that should have been communis between the
two brothers but is not. Thiodamas’ futile prayer is undercut by his
claim that any Theban, Nemean, or Argive territory can open up to
30
Though Legras (1905), 165–8, sees an irreconcilable contradiction in the in-
vocation to Tellus as creatrix with the role of Jupiter as creator of the cosmos in the
poem, Vessey (1973), 267, calls the prayer ‘one of the most exalted and noble
passages’. See also briefly Gesztelyi (1981), 439–40, on the ritual.
Mourning Endless 43
receive the other: conversely what has just opened up is a chasm that
leads to the netherworld and has swallowed up Amphiaraus, the first
of the seven heroes to die at the end of the first Iliadic book of the
poem (book 7).31 Thiodamas trusts that the Argives can enjoy such
cooperation with Tellus, since he points exactly to the reason why she
has become hostile: an quia plebes / externa Inacchiis huc aduentamus
ab oris. The word ora defines the boundary between the land of
Inachus and the land of the Aonians: Thiodamas subconsciously
replaces boundaries, while he thinks he is able to bring about their
collapse.
Such is then in the Thebaid the nature of mother-earth, Tellus,
to whom Hypsipyle entrusts the baby: she will soon swallow up
Amphiaraus in book 7, as the Argives have all too quickly forgotten
that tellus, Nemean or Theban, personifies hostility, a (m)other,
much like Hypsipyle, who ‘kills’ her own offspring.32 But Hypsipyle’s
failure is not only located in her choice of a perilous proxy for
Opheltes, but also in her eagerness to replace the narrator and
enter the male-centred, heroic world of Œº Æ IæH.
At Adrastus’ request to revive the Argives’ lost strength (tu refugas
uires et pectora bellis / exanimata reple, ‘you, replenish our tumbling
strength and our hearts exhausted by wars’, 4.766–7),33 Hypsipyle
assumes the difficult task of filling time with her story. In fact, the
beginning of the fifth book promises the resumption of the march of
the Argives, as they have now quenched their physical thirst and
yearn for war (monentur / instaurare uias, ‘they are advised to take up
the expedition again’, 5.8–9), when Adrastus, consciously or subcon-
31
Cf. Vessey (1973), 268: ‘As soon as he has ended [the prayer], war begins
again and in the following day Tydeus, Hippomedon and Parthenopaeus are all
slain.’
32
Compare the role of Tellus in Silius’ Punica, who, as we shall see in the next
chapter (144–55), supplies the Romans with the required energy to beat the Cartha-
ginians at Metaurus, and most importantly reorganises the semantics of patria not
just as fatherland but as a beneficial female mother-earth.
33
The well-chosen adjective refugas provides a parallelism with Hypsipyle’s status
as an exile, fugitive Lemnias. Cf. also Euripides’ etymological play in fr.64.72 Bond:
çıªa . . . L çıª (‘the flight I fled’). What Statius underlines is the impasse to
which Hypsipyle’s aid leads the Argives: the replenishment of power will be absolutely
temporary.
sciously, because he has repeatedly tried to halt the Argive expedition
thus far,34 inquires into Hypsipyle’s own patria:
dic age, quando tuis alacres absistimus undis,
quae domus aut tellus, animam quibus hauseris astris.
dic quis et ille pater. neque enim tibi numina longe,
transierit fortuna licet, maiorque per ora
sanguis, et adflicto spirat reuerentia uultu. (5.23–7)
Come tell us, as we briskly leave your waters, what is your home and country,
under what stars you drew your breath. And say, who is that famous father of
yours? For the gods are not far, though fortune may have deserted you, noble
blood is in your aspect, awe breathes in your afflicted face.
Adrastus strikes a tender chord in Hypsipyle’s heart by discerning all
those traits that make her otherness manifest. He uses the demonstra-
tive ille (et ille pater), having no idea that Thoas is indeed a famous
father of a celebrated daughter. His language reflects the Argive army’s
subconscious desire to stray, as he resumes the authorial voice of the
narrator of the poem and refers to Hypsipyle’s dual nature, the obvious
and the hidden, based on her appearance (neque enim . . . licet ;
cf. nec . . . tamen . . . nec, 4.750–1). Adrastus’ technique of holding the
army is exploited at the end of the book, when Amphiaraus prays to
Phoebus for even more causes of delays, which will come in the form
of the funeral games for Archemorus:
. . . atque utinam plures innectere pergas,
Phoebe, moras, semperque nouis bellare uetemur
casibus, et semper, Thebe funesta, recedas.35 (5.743–5)
. . . and, Phoebus, may you go on to weave more delays, and we be barred from
war by ever new chances, and may you, deadly Thebes, ever further recede.
34
See Vessey (1973), 165–7. Cf. for instance, his instruction to Argia in 3.718–19:
neu sint dispendia iustae / dura morae: magnos cunctamus, nata, paratus (‘and let there
not be any cruel waste of time, even if it is just: we postpone, daughter, a great
enterprise’); see Snijder (1968), 267, for the poet’s pun and allusion to Fabius’
delaying tactic. On the scene in book 3, see Hershkowitz (1997) for its intertextual
relationship with Jupiter’s speech to Venus in Aen. 1.
35
I follow Hall in reading recedas with the vocative Thebe as opposed to Hill’s
recedat with the nominative.
Mourning Endless 45
Amphiaraus gives voice to his hitherto secret wish for the prolonga-
tion and ultimate cancellation of the coming (yet inexorable) war.
Phoebus could weave, via the poet, another digression. The seer’s
wish to delete Thebes from the landscape of this war begins with
his diminution of the noun from plural to singular, in an exorcism of
sorts:36 Thebe funesta, recedas. The centre of the poem has to be
reached, however, and the prayer for the opposite will only temporarily
come to effect: the Nemean games will prove an ultimate rehearsal of
the final battle on Theban ground.
With the embedded story that Hypsipyle obliges to be narrated at
length, the poet shifts the focus of his attention to a different opposi-
tion of sameness and otherness, centre and periphery: the action shifts
to the island of Lemnos and its hostile encounters with neighbouring
Thrace and the alien forces of the Argonauts. The reader should not
forget, however, that Hypsipyle’s narrative takes place in Nemea. In her
long flashback, the former queen associates Lemnos with destructive
fury:37
ingemit, et paulum fletu cunctata modesto
Lemnias orsa refert: ‘inmania uulnera, rector,
integrare iubes, Furias et Lemnon et artis
arma inserta toris debellatosque pudendo
ense mares; . . . ’ (5.28–32)
The Lemnian woman sighs, pauses awhile in modest tears, and then answers:
‘Ruler, you bid me revive terrible wounds, the tale of Lemnos and its Furies,
blades thrust home in narrow beds and manhood overwhelmed by wicked
swords . . . ’
The infinitive integrare signals a new beginning, as well as a new
authorial voice in the narrative:38 Hypsipyle will resume where she
has stopped in one of her previous literary appearances, namely
Ovid’s Heroides 6. This promises to be a story that will soothe the
hearts and minds of Argives, but instead of pacifying the baby,
Hypsipyle will enter the terrain of epic poetry, just to transgress it
36
Cf. 1.680, 4.610, 4.676, 5.681, 5.745, 6.515, 9.255, 9.294, 10.594. Perhaps
the singular after all equates the two cities, Thebe and Argos.
37
Cf. Franchet d’Espèrey (1999), 212–15.
38
OLD, s.v. integro 2 (on resuming a story), but also cf. 6.42 (on resuming
lamentation).
by trespassing into elegy by picking up her Ovidian story: the
massacre in Lemnos and the extended stay of the Argonauts.
It is notable that Ovid’s Hypsipyle displays an obsession with
her competitor for the heart of Jason, Medea; she writes her letter in
the immediate aftermath of Jason’s return to Greece accompanied
by Medea, but she writes from Lemnos (me mea Lemnos habet,
‘my Lemnos holds me’, Her. 6.136); her exile has not yet taken
place. Ovid’s heroine is also conspicuously villainous, even though
she is known for her pietas. She unleashes a furious attack against
Medea for her barbarousness (barbara, Her. 6.19), and as Fulkerson
correctly observes on Hypsipyle’s sympathy towards her fellow
Lemnians’ abominable act of androphony, the heroine’s kinship
with the ‘murderous Lemnians perhaps provides a genealogical
disposition for her own “barbarousness”’.39 Since the Ovidian
Hypsipyle avoids the dangerous territory of the Lemnian mur-
ders,40 she does not spare the details in the Thebaid, but rather
expands her elegiac narrative with epic overtones, oscillating
between the two genres, in the outwardly idyllic landscape of the
Nemean countryside. Hypsipyle nevertheless chooses this chôra of
motherhood to reproduce the continuation of her Ovidian story.
As Spentzou has observed on individual letters in the collection
of the Heroides, the heroines are often relegated to the isolation of
their room (Penelope, for instance, in Her. 1), where they find an
‘unpredictable resourcefulness [in] the feminine åæÆ’.41 Likewise,
Hypsipyle indulges in this chôra of rewriting by fashioning her story
in epic and elegiac terms, but is inevitably confronted by the perils
of having entered the world of heroic poetry, where her (m)other-
hood is threatened by obliteration.
39
Fulkerson (2005), 54, and especially pp. 40–66, on Hypsipyle and Medea with
further bibliography.
40
Oblique allusions to the massacre are made through her association with Thoas
in Her. 6.114 and especially 135 (rapui de caede Thoanta, ‘I seized Thoas from the
slaughter’). See Knox (1995), 198, on the interpolation of lines, such as Her. 6.139–40:
Lemniadum facinus culpo, non miror Iason; / quamlibet ignauis iste dat arma dolor
(‘I condemn the crime of the Lemnian women, Jason, I do not admire it; that pain,
however, gives weapons to the powerless’).
41
Spentzou (2003), 104.
Mourning Endless 47
What is emphasised then in Hypsipyle’s recomposition of her story,
a Euripidean palimpsest with Ovidian overtones, is that both the
island and the place of Archemorus’ death are signalled as other,
alien places where fury and bloodshed abound. While we listen to
Hypsipyle’s adventures and the Lemnian slaughter, another abomin-
able deed takes place in Nemea, thus connecting the two narratives of
nefas:42 ac dulce nefas in sanguine uiuo / coniurant . . . (‘In living blood,
they swear the delicious crime . . . ’, 5.162–3); huc magno cursum rapit
effera luctu / agnoscitque nefas . . . (‘She rushes hither to look in agony
of grief and recognises the ghastly crime . . . ’, 5.591–2). This digres-
sion, partly as the narrative of Hypsipyle and partly as the events in the
wake of Opheltes’ murder by the monstrous snake,43 on the surface
draws the focus away from the two civil war sites of the poem, Thebes
and Argos. This digression, however, also marks a turning point in the
Thebaid. Many similarities exist between the island of Lemnos and the
Argive and Theban parties, inasmuch as Lemnos constitutes a per-
ipheral place that reflects the madness prevailing in both camps of the
civil war and foreshadows the impending nefas of the fratricide.44
Within the embedded narrative, in which the former queen exposes
the horror of the Lemnian slaughter, the reader comes across further
manifestations of otherness, as in a set of Russian dolls. To our pair of
central and peripheral constituents, namely the Argive expedition
against Thebes and the army’s encounter with Hypsipyle, another is
added: Lemnos and Thrace. In the minds of the Lemnian women,
Thrace represents the other, a place of orgiastic activity, the landscape
of their husbands’ adulteries. Lemnos, for a moment, represents what
is fas, as opposed to the nefas of the Thracian land. The Lemnian
husbands are being slaughtered precisely because they have spent a
long period of time in Thrace. In fact, the Lemnian women seem
obsessed with the shores across from their native soil:
42
The role of furor as a result of divine and human acts has been well explored in
Schetter (1960), 5–21; Venini (1964); Taisne (1994a), 86–92 (and passim); cf. Rosati
(2005) on Lucretian echoes of furor/amor in the Hypsipyle episode. On Hypsipyle as
embodying this nefas and defying our expectations of a Virgilian understanding of
pietas, see Ganiban (2007), 71–95.
43
Taisne (1972) discusses the role of the snake in the episode.
44
Götting (1969), passim.
illae autem tristes (nam me tunc libera curis
uirginitas annique tegunt) sub nocte dieque
adsiduis aegrae in lacrimis solantia miscent
conloquia, aut saeuam spectant trans aequora Thracen. (5.81–4)
Their wives in sadness—for I was sheltered then by youth and carefree
maidenhood—by day and night in endless tears, sick at heart, seek solace
in conversation or gaze across the sea at savage Thrace.
The dichotomy between the Lemnian women and the coast across
their island comes to the foreground of Hypsipyle’s narrative as a
regression into the semiotic chôra, where endless lament is permis-
sible and mute silence is replaced now by conversation, now by
meaningful gaze that arms the female hands with weapons. Other-
ness cannot be easily fathomed or comprehended, it appears. The
need of self-definition is recurrent, but at times impossible.
Furthermore, Hypsipyle defines her island with respect to the posi-
tion of the Thracian shore: Thraces arant contra, Thracum fatalia nobis
/ litora, et inde nefas. (‘Opposite the Thracians plough, the Thracian
shore fatal to us, the source of crime’, 5.53–4). One of the frenzied
women, Polyxo, claims that the threat of foreign invasion is imminent
(Bistonides ueniunt fortasse maritae, ‘perhaps Thracian wives are com-
ing with them’, 5.142). Thracian women may well accompany the
Lemnian men back from war. And yet, the day following the Lemnian
slaughter reveals that the island has suffered not because of external
enemies but because of civil conflict:45
insula diues agris opibusque armis uirisque,
nota situ et Getico nuper ditata triumpho,
non maris incursu, non hoste, nec aethere laeuo
perdidit una omnes orbata excisaque mundo
indigenas: . . . (5.305–9)
The island with its dower of lands and wealth, of arms and men, famous in
its site and enriched by recent victory in Thrace, had lost, not to the sea’s
onslaught or to the enemy or to heaven’s curse, its whole community,
orphaned and cut out from the world . . .
45
Micozzi (1999), 384, traces this motif back to Lucan.
Mourning Endless 49
As Keith has observed, gender differentiation materialises promi-
nently in the Lemnian episode, because the massacre thematically
pairs conflict between the sexes with civil war.46 What is striking
in this passage is that the dichotomy of same vs other collapses
under the weight of the inherent differentiation found in the
concept of sameness itself: clearly, the Lemnian identity is split
between male and female, and when one of the two components is
erased, there is the need for regression and self-obliteration of the
whole population in general: perdidit una omnes orbata excisaque
mundo / indigenas. By default, Lemnos loses its male citizens and is
therefore cut out from the world altogether. Notice the emphasis
on the enjambment of indigenas, for instance. The territory of
Lemnos becomes the other, the place where devastation is prolif-
erated, where unspeakable actions result in an asymbolia, where the
female can exist marginally without the male, until the arrival of
the next group of men, who will define stability in the island,
temporarily at least.
The arrival of the second group of males invading the island
mobilises primeval fears on the part of the Lemnian women, who
now suspect that this Thracian fleet is preparing an attack:
nos, Thracia uisu
bella ratae, uario tecta incursare tumultu,
densarum pecudum aut fugientum more uolucrum. (5.347–9)
But at the sight we thought them foes from Thrace and fled in wild confu-
sion to our homes, like flocks of jostling sheep or fleeing birds.
As the barbarian land of Thrace is closely connected with the cult of
Dionysus, Bacchic behavioural elements are expected across the island
of Lemnos. The Lemnian women, however, are the ones likened to
Bacchants. More specifically, when Polyxo urges her companions
to take action, she assumes the character of a Thyad from Temeusos
in Boeotia:47
46
Keith (2000), 97. It is important to remember, however, as Dominik (1997), 33,
stresses, that the massacre is divinely inspired by Venus’ anger against the Lemnian
women (pace Vessey [1970a] and [1973], 172, who attributes the action to mere
furor). Cf. also Delarue (2000), 315–17.
47
As Mozley (1933), 34, observes, Statius borrows from the Aeneid most closely:
insano ueluti Teumesia Thyias
rapta deo, cum sacra uocant Idaeaque suadet
buxus et a summis auditus montibus Euhan: . . . (5.92–4)
Like a Teumesian Bacchant seized by god-sent madness, when the sacred
rites summon her, and Ida’s boxwood urges, and from the peaks of moun-
tains the Bacchic cry is heard . . .
Moreover, Hypsipyle herself is a descendant of Bacchus.48 As the
Lemnian women give way to their fury and frenzy, a transformation
takes place: from the civilised centre of their world, they become the
uncivilised other, even though otherness was heretofore relegated
and confined in the Thracian coast across the sea. And even if
Bacchus’ own intervention to save his son Thoas could constitute a
successful step towards the integration of the two places and the
imposing of peace on the island, his intervention instead ultimately
leads to the expulsion of the female figure, Hypsipyle, as soon as her
citizens discover the truth about her contrivance of saving her father.
Hypsipyle’s action, inspired by pietas toward the pater familias,
remains nevertheless a fraus.49 To be sure, Hypsipyle paradoxically
becomes an alien to her native environment by transgressing the
(transgressive) rules set by the other Lemnian women. The poet
creates a version of Hypsipyle that defies any norm or categorisation.
At the outset of the digression in book 4, Statius associates Hypsipyle,
as she tends the baby Opheltes, with a foreign goddess, the mother of
the gods, who gives orders to the Curetes for the nursing of Jove:
qualis commotis excita sacris

Thyias, ubi audito stimulant trieterica Baccho
orgia nocturnusque uocat clamore Cithaeron.
(Aen. 4.301–3)
Like a Bacchant stirred by the shaking of the sacred objects, when having heard the name of
Bacchus she is roused by the biennial orgies and is called by the shouting on Mount
Cithaeron at night.
But Statius may also have in mind the Euripidean ˆæª (Hyps. fr. 64.77 Bond).
48
Bacchus plays a larger role in the Thebaid than in Valerius’ Argonautica; see
Dominik (1997), 39.
49
Pace Vessey (1973), 176, who reads it as a prefiguration of the pietas displayed by
Argia and Antigone; followed by Kytzler (1996), Ripoll (1998), 295, and Scaffai (2002).
Nugent (1996) explores the role of the absent father Thoas in Hypsipyle’s narrative and
links it to the ever present, poetic father figure in Statius’ poetry, Virgil: ‘She would have
no narrative without him; but she would have no narrative with him’ (71).
Mourning Endless 51
. . . qualis Berecyntia mater,
dum paruum circa iubet exultare Tonantem
Curetas trepidos; illi certantia plaudunt
orgia, sed magnis resonat uagitibus Ide. (4.789–92)
. . . like Cybele, while she bids the trembling Curetes dance around the infant
Thunderer; they sound their mystic cymbals in competition, yet still the
baby’s mighty wails resound around Ide.
In addition, just as in Thrace, Lemnos, and Thebes, so Statius also
casts a Maenadic shadow over the Nemean landscape from the out-
set, this time as the place of the baby’s death, an event to be remem-
bered by a festival not coincidentally called trieteris, a noun
appropriate for the cult of Bacchus (4.729).
The first invasion of Lemnos from the uncivilised periphery of
Thrace is followed by a second, the arrival of the Minyans. Their
influence on the women seems favourable in the beginning, as
the advent of the male Argonauts coincides with the return of
the collapsed gender boundaries and hierarchies in the island. The
female figures, once out of their sexus, are now reconstructed: rediit
in pectora sexus (‘our sex returned to our hearts’, 5.397). The threat of
matriarchy is safely closeted for the time being. And yet, even when
everything seems to tag on life’s natural order, Hypsipyle fashions
herself as a dislocated person. Although previously a virgin, when the
slaughter began, she now loses her innocence to Jason and by him
becomes impregnated:
cineres furiasque meorum
testor ut externas non sponte aut crimine taedas
attigerim (scit cura deum), etsi blandus Iason
uirginibus dare uincla nouis . . .
iam noua progenies partusque in uota soluti,
et non speratis clamatur Lemnos alumnis.
nec non ipsa tamen, thalami monimenta coacti,
enitor geminos, duroque sub hospite mater
nomen aui renouo; . . . (5.454–7, 461–5)
By the ashes and the avenging ghosts of my own kin, I swear—the gods care
and know—that by no will of mine and guiltless I became a stranger’s wife,
though Jason used his charm to ensnare young virgins . . . Now comes new
progeny and births to answer prayer. Lemnos is loud with unhoped-for
children. I too with the rest bring forth twins, memorials of a forced bed
though they be, and made a mother by my rough guest I revive their
grandfather’s name . . .
Words such alumnus, applied to Hypsipyle’s offspring, remind us of
similar use in the case of Opheltes, who is now placed in the
dangerous lap of Tellus (4.786–7). Hypsipyle describes her reluc-
tance, well apprised that it is not unmotivated.50 The Argonauts
soon leave, while she is forced into exile. Repetition proves unstable,
such as the naming of Jason’s child after Thoas, a stark reminder of
Hypsipyle’s hidden truth about her father. Substitution betokens an
aborted renewal and a fresh start doomed to failure. And indeed, a
new beginning for the island, a renovation of gender hierarchies has
failed anew. Moreover, Hypsipyle’s unwilling impregnation by Jason
is underscored in her narrative. While Hypsipyle strives to hide her
attachment to the best of the Argonauts, we may infer from Eur-
ydice’s claims that Opheltes has served as a substitute for Hypsipyle’s
lost children and her love for Jason:
{ atquin et blandus ad51 illam
nate magis solam nosse atque audire uocantem
50
Hypsipyle’s actual infatuation with Jason is evident in her reunion with her sons
(Thoas and Euneos, 6.342–3). Her first reaction is cold, but when she recognises them
as the true offspring of Jason, she completely changes her attitude towards them:
illa uelut rupes inmoto saxea uisu
haeret et expertis non audet credere diuis.
ut uero et uultus et signa Argoa relictis
ensibus atque umeris amborum intextus Iason,
cesserunt luctus, turbataque munere tanto
corruit, atque alio maduerunt lumina fletu. (5.723–8)
She like a stony rock, with a gaze unmoved, does not react nor does she dare to
believe the gods she knows well. But when she recognised their faces and the signs of
Argo on the swords left behind and Jason's name interwoven on their shoulders, her
grief departed and collapsed disturbed by such great gift; her eyes became wet by
other tears.
Contra Dominik (1997), 46, who claims that Hypsipyle’s refusal to submit to erotic,
baser passions inspired by Venus demonstrates ‘the nobility of her character and shows
that she is morally superior to the other Lemnian women’, Micozzi (2002), 65–70,
examines extensively the elegiac motifs in Jason’s departure.
51
Cf. Fortgens (1934), 98, and Lesueur (2003a), 2.146 n.15, for the unusual
construction of blandus with ad.
Mourning Endless 53
ignarusque mei { nulla ex te gaudia matri.
illa tuos questus lacrimososque impia risus
audiit et uocis decerpsit murmura primae.
illa tibi genetrix semper dum uita manebat,
nunc ego. (6.161–7)
And yet, my child, you were fonder of her: her only you knew and heard
when you called, me you ignored, your mother had no joy of you. She, the
undutiful, heard your complaints and tearful laughter: she culled the mur-
murs of your earliest speech. She was your mother always, while you lived;
I now.
The adjective blandus applies to Opheltes, as it was previously used
for Jason by Hypsipyle herself, thus undercutting her argument that
she was forced to marry the Argonaut. Opheltes serves as substitute
for Hypsipyle’s lost children, but he equally functions as a living
reminder of Jason himself.52
The Lemnian woman’s disentanglement from her temporary hus-
band, Jason, comes to a climax in her alienation from her country.
She becomes a foreigner in the eyes of her fellow citizens because
of her piety towards Thoas, her father. This distancing is followed by
her alienation from her own offspring and her exile: uaga litora
furtim / incomitata sequor funestaque moenia linquo, . . . (‘Alone
I follow the winding shore in secret and leave the accursed city . . . ’,
5.494–5). While her piety may seem a successful act of selfless love,
it points at the same time to her failure as a mother. At the time of
Opheltes’ death, Hypsipyle is called an exiled Lemnian, a name that
corroborates her alienation from every maternal environment,
Lemnian or Nemean: talia Lernaeis iterat dum regibus exul / Lem-
nias et longa solatur damna querela . . . (‘While Lemnos’ exiled
queen tells her tale anew to Lerna’s princes and in lengthy plaint
finds consolation for her losses . . . ’, 5.499–500). Statius uses the
substantive adjective Lemnias time and again (in the beginning of
the hexameter: 5.29, 5.500; as the fifth foot’s dactyl: 4.775, 5.588),53
to underscore both Hypsipyle’s foreign country, from which at this
52
See Gruzelier (1994), 161 n.10, and Gibson (2004), 164, who observes that
Hypsipyle’s claim to the opposite goes against Ovid’s Her. 6.
53
An epithet otherwise used in the poem for Vulcan (2.269; and for the Ovidian
reminiscence, see Keith [2004–5], 192) and Hypsipyle’s offspring, Euneos (6.509).
very moment she is obviously absent, as well as her alienation from,
and asymbolia in, the other sites of the poem, namely the two cities
of the civil crisis. Moreover, Hypsipyle’s status of exul aligns her
with another famous exul of the poem, Polynices, who from
the outset is marked as the other in the brotherly conflict
(uagus exul . . . / pererrat, ‘a wandering exile he roams’, 1.312–13).
Hypsipyle’s identity as a Lemnian woman, never invoked by herself,
is problematic in the larger framework of her narrative. As we have
seen, while she is a slave nurse in the court of King Lycurgus in
Nemea, Hypsipyle finds in the baby Opheltes a substitute for her
missing children:
o mihi desertae natorum dulcis imago,
Archemore, o rerum et patriae solamen ademptae
seruitiique decus, . . . (5.608–10)
My child, sweet reminder of my own sons who have forsaken me, Arche-
morus, comfort for my long-lost estate and country, pride of my slavery . . . 54
The verb solor, nevertheless, only further manifests the lack of
consolation which in reality takes place in Nemea. During the
large digression on Hypsipyle’s misfortunes, Opheltes tries to re-
place his nurse by finding comfort in the idyllic, yet dangerous,
environment procured by his new nurse, the mother-earth. Hypsi-
pyle tries to lure the baby with flowers and lullabies to keep him
quiet (floribus aggestis et amico murmure dulces / solatur lacrimas,
4.788–9), as she is too hasty to abandon him in her concern for the
well-being of the Argive army. Here, as we saw above, Statius opts
for an unexpected simile: the Mother of the Gods, who is not herself
nursing Jove, but who bids the Curetes to keep the future king of
gods and men entertained.
When the baby is mortally bitten by a snake, Hypsipyle’s own
failure to secure generational continuity for Lycurgus is laid bare.55
Like Polynices in the court of King Adrastus, a foreigner among
54
Cf. Euripides’ ıºÆ (‘slavery’, fr. 85.6 Bond).
55
For the connection with the myth of Psamathe and the baby, Linus, in
1.571–95, see Vessey (1973), 101–7. On the myth of Psamathe, see Aricò (1960);
Vessey (1970b); Kytzler (1986); Taisne (1994a), 244–7; Dominik (1994a), 63–70;
McNelis (2007), 37–40.
Mourning Endless 55
strangers, who will only bring about disasters for the Argive ruler,
disrupting generational continuity in the Peloponnese—by trans-
mitting the cursed stigma of his house to the next generation of the
Epigonoi56—likewise Hypsipyle’s displaced and frustrated mater-
nal instincts do not succeed in promoting safety in Nemea.
Opheltes’ death underscores how misplaced and destructive the
nurse’s feelings are towards her fatherland. When Hypsipyle calls
Archemorus the solamen patriae and seruitii decus, we are invited
to ponder the deadly consequences that Hypsipyle’s role in her own
country have brought about in her present, foreign abode. Keith
has correctly observed that Hypsipyle’s failure confirms her posi-
tion as alien to the landscape of Nemea and ultimately denies her
integration into that setting.57 As the episode ends, it yet remains
unclear how much her otherness has benefited the Argive army on
its way to initiate civil war: Hypsipyle’s failure, with its ramifica-
tions on the public level and in the private sphere as a daughter
and as a mother, forebodes a catastrophe. For a moment, she may
seem to have quenched the thirst of the Argive army by leading
them to Langia, but the ensuing digression on her adventures and
the death of Opheltes conclude with lament and funeral games that
prefigure part of the last book of the poem, the aftermath of the
Theban civil war.
In her lament, Hypsipyle reiterates the well-known fact that she
used to narrate the hapless story of her fatherland to baby Opheltes,
as a bedtime story:58
quotiens tibi Lemnon et Argo
sueta loqui et longa somnum suadere querela!59
sic equidem luctus solabar et ubera paruo
iam materna dabam . . . (5.615–18)
56
As Bernstein (2003), 355, has rightly observed concerning Polynices, ‘sons
reproduce only their fathers’ crimes, and violence within the kingroup poses a
constant threat to generational continuity’.
57
Keith (2000), 60.
58
See Casali (2003) on the unreliability of Hypsipyle as a narrator, like Aeneas in
Aen. 2. Gibson (2004), 161, points to the repetitions in the Hypsipyle story as
evidence for her role as epic narrator qua poet.
59
Mozley (1963–4), 25: ‘beautiful effect of combined assonance and alliteration’.
How often would I talk to you of Lemnos and the Argo and lull you to sleep
with my long tale of woe! So I would console my sorrow and give the little
one a breast now belonging to a mother . . .
This is the moment, too little too late, when Hypsipyle reconnects
with her motherly task to guard Opheltes against the dangers of the
outside world, with the adjective materna (modifying ubera in the
preceding verse) placed in the beginning of the hexameter in 618
with the temporal iam. Having emphasised her pietas towards her
father, Hypsipyle has at the same time forsaken her duties as
mother—a repetition of her abandonment of Lemnos, without her
sons. Hypsipyle’s motherly affections bear only disasters: to put the
baby to sleep with tales of Lemnos and the Argonauts, after we have
witnessed the terrible slaughter of the Lemnian men and sons (pueri,
5.260)! As her ‘dangerous’ narrative used to constitute in the past a
proleptic rehearsal of Opheltes’ death, the same story now recounted
before the Argive army heralds the coming events in the Iliadic books
of the poem (7–12). What does such practice portend for the Argive
army? Hypsipyle’s lulling story works to the detriment of the Argive
army, as it reviews the sad ending of the expedition. Fittingly per-
haps, Lycurgus calls mendacia (5.659) the story that Hypsipyle has
memorised and repeated so many times. Hypsipyle’s dual nature, as
mother and a Lemnian exile with a loaded past as part of a murder-
ous, monstrous female population, comes to the surface repeatedly
during the digression in the middle of the Thebaid. To recall the
Kristevan quote in the epigraph in this chapter then, what is Hypsi-
pyle but ‘a rummaging memory, the present in abeyance’? She is the
asymbolic, foreign other that symbolises the impossibility of incor-
poration, the role of motherhood as forgetting oneself: Hypsipyle
cannot forget; she is able to repeat endlessly the story of her past and
project it onto the future of the heroes themselves.
Another manifestation of Hypsipyle’s attachment to the past
occurs when in the recognition/reunion scene the two boys rush to
their mother, as soon as they are identified in the court of Lycurgus.
Hypsipyle’s feelings of shock and disbelief, however, dominate:
per tela manusque
inruerant, matremque auidis complexibus ambo
diripiunt flentes alternaque pectora mutant.
Mourning Endless 57
illa uelut rupes inmoto saxea uisu
haeret et expertis non audet credere diuis. (5.720–4)
They rush through weapons and hands and both weeping tear their mother
apart with greedy embraces, taking her to their bosoms in turn. She stays
fixed like a stony rock, her eyes unmoving, and does not dare to believe
the gods.
Only when she recognises the name of Jason tatooed on their
shoulders, does Hypsipyle display any signs of emotion, but yet
again the emphasis is laid on the cries, this time of joy:
turbataque munere tanto
corruit, atque alio maduerunt lumina fletu.
addita signa polo, laetoque ululante tumultu
tergaque et aera dei motas crepuere per auras. (5.727–30)
And disturbed by such a gift, she collapsed; her eyes were bedewed with
another kind of tears. Signs too were manifest in the sky. The air was stirred
resounding with a happy uproar of cries and drums and cymbals of the god.
A Bacchic reunion, befitting the descendants of the god! The word
pairing of ululante tumultu, however, anticipates Eurydice’s lament
in 6.137, longis . . . ululatibus, as the cries of joy and of grief set off
one another in the context of Opheltes’ unfortunate death and of
Hypsipyle’s reunion with her sons. Moreover, Hypsipyle’s sons will
reappear supporting their mother and yielding to her lamentation at
the funeral of her baby-substitute:
nec Hypsipyle raro subit agmine: uallant
Inachidae memores, sustentant liuida nati
bracchia et inuentae concedunt plangere matri. (6.132–4)
Nor is Hypsipyle present without accompaniment: the mindful sons of
Inachus surround her, while her sons hold up her bruised arms and allow
their newly found mother to lament.
Statius emphasises the role of the sons as supporters of their mother’s
grief and lament, while the Argive men form a protective wall,
manifesting their presence as a reminder of the events in the previous
book but also as a group that has not forgotten (memores) their
female saviour’s story. In what follows in the remainder of the sixth
book, we rarely see the two sons of Hypsipyle again, but just a
glimpse of their participation in the games honouring Archemorus
(6.342–3, 464, 466, 476). Their momentary appearance, therefore, as
supporters of their mother’s lamentation underscores the inconclu-
sive nature of this reunion: Hypsipyle’s motherhood cannot be fully
restored to its former, Lemnian status.
By recalling the Lemnian story, Statius through Hypsipyle reviews
the future tragedy and female lament in Thebes. The sixth book of
the poem starts with the lamentation for Opheltes’ death that occurs
within the imperial house of Nemea, where Eurydice is unable to
fathom the disaster that has struck her house (orba parens, lacerasque
super procumbere nati / reliquias ardet totiensque auulsa refertur, ‘the
bereaved mother burns with desire to lie upon the mangled remains
of her son and though they remove her away so many times, she
returns’, 6.35–6). In addition, Adrastus now unavailingly assumes the
role of the consolator :
ipse, datum quotiens intercisoque tumultu
conticuit stupefacta domus, solatur Adrastus
adloquiis genitorem ultro, nunc fata recensens
resque hominum duras et inexorabile pensum,
nunc aliam prolem mansuraque numine dextro
pignora. nondum orsis modus, et lamenta redibant. (6.45–50)
Adrastus himself, whenever he has the chance, and the noise is suspended,
and the stunned house falls silent, unprompted consoles the father with
words of comfort. Now he rehearses destinies and the cruelty of man’s
condition and the inexorable thread of Fate, now speaks of other progeny,
pledges, with heaven’s blessing, long to last. But before he ended, back the
wailing came.
Consolation proves impossible, despite Adrastus’ efforts to comfort
Lycurgus.60 Like Hypsipyle, Adrastus prepares for the final battle, the
fratricide, and its aftermath, when, however, there will be no poetic
power adequate to express lamentation. Indeed, in book 11, Adrastus
and Polynices weep together (ibant in lacrimas, ‘they fell to weeping’,
11.193), but Tisiphone has other plans.
60
Statius’ Adrastus replays the Euripidean Amphiaraus’ consolation to Eurydice
(Hyps. fr.60.90–96 Bond); the Flavian poet, however, transfers the pair lamentation–
consolation to men.
Mourning Endless 59
Added to the male wailing, Eurydice produces a lamentation,
matching Hypsipyle’s in book 5, an endless lament similar to the one
that will seal the end of the epic.61 Eurydice stresses how Hypsipyle has
saved her father but in her effort to avoid nefas has now committed
one. Eurydice expresses her wish to unleash violence against Hypsi-
pyle, an act that will come to fruition at the end of the poem, when
Argia and Antigone fight in their efforts to bury Polynices:
‘illam (nil poscunt amplius umbrae),
illam, oro, cineri simul excisaeque parenti
reddite, quaeso, duces, per ego haec primordia belli
cui peperi; sic aequa gemant mihi funera matres
Ogygiae.’ . . .
‘reddite, nec uero crudelem auidamque uocate
sanguinis: occumbam pariter, dum uulnere iusto
exaturata oculos unum impellamur in ignem.’
talia uociferans alia de parte gementem
Hypsipylen (neque enim illa comas nec pectora seruat)
agnouit longe et socium indignata dolorem:
‘hoc saltem, o proceres, tuque o, cui pignora nostri
proturbata tori: prohibete, auferte supremis
inuisam exequiis. quid se funesta parenti
miscet et in nostris spectatur et ipsa ruinis?’ (6.169–73, 174–83)
‘Her (the shades demand no more), her I beg, give back, captains, to the
ashes and the parent she has destroyed. I ask you by these beginnings of war,
the war for which I gave birth; so may Theban mothers mourn deaths
matching mine . . . Give her back, nor call me cruel and bloodthirsty.
I shall die with her, as long as having satisfied my eyes with the just stroke
we may be thrown on the same pyre.’ Thus crying, she recognised Hypsipyle
from afar lamenting in another place (for she was not sparing hair or breast)
and she was indignant that her grief should be shared: ‘At last, you nobles
and you, for whose sake the pledge of our marriage bed has been thrust
forth, this alone I ask: take that hateful woman away from the funeral rites.
61
Dominik (1994b), 129: ‘her overwhelming grief and resentment of Hypsipyle
transmute into anger and jealousy . . . in much the same way that Creon is consumed
by indignation and bitterness in response to the death of Menoeceus.’ The Menoeceus
episode poses the same problematisation as the death of Opheltes; see Heinrich’s
(1999) perceptive analysis of Menoeceus’ deuotio as self-destruction, and contra
Vessey (1971b) and Ripoll (1998), 361–6, for a positive evaluation of the sacrifice.
Why does she mingle her accursed self with his mother? Why is she too on
view in our tragedy?’
Eurydice hints at the lament of the Ogygian mothers, who will lose
their kin in the war. At the same time, however, she would like to
see Hypsipyle die by diving into the flames of Opheltes’ pyre, an act
reserved for Evadne alone at the end of the poem.62 In Nemea, as in
Thebes, there is no place for socium . . . dolorem (179): this moment is
claimed by Eurydice alone.63 As we shall see in book 12, Antigone
likewise claims for herself alone the task of burying Polynices, calling
the night her own night exclusively (nocte mea, 12.367). In this scene
in book 6, the endless and physically exhausting lament, begun by
Hypsipyle in book 5, is placed now in the margin of the narrative,
since the nurse falls silent, weeping in the background. The poet has
reclaimed his own narrative from Hypsipyle’s hands and will not
allow for two lamentations, side by side. Hypsipyle remains the other,
the foreign, unsuccessful nurse. Neither will there be space for shared
grief in Thebes, because the two groups of women, Theban and
Argive, will be distinctly separated by the poet.
The persistence of lamentation comes full circle at the end of the
Thebaid, where the poet decides that it is time to berth his opus in a
safe haven at the very moment when his poetic ability falls short of
expressing the grief of the Argive women.64 The lamentation of book
62
Fantham (1999), 228, calls Eurydice’s demand ‘unwomanly’.
63
Hypsipyle’s silence in book 6 plays off against her dialogue with Eurydice in
Euripides’ play (Aricò [1961] does not point out the divergence; see Vessey’s caution
[1970a], 51), where she calls upon her love for Opheltes while begging for her life:
Pe ØŁ Å n K KÆEØ IªŒºÆØ
ºc P ŒFÆ ¼ººÆ ª ‰ Ke Œ
æªı çæ
, Tç ºÅ Kd ªÆ.
(Hyps. fr. 60.10–12 Bond)
My nursling, whom in my embrace I nourished and fed in every way except that I did
not give birth to him, a great benefit for me.
64
Pace Holland (1976), 212, who sees positive result from the immense grief, such
as the new notion of uirtus, supplemented by pietas and clementia.
Mourning Endless 61
6 and the funeral of Opheltes provide only a rehearsal, a preparation
for what follows. The long digression serves as a post in the narrative,
as the meta preparing the rider for the final course. After all, Hypsipyle
is memorialised not only in the dactylic hexameters of her narrative
but also in the ekphrasis on Opheltes’ tomb:65
stat saxea moles,
templum ingens cineri, rerumque effictus in illa
ordo docet casus: fessis hic flumina monstrat
Hypsipyle Danais, hic reptat flebilis infans,
hic iacet . . . (6.242–6)
There stands a mass of stone, a great temple for the ashes, and therein a
sculptured series tells the story: here is Hypsipyle showing the stream to the
weary Danai, here crawls the poor babe, here he lies dead . . .
At the end, Hypsipyle is transformed from mobile to static, from
narrator to the object of the narrative, from woman to marble, from
animate to inanimate. In the end of book 5, as we saw above, only
momentarily, she was assimilated to a rock, as she becomes petrified
in front of her newly found sons, Thoas and Euneos. Now Statius
completes her portrait as part of a stone: the poet transfers the
heroine’s former mobility to the eternal flowing of the flumina, as
if Hypsipyle had merged into the landscape of Nemea forever. In a
word, Hypsipyle is now inscribed into the symbolic world in terms of
ekphrasis by means of semiotic terms that exclude language: through
the anaphora of hic, we are left only with some pointers of Hypsi-
pyle’s former presence in the poem, as the phenotext is retreating
into a genotext that generates meaning through silence, a mute
stillness that nevertheless speaks volumes.66
65
See Gibson (2004), 171:
Whereas Valerius reported that the cloak made by Hypsipyle for Jason (V.Fl. 2.408–17)
contained her account of her rescue of Thoas . . . in Statius, Hypsipyle’s account of
events on Lemnos is contained in her epic narrative . . . [T]he poet also monumenta-
lises her . . . as she appeared in his own composition, the story of Archemorus.
66
On the silence of women in Statius, see Anzinger (2007), 287–306.
EUMENIDUM ANTIQUISSIMA : JOCASTA

THE WARMONGER OR HELPLESS BYSTANDER? 67
As expected in a poem associated with the city of Thebes, imagery of

female figures assimilated to Bacchants is exploited as a salient and
recurrent theme in the Thebaid. Jocasta makes her entrance in book 7
as an arbitrator between her two sons.68 Though in book 11 Jocasta is
portrayed as Agave (318–20),69 a vivid reminder of the Lemnian
women in book 5, in book 7, Jocasta is cast as a Fury (Eumenidum
uelut antiquissima, ‘as if the most ancient of the Eumenides’, 477),
and more specifically Allecto70—an ironic assimilation since Furies
can bear no children, and furthermore, it is the Fury herself, Tisi-
67
I borrow the term ‘helpless bystander’ from Dewar (1991), 126, who applies it to
Ismenis in book 9 (351–403) and by extension to Ide (3.133–68), Atalanta (9.570–636),
the anonymous mother of Menoeceus (10.792–826), and Eurydice—all the bereaved
mothers who as helpless viewers can do nothing to stop this pitiless war but just lament
for their lost offspring. See Dominik (1994a), 124–5, and Micozzi (1998) for lament as
an expression of the general sense of loss and sorrow.
68
Cf. the Stesichorus Lille Papyrus (P. Lille 76, PMGF fr.222(b)), Euripides’ Phoen.
452–585 (with Mastronarde’s [1994] commentary on the scene), and Seneca’s homon-
ymous play 443–664 (with Frank’s [1995] commentary on the scene, that abruptly ends
the tragedy). On Jocasta’s portrayal in Statius, see Vessey (1973), 270–82; Frings (1991),
106–35; Taisne (1994a), 320–21; Smolenaars (1994), 213–18 and appendix VIb; and
Bernstein (2008), 85–94. For the influence of Euripides, see Reussner (1921), 16–18,
and Venini (1961); of Seneca’s Theban tragedies, see Helm (1892), 35–58, Legras (1905),
96–8, Venini (1965a and b) and (1967), and most eloquently, Fantham (1997), Bessone
(2006), and Ganiban (2007), 159–65; of Livy’s portrait in book 2 of Veturia and Volumnia,
see Soubiran (1969). Hershkowitz (1998a), 280–82, explores the sexual innuendo in
Jocasta’s embassies to her sons, by examining the pervasive sexual drive that forces
Polynices to return to Thebes for a reunion with his mother’s womb (especially 271–82).
69
For the simile in book 11, see Venini (1970), 91; Vessey (1971a); Frings (1991),
124–5; Jamset (2005) 113; Ganiban (2007) 163–5.
70
See Smolenaars (1994), 223, on antiquus as grauis; as Smolenaars shows (220–21),
the description of Jocasta
ecce truces oculos sordentibus obsita canis
exangues Iocasta genas et bracchia planctu
nigra ferens ramumque oleae cum uelleris atri
nexibus . . . (7.474–7)
behold, Jocasta, wild-eyed, with her hoary unkempt hair falling about her worn-out
face, comes bearing her arms bruised by beating and a branch of olive entwined with
dark coloured wool . . .
Mourning Endless 63
phone, who thwarts Jocasta’s efforts for reconciliation.71 Jocasta’s
presence as Allecto, however, also plays off against the provocation
to war by Tisiphone, who has just stirred up hostilities between the
Thebans and the Argives (7.452–69):
. . . portis
egreditur magna cum maiestate malorum.
hinc atque hinc natae, melior iam sexus, aniles
praecipitantem artus et plus quam possit euntem
sustentant. (7.477–81)
. . . she goes out of the gates in all the majesty of her sorrows. On either side
her daughters, now the better sex, support her as she hastens her aged limbs
and moves faster than she can.
Jocasta is on the one hand a Fury-like figure, incapable of maternity,
and on the other hand accompanied by her daughters, who para-
doxically are also her grandchildren. As the accursed mother strives
for a peaceful resolution to the conflict, accompanied by Antigone
and Ismene, in book 7 she lapses from the ostensibly safe boundaries
of the Theban house (portis / egreditur, 477–8). Jocasta is able to
prevail in Polynices’ heart for a moment, although the mother’s plea
ultimately has to fail:72
. . . et raptam lacrimis gaudentibus implet
solaturque tenens, atque inter singula, ‘matrem,
matrem’ iterat, nunc ipsam urguens, nunc cara sororum
pectora, cum mixta fletus anus asperat ira:
‘quid molles lacrimas uenerandaque nomina fingis,
rex Argiue, mihi? . . .
a miserae matres! hunc te noctesque diesque
closely matches Allecto’s disguise as Calybe in Aen. 7.415–18 (a scene already imitated
in Lucan’s portrait of the witch Erichtho in Luc. 6.654–6; Statius appropriates the
intertextual reference to represent Jocasta as both a Fury and a witch). Cf. Laius’
similarly ominous disguise as Teiresias in 2.95–100; see Mulder (1954), 89–93.
71
Cf. Hershkowitz (1998a), 58: ‘Jocasta functions as an ever-present Fury in the
Theban house’; and Ganiban (2007), 165: ‘She may also seem more Fury-like than
maternal.’
72
Cf. Vessey (1973), 274: ‘Jocasta attains to a greater moral stature than in the
tragedians—she is the helpless victim of fate; her love, her grief, her dignity are all of
no effect.’
deflebam? . . .
. . . ad uestrum gemitus nunc uerto pudorem,
Inachidae, liquistis enim paruosque senesque
et lacrimas has quisque domi . . . ’
. . . tumidas frangebant dicta cohortes,
nutantesque uirum galeas et sparsa uideres
fletibus arma piis . . .
ipse etiam ante oculos nunc matris ad oscula uersus,
nunc rudis Ismenes, nunc flebiliora precantis
Antigones . . . (7.493–8, 503–4, 519–21, 527–9, 534–6)
. . . and seizing her, he fills her with tears of joy, comforting her as he holds
her and repeating between this and that ‘mother, mother’, now pressing
her to his breast, now his dear sisters, when the aged mother embitters the
grief with anger: ‘Argive king, why do you feign tender tears and reverend
names for me? . . . Ah, unhappy mothers! Is this you that I wept for day and
night? . . . Now sons of Inachus, I turn my sorrows to your sense of shame;
for each one of you has left little ones and elders and tears like mine at
home . . . ’ Her words soften the proud troops. You might see warrior’s
helmets nodding and arms scattered with pious tears . . . He himself before
their eyes turns to kiss his mother, now young Ismene,73 now Antigone as
she entreats with more copious tears . . .
Jocasta’s strategy of reaching the desired reconciliation of the two
brothers centres on her role as mother (she calls herself impia belli /
mater, 7.483–4).74 By exploiting the potential afforded by her status,
Jocasta makes a bold innovation: she rejects lamentation, as an
effective means of winning Polynices over. The son extends his
embrace to his mother and sisters (an inversion of the usual epic
scene of a son in vain aiming to embrace his dead parents, as do, for
instance, Odysseus or Aeneas), to be immediately reprimanded by an
irate Jocasta and to be addressed as a foreign king (rex Argive).
Polynices weeps and invokes his mother’s name twice (matrem,
73
Shackleton Bailey (2003) translates rudis as ‘innocent’ (after Lesueur’s pure).
74
Keith (2000), 96: ‘a formulation that hardly inspires confidence in her ability to
promote a peaceful settlement at this juncture . . . as she recognises . . . her marriage
and motherhood align her with the Furies in promoting the conflict (nupsi equidem
peperique nefas, 7.514).’
Mourning Endless 65
matrem);75 Jocasta utilises male lamentation as an inventive method
to realise her ultimate plan. As she appeals to the Argives’ longing for
their families, Jocasta directly addresses female lament, the one
performed by Argive women in Argos: liquistis enim paruosque sen-
esque / et lacrimas has quisque domi. The anti-epic image of sparsa
fletibus arma ensues, while the poet ekphrastically apostrophises his
reader (uideres),76 alerting us that this unheroic moment requires an
intervention for the restoration of the proper order in the Thebaid,
that is to say, the (re)sumption of hostilities. The illusion that this
war can be prevented on account of motherhood gains ground, until
Tydeus opposes the mother’s proposal.
Success does not crown Jocasta’s effort to cross the boundary set by
the walls into the hostile, male Argive camp.77 Both her daughters, as
we shall see, retreat within the safety of their private bedrooms. In
book 11, Jocasta transgresses once again (non sexus decorisue memor,
‘unmindful of her femininity and dignity’, 318),78 this time within
the limits of the walls, trying, to no avail, to stop Eteocles from
leaving the gates for the murderous, final duel with his brother:
non comites, non ferre piae uestigia natae
aequa ualent: tantum miserae dolor ultimus addit
robur, et exangues crudescunt luctibus anni. (11.321–3)
Her companions cannot keep pace with her, nor can her pious daughters.
Such strength does ultimate grief give the unhappy woman; her exhausted
years grow young with her sorrows.
The two daughters are unable to compete with the maddened woman’s
speed. In her final public appearance, the mother of the two brothers
75
Polynices is transformed by Statius into a figure close to many females in the
poem; cf. his lament for Tydeus in 9.49–85 (see Dominik [1994b], 133–4). For his
positive characterisation here, see Frings (1992), 41.
76
Georgacopoulou (2005) offers an exhaustive study of poetic apostrophes in the
poem (on this one in particular, see 109).
77
Bernstein (2008), 85, rightly observes: ‘As Jocasta and Oedipus dramatise the
conflict between maternal and paternal imperatives, they invert epic’s typical praise
of virtuous paternal emulation and marginalisation of women who attempt to
prevent their sons from fighting.’
78
Cf. the Lemnian women: pellite sexum (‘drive away your femininity’, 5.105),
rediit in pectora sexus (‘our sex returned to our hearts’, 5.397); and Argia: sexu relicto
(‘with her femininity forsaken’, 12.178).
does not emphasise lament: she stresses her physical opposition be-
tween Eteocles and Polynices79—she has become the boundary itself:
prius haec tamen arma necesse est
experiare domi: stabo ipso in limine portae
auspicium infelix scelerumque inmanis imago.
haec tibi canities, haec sunt calcanda, nefande,
ubera, perque uterum sonipes hic matris agendus.
. . . tu limina auita deosque
linquis et a nostris in fratrem amplexibus exis? (11.338–42, 352–3)
But first you must try out your weapons at home. I shall stand in the very
threshold of the gate, a grim omen and a frightful image of crimes. This my
white hair, these breasts, wicked one, must be trampled by you, and this horse
must be driven through your mother’s womb . . . You leave your ancestral
threshold and gods and you go forth from our embrace against your brother?
Motherhood is now cast as the final stumbling block, the final barricade
that could prevent the fratricide.80 And yet Jocasta’s assimilation to
figures like Tisiphone emphasises the other side in this unfortunate
mother, the side of an alienated, asymbolic self. As Jocasta exits the tragic
stage of her previous literary appearances and enters the male ground of
warlike operations, the landscape of epic that is, she becomes the other,
the Amazon-like persona, traditionally condemned to be marginal and
ineffective, therefore silenced and eventually even dead. In book 11,
Jocasta regresses into a defensive approach, different from her first
attempt to change Polynices’ mind. She sacrifices the mother’s vital
organs, ubera and uterum, to save her children.81 Thus Jocasta sacrifices
motherhood, in this final attempt at reconciliation. By contrast, in her
plea to Polynices, immediately following this scene, Antigone highlights
lament as a likely powerful tool to attract her brother’s attention, again in
vain, at the eleventh hour:
79
See Coffee (2006) for an interpretation of the two brothers’ motivations in terms
of economic language, Eteocles as a merchant and Polynices as a young prodigal.
80
Pace Bernstein (2008), 91, who sees the failure of the mother as a step towards
the completion of the epic’s telos.
81
This imagery of motherhood is in line with the idea of the earth being a mother to
all human beings, therefore underscoring the impiety of attacking one’s ‘motherland’;
cf. Ogilvie (1965), 334, on Liv. 2.40.3–5 (Veturia’s speech): ‘The impiety of ravaging
one’s motherland is denounced by Amphiaraus in Aeschylus’ Septem 580–3, Euripides’
Hecuba 550–3 and 342–78, and Seneca’s Phoenissae 446–58.’
Mourning Endless 67
at parte ex alia tacitos obstante tumultu
Antigone furata gradus (nec casta retardat
uirginitas) uolat Ogygii fastigia muri
exuperare furens; . . .
. . . magno prius omnia planctu
implet et ex muris ceu descensura profatur:
‘comprime tela manu paulumque hanc respice turrem,
frater . . .
. . . saltem ora trucesque
solue genas; liceat uultus fortasse supremum
noscere dilectos et ad haec lamenta uidere
anne fleas. illum gemitu iam supplice mater
frangit et exertum dimittere dicitur ensem:
tu mihi fortis adhuc, mihi, quae tua nocte dieque
exilia erroresque fleo . . . ’ (11.354–7, 361–4, 372–8)
From another quarter Antigone steals rapidly her silent steps through the
opposing tumult (nor does her chaste virginity retard her), mad to sur-
mount the summit of the Theban wall; . . . First she fills all around with loud
lament and speaks as though about to throw herself from the walls: ‘Brother,
hold your weapons and look for a moment back towards this tower . . . At
least relax your frowning look. Let me recognise, it may be for the last time,
the face I love and see whether you weep at my lament. Him our mother
already softens with her suppliant tears and he is said to be letting go his
drawn sword. Are you still strong of purpose to me, to me, who bewail your
exile and wanderings night and day . . . ’
With its emphasis on tears and the power of a lamenting female voice,
Antigone’s suasoria fails but only temporarily. Like her mother’s,
Antigone’s speedy transgression (nec casta retardat uirginitas)82 is again
limited by the walls (ex muris ceu descensura)83 and the potentiality of the
82
As Venini (1970), 100, correctly points out, this comes as a contrast to Anti-
gone’s conversation with Jocasta in Euripides’ Phoen. 1274–6:
. . . Iºº ı.
`. E, ÆæŁHÆ KŒºØF ; . Ia æÆ.
`. ÆNŁ Zåº. . PŒ K ÆNåfiÅ a .
JO. . . . but follow me. AN. Where, having left my maiden chamber? JO. To the army.
AN. We feel shame before the crowd. JO. Your own are not for shame.
83
See Franchet d’ Espèrey (1999), 255–9, for Antigone and Jocasta in book 11: ‘le
furor les a dénaturés.’
particle ceu that indicates a comparative conditional rather than actuality.
As Ganiban says, ‘we cannot tell whether she is pia or whether she
has always been infected by the nefas of her family’.84 While her public
performance fails, it prepares us for the events in book 12 and her
encounter with Argia.
IN THE CHÔRA OF SISTERHOOD: ANTIGONE

AND ISMENE—PUBLIC GAZE AND PRIVATE LAMENT
What we see in the above passage is not Antigone’s first encounter

with the public, male gaze. Whereas Hypsipyle becomes directly
acquainted with the Argive army, Antigone acquires indirect knowl-
edge of the Theban allies who will fight defending her city. In the
teichoscopia of book 7, Antigone keeps all the traits of her uirginitas,
when the aged Phorbas introduces to the maiden each of the Theban
warriors.85 Viewed on the map of the epic’s geography, Antigone’s
own gaze is enabled towards the fighters, at the same time as she
gains direct knowledge of the male other who will inhabit the Theban
plain for the following four books of the poem. Antigone’s innocence
becomes exposed to the dangers of the otherness that threatens to
ruin the royal palace, a foreignness that is defined by ‘the prickly
passions aroused by the intrusion of the other in the homogeneity
of . . . a group’,86 as we have seen in Lemnos’ various encounters with
the other. The failure and death of many of the Theban allies will
cause the fall of the already tottering Theban oikos, as it lays bare the
lack of homogeneity, especially between the two brothers, as well as
84
Ganiban (2007), 167.
85
On the Homeric influence on the scene, see Kytzler (1969); Juhnke (1972),
116–18; Vessey (1973), 205–9; Smolenaars (1994), 119–23; Georgacopoulou (1996a),
112–17. For the relationship between this scene and Medea’s teichoscopia in Valerius
Flaccus’ Arg. 6, see Frings (1991), 74–84; and Lovatt (2006), as well as the relevant
commentary in Fucecchi (1997), Wijsman (2000), and Baier (2001). Lovatt (2006),
64–5, correctly points out Phorbas’ role as the poet in his narrative—a fallible poet,
however, who professes poetic inability to continue, as Eteocles takes over the battle
and the narrative.
86
Mourning Endless 69
among the members of the incestuous house of Oedipus. This
teichoscopia prepares Antigone for the mission to which Jocasta
puts both girls, in book 7, as we have just examined:
turre procul sola nondum concessa uideri
Antigone populis teneras defenditur atra
ueste genas . . .
‘spesne obstatura Pelasgis
haec uexilla, pater? Pelopis descendere totas
audimus gentes: dic, o precor, extera regum
agmina . . . ’ (7.243–5, 247–50)
Distant on a lonely tower Antigone, whom the people are not yet allowed to
see, covers her tender cheeks with a black cloth . . . ‘Father, is there hope that
these banners will withstand the Pelasgians? We hear that all the races of
Pelops are coming against us: tell me, I pray, of the foreign kings and their
troops . . . ’
Antigone longs to become familiar with the extera regum / agmina,
because she is already aware of the resources that the Theban city
herself has to offer. Beyond its first and foremost aim, namely to
afford the poet the opportunity for another catalogue,87 thus draw-
ing extensively from the Euripidean tragedy,88 the teichoscopia puts
en relief Antigone’s curiosity, a curiosity similar to Hypsipyle’s, to
acquaint herself with the other, to enter the manly world of epic
uirtus, from the androcentric perspective of Phorbas. As Antigone
takes a first step beyond the boundaries of the girl’s inner chamber,
we can gaze at her black veil of mourning. While hiding under her
cover,89 within the appropriate confines set by her gender and age
(nondum concessa uideri), Antigone is nevertheless gazing directly at
the male outsiders, the soldiers who have come to fight against
Polynices, her beloved brother. This is the tower from which we
have already seen Antigone in book 11 trying to persuade her brother
to change his mind. In book 11, Antigone has crossed the boundaries
set for her in book 7, in an effort to take the plot into her own hands,
as Hypsipyle does at the helm of the narrative in the digression of
87
See McNelis (2004) and (2007), 97–123, on Statius’ delaying technique in this
catalogue.
88
Cf. Euripides’ Phoen. 88–201.
89
See Lovatt (2006), 62–3.
books 4 and 5. Despite her portrayal in books 7 and 11, as a sister
who just like her mother strives for the restoration of order in the
Theban house, we have the opportunity in book 8 to catch a glimpse
of both sisters, in their personal space, as well.
Towards the conclusion of the eighth book, Menoeceus reproaches
the Thebans for fleeing from the rage of Tydeus who has just killed
Atys,90 a foreign fighter, a hospes (notice the anaphora in 603). Atys
dies defending Thebes, his future wife’s patria:
‘pudeat, Cadmea iuuentus,
terrigenas mentita patres! quo tenditis,’ inquit,
‘degeneres? meliusne iacet pro sanguine nostro
hospes Atys? tantum hospes adhuc et coniugis ultor
infelix nondum iste suae; nos pignora tanta
prodimus?’ (8.600–5)
‘For shame’, he says, ‘youth of Cadmus, belying your earthborn fathers!
Where are you making for, degenerates? Should Atys, a stranger, rather lie
dead defending our blood, still but a stranger, poor youth, avenging a wife
not yet his? Do we betray such pledges?’
The paradox in Atys’ behaviour is emphasised by his foreignness
and consequently his unsuitability to defend an urbs aliena, as well
as the fact that Ismene is not yet his (emphasised by the delay of
this piece of information until the beginning of the second line; after
the forceful coniugis ultor, follows the paradoxical, if not surprising,
phrase nondum iste suae).
This is the perfect moment for Statius to showcase the sharp con-
trast between the outside world of arma uirique and the inside of the
Theban oikos. Antigone and Ismene, an ‘unusually pacific pair’,91
spend their time secluded from the war action that rages around the
walls of Thebes. They are wavering between the two sides of the war.
Frustrated by the failed efforts of Jocasta to stop hostilities in book 7
and therefore unwilling and reluctant to admit the harsh reality of the
external world, the two sisters now confine themselves in their private
90
On Atys, an episode greatly elaborated in the Romain de Thèbes, 6173–508, see
Legras (1905), 102–4; Schetter (1960), 50–51; Juhnke (1972), 130; Vessey (1973),
288–92; La Penna (2000), 155–6. On the similarity between Parthenopaeus and Atys,
see Jamset (2005) briefly at 135.
91
Keith (2000), 98; cf. also Franchet d’Espèrey (1999), 315–16.
Mourning Endless 71
rooms.92 The isolation of their chamber proves safe for the two young
women, while at the same time it confirms their seclusion and detach-
ment from the reality of the impeding fratricide:
interea thalami secreta in parte sorores,
par aliud morum miserique innoxia proles
Oedipodae, uarias miscent sermone querelas.
nec mala quae iuxta, sed longa ab origine fati,
haec matris taedas, oculos ast illa paternos,
altera regnantem, profugum gemit altera fratrem,
bella ambae. (8.607–13)
Meanwhile in a secret inner chamber, the sisters, a pair of another character,
innocent offspring of unhappy Oedipus, mingle various complaints in their
talk—not of present ills but from Fate’s origin far back. One laments their
mother’s wedding torches, the other their father’s eyes; one the reigning
brother, the other the exiled, both the wars.
The poet lays emphasis on the manner in which the two sisters
mingle their conversation in complaint, by fusing the voices of the
two girls into an indistinguishable exchange, just as he does in book
12 with Argia and Antigone, as we shall see. The two sisters are of
another kind, par aliud morum (608), different from their fury-
inspired brothers.93 Their stories go far back, longa ab origine fati,
as they weave their querelae, their complaints, into a lament on the
many ills that torture their oikos. Antigone and Ismene enact a
superficial calmness of the semiotic chôra, where they may afford
the luxury to reflect on the evils that befall them but also draw on an
unusual resourcefulness available in this feminine space, namely to
consider counterfactual scenarios that can only come true in dreams.
92
The episode has received relatively little attention among Statian critics. See
Vessey (1986), 2993–3000, who focuses on aspects of pathos; Taisne (1994a), 182–3;
Lesueur (1996), 78, who considers Atys ‘un personnage épisodique’. Micozzi (2001–2)
offers an excellent intertextual reading of the episode, tracing the models as far back as
Mimnermus (fr. 21W), in epic poetry (Apollonius’ Medea, Virgil, Ovid), and in elegy
(Propertius and Ovid).
93
Cf. melior iam sexus (‘the better sex now’, 7.479), as the two daughters support
their mother. As a metapoetic comment, Statius points to Ismene’s usurping the role
of the Sophoclean Antigone, betrothed to Haemon.
The narration of Ismene’s dream further supports her otherworld-
liness, since she dreams of a desired union that can never take place.94
Ismene’s insistence that she is not afraid of the omen, as long as there
is still a chance for reconciliation between their brothers, heralds
the disaster of the unfolding events immediately after the dream
narrative:95
ecce ego, quae thalamos, nec si pax alta maneret,
tractarem sensu, (pudet heu!) conubia uidi
nocte, soror; sponsum unde mihi sopor attulit amens
uix notum uisu? semel his in sedibus illum,
dum mea nescio quo spondentur foedera pacto,
respexi non sponte, soror. turbata repente
omnia cernebam, subitusque intercidit ignis,
meque sequebatur rabido clamore reposcens
mater Atyn. quaenam haec dubiae praesagia cladis?
nec timeo, dum tuta domus milesque recedat
Doricus et tumidos liceat componere fratres. (8.625–35)
See, I, who would have nothing to do with wedding chambers knowingly, even
if peace were still abiding, for shame alas, I saw nuptials, sister, in the night.
Whence did mindless slumber bring me my betrothed, scarce known to me by
sight? Once I looked at him in this dwelling, not of my will, sister, while in
some fashion or other my pledges were contracted. Suddenly I saw everything
in turmoil, a sudden fire came between us, his mother was following me with
frantic cries, demanding Atys back. What sign is this of doubtful calamity?
Not that I am afraid, as long as our house is safe, the Dorian army stays here,
and we may make peace between our angry brothers.
Ismene’s dream of coming disasters is interpreted as a fantastic
hallucination of future happiness: the maid still hopes for a joyful
union with her fiancé Atys.96 Ismene carefully weaves a veil of secrecy
around her unintentional gaze directed to her beloved one (mea . . .
respexi non sponte), while she openly rejects the possibility of a
94
Cf. Ilia’s dream in Ennius’ Ann. (34–50 Skutsch).
95
For a typological examination of such dream manifestations in Statius
(Atalanta’s series of dreams in 9.570–601 and Ismene’s dream), see Bouquet (2001),
123–6; Taisne (1994a), 182–3, examines the two dreams as praesagia.
96
Vessey (1973), 292: ‘Statius usually treats his female characters with intense
propriety. In them, we see models of virtue, perfect specimens of womankind on a
model which the Romans traditionally cherished as their own.’
Mourning Endless 73
wedding to Atys at the present moment. At any rate, how could she
think of marriage during the time of war? And yet, by referring to
thalamos (nuptials) within her own thalami (bedroom), Ismene
reveals her secret hopes: to see Atys anew, to fulfil her wish of
marrying and therefore the possibility of becoming a mother. But
the dream is clear: the other intrudes, in the form not only of Atys
but also of his mother, who asks for her son back (notice the iunctura
of mater Atyn), as expressed in the repetitive reposcens. Instead,
Ismene feeds her hope by wishing the retreat of another foreign
‘body’ from Thebes, the Dorians/Argives (milesque recedat / Doricus),
thus stressing the threatening role of the enemy in the beginning of
the hexameter by enjambment, while also underscoring the ambig-
uous outcome of the brothers’ quarrel, in terms of pregnancy: tumi-
dos . . . componere fratres.97 Ismene’s uirginitas circumscribes her
within the area of the semiotic, the coupure of the semiotic into the
symbolic through dreaming her potential, yet counterfactual future.
Her wish to see Atys is fulfilled, since she is indeed going to look
at him for the last time in the same place as the first time (during
her betrothal, his sedibus), and her gaze will be counterbalanced by
her later closing of Atys’ eyes (ibi demum teste remoto / fassa pios
gemitus lacrimasque in lumina fudit, ‘finally, with no one to witness
it, she confessed her devoted sorrow and poured her tears upon his
wounds’, 8.653–4):
quater iam morte sub ipsa
ad nomen uisus defectaque fortiter ora
sustulit; illam unam neglecto lumine caeli
aspicit et uultu non exatiatur amato. (8.647–50)
Four times at the very point of death he bravely raises his eyes and failing
head at her name. Only at her does he gaze, neglecting the light of heaven,
and cannot get enough of her beloved face.
As Vessey rightly observes, ‘the peace of the palace is disturbed as
Atys, moribund but still conscious, is borne within’.98 I submit that
Atys’ otherness, male and foreign, upsets the seeming peace of
97
For tumidus denoting pregnancy elsewhere in the poem (cf. 2.204) see Mulder
(1954), 156–7.
98
Vessey (1973), 291.
the inner palace, a place still immune to the wild war raging outside
the walls of Thebes. The inner chamber of innocent Ismene (whose
saeuus pudor is underscored by the poet as the paradoxical aspect of her
character)99 serves as the place where her union with Atys will take
place. Ismene is confined in her bedroom to lament the death of her
foreign fiancé, Atys, to suffer the bereavement of a private loss as a
result of a public, nonsensical disaster, the quarrel between the two
brothers.100 Ismene is deflowered by Atys’ gaze,101 an act reciprocated
by Atys in Ismene’s dream. The foreigner has intruded in the chamber;
the virginity of the house is lost, the girls are no longer protected. The
two sisters are exposed to a question that is never directly addressed
in the narrative but essentially underlies the irrationality of the Theban
war: do female figures take sides, and if so whose? Although Atys fights
for the Thebans, and Antigone’s allegiance rather lies with Polynices,
nevertheless the two sisters remain united. This rehearsal of a lament, as
in the case of Hypsipyle and Eurydice in book 6, now in book 8, puts in
relief the impossibilities of lament in book 12, when the two peoples,
the Thebans and the Argives, are clearly distinguished into winners and
losers, despite the apparent union concealed under lament.
Furthermore, it is not coincidental that the poet alters the Euripidean
scene of Jocasta’s suicide.102 Jocasta dies within the boundaries of the
palace, only in the presence of Ismene (et prono uix pectore ferrum /
intrauit tandem, ‘and with her breast scarcely leaning forward, she finally
“entered” the sword’, 11.639–40).103 As Hershkowitz has aptly observed
in the Thebaid, virginity ‘does not prove an adequate defense against
the sexually charged force of madness’.104 Once again, we see Ismene
99
Vessey (1986), 2996: ‘Ismene is not merely chaste; she is an in(de)scription of
castitas and pudor (within the lexicon of the Thebaid).’
100
Dominik (1994b), 126–7, points out the weakness and helplessness of women
in war, and especially of Antigone and Ismene in this case.
101
Vessey (1986), 2998–9, and Hershkowitz (1998a), 290.
102
In Euripides’ Phoen. 1427–59, Jocasta commits suicide on the spot of the
fratricide and is then carried inside by Antigone, not Ismene; cf. Fiehn (1917), 76–7:
‘Fortasse animi legentium defatigati essent, si regina post Oedipum, qui ad corpora
filiorum querebatur, prodisset, ut dolorem suum aperiret.’
103
Jamset (2005), 113, correctly notices the implicit contrast between Jocasta’s
pronum pectus here and her nudum pectus in 7.281. On the different versions of
Jocasta’s suicide in the Graeco-Roman tradition, see now Smolenaars (2008).
104
Hershkowitz (1998a), 282.
Mourning Endless 75
experiencing the disastrous effects of the outside world that intrudes to
wreak permanent havoc on her, now orphaned of family:
illius exili stridentem in pectore plagam
Ismene conlapsa super lacrimisque comisque
siccabat plangens: qualis Marathonide silua
flebilis Erigone caesi prope funera patris
questibus absumptis tristem iam soluere nodum
coeperat et fortes ramos moritura legebat. (11.642–7)
Ismene collapsed upon the blow that shrieked in the meagre bosom and dried
it with tears and hair as she lamented: just so sorrowful Erigone weeping in the
Marathonian wood beside the body of her slain father, her plaints exhausted,
began to untie the sad knot and choose sturdy branches, intent on death.
The Erigone–Icarius simile proves ominous. Ismene’s departure from
the narrative is accompanied by the allusion to possible suicide: are
we to think that as she repeats the scene of Atys’ death, she is going to
repeat her mother’s final act? As Erigone unties the knot that led her
father to death, she loosens it to fit her own head in it and commit
suicide on the spot.105 There is no safe place for Ismene, inside
or outside the cursed Theban house, but only death, possibly by
hanging, the definitive act of silencing the other’s voice. Furthermore,
the contrast between public gaze and private lament is going to play
out in the last book of the poem, where the female Argives undertake
a foray to voice their private, house-confined ŁæB, in the public
sphere and terrain of an otherwise masculine genre.
LAMENT AND THE POET: B OUNDARIES

(RE)TRANSGRESSED
Her ioyous presence and sweet company

In full content he there did long enioy,
Ne wicked enuie, ne vile gealosy
His deare delights were able to annoy:
Yet swimming in that sea of blisfull ioy,
105
See Venini (1970), 162, on soluere as laxare and Lesueur (2003a), 3.175 n.49.
He nought forgot, how he whilome had sworne,
In case he could that monstrous beast destroy,
Vnto his Farie Queene backe to returne:
The which he shortly did, and Vna left to mourne.
Now strike your sailes ye iolly Mariners,
For we be come vnto a quiet rode,
Where we must land some of our passengers,
And light this wearie vessell of her lode.
Here she a while may make her safe abode,
Till she repaired haue her tackles spent,
And wants supplide. And then againe abroad
On the long voyage whereto she is bent:
Well may she speede and fairely finish her intent.
(E. Spenser, The Faerie Queen, 1, Canto 12, 41–2)
The Thebaid ends with lamentation for the dead, not

with paeans of Theseus’ victory.
(F. Ahl, ‘Statius’ Thebaid: A Reconsideration’, 2897)
The opening of the last book recalls the beginning of the sixth: before
the reader’s eyes immense loss and destruction are laid (aegra . . . pax,
‘uneasy peace’, 12.7–8), only now on Theban territory:
amant miseri lamenta malisque fruuntur.
nec subiere domos, sed circum funera pernox
turba sedet, uicibusque datis alterna gementes
igne feras planctuque fugant; . . . (12.45–8)
In their misery, they love weeping and delight in sorrows. No one went
home, but all night long they sit around their dead and, voicing grief in turn,
by tears and wailing drive the beasts away with fire and breast-beating . . .
The Thebans, afflicted by loss and destruction, have developed a
pathological connection with lament and grief (ruunt planctu pen-
dente et ubique parato, ‘they rush with hands everywhere ready for
lament’, 33).106 This joining serves as a counterpart to the ending of
106
Just as Antigone prevents Oedipus’ suicide attempt in book 11 and lets him
mourn for his sons’ fratricide (saeuum gaudens planxisse parentem, ‘rejoicing in her
harsh father’s lament’, 11.633). Helzle (1996), 146–59, observes that the twelfth book
can be read independently from the rest of the poem as a Greek tragedy.
Mourning Endless 77
the poem itself, which will close with the lament of the Argive women,
a lament ethnically distinct from that of any Theban mothers.
Even after the death of the brothers, the cursed city of Thebes can
find no peace. Creon, Oedipus’ brother-in-law and self-proclaimed
monarch of the city, forbids burial of the Argive dead,107 especially of
Polynices, denounced as an outsider: . . . Argiuus haberi / frater iussus
adhuc atque exule pellitur umbra (‘ . . . his brother by command is still
held an Argive and is driven away, his shade banished into exile’,
12.58–9).108
By mobilising the group of Argive women travelling to Athens
(12.105–72) to seek aid from Theseus, at the Altar of Mercy
(481–518),109 for the burial of their husbands, Statius directs the
poem to its (destined?) end.110 Simultaneously, however, the empha-
sis lies in the women’s status not only as suppliants but also, above
all, as desolate mourners: flebilis . . . comitatus (‘sorrowful band’, 105),
orbae uiduaeque (‘bereaved and widowed’, 106), planctu (‘by wailing’,
110), deflenda (‘rousing tears’, 122), digno plangore (‘with due grief ’,
122), gementum / agmina (‘groups of mourners’, 124–5), lacrimans
(‘weeping’, 128).
This is a group of female foreigners who venture a penetration into
the centre of the action. As the Argive women travel to Athens to
complete their mission, and as Argia strays off to Thebes to bury
Polynices against Creon’s edict, another group of women is forced to
107
Creon’s dictatorial character extends into the territory of lament, when he
hubristically claims the prerogative to mourn for his son Menoeceus:
mihi flebile semper
numen eris; ponant aras excelsaque Thebae
templa dicent: uni fas sit lugere parenti. (12.77–9)
I will always mourn you as a deity; let Thebes place an altar and dedicate a lofty temple: to
the parent alone let it be allowed to mourn.
Cf. Fantham (1999), 231: ‘Such is the king’s angry fury of grief that servants have
to drag him away, as if he were some woman out of control.’
108
Cf. Pollmann (2004), 104.
109
On the description and ekphrasis of Clementia, see Burgess (1972); Vessey (1973),
309–12; Ahl (1986), 2890–94; Ripoll (1998), 440–46; Ganiban (2007), 214–17; McNelis
(2007), 163–5.
110
As Pollmann (2004), 115–17, correctly observes, the scene comes as a contrast
to book 4, the march of the Argive army: this is a crowd of women truly concerned for
their dead and the fulfilment of funeral rites.
follow the world-conqueror towards Athens, the centre of civilisation.
Just before Theseus’ victory over Creon, the poet presents us with a
group of outsiders, barbarian women, in the heart of Athens. Theseus
has just returned from his campaign against the Amazons, who now
follow behind his chariot in a display of a ‘Roman’ triumph:111
ante ducem spolia et, duri Mauortis imago,
uirginei currus cumulataque fercula cristis
et tristes ducuntur equi truncaeque bipennes,
quis nemora et solidam Maeotida caedere suetae,
gorytique leues portantur et ignea gemmis
cingula et informes dominarum sanguine peltae.
ipsae autem nondum trepidae sexumue fatentur,
nec uulgare gemunt, aspernanturque precari
et tantum innuptae quaerunt delubra Mineruae.
primus amor niueis uictorem cernere uectum
quadriiugis; nec non populos in semet agebat
Hippolyte, iam blanda genas patiensque mariti
foederis. hanc patriae ritus fregisse seueros
Atthides oblique secum mirantur operto
murmure, quod nitidi crines, quod pectora palla
tota latent, magnis quod barbara semet Athenis
misceat atque hosti ueniat paritura marito. (12.523–39)
Before the chief spoils are led and, image of hard Mavors, virgin chariots,
wagons piled with crests, sad horses, broken axes with which the women were
accustomed to cleaving forests and frozen Maeotis; light quivers are carried and
belts blazing with gems and bucklers marred by the blood of their mistresses.
They themselves have no fear as yet nor confess their sex; they do not lament in
the common fashion and scorn to plead, they seek only the shrine of virgin
Minerva. First desire is to see the victor, borne by four snowy horses. Hippolyte
too draws the people to herself, now charming in look and patient of the
marriage bond. Aside among themselves the women of Athens mutter, wonder-
ing that she has broken the austere usages of her country in that her hair is sleek
and her bosom all covered by her mantle, that she blends herself, a barbarian,
with great Athens and comes to bear children to her foeman husband.
111
See Vessey (1973), 312. On Theseus as a person who imposes civilisation on the
barbarian Amazons, see Ripoll (1998), 426–51; Laird (1999), 287–91 (Theseus linked
to Jupiter); Keith (2000), 99; Pollmann (2004), 212–13; contra Dominik (1994a),
92–8. As Helzle (1996), 156, correctly points out, we are also reminded of the sinister
case of Aeschylean Agamemnon.
Mourning Endless 79
Although the Amazons still remain fierce and do not show any signs
of weakness (such as lament, nec uulgare gemunt), nondum trepidae
sexumue fatentur, their queen seems subdued, iam blanda genas.
What a sinister description! As we have already examined, the ad-
jective applies to Jason’s alluring methods of courting Hypsipyle in
Lemnos and impregnating her, while the same adjective is attributed
by Eurydice to the dead Opheltes, for his loving attachment to his
treacherous nurse. But this time, the adjective acquires a more precise
negative connotation, since in book 9 the exact periphrasis is used to
describe Tisiphone, who disguises her true self to cheat Hippomedon
of Tydeus’ body (9.155): blanda genas. Are we looking at one of
Hippolyte’s own metamorphoses too? When Theseus urges her not
to participate in the forthcoming war because of her pregnancy, we
witness a twist in the portrayal of the Amazon, the domesticated
woman-warrior:112
isset et Arctoas Cadmea ad moenia ducens
Hippolyte turmas: retinet iam certa tumentis
spes uteri, coniunxque rogat dimittere curas
Martis et emeritas thalamo sacrare pharetras. (12.635–8)
Hippolyte too would have gone, leading Arctic squadrons against Cadmus’
walls, but hope of her swelling womb, now assured, keeps her back and her
husband asks her to dismiss thoughts of war and dedicate her quiver, its
service done, in the marriage chamber.
Hippolyte will still bear offspring for the king. And yet she remains a
barbara, at whom the Athenians gaze with wonder since she is subject
to being acculturated,113 to becoming an Athenian. The Athenians
are amazed at the transformation of the Amazons, since it is beyond
expectation that they may be portrayed with their body covered
(quod pectora palla / tota latent). Hippolyte is assimilated to her
new environment, but not without a price paid on Theseus’ part.
She will be a mother who does not lose her identity as a barbarian
but who will give birth for a husband explicitly called an enemy
112
On Camilla and Hippolyte, see Fucecchi (2007).
113
Aptly called ‘voyeuristic’ by Pollmann (2004), 213. Ahl (1986), 2894: ‘Statius
highlights the irony by endowing the barbarians with civilised calm and nobility, and
the Greeks with barbaric chattering.’
(hosti . . . paritura marito).114 Moreover, a salient feature in the descrip-
tion of the Amazons in the previous two passages is the lengthy
description of their weapons, fittingly exposed in detail by the poet,
only to emphasise, however, their marginal role: the Amazons have
been defeated and are therefore virtually disarmed, despite the exten-
sive references to their accoutrements—these weapons are now part of
the ritual, as they will be consecrated and confined to the marital
chamber (thalamo sacrare pharetras). Although in Athens there is a
dynamic relationship between the autochthonous Athenians and the
newly arrived Amazons, with a glimpse of a possible (not necessarily
realised) future amalgamation between the two peoples,115 I should
like to emphasise the utter failure of reconciliation between the The-
bans and the Argives, memorialised in the epilogue of the poem.
Just before the end of the poem, there occurs an effort for recon-
ciliation between the Thebans and the Argives, when Argia comes to
bury Polynices in Thebes, where she finds the body in the battlefield
and addresses her dead husband. As she separates from the group of
the Argive women who head for Athens instead, Argia keeps high
hopes of her ability to intrude into the hostile city, not as an outsider
but as a hospes and a daughter-in-law of Oedipus:
hic non femineae subitum uirtutis amorem
colligit Argia, sexuque inmane relicto
tractat opus: . . .
contemptrix animae et magno temeraria luctu
. . . hortantur pietas ignesque pudici.
ipse etiam ante oculos omni manifestus in actu,
nunc hospes miserae, primas nunc sponsus ad aras,
nunc mitis coniunx, nunc iam sub casside torua
maestus in amplexu multumque a limine summo
respiciens:116 . . .
114
See Dominik (1994a), 94: ‘Theseus, like Oedipus, will adjudge he has been
wronged, will curse his offspring who will endure a tragic death and will suffer
banishment . . . ’
115
See Keith (2000), 99, following DuBois (1982), 66: ‘Theseus’ victory over the
Amazons restores the order of the cosmos by reinstating the “natural” hierarchy of
gender.’
116
Pagán (2000a), 441–6, on respexit and the end of the poem in terms of Orphic
gaze.
Mourning Endless 81
‘ . . . me sinite Ogygias, tantae quae sola ruinae
causa fui,117 penetrare domos et fulmina regni
prima pati; nec surda ferae pulsabimus urbis
limina: sunt illic soceri mihi suntque sorores
coniugis, et Thebas haud ignoranda subibo . . . ’
‘urbs optata prius, nunc tecta hostilia, Thebae,
. . . iuxta tua limina primum
Oedipodis magni uenio nurus? improba non sunt
uota: rogos hospes planctumque et funera posco . . . ’
(12.177–9, 185–91, 198–202, 256, 259–61)
Here Argia conceives a sudden passion for unwomanly courage and engages in
monstrous work, abandoning her sex . . . despising her life, rash with mighty
mourning. Piety and chaste fires of love urge her on. He himself is plain before
her eyes in his every act: now, alas, as guest, now her betrothed before the first
altars, now a gentle husband, now under his grim helmet sad in her embrace
and often looking back from the outermost threshold . . . ‘Let me, who was
sole cause of the disaster, penetrate the Ogygian halls and suffer the first
thunderbolts of the reign. And the gates of the fierce city will not be deaf to my
knocking. My husband’s parents are there, and his sisters and I shall not come
to Thebes as a stranger . . . City of Thebes, once my desire, now enemy abode,
. . . I come near your gates, I, daughter-in-law of great Oedipus? My prayer is
not inordinate. A stranger, I ask a pyre, a lament, a corpse . . . ’
Virtus is juxtaposed to sexu relicto,118 the hope of transgressing gender
boundaries is renewed, with the authorial caveat concerning the im-
mense (immane) act Argia is about to undertake. In an ongoing process
of looking back to the beginning of the poem but also of rehearsing its
end, as we have often seen in the preceding analysis, Argia’s efforts
concentrate on surpassing the limitations set by the walls of Thebes, by
the familial curse, and by gender hierarchies (which are reinforced by
Creon’s appropriation of lament as a male privilege). Upon the dis-
covery of the corpse, through her lament, Argia reveals her intentions to
‘penetrate’ with her gaze the city of Thebes, clearly as an outsider:
117
For the inversion of Aen. 6.458 (funeris heu tibi causa fui, ‘alas, I was the cause
of your death’, of Aeneas to Dido), see Helzle (1996), 151–3, and Pollmann (2004),
137–8. On Argia as Dido, see Dietrich (2004), 9–12.
118
Cf. Pollmann (2008), 365: ‘Successful uirtus seems only possible in the private
sphere, performed by women, in the context of burial, as a manifestation of religion
and humanity.’
huc attolle genas defectaque lumina: uenit
ad Thebas Argia tuas; age, moenibus induc
et patrios ostende lares et mutua redde
hospitia . . . (12.325–8)
Lift your eyes to me, eyes that see no more. Argia has come to your Thebes.
Up now, lead me into the city, show me your father’s house, return our
hospitality . . .
This set of requests comes as response to Polynices’ own promise to
Argia in 2.361–2: fors aderit lux illa tibi, qua moenia cernes / coniugis
et geminas ibis regina per urbes (‘perhaps the day will come for you,
on which you will see the city walls of your husband and you will go
as a queen through two cities’).119 Argia’s futile request to the corpse
of Polynices, as she urges him on to raise and direct her gaze into the
city of Thebes, is sharply contrasted to the last look of Polynices at his
wife in book 4:120
iam regnum matrisque sinus fidasque sorores
spe uotisque tenet, tamen et de turre suprema
attonitam totoque extantem corpore longe
respicit Argian; haec mentem oculosque reducit
coniugis et dulces auertit pectore Thebas. (4.88–92)
Already in hope and prayer he possesses his realm and his mother’s bosom
and his faithful sisters, yet looks far back to Argia as she stands out with all
her body from a turret-edge distraught. She calls back her husband’s mind
and eyes and turns sweet Thebes away from his heart.
Argia prefigures Antigone’s reaction in book 11, who inspired by the
Fury almost jumps off the wall to keep her brother from the fratri-
cide. Also in book 11, Polynices dreams of Argia, just when Megaera
is ready to lead him up to his final moment in the fratricide (coniugis
Argiae laceram cum lampade maesta / effigiem, ‘[he had seen] the
distorted figure of his wife Argia holding a sad torch’, 11.142–3).121
119
Hoffmann (1999), 31.
120
See Ahl (1986), 2880, and Micozzi (2002), 62–5 (who refers to the episode as
part of the ‘memoria interna’). Cf. also Bessone’s (2002) exhaustive discussion of
elegiac motifs in the scene and in Argia’s appearance in books 2 and 3.
121
Ahl (1986), 2883: ‘significantly, the vision is of his Argive wife not of his
Theban family.’ See Vessey (1973), 163 n.4, for the prefiguration of effigies in the
games in book 6 (treated by Lovatt (2005), passim) and Venini (1970), 48.
Mourning Endless 83
That same night Antigone and Argia will unite their efforts to
bury their beloved, a union that nevertheless takes place in a manner
of lament (ecce122 alios gemitus aliamque ad busta ferebat / Antigone
miseranda facem, ‘behold, wretched Antigone was bringing other woes
and another torch to the place where the corpses lay’, 12.349–50), by
remembering the dead person’s deeds and by re-enacting the poem:123
‘cuius’ ait ‘manes, aut quae temeraria quaeris
nocte mea?’ . . .
‘mene igitur sociam (pro fors ignara!) malorum,
mene times? mea membra tenes, mea funera plangis . . . ’
. . . hic pariter lapsae iunctoque per ipsum
amplexu miscent auidae lacrimasque comasque,
partitaeque artus redeunt alterna gementes
ad uultum et cara uicibus ceruice fruuntur
dumque modo haec fratrem memorat, nunc illa maritum,
mutuaque exorsae Thebas Argosque renarrant,
longius Argia miseros reminiscitur actus . . . (12.366–7, 382–3, 385–91)
‘Whose body do you seek?’ she says. ‘And who are you that dare do it in my
night?’ . . . ‘Do you fear me then (ah ignorant coincidence!), me the partner
in your woes? It’s my limbs you hold, my corpse you mourn . . . ’ Here both
collapse and with joint embrace eagerly mingle tears and hair over the body,
dividing the limbs between them; then they go back to his face, lamenting by
turns, and enjoy his beloved neck in alternation. As one recalls her brother,
the other her husband, and each in dialogue tells again of Thebes and Argos,
Argia remembers at length the sad story . . .
What begins as a hostile reaction on behalf of Antigone (Cadmeia
uirgo, ‘Theban maiden’, 12.380), progresses into the recognition of
122
The exclamatory particle ecce is used five times in the last book and is coupled
with sinister images: Ornytus’ squalid appearance in 141; the grim image of the
brothers fighting as their corpses are consumed by fire in 429; Theseus’ last apostrophe
to the Argive souls, as he kills Creon in 773; and the last simile in 789 (examined
below).
123
On the burial scene with Argia and Antigone, see Schetter (1960), 11–12; Vessey
(1973), 131–3 and (1986), 3003–7; Frings (1991), 139–54; Henderson (1991), 55–6;
Taisne (1994a), 76–7; Dominik (1994b), 130–33; Helzle (1996), 166–74; Hershkowitz
(1998a), 293–6; Franchet d’Espèrey (1999), 317–19; Lovatt (1999), 136–40; Delarue
(2000), 358–9; Bernstein (2008), 94–101; Heslin (2008), 114–20. Pollmann (2004),
46–7, interprets Argia as a counter-figure to Theseus, a woman who acts out of wifely
devotion.
the two women and Antigone’s change of attitude, now asking for
Argia’s sharing in the grief and labour. What is not possible between
Eurydice and Hypsipyle takes place for a moment within the bound-
aries of the poem’s centre, Thebes. Argia and Antigone share their
respective stories in alternation (just like the Thebans in the begin-
ning of the book, uicibusque datis, 12.47):124 they divide Polynices’
membra, just as they unite their lamenting voices.
This apparent reconciliation will not last for long, since Argia and
Antigone eventually fight over the body of Polynices. The pyre, split
in two, foreshadows the eternal rift between the brothers and the two
nations. Argia and Antigone threaten to jump into the fire if the
discord continues:
sedate minas; tuque exul ubique,
semper inops aequi, iam cede (hoc nupta precatur,
hoc soror), aut saeuos mediae ueniemus in ignes. (12.444–6)
Calm your threats. And you, everywhere an exile, always denied justice, yield
now. This your wife begs, this your sister; or we shall come into the fierce
flames to part you.
Antigone’s words are fashioned to represent the unanimity of the two
sisters, who would even jump into the flames to part the ever
quarrelling brothers.125 When the two women are caught performing
the prohibited act of burying the dead, a sudden furor recalls them to
their former behaviour,126 inasmuch as each woman appropriates the
honour for herself individually:
haec fratris rapuisse, haec coniugis artus
contendunt uicibusque probant: ‘ego corpus’, ‘ego ignes’,
‘me pietas’, ‘me duxit amor’. deposcere saeua
supplicia et dextras iuuat insertare catenis.
nusquam illa alternis modo quae reuerentia uerbis,
iram odiumque putes; . . . (12.457–62)
124
Hoffmann (1999), 61 and n.168.
125
An unparalleled threat, see Hoffmann (1999), 86 and n.241.
126
Hoffmann (1999), 90–91, claims that both women preserve their inner free-
dom because of their amor mortis, a motif traced back to Lucan. See Hershkowitz
(1998a), 294 (also Frings [1991], 143), on the women’s appropriation of Polynices’
furor; ‘Argia fits right in with the family’ (296).
Mourning Endless 85
Against each other they claim to have stolen the body, she her brother’s, she
her husband’s, and by turns they prove their guilt. ‘I took the body’; ‘I lit the
fire.’ ‘Affection drove me’; ‘Love drove me.’ They demand cruel punishment
and rejoice to put their hands in chains. Gone the mutual respect in their
exchanges, you might think it anger and hate . . .
What begins as a distinct voice, of Antigone and Argia separately taking
pride in their deed in 457, is then merged into an indistinguishable
uttering: ego corpus, ego ignes, me pietas, me amor. The voice of the two
women becomes thus identical, as it is impossible to differentiate who
utters what. The two women’s demeanour, however, yields an image
distinct from their previous demearour, as they quarrel once again.
Argia, as her name reminds us of the peripheral city that launches the
attack on Thebes, and Antigone, the famous sister of the Theban
house,127 do not provide a closure for the epic, where the two cities are
ultimately unified, and peace is imposed. The madness of war has now
penetrated into the hearts of women, who compete as their male counter-
parts have done in the previous books. This madness is sealed by the
narrator’s address to the reader with the apostrophe putes—inviting us to
look back to the beginning of the poem and the causes of the war.128
When the hostilities end with the intervention of an Athenian
other,129 the Argive women’s lament brings the poem to a
127
As Hershkowitz (1998a), 296, observes, Antigone’s behaviour sharply contrasts
that of Ismene, who is a weak figure and ‘stagnates into oblivion’. Antigone’s power
ultimately lies in her appropriation of madness.
128
Cf. Hardie (1993a), 45–6: ‘The effect of the pious labour of Argia and Antigone
is more akin to the criminal interference of Lucan’s Erichtho . . . as the two women are
separated by their pious discord, they also dismember the identity of Polynices . . . ’
129
Theseus’ intervention (from Soph. OC and Eur. Supp.; cf. Mills [1997]) has
been interpreted by some critics, e.g. Braund (1996), as a human deus ex machina, as
the good king (see also Vessey [1973], 307–16; Ripoll [1998], 446–51). Other critics
point to the ambiguities in his portrayal; e.g. Feeney (1991), 362: ‘Theseus’ interven-
tion has a rushed, even perfunctory air . . . the resolution generates a barren sense of
anticlimax: the human agents appear to be operating in a vacuum rather than
standing proudly alone’; see also Ahl (1986), 2895–8; Dominik (1994a), 92–8;
Hershkowitz (1998a), 268–71 and 296–301; Dietrich (1999), 43–5; Pollmann
(2004), 37–43; Ganiban (2007), 207–32; McNelis (2007), 160–77; Bessone (2008)
on a combination of exemplarity and pessimism in Theseus’ portrait. Most recently,
Heslin (2008), 128, aptly observes that ‘Athens is not only a cosmopolitan model for
Rome to emulate, but also an imperial fate to beware.’
close.130 The poet again ponders the problematics of reconciliation
between the two peoples, Thebans and Argives. A resolution, however,
seems impossible. At the end of the epic, there is a clear dichotomy
between Theban and Argive women. Though both share losses and
pain and both are assimilated to Bacchants, there exists a degree of
difference between the two groups in terms of their otherness:
gaudent matresque nurusque
Ogygiae, qualis thyrso bellante subactus
mollia laudabat iam marcidus orgia Ganges.
ecce per aduersas Dircaei uerticis umbras
femineus quatit astra fragor, matresque Pelasgae
decurrunt: quales Bacchea ad bella uocatae
Thyiades amentes, magnum quas poscere credas
aut fecisse nefas; gaudent lamenta nouaeque
exultant lacrimae; rapit huc, rapit impetus illuc,
Thesea magnanimum quaerant prius, anne Creonta,
anne suos: uidui ducunt ad corpora luctus. (12.786–96)
The womenfolk of Thebes rejoiced, as once Ganges, subdued by Bacchic
wands, praised unwarlike revels, already in liquor. See, over in the shades of
Dirce’s height, a cry of women shakes the stars and the Pelasgian matrons are
running down like mad Thyiads summoned to Bacchic wars; you might
think they were demanding some great crime, or had committed one.
Lamentations rejoice, new tears exult. Impulse sweeps them hither and
thither—should they first seek great-hearted Theseus or Creon or their
loved ones? Widows’ mourning leads them to the corpses.
The Ogygian-Theban mothers celebrate their liberation from Creon,
the tyrant, as the river Ganges performs ritual celebration in honour
of Dionysus’ conquest of India.131 The Pelasgian-Argive wives, how-
130
And I agree with Hardie (1997), 153, that Thebaid 12 offers many signs of
closure. Cf. Pollmann (2004), 26–7, on the unendingness that nevertheless has a
closural effect.
131
Keith (response to the panel ‘Cultural Constructions in Flavian Poetics,’
Annual Meeting, APA 2004) sees an imagery of integration in the language of
cohesion between Theban and Athenian forces, as they stream onto the battlefield
and mingle with one another:
accedunt utrimque pio uexilla tumultu
permiscentque manus; medio iam foedera bello,
iamque hospes Theseus; orant succedere muris
dignarique domos. nec tecta hostilia uictor
aspernatus init; . . . (12.782–6)
Mourning Endless 87
ever, mourn (amentes . . . gaudent lamenta, novaeque exultant lacri-
mae, ducunt . . . luctus), as Thyads who have committed or are about
to commit nefas.132 The Argive wives are assimilated to Bacchants,
like the Lemnian women or the women of the Theban royal family,
and their lament becomes almost unbearable for the poet to pro-
nounce.133
As the Argive other, the male threat, has been driven from the walls
of the city, and the miasma of the Theban tyrant is eclipsed, what
remains is to relegate the mothers and wives to the margins of the
poem, as the poet himself is ready to bring the boat of the Thebaid to
harbour. Statius’ list of lamenting wives only encompasses the other,
that is to say, the Argive women mourning their losses:
non ego, centena si quis mea pectora laxet,
uoce deus, tot busta simul uulgique ducumque,
tot pariter gemitus dignis conatibus aequem:
turbine quo sese caris instrauerit audax
ignibus Euadne fulmenque in pectore magno
quaesierit; quo more iacens super oscula saeui
corporis infelix excuset Tydea coniunx;
ut saeuos narret uigiles Argia sorori;
Arcada, quo planctu genetrix Erymanthia clamet,
Arcada, consumpto seruantem sanguine uultus,
Arcada, quem geminae pariter fleuere cohortes.
From both sides the banners meet in a pious tumult and they join hands; now in the
midst of the battlefield, there are treaties, now Theseus is a guest. They beg him to
enter the walls and deem their homes worth visiting. Not refusing the invitation, the
victor comes to the dwellings of his enemies.
132
Pace Braund (1996), 5, who sees the collapse of boundaries as a special
emphasis on Theseus’ conciliatory power (‘the categories of friend and enemy have
been erased’). Also a similar view in Hershkowitz (1994), 146 n.49; Franchet d’
Espèrey (1999), 310–12; Delarue (2000), 240. This is the view already noticeable in
Lactantius (793 GAVDENT [LAMENTA] luctus mutantur in gaudia, a reading not
supported by the text, but followed by Pollmann [2004], 279; Statius emphasises the
novae lacrimae). Contra Newman (1975), 86: ‘cum iam non de pace audiamus, sed
bella Bacchea sola nobis repraesententur.’
133
Von Moisy (1971), 91, confesses inability to reconcile the use of nefas with the
pietas of the Argive women which, he observes, Statius dismisses with the use of
credas; therefore, the critic relegates the incongruity to the poet’s Kunst, by which not
everything can be interpreted logically.
uix nouus ista furor ueniensque implesset Apollo,
et mea iam longo meruit ratis aequore portum. (12.797–809)
Were some god to loose my breast in a hundred voices I could not in
worthy effort do justice to so many pyres of captains and common folk
alike, such a chorus of groaning: telling how Evadne boldly strewed herself
on beloved flames, seeking the thunderbolt in the mighty breast; in what
fashion Tydeus’ hapless wife excuses him as she lies over the savage
corpse’s kisses; how Argia tells her sister of the cruel sentinels; with what
lamentation the Erymanthian mother bewails the Arcadian, who keeps his
beauty though his blood is spent, the Arcadian, for whom both armies
wept alike. Hardly would a new frenzy and Apollo’s coming have dis-
charged the task; and my bark in the wide ocean has already earned her
harbour.
Evadne at the end of the poem leaps into the flames and dies, thus
achieving what Hypsipyle has not dared to do at the funeral pyre of
Opheltes, although Eurydice demands it (6.174–6).134 Atalanta’s
plangent voice is meant to reverberate, as the toponymic Arcas clearly
points to the diverse ethnicity of the Argives and their allies; they
come from outside the centre, from the Peloponnese. The two armies
join their laments for the boy, Parthenopaeus, the son of a mother
who is distinguished from the group by means of her echoing
voice.135 Motherhood, not widowhood, is meant to reverberate in
the ears and lips of the reader in this last scene. At the end of the
poem, we face the impossibility of a solution to the civil war that has
shattered the lives of so many, resulting in endless lamentation and
134
As in Euripides’ Suppliants 1034–71. See Feeney (1991), 363: ‘Evadne
persuades Theseus to bring about the dénouement, and her speech is the clearest
expression of the justice of humanity’s claim to vindication, yet she commits
suttee on the pyre of Capaneus, and has no part in the resolution which she helped
to instigate.’
135
As Hardie (1993a), 48, eloquently puts it:
Grief for the Arcadian (temporarily) monopolises the theatre of epic warfare. The
spending of his blood immobilises the boundary between boyhood and manhood
(806) . . . Paradoxically this most unstable of epic characters, the ‘girl-boy’, whose
‘maiden-face’ ( . . . Partheno-pai-os, Parthen-op-aios) is the sign of that wavering
identity, is . . . privileged to remain true to that identity . . . [D]efloration . . . fixes for
ever the transient liminal state rather than affording a passage from virginity to
adulthood.
Mourning Endless 89
poetic powerlessness.136 As Lovatt has pointed out in the Thebaid,
lament is doubly unsatisfying as a means of closure, both because it is
not completed and because it has been shown to be ineffective.137
Similarly, McNelis concludes that ‘the poem offers an end to conflict,
but not its consequences, and thus points out a gap between the grand
narratives of martial valour and heroism and more mundane stories
about those who live non-heroic lives’.138 As Argive women bewail
their dead, and as Statius bids farewell to his book, the Thebaid, the
poem about Thebes, it becomes clear how the boundaries between the
two cities have not been destabilised at all: Thebes remains the centre,
whereas Argos is relegated to the periphery, where women can safely
mourn for their dead, outside the male world of the poem. The
boundaries of epic are defined, as the poet will trespass into the
territory of elegy, should he pursue their woes further.139
The ‘mo(u)rning after’,140 as it has been called, occurs in Thebes by
Argive women. And yet these are women assimilated to frenzied
Bacchants. Bacchus the liberator and Bacchus the binder appears in
both guises in the above passage, Bacchus who conquers for the
Theban women and Bacchus who defeats for the Argive mothers.
The limits between the two groups are clearly marked, as there is no
136
On the topos of hundred tongues, see Hinds (1998), 91–8, with a focus on
Statius and ‘secondary epic’. Also Georgacopoulou (2005), 229–31. See Feeney
(1991), 363, on Statius’ refusal to follow the resolution at the end of the Iliad but
also the divine oversight at the end of the Odyssey. On Statius’ confession of poetic
powerlessness at the end of the Siluae (5.3), see Augoustakis (2008b).
137
Lovatt (1999), 146. Similarly, Dietrich (1999), 49, sees the marginalisation of
Statius’ voice at the end, inasmuch as it becomes aligned with the female voice of
lament. Lesueur (2003b) interprets the ending of the Thebaid as feminine in the sense
that it is meant as a tribute to Statius’ wife Claudia (cf. longi sola laboris / conscia,
cumque tuis creuit mea Thebais annis, ‘you alone know my long toil, and my Thebaid
grew with your years’, Silu. 3.5.35–6).
138
McNelis (2007), 171.
139
Fantham (1999), 232: ‘Lament has triumphed over heroics and put them to
shame.’ By contrast, Bernstein (2008), 101–4, in what he calls ‘poetics of bereavement’,
sees in lament the possibility of ‘constructing the relationships between parents,
children, and spouses through reference to principles that contrast with earlier epic’
(88), which is an alternative approach to intrafamilial dynamics. Cf. also Pollmann
(2004), 47: ‘[Statius] envisages here a new type of epic concerned with the description
of the painful consequences of war and the part women could play therein.’
140
Pagán (2000a).
interaction between them. The Theban women will bury their dead,
beseech Theseus, and rejoice with the final imposition of a superficial
peace. For the Argive women, lament and the impossibilities
of poetry remain.141 Limitations are renewed, since the poet will
address his poem the Thebais, which is both grammatically feminine
and ends with a feminine finale, by marking the centre once again as
Thebes, not as Argos (o mihi bissenos multum uigilata per annos /
Thebai?, 12.811–12).142 Thebes or Rome should rejoice with the
poetic activity. But what about Argos? What about non-Theban
(non-Roman?) otherness? Whether pessimistic or optimistic, the
ending of the Thebaid, I submit, secures the crystallisation of spatial
and sexual boundaries that inevitably shape identity.143
In this chapter, I have examined motherhood as the locus of
expansion of otherhood. In a male world of heroic action, where
the Œº Æ IæH has infected with nefas the terrain of Thebes, Nemea,
and Argos, the presence of women is exploited by the poet to stress
the impasse faced at the end of the poem, where hierarchies are
rebuilt: a new presence in Thebes can only temporarily guarantee
peace between the two peoples, whereas the Bacchic end of the poem
provides an image of alienation and retreat towards the semiotic
from the symbolic, and climaxes in professing poetic powerlessness.
On the map of heroic verse narrative, same and other converge in
the last book, only to be sharply distinguished in the epilogue, where
foreignness becomes ‘the present in abeyance’. The retreat into the
semiotic, namely the utterance of Bacchic cries (Ismene in book 11,
the Argive women in book 12) or complete silence (Hypsipyle’s
ekphrastic stillness in book 6) speak volumes for the relegation of
141
For a more positive approach, see Masterson (2005), 313: ‘in this particular
moment of grief . . . Statius figures the unavoidable presence of contingency, life, and
love in the company of the eternal, death, and hateful strife.’
142
Henderson (1993), 188: ‘Not the Warrior display of arma virumque, but its
disfiguration and displacement before the pain of Woman’s Bereavement.’ On the
sphragis, see the Epilogue.
143
Markus (2003), 467: ‘Statius refashions the traditional ideology of epic . . . and
turns it into a locus not of memory, but of lament.’ Hartmann (2004), 147, points to
the same practice used by Statius in both the proemium and the epilogue but views
the epilogue as ‘keineswegs depressiv und resignativ’.
Mourning Endless 91
the female to the fringes of the epic landscape and the reinforcement
of gender and generic boundaries. By contrast, as we shall see in
the Punica next, a progress from this deadlock is achieved through
the idealisation of motherhood and its promotion to reflect and to
sway authority over the masculine arma uirique and the shaping of
Romanness to encompass Otherness.
2
Defining the Other: From altera patria
to tellus mater in Silius Italicus’ Punica
altrix bellorum bellatorumque uirorum

tellus nec fidens nudo sine fraudibus ensi.
(Pun. 1.218–19)
An earth nurse of wars and of warlike men, loyal
to the naked sword and guile as well.
From the outset of the Punica, as expected in a poem on the Second

Punic War, Silius meticulously distinguishes between the two parties
and their native qualities. The subject matter of the poem revolves,
as the poet announces in the proemium, around the struggle between
the Romans and the Carthaginians for world domination (1.7–8
and 14); while the Romans will come out of the conflict victorious,
the Carthaginians are destined to be subdued and forced to endure
Roman rule (Oenotria iura, 1.2). The Carthaginians, in particular,
are defined by their trickery and perfidia, a topos exploited widely
in Latin literature:1 the continent of Africa and its native people in
general share these same (inherent) qualities.2 Thus the theatre of
the war operations in the periphery, outside Rome, is defined as a
belligerent and hostile ground, fiercely opposing the Roman forces.
1
For instance, as early as in Plautus’ Poen. 112–13: dissimulat . . . Poenus (‘the Cartha-
ginian is lying’). See Thomas’s (2001) discussion of the stereotypical Punic perfidia
and Danesi Marioni (1989) on the episode of Tagus’ death in Pun. 1.144–81.
2
Cf. Ripoll (2000b), 12: ‘Hannibal est une émanation de la terre africaine et une
expression accomplie de sa nature profonde . . . C’est bien cette Afrique mystérieuse
et inquiétante, menaçante et fascinante . . . qui est l’ennemie héreditaire et l’antago-
niste privilégiée de la uirtus Romana.’
Defining the Other 93
Indeed the geographical digressions, a well-established feature in
Greek and Roman epic poetry, work to this effect. Silius does not
hesitate to go into lengthy detail concerning the peculiarities
of various cultures in everyday life and thereby underscores their
otherness. At the same time, however, the poet creates an image of
the periphery as an idiosyncratic ‘body’, very different from Roman
society and culture, which is nevertheless going to be imposed on it.3
Many a time, the periphery of the future Roman Empire creates strife,
while at the same time it proves contemptuous of any attempt at
civilisation.4 In a word, outside the centre of Rome, there is a diverse,
barbarian (from the Roman perspective) world, which Rome must
reform and civilise.
The close relationship, therefore, that ties the protagonists of this
poem to their land, patria, comes as no surprise; this association also
explains the passion with which they fight so long for the safety of their
respective patriae, whether Carthage or Rome. The development of a
paternal connection with fatherland is corroborated by an elaboration
on the relationship between fathers and sons,5 as we shall see, since the
former recurrently impart to their offspring the required instruction
on how to love, fight, and ultimately even sacrifice one’s life for the
patria: loaded with masculine connotations, the word patria is espe-
cially exploited in a ‘masculine’ genre, such as epic. The concept of
3
For instance, see the list of Carthaginian allies in 3.222–414 (cf. Auverlot [1992]),
the aetiological myths related to the crossing of the Pyrenees and the Alps, such as the
rape of Pyrene in 3.415–41 (cf. Bona [1995] and [1996], Asso [2001], Augoustakis
[2003a] for further bibliographical references, and Ripoll [2006b]), or the catalogue
of the Roman allies in 8.356–621 (cf. the discussion in Venini [1978], Spaltenstein
[1991], McGuire [1995], and Marks (2005a), 123–5). On Silius’ geographic and
ethnographic interests, Nicol’s study (1936) remains invaluable (cf. also Bona
[1998]); on the Flavian poet’s amalgamation of poetry and historiography, see
Gibson (2010) and Pomeroy (2010).
4
See, for example, the åÅ ÆæÆØ at the River Trebia in book 4, where
nature’s elements show determination to fight against the Romans, until Venus’
capricious plea to Vulcan to intervene on Scipio’s behalf against the enraged river
causes the destruction of nature and the reaction of the Nymphs (4.682–97); see
Ripoll (2006a). For a study of natural phenomena in Silius, see Burck (1978) and
Morzadec (2003); see Santini’s (1991), 43–113, treatment of rivers in the Punica and
Manolaraki (2010) on seascapes.
5
For a discussion of the role of fathers and sons in Virgil’s Aeneid, see Hardie
(1993a), 88–119 and Farrell (1999).
‘fatherland’, however, also incorporates a complex nexus of implica-
tions concerning categories, such as same vs other, male vs female.
By establishing a generational link between fathers and sons, the poet
stresses the resulting passionate attachment of the younger generation
to their patria, even though many times such an association proves a
stumbling block towards the fulfilment of the epic telos.
As we shall see in this chapter, the masculine rapport with one’s
patria often discloses, on the Roman side, the lack of care for the
Roman fatherland, since irrationality of battle decisions and the can-
vassing practices of the Roman Forum lead to utter negligence for
Rome’s future, especially conspicuous in the early books of the Punica.
Such failure on the Romans’ part reflects intimately a fissure in the
construction of the semantic register for true Romanitas: in front of
the other, the same loses its identity, an identity that must be rebuilt in
a slow process, especially in the years before and immediately after the
destructive battle at Cannae.6 Paradoxically, then, Hannibal embodies
the very elements of what could make up ‘Romanness’: he is portrayed
as the warrior who expands his empire by displaying characteristic love
for his patria, respect and pietas towards his ancestors, unbridled uirtus
in war;7 in other words he is the incarnation of the future leader of
the orbis and the urbs, an aspiration that becomes his ultimate goal
and obsession. The Carthaginian general’s attachment to his patria,
however, reveals a problematic relationship with the creatrix of the
Libyan city, Dido, who appears in the poem as the proto-source of
this war, the Urmutter,8 not only as the first ancestor, but also as the
Carthaginian mother figure par excellence, even though, again as in
the case of mothers in the Thebaid, Dido is presented as a displaced
mother, an other, someone who longs to play the role of a mother but
6
On the Roman defeats at the Ticinus, the Trebia, Trasimene, and Cannae, early in
the Punica, see Niemann’s (1975) study.
7
Cf. Bernstein (2008), 135: ‘Silius’ representation of the effects of Hannibal’s
devotion towards his ancestors on his leadership demonstrates the limitation of an
otherwise laudable virtue.’
8
The queen represents the city of Carthage, Hannibal’s native soil, and by exten-
sion the mother-earth, the primordial earth of Libya. I use the term Urmutter here to
point out the distance between Hannibal and his ancestress, as well as to underscore
the lack of a maternal presence in Hannibal’s formative years, a gap filled by Dido, as
we see throughout Punica 1.
actually never becomes one.9 In Kristevan terms, Hannibal shows
an extreme attachment to Dido, to the absent mother figure, who
represents the chôra, the feminine space, where the same meets the
other. But in the process, Hannibal becomes lost in an asymbolia, as he
finds himself in a new country and makes the ultimate mistake of
substituting his own patria, Carthage, with another patria, Italy
(whether in Rome or in Capua). While Hannibal’s patria depends
on him alone, he is portrayed as bemused until the end, while he ties
himself to the Italian tellus, a hostile ground, a hostile mother-earth,
that eventually discharges him as an abject: Hannibal in the end is the
misplaced foreigner, the other, pre-emptively doomed to wander
around the globe, until he dies in Asia Minor.
At the same time, however, we observe a complex process whereby
the other strives to find its identity by becoming assimilated, while the
same, the centre of action, displays a remarkable scarcity of potential
leaders: the Roman generals are mere protagonists in this or the other
defeat, Flaminius in Trasimene or Varro at Cannae, for instance. Even
potent men, such as Fabius, Paulus, or Marcellus, do not rise to the
stature of the man who will save Roman affairs from defeat and disaster.
Such collapse of Roman identity is situated also outside the centre, in
cities that reflect the same, the Roman, like Capua or Saguntum. Both
hybrid cities sever their ties with the ‘metropolis’, the urbs, and create
an ambience of alienation that is pervasive throughout, until Scipio’s
emergence in Roman politics.
As we shall see in the second part of this chapter, Saguntum
becomes a case study in our examination of Romanness and non-
Roman otherness. From fathers/sons and the problematisation of their
relationship to patria, we shall move on to examine the mini-epic on
Saguntum, which is centred around transgressive women and the
dissolving of the bonding ties with Rome, the fatherland. Asbyte, an
African Amazon, with a vociferous silence emerges as an example of
Kristeva’s asymbolic semiotic chôra. Marginalised and abject, Asbyte is
decapitated by Theron and thus is converted into the hunted victim,
9
See Dido’s expressed wish in Aen. 4.327–30, replayed by Ovid in Her. 7.133–8.
Dietrich (2004) correctly points out that the Flavian poets exploit the question of
Aeneas’ ‘marriage’ to Dido in the Aeneid as an actual wedding, by calling Aeneas her
maritus.
whose masculine otherness is beheaded and burned: though excised
from the text, Asbyte sets in motion the action of a series of Amazo-
nian women in the second book, culminating in the mass suicide of
the Saguntine population. The episode, I submit, is built around two
fires, the funeral pyre of silenced Asbyte and the big fire lit by the
Saguntines in order to burn their heirlooms and thus silence their ties
with Rome.
As Silius stresses, Saguntum, the Graeco-Roman city in the per-
iphery, traces its foundations back to the Greeks (Zacynthians) and
Romans (Rutulians). What we witness, however, is the Saguntines’
effort to delete their identity by burning every reminder of their
former self. Saguntum expunges her association with the Roman
state, while Rome herself is conspicuously absent from Saguntum’s
ordeal. The women’s Bacchic voice of horror, lamentation, and crime
reminds us of Hypsipyle and the Lemnian women, or the lamenting
Argive women at the end of the Thebaid, as the cosmos of the Punica
is threatened by the same chaotic powers that pervade the nefarious
world of Statius’ epic landscape. Here the women’s asymbolic, and
yet autonomous, status acutely interrogates what true Romanness
betokens: while it is found lacking in the centre, Romanness may be
situated in the margins. Tiburna and her Saguntine companions are
in truth silent; their voice is not their own but instead on loan from
the Fury, Tisiphone. Just as Saguntum becomes a monument of fides
for future generations, so does the act of her people obliterate any
traces of what is tantamount to their former identity. The Romans
ought to search for the signification of Romanitas10 and abandon
their inertia: the need for a new spin in the Roman centre, a new
‘political subject’ based on the asymbolia and autonomy of ‘the other
in ourselves’, according to Kristeva,11 conspicuously emerges as a very
important issue in the first decade of the poem.
But in book 8, we shall come across another instance of a mis-
placed search for the antiqua patria, since Anna Perenna’s status as
10
On the notion that Romans have to learn through suffering, see Marks (2005b)
and (2006). Marks (2005b) sees, for instance, the deaths of leaders, such as Flaminius
and Paulus, as acts of deuotio, a position that I do not espouse, since I do not see how
the actions of demagogues, like Flaminius, correspond to the models of legendary
deuotio, such as the Decii. Contra see also Cowan (2007b), 25–7.
11
See Sjöholm (2005), 59–86.
simultaneously Roman and non-Roman underlies her presence in
the middle of the poem. While Anna is fully acculturated to the
Roman landscape, Juno abuses her as a pro-Carthaginian instru-
ment, exploiting the Italian goddess’s longing for her old country.
The exiled Anna, a foreigner with a subversive autonomy, irresolutely
vacillates between both identities.
Nevertheless, as we shall see at the end of this chapter, the appear-
ance of Tellus in book 15 reflects a tremendous transformation of the
masculine role of patria in the poem, from the often failed relation-
ship between fathers and sons, to an integrated link between mother-
earth and the male warrior, who now draws from the very masculine
power of his motherland to face the enemy and return victorious.
As the personified image of Tellus urges Claudius Nero to challenge
Hasdrubal at the Metaurus, the mother-earth Italian goddess reincar-
nates and resurrects the female space, the chôra, the safe receptacle where
same and other merge. The female goddess inspires the male warrior to
conquer Hannibal’s brother and thus overturn the course of the war, to
the detriment of the Carthaginians. The imagery of a wounded mother-
earth, however, mirrors the everlasting effects that the Carthaginian
other has left on Italian soil. Even at Hannibal’s departure, as we shall
see at the end of this chapter, a clear dichotomy between effeminate
Carthaginians and masculine Romans is eschewed in favour of an image
of patria absorbed and influenced by Tellus, as the latter displays an
overt androcentrism and commitment to the masculine goals of her
protégés.
FATHERS, SONS, AND THE POETICS OF PATRIA
Let us begin by looking at the following pairs of fathers and sons as an

illustration of the dynamic, triangular relationship among parents,
their children, and patria. In the very beginning of the Punica, the
reader comes across young Hannibal’s training by his father in Carthage
(1.70–139).12 In Dido’s temple, filled with the imagines of his Tyrian
12
Cf. Liv. 21.1 and V. Max. 9.3.ext.3.
ancestors, the future Carthaginian general is exposed both to his past
and to his future by learning how to cultivate an eternal hatred towards
the Romans:
ut fari primamque datum distinguere lingua
Hannibali uocem, sollers nutrire furores,
Romanum seuit puerili in pectore bellum. (1.78–80)
As soon as Hannibal could speak and utter his first comprehensible words,
knowing how to feed angry passions, [the father] sowed war with Rome in
the child’s heart.
Here the father assumes a role normally ascribed to one’s mother.
Hannibal’s separation, however, from the semiotic chôra of the womb
gives rise to a symbolic genotext that reproduces the father’s sly
nature, from the formative moment when Hannibal moves from
the semiotic to the symbolic, in a transition from the genotext to
the phenotext, which however is marked as failed: the genotext of the
baby boy’s first utterances does not result in a phenotext of gramma-
tical and syntactical structures but is rather relegated to the bewilder-
ing domain of furor and bellum, madness and war cries. The sacred
temple with the effigies of Hannibal’s ancestors, tracing their geneal-
ogy back to Phoenix, constitutes the very place where the boy
acquires the first hints of his future identity and destiny.13 This
same legacy, as we shall see in chapter 4, Hannibal will try to leave
13
On the proleptic and analeptic function of this ekphrasis, see Harrison (2010).
On this episode, see Küppers (1986), 73–92; Bernstein (2008), 136–9; Ganiban
(2010); and Keith (2010). When the sacerdos in the Carthaginian temple of Dido
prophesies Hannibal’s future, Juno stops the priestess from telling the whole story
(1.137–9). Kissel (1979), 36–7, sees in Juno’s reaction the need to thicken the plot and
considers Hannibal himself responsible: ‘Hannibal ist der Tat von Anfang an zum
Scheitern verurteilt, doch liegt keine Tragik im engeren Sinn beschlossen, wohl aber
eine Schuld: Schuld is Hannibals Wesen, das ihn zum Opfer Junos werden läßt.’ For
the gods as subjects to fate see Kissel (1979), 78–85. Von Albrecht (1964), 48, correctly
notices that Juno is aware of Hannibal’s failure from the beginning onwards: ‘Es is
von Anfang an gesagt, daß er scheitern wird.’ See also Laudizi (1989), 82 and 84, and
Ganiban (2010), who argues for Hannibal’s tragic heroism.
Consider also the following episodes in which the revelation of the whole truth is
prevented: in 3.204–13 Mercury does not foreclose to Hannibal future events beyond
the crossing of the Alps; in 3.700–712, Hammon does not prophesy the Carthaginian
defeat; and in 4.122–30, Bogus’ interpretation of the omen of the hawk and the eagle
is false ceu suadente deo (‘as though a god were urging him on’, 4.135).
behind for his baby son to carry out, to no avail, however, since there
is no continuity in store for the family of the Carthaginian general.
What strikes the reader in this scene, however, is Hannibal’s attach-
ment to Dido, the Carthaginian Urmutter, whom in a staggering
manner, Silius calls genetrix, emphasising at the same time her
Carthaginian name as Elissa, not Dido (1.81).14 Dido takes up the
role of a substitute mother for young Hannibal: she sets this poem in
motion by means of her curse in Aeneid 4, in the footsteps of which
Silius follows, by establishing his narrative as the continuation of the
Virgilian epic. The queen of Carthage, however, constitutes a per-
plexing example, a mother who never experiences motherhood. Such
a displaced relationship between Hannibal and his genetrix situates
the Carthaginian hero in the middle of a chaotic whirlpool: in his
quest for the lost female, motherly space, he will strive to replace his
country with another, in an eternal, vicious circle. In fact, the posi-
tion of the young boy in the temple is open to a reading of the
effeminisation of Hannibal from the very outset: the poet frames this
episode in the parameter of Jupiter’s speech to Venus in Aeneid
1 (223–96), the talk of a father to his daughter. By introducing the
father’s talk by the phrase olli permulcens genitor caput oscula libat
(‘by caressing the boy’s head, the father kisses him’, Pun. 1.104), Silius
invokes the intertext of Aen. 1.254 and 256 (olli surbridens . . . oscula
libauit), as well as the context of the first simile in Aen. 1.153, where
the verb mulcet is used.15
In this context of a false mother figure, represented by Dido,
Hamilcar instructs his son how to defend his patria (Pun. 1.108)
and how to remove the stain of the First Punic War, by annihilating
the very process of motherhood for the Romans: partusque recusent /
te surgente, puer, Latiae producere matres (‘and at your rise, let
the Roman mothers refuse to produce offspring’, 1.111–12). This
14
On the names Elissa and Dido, see Pease (1935), 300. As Spaltenstein (1986), 17,
observes, Silius uses the noun genetrix instead of conditor urbis (cf. Ov. Met. 15.862–3,
genitor Quirine / urbis).
15
Keith (2009), 362 observes:
By emphasising the Eastern origins of Dido and her Carthaginians in his ekphrasis of
the temple, Silius assimilates the historical figure of Hannibal to the plane of classical
(Virgilian) myth and marks him from the start as the feminised loser in a renewed
struggle between Phoenician East and Roman West.
cancellation of motherhood underscores sharply the existent dichot-
omy in the figure of Hannibal, who is the protector of his patria but
also the person who eradicates motherhood at its inception. In this
sense, Hannibal embodies the other, the foreign, alien, effeminate
East, which Hesperia, the West, will try to absorb and reject at the
same time. As Bernstein perceptively observes ‘in his [Hannibal’s]
mind, his personal obligation to avenge his ancestors supersedes his
civic responsibilities. Interest in the welfare of Carthage never pro-
vides an equal stimulus for his leadership.’16 Too quickly Hannibal
forgets his patria, as if he were an alien to his own land, an alien in a
‘foreign’ narrative.
As the poem progresses, Hannibal finds solace for his confused
and misplaced feelings towards his patria by adopting other cities as
his home. The Capuans’ desidia makes their city another Rome, on
the fringes of Rome, where vices only showcase the city’s decadence
and inevitable doom, an accurate portrait of Rome herself in the first
years of the war as well. When Hannibal enters Capua and looks
around, we are in fact reminded of Rome (11.262–6). Capua then
becomes a substitute for the urbs, where Hannibal gives in and enjoys
the allurements the city has to offer. As reported by Proteus in
book 7, Venus intervenes to soften the Carthaginians’ hearts for the
first time, an indication of their upcoming and final defeat in
book 17. Hannibal succumbs to the magnetism of the city, as his
vision becomes blurred, in a Bacchic manner, resembling Pentheus.
He thinks that this is altera . . . patria . . . / altera Carthago (‘another
fatherland, another Carthage’, 11.424–5).17 This disorientation, how-
ever, is crucial, because this is not another Carthage, but another
Rome, conquering Hannibal for the first time. Hannibal is absorbed
by that very desidia, which for so long has been destroying the
Romans themselves. The mistake of the Carthaginians lies in their
transplantation into the wrong fatherland, as their military prowess
becomes loose, sluggish, and therefore more vulnerable (cf. torpentia
membra fluebant, ‘their sluggish limbs were loosening up’, 12.19).18
16
Bernstein (2008), 138.
17
On Hannibal in Capua, see Bettenworth (2004), 338–94
18
It is not coincidental that Teuthras, from Euboean Cyme, entertains the Cartha-
ginian guests with a cosmogony song (11.288–97), tracing the Capuan ancestry back
When Hannibal exhorts his soldiers to active battle in the beginning
of book 13, by summoning the personified image of Carthago, the
soldiers’ own patria, his words sound futile, since the soldiers have
now come upon another patria:
si nunc exsisteret alma
Carthago ante oculos turrita celsa figura,
quas abitus, miles, causas illaese dedisses?
‘imbres, o patria, et mixtos cum grandine nimbos
et tonitrus fugio.’ procul hanc expellite gentis
femineam Tyriae labem . . . (13.12–17)
If now our mother Carthage rose up before our eyes, her high head crowned
with towers, what excuse would you give, soldier, for your retreat? ‘O
fatherland, I flee the rain, the storms mixed with hail, and the thunders.’
Drive away from the Tyrian race this effeminate weakness . . .
By summoning the turrita figura patriae,19 the feminine personifica-
tion of his fatherland, Carthage, Hannibal deludes himself into
thinking that he has delivered the best rhetorical battle harangue
ever. And yet he unconsciously undercuts its effect by alluding to the
feminea labes, that is, flight from the battle, which they have just
committed: they fled away from Rome’s walls at the end of book 12,
nor will they ever come near the city again. This failure on Hannibal’s
part mirrors his limitations in connecting with the motherly space of
his own patria, the lack of the appropriate mother figure: mothers
instruct their sons and secure generational continuity by fostering
in time, in the family of Capys, whose descent goes back to Jupiter himself and directly
links him to the Trojans (Dardanus, Tros, and Ilus). Also, Teuthras’ second song is
again concerned with Rome (11.440–80): he sings of those uates who are celebrated in
Roman, Flavian epic poems, such as Amphion and Arion, the ancestors of Thebes;
Chiron and Achilles; Orpheus and the Argonauts. Therefore, Hannibal is conquered
by Roman civilisation, by Roman (imperial epic) poetry, as Teuthras’ song bends his
uncivilised heart (pectora Castalio frangebat carmine Teuthras, ‘Teuthras was breaking
their hearts with his Castalian song’, 11.482). Teuthras’ Orphic song has a magical,
alluring tone, enticing Hannibal through Venus’ help and Bacchus’ potion. On
Teuthras’ songs see Schenk (1989); Bettenworth (2004), 361–71; and Manolaraki
(2010).
19
For the image of fatherland summoned as a rhetorical device, cf. Cicero’s Catil.
1.24 and Luc. 1.188 turrigero uertice (Rome appearing to Julius Caesar); see Spaltenstein
(1990), 205.
the bond between male and female, same and other, whereas Hanni-
bal is doomed to remain the other, attached to the wrong tellus, as we
shall see at the end of this chapter.
The Carthaginian’s ultimate failure to protect his patria effectively
is stressed throughout the poem. Consider, for instance, Hannon’s
critique of the Hannibalic War in book 2, when he questions the
outcome of Hannibal’s enterprises: quo ruis et patriae exitio tibi
nomina quaeris? (‘Where are you heading? Why do you seek a fame
for yourself to the detriment of your fatherland?’ 2.311). In his
misguided judgment, Hannibal remains the only hope for his patria
until the very end, as he claims in book 17: ‘nunc patriae decus et
patriae nunc Hannibal unus / subsidium, nunc in nostra spes ultima
dextra’ (‘Hannibal is now the glory and only refuge of his country,
now in our right hand lies the last hope . . . ’, 17.197–8). In his pre-
battle harangue at Zama, the Carthaginian comes to the realisation
that there is no more room for substitutions, that his patria is
collapsing:
diuum ipse fauore
uincendoque senex patriam post trina labantem
lustra et non uisos tam longa aetate penates
ac natum et fidae iam pridem coniugis ora
confisus uobis repeto. non altera restat
iam Libyae nec Dardaniis pugna altera restat. (17.331–6)
I myself, favoured by the gods and by conquering, an old man now, after
fifteen years return to my collapsing country and my household gods, whom I
have not seen for such a long time, and to my son and my ever loyal wife,
relying upon you. No other fight is left now for Libya or the sons of Dardanus.
Hannibal knows this is the last battle: the litotes non altera . . . pugna
and the juxtaposition of the two countries, Libya and Italy, accentuate
the cancellation of the Carthaginian’s futile efforts to find another
country, another home, another land in Carthage’s stead. His own
patria is on the verge of breaking up (labantem), and Hannibal is called
to her aid.
Hannibal’s substitution of his patria, however, is not limited in
the Carthaginians’ imperialistic plans to extend their empire and
therefore absorb other patriae into their own. It extends to the
Roman camp also. Varro, for example, represents the Roman military
leadership at its nadir.20 As Silius stresses in the speech given by
Paulus (Varro’s colleague in the consulship) before the battle at
Cannae, in Varro’s case boundaries and identities are completely
blurred; Varro could have been a consul in Carthage, without any
difference! So much does his policy help the enemy: consul datus
alter, opinor, / Ausoniae est, alter Poenis (‘of the two consuls, one has
been given to Italy, I believe, the other to the Carthaginians’, 8.332–3).
After the complete destruction of the Roman army at Cannae, while
the threatening Hannibal is looming ad portas, at Canusium Metellus
suggests that the Romans should leave Italy, in search of another
country, where no Carthaginians can penetrate:21
is mala bello
pectora degeneremque manum ad deformia agebat
consulta atque alio positas spectabat in orbe,
quis sese occulerent, terras, quo nomina nulla
Poenorum aut patriae penetraret fama relictae. (10.421–5)
He was leading a band of degenerate men, their spirits bent because of the
war, toward shameful plans, as he was contemplating lands in another part
of the world, in which they could hide themselves, where neither the names
of the Carthaginians nor the rumour of their abandoned fatherland could
penetrate.
Scipio puts a stop to Metellus’ disastrous solution of creating another
patria, a cheap imitation of Rome, a hiding place that could possibly
secure their everlasting safety. In his prayer, Scipio invokes the
Capitoline Triad (even hostile Juno, nondum / Iliacis mutata malis,
‘not yet softened by the Trojans’ sufferings’, 10.433–4); he bids the
Romans to swear never to forsake their country and therefore their
identity. The Romans respond by remaining steadfast to their resolu-
tion to protect their patria (obstringunt animas patriae, ‘they pledge
their lives to their country’, 10.447).
The Romans’ reconnection to their patria, however, and conse-
quently their reclaiming of a hurt identity proves a lengthy process,
subject to a faltering relationship between fathers, sons, and their
20
On demagogues like Varro and Flaminius, see Ariemma (2010).
21
Cf. Liv. 22.53.4–13. The episode is discussed extensively in Cowan (2007b).
fatherland. Consider, for instance, Marcellus’ death in Apulia, in
book 15, a demise closely associated with Marcellus’ son and the
attempt to instruct the latter about war.22 Marcellus’ son is too
young during the siege of Syracuse, when his father is at the peak
of his military career (as immortalised in book 14 of the Punica):
Marcellus, ut arma
aptantem natum adspexit laetumque tumultu
‘uincis’ ait ‘nostros mirando ardore uigores.
sit praematurus felix labor. urbe Sicana
qualem te uidi, nondum permitteret aetas
cum tibi bella, meo tractantem proelia uultu!
huc, decus, huc, nostrum, lateri te iunge paterno
et me disce nouum Martem temptare magistro.’ (15.353–60)
When he saw his son fitting on his armour and enjoying the preparations for
battle, Marcellus said: ‘By your amazing zeal, you conquer our own strength.
May your youthful toil be successful! How I admired you in the Sicilian city,
when, since your age would not yet allow you to fight, you tried the arms
observing my own countenance! Here, this way, pride of my heart, attach
yourself to your father’s side and with me as your teacher, learn how to
manage war, a situation new to you.’
The phrase disce Martem alludes to Aeneas’ similar apostrophe to
Ascanius in Aen. 12.435, disce uirtutem.23 Despite Marcellus’ efforts
to educate his son in war, however, his own rashness accounts for the
coming destruction:
. . . ni telum aduersos nati uenisset in artus.
tum patriae tremuere manus, laxataque luctu
fluxerunt rigidis arma infelicia palmis.
obuia nudatum tramittit lancea pectus,
labensque impresso signauit gramina mento. (15.376–80)
22
See Spaltenstein (1990), 365–6. Livy mentions this son as a military tribune in
27.26.12, which makes Silius’ choice of rejuvenating the general’s son a unique
reconstruction of events and an exploitation of the father and son relationship. For
Silius’ reworking of the Livian account, see Burck (1984b), 60–68, and Fucecchi
(2010); on Marcellus’ comparison to Fabius, in particular, see Fucecchi (2010).
23
Cf. Groesst (1887), 26. See also Burck (1984b), 65–6, for similarities with
Mezentius and Lausus in Aen. 10.
. . . except that a spear had struck his son’s body in the front. Then the
father’s hands trembled, and his ill-starred weapons, loosened by his grief,
fell from his stiffened hands. A lance came and pierced through his unpro-
tected chest, and while falling he marked the grass with the imprint of his
chin.24
Marcellus’ paternal authority brings about one of the last disasters
the Romans face in the poem, because of the general’s haste to give
up life: his son is only hurt,25 but the crestfallen father believes he
is dead and therefore surrenders to the commands of the Fates.
His alignment with Daedalus’ mythological example underscores,
I believe, the connection between Marcellus and the exiled archi-
tect, who seeks a new home in Italy and a new identity, but also
the mythical hero’s failure to represent his family’s disaster on the
ekphrastic level. Silius portrays Marcellus leaving his imprint on
the grass, a memorial of the father’s failure, by using the verb
signare (OLD, s.v. signo 6), which in turn alludes to the creation
of a piece of art and therefore to ekphrastic descriptions.
Let us now look at the next pair, of a son worthy of a better father,
Hampsagoras and Hostus, in book 12. When Hampsagoras invites
the Carthaginians to start afresh the campaign in Sardinia,26 the poet
goes into detail about his Trojan descent, which the degenerate
Hampsagoras has besmirched:
namque ortum Iliaca iactans ab origine nomen
in bella Hampsagoras Tyrios renouata uocarat.
proles pulchra uiro nec tali digna parente
Hostus erat. cuius fretus fulgente iuuenta
ipse asper paci crudos sine uiribus annos
barbarici studio ritus refouebat in armis. (12.344–9)
For, haughty of his name from Trojan origin, Hampsagoras had invited the
Carthaginians to renew the war. He had a beautiful son, Hostus, not worthy
of such a parent. Hampsagoras was relying on his son’s youthful vigour,
since he was harsh to peace and with devotion to barbarous customs he was
rejuvenating his feeble and powerless old age in wars.
24
See Burck (1981b), 464, on Marcellus’ burial by Hannibal.
25
See Spaltenstein (1990), 367, and Liv. 27.27.7.
26
Cf. Liv. 23.34.10 and 23.40.1.
The insistence on the barbarici studio ritus (12.349) assimilates the
Trojan Hampsagoras to the barbaric rituals of the Carthaginians.27
After Hostus is killed by Ennius the poet, Hampsagoras pierces his
own chest with a spear, uttering a groan barbaricum atque immane
(‘barbaric and hideous’, 12.418).28 He fails to live by the rules of his
ancestors, and thus to choose the right alliance, that with Rome. Ennius
kills Hostus, who becomes a hostia, a sacrifice to compensate for his
father’s folly (ultrix . . . harundo, ‘the avenging spear’, 12.414).29 Ennius
is the chosen poet to sing first of the Roman wars in verse, as Apollo
himself proclaims (hic canet illustri primus bella Itala uersu, ‘he will sing
first the Italian wars, in his famous verses’, 12.410). Thus Silius crowns
with the laurels of martial victory and poetic achievement his literary
predecessor and poet-father, a foil to the failing pair of father and son,
as portrayed in the case of Hampsagoras and Hostus,30 but also an
affirmation of Silius’ allegiance to his own patria.
Conversely, on the Roman side, no general until Scipio is exposed
to a profound experience of learning and integrating one’s past,
in search of one’s true identity and mission.31 As we shall see,
27
Compare, for instance, Hannibal’s killing of Crista and his six sons in 10.134–69.
Crista is compared to a she-eagle, who trains her babies to look directly to the sun, while
his sons are like puppies, who have not yet been trained for hunting. Hannibal beheads
the middle son, Vesulus, an act apostrophised by the poet as barbara uirtus (10.146).
28
Cf. Luc. 1.450, barbaricos ritus, for the Druidae; see also in Pun. 16.19–20, tot
dissona lingua / agmina, barbarico tot discordantia ritu (‘army so diverse in language
and so different in terms of barbaric custom’), for Hannibal’s army.
29
On the presence of Ennius as a historical figure here and his influence on the
Punica in general, see Sechi (1947); Pinto (1953); Bettini (1977); Runchina (1982);
Matier (1991); Deremetz (2004), 23–4; Casali (2006); Manuwald (2007), 74–82; and
Dorfbauer (2008).
30
See Hardie (1993a), 88–119, for the father and son imagery in terms of literary
influence.
31
We learn, for instance, about Fabius’ past in various places in the poem (2.3–6,
6.627–40, 7.34–68, as Cilnius narrates the story to Hannibal). In effect, Hannibal
becomes the privileged ‘student and reader’ of the Roman historical past, as he learns
from several Romans, for instance, about Cloelia (10.476–502; see chapter 4, (223–5)
and the Palladium (13.30–81); cf. also his tour of the Phlegraean fields in book 12
(see Muecke [2007]). The story of the Palladium foreshadows the coming of the
Magna Mater in book 17, as the image constitutes the token of reconciliation between
two people, Diomedes (Daunians) and Aeneas (Trojans). On genealogies in Flavian
epic, see A. Barchiesi (2001a); on the story of the Palladium see Ripoll (2001b).
Fucecchi (2005) considers these stories as a dynamic intervention of the Roman past
Scipio’s true identity is revealed to him in the Underworld, when
he learns from his mother that he is the son of Jupiter and the
chosen general to beat the Carthaginian other.32 As early as book 4,
Scipio has the opportunity to save his father from a spear wound,
but he is completely overcome by emotion and is on the verge of
committing suicide.33 Though this intervention is brought about by
Jupiter’s and Mars’ mediation, Scipio himself attempts to commit
suicide before his father twice by turning the sword against his own
body:34
hic puer ut patrio defixum corpore telum
conspexit, maduere genae, subitoque trementem
corripuit pallor, gemitumque ad sidera rupit.
bis conatus erat praecurrere fata parentis
conuersa in semet dextra, bis transtulit iras
in Poenos Mauors. (4.454–9)
When the boy saw the spear lodged in his father’s body, tears wetted his
cheeks, and suddenly he trembled, becoming pale, and he let out a loud
groan to the stars. Twice he had tried to die before his parent by turning his
right hand against his own self, twice did Mars turn his fury against the
Carthaginians.
What begins as madness is transformed into the slaughter of the
enemy, whereby Scipio presents his father with ante oculos . . . optata
piacula (4.465).35 Unlike the pair we have seen, such as Marcellus and
his son or Hampsagoras and Hostus, or, as we shall examine in
Capua, Pacuvius and his son, or the tragedies of fathers dying with
in the narrative (through exemplarity) that puts a stop to Hannibal’s threatening

advances against the city itself.
32
See chapter 4 (213–21). Regulus’ close connection with his patria proves
problematic in the digression of book 6, as we shall see in chapter 3.
33
Liv. 21.46.7, Plb. 10.3.3, V. Max. 5.4.2. See Ripoll (1998), 282–5; cf. Marks’
(2005a), 115–22, discussion of the episode and the intertextual allusions to Homer,
Virgil, and Ovid. Marks, however, does not discuss the episode in the context of
fathers and sons in the poem.
34
On this episode, see Marks (2005a), 115–23.
35
This constitutes a reversal of Virgilian imagery: the phrase bis conatus erat alludes
to Daedalus’ failure to depict Icarus’ death in Aen. 6.32–3, where a father has survived
his son; whereas Scipio’s victories (sacrificial victims) ante oculos patris, reverses the
Virgilian ante ora patrum, those who died before their fathers’ eyes, in Aen. 1.95.
their children (in books 2 and 9),36 Scipio succeeds in saving his
father, prefiguring the rescue of his patria at the end of the war:
tum celso e curru Mauors ‘Carthaginis arces
exscindes’ inquit ‘Tyriosque ad foedera coges.
nulla tamen longo tanta exorietur in aeuo
lux tibi, care puer. macte, o macte indole sacra,
uera Iouis proles. et adhuc maiora supersunt,
sed nequeunt meliora dari.’ (4.472–7)
Then from his high chariot Mars said: ‘You will sack the citadel of Carthage
and will force the Tyrians to a peace treaty. But no other such great day will
rise for you in your life, dear boy. Honoured, honoured you are with your
sacred talent, true son of Jove. And greater things still await you, but no
better things can be given to you.’
The poet, however, delays the discovery of Scipio’s true identity, until
the hero meets his mother, Pomponia, in the Underworld (book 13),
though Mars here hastens to recognise the general’s parentage by
Jove. As we will see, Scipio’s reunion with his mother precedes his
meeting with his father in the Underworld (13.663–86), a significant
shift of focus from fathers to mothers. Nevertheless, from the begin-
ning of Scipio’s involvement in battles, in book 4, a close relationship
is being established between his earthly father and their patria. And
this pair of father and son constitutes the example par excellence in
the poem. And yet, Scipio, the saviour of this country, is also subject
to the rash decisions in store for the patria in the years after the
Second Punic War, when the Romans will exile Scipio in 187 bce. In
fact, when the Sibyl foresees this development, she stresses the words
patria and urbs: ‘pudet urbis iniquae / quod post haec decus hoc
patriaque domoque carebit’ (‘I am ashamed of the unfair city, since
after these events, this glory [i.e. Scipio] will be deprived of his
country and his home’, 13.514–15). Within Silius’ idealised vision
of the Second Punic War as the most successful moment in Roman
36
See below on Mopsus and his sons. For Satricus’ story in book 9, see Bruère
(1959), 229–32; Beaty (1960), 12, 59, 104; Niemann (1975), 174–7; Hardie (1993b),
67–8; Mezzanotte (1995), 362–3, Fucecchi (1999), Dominik (2006), 124–5 (with
reference to Tac. Hist. 3.25; cf. also Burck [1971]).
affairs, we get a glimpse of Rome’s eventual decline and fall, as her
children turn against one other or as the patria becomes increasingly
ungrateful and ‘kills’ her own offspring.
CAPUA: ANOTHER ROME? A CITY

IN THE PERIPHERY
In book 11, Perolla (who remains anonymous in Silius), the son of

the Capuan Pacuvius, proves braver than his own father (Pacuuio
genitus patrias damnauerat artes, ‘the son of Pacuvius had spurned
his father’s intrigues’, 11.311), as he conceives of a plan to kill
Hannibal in Capua (11.303–68).37 The aged father stalls this project
by offering himself to be killed instead of Hannibal and thus
protects his son from the ensuing havoc. Silius apostrophises the
youth in the beginning of the section, praising him for his initiative
(11.304–6).38 Although the father’s initial plea cannot ultimately
stop the impetuous young man from pursuing his undertaking, the
final gesture of the aged man toward his abdomen succeeds in
persuading Perolla:
per si quid superest uitae, per iura parentis
perque tuam nostra potiorem, nate, salutem,
absiste inceptis, oro, ne sanguine cernam
polluta hospitia ac tabo repleta cruento
pocula et euersas pugnae certamine mensas . . .
hoc iugulo dextram explora. namque haec tibi ferrum,
si Poenum inuasisse paras, per uiscera ferrum
nostra est ducendum. tardam ne sperne senectam. (11.332–6, 356–8)
In the name of my remaining life, of the rights of a father, and of your own
safety, son, which is more important than mine, abandon your undertaking,
I beg you. Let me not see hospitality defiled by blood or see cups filled with
bloody gore or tables be overturned by the contest of battle . . . Try your right
37
Cf. Liv. 23.8–9. For the Pacuvius episode, see Burck (1984a), 18–21; Bettenworth
(2004), 375–92; Bernstein (2008), 145–50.
38
The phrase magnae indolis (‘of a great character’) in 11.306 echoes Mars’ apos-
trophe to Scipio, macte, o macte indole sacra (4.475), an allusion to Virgil’s Aen. 9.641.
hand on this neck. For, if you intend to kill the Carthaginian, you must drive
your sword through this stomach, through my stomach. Do not despise my
slow old age.
In this case, the son’s determination falls short of its intended target,
since the Fates have commanded otherwise. Pacuvius’ feminine mode
of persuasion, reminiscent of Jocasta’s futile effort in Thebaid 11,39 as
we saw in chapter 1, accentuates the father’s liminality and his aliena-
tion from his own patria, as he dissuades his son from a heroic deed
that is perceived by the authorial voice as a step towards the right
direction, that is Capua’s return to the maternal space of mother
Rome. Such an act, however, would have countered the epic’s scope
and telos and invites Silius’ ‘intervention’ to re-establish the bound-
aries: Hannibal has to be conquered by Scipio’s, a true Roman’s, own
hand, not by a Capuan, a man perceived as an externus:
et magni superum cura seruatus in arma
Scipiadae Poenus, nec tantum fata dederunt
externa peragi dextra. pulcherrimus irae
et dignus fieri compos memorabilis ausi,
amisit quantam posito conamine laudem,
cui tantum est uoluisse decus! (11.361–6)
And by the Providence of the gods, the Carthaginian was preserved for the
arms of Great Scipio; nor did the Fates allow that such a great accomplish-
ment be performed by a foreign hand. The young man was most beautiful
in his anger and worthy of accomplishing his memorable daring. How
much fame did he, who wished such a glorious deed, lose by abandoning
his plan!
The episode between the brave young man and his father invites us to
look at Capua closely, a city that becomes infamous for her perfidia
towards the Romans, since in the beginning of the eleventh book its
inhabitants defect to the Carthaginians:40 the pretext is the Capuan
39
Bernstein (2008), 148 and 150: ‘The episode resists an oversimplified reading of
filial devotion. Its indication of the proper response to a negative example instead
assists in clarifying the rules of ancestral emulation and filial obedience established
throughout epic.’
40
Decius tries to dissuade the Capuans from mixing fasque nefasque (11.185) by
pointing to the barbarity of the Carthaginian army (179–84, and barbara pubes, 196),
as opposed to the supremacy of the Julian and Roman clan. Decius’ punishment,
demand from the Romans to elect consuls from the Italian periphery;
their request is rejected. As Silius proleptically avows, better times
will materialise for the Capuans, since after the Social War they will
have citizen rights and will be able to partake of the benefits of
Romanitas:41
ueniet quondam felicior aetas,
cum pia Campano gaudebit consule Roma
et per bella diu fasces perque arma negatos
ultro ad magnanimos referet secura nepotes.
poena superborum tamen haec durabit auorum,
quod non ante suos Capua ad suffragia mittet,
quam Carthago suos. (11.123–9)
A happier age will come one day, when pious Rome will rejoice in a consul
from Campania and of her own accord, free of fear, will bestow upon the
great descendants [of Capua] the rods, which were denied in times of war
and conflict. This punishment of their arrogant ancestors, however, will last
for ever, since Capua will not send her own candidates to Rome for election,
before Carthage also sends hers.
The poet maintains that the felicior aetas will coincide with the
Romanisation of the periphery both in the Italian peninsula and on
African soil. Carthage itself will be a Roman colony also, by the time
the citizenship rights are extended to include those traditionally
considered as non-Romans.42 Silius endows his anachronistic
when he is led away covered up, reminds the reader of Regulus’ own behaviour in
book 6, as we shall see in chapter 3 (Decius dies in Alexandria and not Carthage, as
intended initially; cf. 11.377–84). On Decius’ insistence on the bonds of ıªª ØÆ
with the Romans, see Bernstein (2008), 187–90.
41
For the Capua episode, see Burck (1984a); Cowan (2002), 34–143 and (2007a);
Bettenworth (2004), 338–94; Bernstein (2008), 187–90. As Cowan (2007a), 1, observes:
Capua in Silius Italicus’ Punica stands for Carthage and Rome in numerous ways, as
locus of luxury, Oriental colony, and rival for world hegemony. Capua also stands
for both Carthage and Rome inasmuch as she is a city to be sacked. Guilty
though she is, she is a victim of Rome. In her role as rival for supremacy she
resembles Alba Longa, Veii and all the other cities which must by necessity fall for
Rome to stand.
42
The Capuans are elevated to their new status after the Social War in 90 bce.
Carthage, on the other hand, becomes a Roman colony as early as 122 bce.
See Spaltenstein (1990), 113. It remains difficult to ascertain whether Silius refers
to a recently elected friend of his from Campania (Vessey 1984).
prophecy with a metapoetic quality by alluding to the fourth Eclogue
(ultima Cumaei uenit iam carminis aetas, ‘the last age of the Cumaean
song has now arrived’, Virg. Ecl. 4.4), a poem itself preoccupied with
the arrival of new age (new consuls and a new treaty),43 and also by
repeating the exact line from Lucan’s epilogue to the eighth book:
ueniet felicior aetas / qua sit nulla fides saxum monstrantibus illud . . .
‘A happier age will come, when people may not believe those who
show this rock . . . ’, Luc. 8.869–70). The rock in Lucan’s sarcastic
comment is nothing other than Pompey’s tomb, hurriedly prepared
to cover the wretched, decapitated body.44 Behind Silius’ prediction
about Capua’s future and the idealistic incorporation of diverse
peoples under one government, one may detect the reality of con-
temporary Roman politics: will this age be happier after all? The
unification of the system is not seamless, it seems.45
The young man’s plan to assassinate Hannibal comes at the cross-
roads in the narrative of the war. As the Romans and their former (and
future) allies are in search of an effective method to recoup their
strength and face the enemy, Hannibal himself discovers another
patria, in Capua. The defection of cities to the Carthaginian side is
the result of titubante Fortuna (‘unstable Fortune’, Pun. 11.4). Since the
majority of these turncoats are Greek cities, the poet underscores the
instability of the Roman rule outside Rome itself. This volatility serves
as a foil to the later unification of these cities under Roman control and
Hannibal’s expulsion from Italy, since his presence abets the fickleness.
The periphery, however, is not only inhabited by people recalci-
trant to Roman rule and civilisation or altogether hostile to the
Trojan race. In the first colossal event of the war early in the poem,
the reader encounters a city outside the borders of Rome, Saguntum,
an ally of the Romans, which has the potential of excelling in its fides,
displayed towards its metropolis.
43
Cf. Clausen (1994), 119–29.
44
On the intertextual relationship between Silius and Lucan, see Marks (2010)
with further bibliography. On this allusion to Lucan’s Pompey, see also Cowan
(2007a), 40, who overemphasises, however, Silius’ pessimism concerning a happier
age that never comes.
45
Bernstein (2008), 189, notes: ‘The defection of Capua exposes the fragility of
this myth of Italian unity and suggests the contingency of political relationships based
on shared descent.’
SAGUNTUM AS SAME AND OTHER: BREAKING

THE B OND WITH PATRIA ROME
In the eyes of their allies the Romans, the city of Saguntum and its
inhabitants exemplify loyalty, fides, which finally leads them to com-
mit mass suicide, before Hannibal victoriously enters the besieged
city and claims her as his own.46 A special connection, therefore, is
established between Rome and Saguntum from the beginning of the
poem, linking the two cities in terms of their common heritage, or in
other words, in terms of Saguntum’s Romanness.47 Von Albrecht
supports the idea that the account of Saguntum and the fight around
its walls (1.271–end of book 2) initiates the moenia-motif in the
Punica: the emphasis on Hannibal’s attack against the muri, the walls
of the beleaguered city, prefigures his attack against Rome’s own walls
by the Carthaginians later in the poem (12.479–752).48 The contrast
between the perfidious Carthaginians and the pious, loyal Saguntines
has also been well explored and analysed by scholars in the past.49
46
For an examination of the episode of Saguntum’s siege, see von Albrecht (1964),
25–8, 55–62, 181–3; Vessey (1974); Küppers (1986); McGuire (1997), 207–19; Ripoll
(1998), 406–11; Fucecchi (2003); Bernstein (2008), 179–87 (my reading differs from
Bernstein in my emphasis of the Saguntines’ effort to erase any sort of ıªª ØÆ with
the cities with which they were formerly associated). McGuire and Ripoll connect this
episode with the suicide of the noble Capuans in 13.256–98 (cf. Liv. 26.13–14). The
events of the siege are also well known from the historical record: cf. Liv. 21.7–15,
App. Hisp. 12, Diod. Sic. 25.15, Plb. 3.17, Dio Cass. 13 (Zon. 8.21). On Silius’ use of
historical sources for the episode, see Heynacher (1877), 15–19; Klotz (1933), 12–14;
Nicol (1936), 84; Nesselrath (1986), 204–10; Lucarini (2004), 106–11; Pomeroy
(2010). Livy’s influential role in the Punica is beyond doubt, although the aforemen-
tioned critics point to the possible influence of other annalistic sources, such as
Valerius Antias or Coelius Antipater; see Gibson (2010) on the influence of Polybius
and Graeco-Roman historiography in general. The fall of Saguntum has also been
linked to the fall of Massada (see Rupprecht-Mallersdorf [1995]).
47
See Dominik (2003a), 480: ‘The reader becomes sensitised to think of Sagun-
tum as another Rome and to interpret the qualities attributed to her citizens in terms
of traditional Roman virtues. It is non-Romans, not Romans, who are true exemplars
of fides and pietas.’ Pace Fucecchi (2003), 272.
48
See von Albrecht (1964), 24–8.
49
Ibid., 55–86, where von Albrecht explores the fides-motif as a Grundlinie in the
poem. On fides see also Kissel (1979), 96–100, Burck (1988), 54–8, and Hardie
(1993a), 81–3. Vessey (1974), 28, correctly notices that ‘the struggle is a confrontation
of fides and perfidia and an emblem of the eternal battle between order and chaos,
The following section will centre its attention on the presence of
otherness in the siege of Saguntum, and what this differentiation
betokens for the world of the Punica. By examining the figure of
the Amazon Asbyte, whose IæØÆ and subsequent death occupy
the first part of book 2, and the mass suicide brought about by the
Maenadism of the Saguntine women at the end of the same book, we
shall see that Silius organises this book around women, whose
behaviour in a peripheral city is marked as other, transgressive. And
yet there is a deeper significance to these figures in this ‘female’
book:50 the contest between Theron and Asbyte brings to the surface
a latent competition between Roman and non-Roman elements,
between Hercules and Hammon, between male and female.51 This
competition will reach its peak, though it remains unresolved, with
the destruction wrought by the Saguntine women on their own
families, an act that bolsters their effort to eliminate any trace of
Romanness left at Saguntum. Theron’s Herculean efforts to save his
city are thwarted by Hannibal, whereas Hercules’ own endeavours to
exempt Saguntum from utter destruction are spoiled by his step-
mother’s intervention on behalf of the Carthaginians. The only path
to eternal fame available to Saguntum is by occupying the middle
ground through an exploitation of its hybridity, being a city outside
the boundaries and ideologies of either Rome or Carthage.
Let us first look at the city’s history, as reported by the Flavian poet.
Saguntum is a colony that should not—and indeed could not—be
exclusively labelled Roman. Its inhabitants descend from Greek colo-
nists, from Zacynthus, who subsequently merge with immigrants
from Italian Ardea.52 The name Zacynthus represents both the island
of the Ionian sea and Hercules’ homonymous friend, who dies on
site in Spain (1.273–90).53 Mythologically, therefore, Saguntum
between spiritual law and anarchy.’ I disagree with Ripoll (1998), 405–16, who
considers this episode a mere addition of a pathetic tone in the poem.
50
Consider also that the city of Saguntum is identified as casta (3.1), just like a
Roman matrona, a spouse faithful to her husband (to death).
51
See Fincher (1979), 36: ‘The episode of Theron and Asbyte, during the siege of
Saguntum, is thematically important because of Theron’s position as a priest of Hercules.’
52
Both McGuire (1997), 210, and Dominik (2003a) emphasise the role of Saguntum
as another Rome, an approach, however, that minimises the Greek origins of the city.
53
See Asso (2003) and (2010).
predates the arrival of Hercules in the future site of Rome. The
Greek identity of the city is emphasised throughout the narrative.
In effect, in a dream sent to Hannibal by Jove, Mercury calls it a
Greek city (Graia Saguntos, 3.178). The mixture of peoples and
civilisations is indicative of the city’s past and present.54 While
Saguntum has established close ties with the Romans, the Greek
elements of its past remain visible, resurfacing in the women’s
Bacchic murder of the population, a behaviour fused with the
elements of Roman Stoic suicide.
In particular, one of Saguntum’s greatest warriors, Murrus, epito-
mises the blending of the two cultures from the Saguntine past. His
mother is Greek and his father Rutulian:
. . . Rutulo Murrus de sanguine (at idem
matre Saguntina Graius geminoque parente
Dulichios Italis miscebat prole nepotes). (1.377–9)
. . . Murrus was from Rutulian blood (but he also had Greek blood, des-
cending from a Saguntine mother; and with both his parents he combined
with his Italian descent a lineage from Dulichium).55
Murrus’ defence of Saguntum is suggestive of his descent, as he
fights a last battle, striving to protect the walls of his own city
and thus to procure help and salvation for the walls of the city
of Rome itself, a gesture strongly reinforced by his name (1.384–5
and 389–90).56
54
During the battle, Hannibal is taunted by his combatant, Daunus (a name
reminiscent of Turnus’ father), that Saguntum is not effeminate:
non haec Sidonia tecta
feminea fabricata manu pretioue parata . . .
fundamenta deum Romanaque foedera cernis. (1.444–7)
This is not a Sidonian city, built by a woman’s hand or bought for money . . . you see
foundations laid by the gods and Roman treaties.
55
Spaltenstein (1986), 62–3, observes that Dulichios is used here for the colonists
who come from Zacynthus (an island subjected to the rule of Dulichium / Ithaca).
56
The city is also called Rutulian (4.62). Murrus himself also puns with his name
in his prayer to Hercules: si tua non segni defenso moenia dextra (‘if I strive to defend
your walls with no sluggish hand’, 1.507).
Another example of the men’s attachment to their city’s heritage
occurs with the ambassador to Rome, Sicoris.57 Sicoris claims his
descent from the Ardeans, former inhabitants of Italy. In particular,
in his address to the Roman senate, he does not hesitate to call
Turnus his ancestor:
uetus incola Dauni58
(testor vos, fontes et stagna arcana Numici),
cum felix nimium dimitteret Ardea pubem,
sacra domumque ferens et aui penetralia Turni
ultra Pyrenen Laurentia nomina duxi. (1.665–9)
I, an old inhabitant of the kingdom of Daunus (I call upon you as my
witness, you fountains and secret pools of Numicius), when Ardea was
sending out her youth, in which she was very rich, bearing the sacred things
and the house and inner shrine of Turnus, I carried the names of Laurentum
beyond the Pyrenees.
Sicoris identifies the colonists of Saguntum as links of continuity
between Italy and its Western colony, as the Ardean refugees fleeing
from Italy to Spain reproduce the story of Trojan Aeneas. In his
speech, Sicoris ‘marries’ the Trojan and native elements of Italy, by
referring to both Numicius, the place of Aeneas’ final resting place,59
and of Turnus,60 whose Ardean heritage is now imported into the
newly founded city of Spain. Sicoris’ rhetoric, however, fails to
persuade the Romans to take immediate action and aid the belea-
guered city. Fabius’ subsequent trip to Saguntum for autopsy and
negotiations, with which the second book opens, also proves unsuc-
cessful, as does his trip to Carthage (2.1–55). These fruitless delega-
tions are overturned by the coming of the vessel of the Magna Mater
in book 17, as we shall see in the final chapter of this study. Just as
57
On the question of the number of Saguntine embassies to Rome, see Klotz (1933),
12–13; Nesselrath (1986), 205–6; Lucarini (2004), 107–10; and briefly Gibson (2010).
On the literary topos of an embassy requesting help, see Bernstein (2008), 183.
58
See Spaltenstein (1986), 99, for this reading, preferred to Daunus.
59
See below the discussion on Anna Perenna (136–44).
60
Cf. the use of Laurentia, the capital of the Rutulians, applied to the Romans
in general; see Spaltenstein (1986), 23. See Bernstein (2008), 184: ‘Sicoris concludes
his appeal by using the metaphor of the body politic, suggesting that his city’s relation-
ship with Rome transcends consanguinity in order to approach consubstantiality.’
Saguntum opens the war, the arrival of the Magna Mater brings it
to a close. In books 1 and 2, however, the Romans, as outsiders, fail to
succour their allied city,61 whereas the foreign goddess in book 17
comes to the help of the Roman people, who are in desperate need to
expel the foreign other.
Furthermore, during the battle against the Amazon Asbyte in
book 2, the reader comes across several Saguntines whose heritage is
not native to the Iberian land and therefore underscores their other-
ness. For instance, Mopsus throws himself down from the walls of the
city, because Asbyte and Hannibal kill his two sons, Dorylas and
Icarus. Mopsus is an outsider (Gortynius aduena, 2.148), a newcomer
from Crete, who arrived in the city in search of better luck in the West
(uerum ut opum leuior uenatu extendere uitam / abnuit atque artae res
exegere per aequor, ‘but when he, deprived of resources, refused to
continue his life in hunting, and when his poverty led him across the
sea’, 2.102–3); in a word, he is another Daedalus figure, who like
Marcellus cannot protect his offspring but remains an abject, an
alien, memorialised only through his tragic death.
Among Hannibal’s allies, Silius prominently displays an Amazon-
type virgin-warrior,62 Asbyte, a figure whose presence is not attested
in the historical record of the Second Punic War, such as in Livy or
Polybius, but rather constitutes an epic ploy, invented on the model
of Virgil’s Camilla. As we shall see, Asbyte is a significant warrior on
the Carthaginian side, the first to be defeated by the enemy, while her
death is dramatically depicted by Silius among the most momentous
casualties for Hannibal. As scholars have recognised, like Turnus,
Hannibal is also accompanied by an Amazon, female warrior.63
61
Pace Bernstein (2008), 186: ‘The Roman refusal to honour the Saguntines’ request,
however, does not imply a rejection of the claim of syngeneia on its own terms. Rather,
it suggests the lesser importance of the claim relative to other considerations.’
62
For an appraisal of ancient sources on Amazons see DuBois (1982), Tyrrell
(1984), and Hardwick (1990). For iconic representations, see LIMC, 1.586–653, s.v.
Amazones. On Asbyte, in particular, see the analysis by Küppers (1986), 141–53;
Vinchesi (2005), 108–22; Uccellini (2006); Keith (2010).
63
See von Albrecht (1964), 172; Arrigoni (1984), 887–9; Küppers (1986), 145;
Laudizi (1989), 122; Vinchesi (2005), 108–22. For Camilla in Virgil see, for instance,
Rosenmeyer (1960); Hornsby (1966); G. S. West (1985); Wilhelm (1987); Boyd
(1992); Anderson (1999); Nugent (1999); Reed (2007), 16–43. For the role of
virginity in the Aeneid see Mitchell (1991).
Asbyte remains aloof from any occupation that would immediately
classify her as a woman: she is solely a huntress and a warrior,
dedicated to Dictynna, another name for the Cretan goddess Brit-
omartis, equal to Roman Diana.64 For his portrait Silius draws on
Virgil’s portrayal of the female leader of the Volsci:65
haec ignara uiri uacuoque adsueta cubili
uenatu et siluis primos defenderat annos;
non calathis mollita manus operataue fuso
Dictynnam et saltus et anhelum impellere planta
cornipedem ac strauisse feras immitis amabat . . . (2.68–72)
She had never experienced a man and she usually lay in an empty bed having
protected her years of childhood hunting in the woods. She had not softened
her hands with wool-baskets nor had she worked with a spindle. She loved
Dictynna and the woodlands, as she also loved to urge with her foot a
panting steed and ruthlessly to kill wild animals . . .
Throughout the episode, Asbyte’s virginity is stressed with the repe-
tition of the word uirgo (2.84, 114, 121, 168, 176, 188, 202), a
recurrence that showcases both her femininity and otherness.
Asbyte is the daughter of Hiarbas, king of the Garamantes,66 and of
a nymph from Lake Tritonis.67 Therefore, Silius explicitly establishes
64
See Spaltenstein (1986), 112.
65
Cf. Aeneid 7.803–17 and 11.573–84 with Horsfall (2000), 519–30, and (2003),
296–345, respectively. Arrigoni (1984), Küppers (1986), Vinchesi (2005), and
Uccellini (2006) [see also references in n.63 above] have correctly observed many
differences between Camilla and Asbyte. First, since Asbyte is not introduced in
the catalogue of the Carthaginian allies (1.189–238), her entrance in the poem is
somewhat abrupt. Second, her companion Amazons either ride a chariot or a horse
(2.82–3), whereas Virgil’s Camilla exclusively rode on horseback. Riding a chariot
instead of a horse, however, brings Asbyte closer to Turnus’ practices (Küppers
[1986], 145). Küppers, therefore, concludes that the African Amazons have absorbed
the traits of both Camilla and Homer’s Penthesilea. Uccellini (2006) too emphasises
the fusion of sources in Asbyte’s portrait, not just from Virgil, but also from other
representations of eccentric and ‘dangerous’ female figures, such as Medusa and the
African Amazons (see Diod. Sic. 3.52–5, 3.66.5–6). Cf. also Penthesilea in Aen. 1.493,
another obvious Amazonian parallel (lunatis peltis, Aen. 1.490 Thermodontiaca
munita in proelia pelta, Pun. 2.80).
66
Ripoll (1998) 48 n.116, suggests that Hiarbas’ presence here alludes to Iarbas in
Aeneid 4. See also Uccellini (2006), 239–43, for Asbyte’s connection to both Iarbas
and Athena, the warrior goddess, through the Lake Tritonis.
67
Notice that the only female person called bellatrix in the poem is Pallas, who is
also the protecting goddess of the Lake Tritonis (see 3.323).
a connection between his poem and the Aeneid and a continuation of
the story of Dido’s spurned suitor, Iarbas. Moreover, as we learn from
this genealogy, Hiarbas is the son of Hammon: unde genus proauum-
que Iouem regina ferebat / et sua fatidico repetebat nomina luco ‘Thence
the queen claimed her lineage and Jupiter as her great-grandfather,
deriving her name from the prophetic grove’, 2.66–7). Not only is
there an inner connection established between Asbyte and Dido via
Hiarbas, but there is also a connection with Camilla through Asbyte’s
name. One should note, however, that Asbyte is associated with
Iarbas, therefore she fosters a connection with a masculine and ag-
gressive character in Virgil; Hannibal recognises in Asbyte a worthy
ally, inasmuch as her lineage is aligned with his own lineage from
Dido. In addition, Asbyte is called after Hammon’s name
ı .
Camilla also carries her mother’s name, slightly changed (from Cas-
milla to Camilla, Virg. Aen. 11.543). However, through the connec-
tion to Hammon, Asbyte’s portrait gains a prophetic dimension that
Camilla’s character lacks.
Asbyte’s company of women does not consist only of virgin girls:68
nec non Veneris iam foedera passae / reginam cingunt, sed uirgine
densior ala est (‘And women who have already submitted to the
bonds of Venus escort the queen, but the troop consists of more
virgins than married women’, 2.83–4). This observation places more
emphasis on virginity than marriage as an important element in
Asbyte’s character. As I have observed, the word uirgo distinguishes
Asbyte from the rest of her troop of Amazons. Thus, we can say that a
very close connection with Camilla’s virginity is established.
And yet Asbyte remains mute, with no chance to talk in direct
discourse, whereas in Aeneid 11 Camilla twice addresses her victims,
first Ornytus (686–9) and then the Ligurian son of Aunus (715–17).
By contrast, Asbyte’s silence adds weight to her presence: although
she is the descendant of Hammon, and her ancestry links her to the
fatidicus lucus (2.67) of Hammon’s oracle, she is given no voice in the
narrative. Asbyte’s silence prepares the reader for the ensuing be-
heading which at once deprives her of voice and life (amputat . . . ora,
68
I agree with Lemaire in taking foedera passae as quaedam nuptae erant. See
Lemaire (1823), 1.96. Spaltenstein (1986), 114, considers foedus as describing only
sexual intercourse.
2.202).69 Asbyte’s voicelessness agrees with her final abjection, while
it adds to her centrality in the Saguntum episode, as one of Hanni-
bal’s closest allies, the first significant loss in the war.
Asbyte’s devotion to Dictynna and to hunting wild animals
resembles that of her first opponent, the Saguntine Mopsus. As we
saw above, Mopsus is a Cretan who left his country and pursued a
better fortune by coming to Saguntum. Mopsus himself was also
once devoted to a life similar to that of Asbyte—he liked hunting
while he was in Crete:
ille uagam caelo demisit saepe uolucrem,
ille procul campo linquentem retia ceruum
uulnere sistebat . . . (2.96–8)
He often brought down from the sky wandering birds; from afar, he used to
stay the stag that was escaping the nets along the plain . . .
Crete is the birthplace of Mopsus, while Asbyte worships Dictynna,
the Cretan version of Diana. In addition to a common lifestyle that
Mopsus and Asbyte at first share, Mopsus’ Greek name reminds the
reader of a famous literary predecessor, the seer of the Argonauts’
expedition.70 However, Mopsus preferred to forsake his previous life:
uenatu extendere uitam / abnuit (2.102–3).71 Asbyte’s loyalty to
virginity and hunting brings her in opposition to Mopsus, whom
she will kill. As Mopsus targets the virgin girl, he kills Harpe instead:
69
Consider the contrast to Orpheus’ death in Pun. 11.478–80.
70
Mopsus is a central figure also in Valerius Flaccus (e.g. Argon. 1.207–26; see
Zissos [2008], 186–99).
71
The abandonment of the lifestyle of the hunter has most of the time a negative
outcome in this epic. Cf. 2.141: paenitet heu sero dulces liquisse penates, ‘too late, alas,
he repents having left his dear household behind’. See 14.462–76 and the deteriora-
tion of the Daphnis motif. See von Albrecht (1964), 158–61; Martin (1980); Vinchesi
(1999a).
Notice also Silius’ comment after the death of Mopsus: dum cadit externo Gortynius
aduena bello (‘while the Cretan foreigner falls in a foreign war’, 2.148). Mopsus
remains forever a Gortynius aduena, while the war at Saguntum is for him an
externum bellum. Silius’ observation supports the idea that Mopsus is not integrated
in his new Saguntine home but remains marginalised. If we consider that the word
aduena appears four times in the poem in connection with Mopsus, Dido, Anna
Perenna, and Hannibal, then I think it is safe to assume that all four times the word
has a rather sinister connotation (cf. 4.765, 8.163, 17.1).
tum uultum intendens telumque in uirginis ora
desertum non grata Iovem per uota uocabat.
namque ut fatiferos conuerti prospicit arcus,
opposito procul insidiis Nasamonias Harpe
corpore praeripuit letum . . . (2.114–18)
Then, turning his face and spear against the face of Asbyte, he was praying to
Jupiter whom he had deserted, with vain prayers. For when Harpe, the
Nasamonian girl, saw the fatal bow turned around, by opposing her body
to the distant danger, she snatched away death . . .
Consequently, Asbyte in tears kills with her spear Dorylas, Mopsus’
elder son (2.125–31), while Hannibal kills Icarus, Mopsus’ younger
son (2.132–7). Upon the death of his two sons, Mopsus commits
suicide by falling from the tower on the body of Icarus, his dead son
(2.138–47).72
This first encounter Asbyte has on the battlefield reveals the impor-
tance of names with Greek origin for the whole episode (Harpe <
±æÇø).73 The significance of Greek names is further developed by
the exploitation of the name of Theron, Asbyte’s murderer. Silius intro-
duces him as a priest of Hercules after Mopsus’ death: Alcidae templi
custos araeque sacerdos (2.150).74 Theron is a Daunian (Daunius, 2.244),
a native of Saguntum, and certainly does not have the usual appearance
of a priest but is rather portrayed as Hercules’ reincarnation:75
atque illi non hasta manu, non uertice cassis,
sed fisus latis umeris et mole iuuentae
agmina uastabat claua nihil indigus ensis.
exuuiae capiti impositae tegimenque leonis
terribilem attollunt excelso uertice rictum.
centum angues idem Lernaeaque monstra gerebat
in clipeo et sectis geminam serpentibus hydram. (2.153–9)
72
Spaltenstein (1986), 121, refers to the connection between Mopsus and Daeda-
lus. For Mopsus, his sons, and the Homeric background of the scene see Juhnke
(1972), 188–9. Ripoll (1998), 421 n.207, observes that the scene of Mopsus’ suicide
adds to the pathos and climax of the episode at Saguntum.
73
See the discussion in Augoustakis (2005).
74
For a similar instance of a priest partaking of the battle, see Nabis in 15.672–91.
75
See von Albrecht (1964), 56 n.5. As Ripoll (1998), 114–15 mentions, Theron
reminds us of the mythic past of Saguntum, a city founded by Hercules himself.
He had no spear in his hand, no helmet on his head, but trusting in his broad
shoulders and the might of his youth, he was destroying the army with his
club, in need of no sword. The spoils and skin of the lion, laid on his head,
raise the terrible open mouth aloft on his tall figure. He was also carrying on
his shield a hundred serpents and the monster of Lerna, the Hydra that
multiplied, when the serpents were cut in two.
Hercules’ priest appears to be the very embodiment of the demigod.
The club, the lion skin, and the depiction of the labour against the
Hydra clearly indicate Hercules’ presence in this episode.76 After all,
Hercules is the tutelary god of Saguntum.77 Theron’s appearance,
and more precisely the decapitation of the monstrous Hydra on his
shield, foreshadows the final outcome, Asbyte’s beheading:
tum saltu Asbyten conantem linquere pugnas
occupat incussa gemina inter tempora claua
feruentesque rotas turbataque frena pauore
disiecto spargit collisa per ossa cerebro
ac rapta properans caedem ostentare bipenni
amputat e curru reuolutae uirginis ora.
necdum irae positae. celsa nam figitur hasta
spectandum caput . . . (2.197–204)
Then, with a jump he stops Asbyte who is trying to flee from the battle and
smites her between her twin temples with his club. He spatters the hot
wheels and the horses, disturbed by fear, with the brains which gushed
from the broken skull; he snatches her axe and, eager to display the slaugh-
ter, he cuts off the head of the maiden, as she is rolling out of the chariot. Not
yet is his wrath stopped. For the head is fixed on a lofty spear, to be seen by
everyone . . .
By cutting off Asbyte’s head, Theron fulfils the omen portrayed on
his shield, namely the Hydra’s beheading by Hercules, evoking other
mythological parallels as well, such as Perseus and the head of
Medusa.78 As we have discussed above, Asbyte is devoted to the
76
See Pérez Vilatela (2002) on the portrait of the ‘club-fighter’ in pre-Roman Spain.
77
Cf. Pun. 2.475–92.
78
See Uccellini (2006), 243–48. Marks (2008) reads decapitation in the Punica as a
political act, a metaphor reflecting the different trajectories and ultimate outcomes
for each side of the war; e.g. Paulus’ death becomes a symbolic decapitation of Rome,
while the Romans decapitate many Carthaginians after Cannae, an act that forebodes
goddess Dictynna, to whom she vows the exuuiae she hopes to win,
should she kill Theron. When the virgin warrior catches sight of
Theron, Silius refers to what Asbyte silently wishes:
saeuamque bipennem
perlibrans mediae fronti spolium inde superbum
Herculeasque tibi exuuias, Dictynna, uouebat. (2.189–91)
And aiming her harsh axe at the centre of his temple, she vowed to you,
Dictynna, a glorious booty from it and the Herculean spoils.
Asbyte is not the chaser but the chased person in this case. Theron,
who is the chaser for the moment, is defined as such by his name. Its
Greek origin from the verb Åæø is exploited by Silius, in order to
underline this dimension in Theron’s masculine portrait.
Moreover, Asbyte reminds us of Camilla in her pursuit of Chloreus,
the eunuch priest of Cybele.79 Camilla was pursuing Chloreus, lured by
the gold armour he was wearing:80 totumque incauta per agmen /
femineo praedae et spoliorum ardebat amore . . . (‘Fearless, with a female
love for plunder and spoils, she was raging through all the army . . . ’,
Aen. 11.781–2). Although Camilla’s femineus amor and ardor for spoils
is instigated by Chloreus’ alien appearance, at the end, she becomes
a prey to Arruns, while her lust for booty remains unquenched. Like-
wise, Asbyte, who looks for spoils to dedicate to her tutelary goddess, is
transformed into prey and subsequently victimised (Theron replacing
praeda). Asbyte’s unrestrained life in the wilderness had enabled her to
be always the hunter so far, yet she is now transformed into prey at the
hands of a man whose name alludes to hunting.
In addition, Theron himself aspires to despoil Asbyte when he sees
her fighting.81 Theron finds particularly appealing Asbyte’s chariot,
her shield, and her outfit, decorated with gems: Asbytes currum et
Carthage’s ultimate failure. On the decapitation of Hasdrubal, see also Augoustakis

(2003b). On Hasdrubal and Asbyte, see Augoustakis (2001), 65–128.
79
See G. S. West (1985) on the effeminacy of Chloreus as opposed to more
masculine Roman values.
80
The word aurum is emphasised by Virgil, five times (Aen. 11.771, 774 twice,
776, 789).
81
Ripoll (1998, 242–3) discusses the role of gloria as an important motivation for
Silian heroes, in particular Theron.
radiantis tegmina laenae / poscebat uotis gemmataque lumina peltae . . .
(‘Through his prayers he was seeking Asbyte’s chariot and the glittering
mantle that covered her and her jewelled shiny shield . . . ’, Pun 2.166–7).
The reading laenae instead of laeuae in the above verse eliminates the
pointless repetition of a shield.82 The reference to the shield, decorated
with jewels, and to the mantle which itself is radians as well, underlines
the picture of gold and gems, which was also explored by Virgil in his
portrayal of Camilla, yet in a different direction. Moreover, Camilla
herself was partly naked and partly covered with a purple mantle:
turbaque miratur matrum et prospectat euntem,
attonitis inhians animis ut regius ostro
uelet honos leuis umeros, ut fibula crinem
auro internectat, Lyciam ut gerat ipsa pharetram
et pastoralem praefixa cuspide myrtum.
(Aen. 7.813–17)
82
There are two possible readings for the last word of the hexameter in 2.166:
laeuae O, laenae ø), of which the former would refer to Asbyte’s gleaming shield,
while the latter would describe her decorated cloak. Delz prints laeuae, a reading
defended by Håkanson (1976), 8–9, followed by McGushin (1985), 126, and Spalten-
stein (1986), 124, and based on 2.77–81, especially fulgentem tegmine laeuam /
Thermodontiaca munita in proelia pelta (2.79–80). When Silius describes the Ama-
zon’s accoutrement, he makes no reference to a mantle. The phrase fulgentem tegmine
laeuam describes Asbyte’s shield on her left arm, while tegmine is in apposition to and
explained by pelta in the following line. Håkanson supports the idea that the phrase
in 2.79 corresponds to the hypallage radiantis tegmine laeuae in 2.166; pace Lemaire
(1823), 1.104, who explains radiantis as an equivalent of purpureae and draws the
parallelism with Aen. 4.262: Tyrio ardebat murice laena (‘the cloak was gleaming in
Tyrian purple’). In reading laenae, I take into account the following: first, there is a
possible reference to Asbyte’s clothes in the opening of her description as habitu
insignis patrio (2.77), which might well be an allusion to a mantle; second, the reading
laeuae could easily be a corruption of laenae, since laeuum is repeated only four lines
below, in 2.170 (laeuum per orbem, ‘by wheeling to the left’); and third, in 2.166–7,
Theron craves three objects, connected with the conjunctions et and -que: the chariot,
the mantle, and the shield. More specifically, by using -que the poet makes a clear
distinction between the gleaming mantle and the pelta and thus does not place the
two in apposition to one another. I find that a reference to the shield twice in the
same sentence would be repetitious and unnecessary.
Finally, it seems sensible that Theron is after Asbyte’s chariot, cloak, and shield, a
parallel with Virgil’s Camilla, who wears a purple mantle (Aen. 7.814–15). In fact, we can
observe an interesting reversal of roles: whereas Camilla pursues Chloreus for his
gleaming attire (Aen. 11.775–7), in the Punica it is Theron, who, as his name suggests,
hunts for the woman warrior’s apparel. Therefore, I side with Duff (1934), Miniconi and
Devallet (1979), and Küppers (1986), 150, who read and print laenae in their editions.
The crowd of matrons marvels and stares at her passing by, in astonishment
at how proud royal purple veils Camilla’s smooth shoulders, how a clasp
of gold entwines her hair, at how she bears her Lycian quiver and her
shepherd’s pike of myrtle tipped with steel.
The description of Camilla’s appearance complements Asbyte’s
portrayal:83
ergo habitu insignis patrio, religata fluentem
Hesperidum crinem dono dextrumque feroci
nuda latus Marti ac fulgentem tegmine laeuam
Thermodontiaca munita in proelia pelta
fumantem rapidis quatiebat cursibus axem.
(Pun. 2.77–81)
Thus, she was conspicuous in her native dress, with her long hair bound by
the gift of the Hesperides and with her right breast naked for the cruel battle,
while her left side was shining covered for the battle with the Amazons’
shield. She was shaking her smoking chariot with furious speed.
In Asbyte’s case, her outfit and apparel, which consist of her mantle,
her chariot, and her shield, become the object of Theron’s desire, an
inversion of the Camilla episode, where Camilla was attracted to
Arruns’ spoils. Asbyte the huntress, devotee of Dictynna, becomes a
prey to Theron, who, through his representation of Hercules, pre-
figures Asbyte’s own beheading and dismemberment. In addition,
Theron’s masculine portrayal as Hercules reincarnate is reversed
through the similarities with Camilla. Here it is not the woman
warrior who is inspired by the amor auri but rather the chaser Theron,
who tries to despoil the virgin warrior and snatch away her apparel.
This observation justifies the complexity of gender roles and the
manipulation of the tradition on Silius’ part: both Theron and Asbyte
absorb Camilla’s traits and behaviour, in a game where the female has
repudiated her femininity, while the male is lured by a woman’s attire.
Thus, there is a negotiation of gender roles whereby Asbyte’s ‘mascu-
linity’ suddenly is thrown into question by her feminine appearance
immediately before her death. Asbyte’s feminine side is underscored
83
Nicol (1936), 133–4, notices that ‘although the poet explicitly says that her dress
was that of her native country, it is plain that Camilla and the Amazons were
uppermost in his mind.’
before her beheading by Theron, hence paralleling Camilla’s femineus
amor. In addition, the attribute uirgo also intensifies and reinforces
our reading of Asbyte not only as a warrior, but as a woman as well, as
she transgresses the boundaries of her sex.84
Therefore, Asbyte, an African Amazon, comes to the forefront of
the narrative as a telling example of asymbolic autonomia, being
vociferous in her silence, as she becomes abject. In a heroic epic, such
as the Punica, the Amazon’s masculinity must be marginalised, while
the phallic power of her head, like Medusa’s, must be annihilated. As
Kristeva points out, ‘the phallic of the head increases the fear it
evokes. The only possible way to represent the phallic femininity
connected with the head is through decapitation.’85 From warrior-
hunter Asbyte is transformed into the hunted victim, the displaced
female, a foreigner in a foreign land, in an alien landscape, that of
epic poetry. As Keith observes, ‘the hierarchy of gender and westward
impetus of translatio imperii work together to naturalise as inevitable
Asbyte’s brutal death at Theron’s hands’.86 Not only is Asbyte the
most prominent Carthaginian æø ºØÆ, the first sacrifice in the
war, but also as a conspicuous female presence she is transformed
into the sacrificial victim of the African continent at large in her
struggle with Rome: the peripheral other that cannot be absorbed by
the androcentric narrative of the epic and is therefore abject.
Hannibal immediately avenges his companion’s death by killing
Theron. Theron becomes the prey and succumbs to the uiolentior ira
of the Elissaeo . . . tyranno (2.239), especially on account of the death
of the female warrior:
celsa nam figitur hasta
spectandum caput; id gestent ante agmina Poenum
imperat et propere currus ad moenia uertant.
haec caecus fati diuumque abeunte fauore
uicino Theron edebat proelia leto. (2.203–7)
84
As Uccellini (2006), 253, rightly points out: ‘Un Amazzone, dunque, Asbyte, ma
non Amazzone sola, e un Amazzone sopratutto in quanto destinata ineluttabilmente
a soccombere.’
85
Kristeva (1998), 37–9, and Sjöholm (2005), 121.
86
Keith (2010), 369.
For her [Asbyte’s] head is fixed on a lofty spear, to be seen by everyone; he
[Theron] bids his men to bear it in front of the Carthaginian troops and to
drive the chariots swiftly towards the walls [of the city]. Blind to his doom
and with the favour of the gods disappearing, Theron was fighting this battle
while death was approaching.
The spectacle of Asbyte’s head causes the death of Theron, a victim of
Hannibal’s wrath.87 The wrath and resentment for Theron will be
carried on by Asbyte’s troops, the Numidians, when they pay due
honour during the funeral of their queen:88
at Nomadum furibunda cohors miserabile humandi
deproperat munus tumulique adiungit honorem
et rapto cineres ter circum corpore lustrat.
hinc letale uiri robur tegimenque tremendum
in flammas iaciunt ambustoque ore genisque
deforme alitibus liquere cadauer Hiberis. (2.264–9)
But the cohort of the Numidians, frantic [with grief], hasten the mournful
office of burial and attach the honour of a pyre. In addition, having seized
[Theron’s] corpse, they go three times round her ashes. Then, they cast into
the flames the deadly club of the man and his dreadful head-cover. And
when his face and cheeks were burnt, they left the unsightly corpse to the
Spanish birds.
The episode, as we shall see, is constructed around two fires, the
funeral pyre of silenced Asbyte and the big fire lit by the Saguntines in
87
Just as Harpe had protected Asbyte, so Theron protects the moenia of his city
(2.228–32) when he orders the doors to close: soli mihi claudite portas (‘against me
alone, close the gates’, 232). When Hannibal confronts Theron, he utters words of
immense wrath: ‘tu solue interea nobis, bone ianitor urbis, / supplicium, ut pandas . . .
tua moenia leto.’ (‘You, worthy keeper of the gates of your city, pay the penalty, so that
you may throw open your walls by your death’, 240–1).
88
According to Nicol (1936), 134, there is neither literary nor archaeological
evidence to show that incineration was a custom among the Libyans. The error,
Nicol claims, must be ascribed to poetic models. Consider also the discrepancy
between the custom of the Libyans as described here and the passage where Scipio
exposes the diversity of burial customs to Appius Claudius in book 13 (466–87). In
13.479–81, Scipio claims that the Garamantes bury their dead in the sand, while the
Nasamones throw the corpses in the sea. For an examination of Scipio’s discourse on
funerary rites see Bassett (1963); Reitz (1982), 35–43; Devallet (1987).
order to burn their heirlooms and thus ‘burn’ their ties with their
ally, Rome. Like Hypsipyle in the Thebaid, Asbyte becomes part of a
tomb, as the abjection of the female is inscribed in the narrative as a
monument, part of a funeral procession, and burial/absence, which is
explained by the poet through an ethnographic reflection on the
burial customs of the Nasamones, to stress one last time the distinct
difference of Asbyte and her people within the geography of his epic.
In addition, the description of Asbyte’s burial brings symmetry in
this episode. Theron is punished for Asbyte’s death, thus unleashing
Hannibal’s furor against the city of Saguntum: both Hannibal and the
Numidians are frantic in their grief and wrath. Theron’s corpse is
abused (rapto, 2.266), just as Asbyte is violently beheaded. And
finally, only Theron’s face is consumed by fire, while the remainder
of the corpse is cast to the birds. The abuse of Theron’s face (ore
genisque, 2.268) corresponds to Asbyte’s beheading but also points to
the death of the city of Saguntum, when the fire will consume all
traces of the city’s past.
Therefore, Asbyte’s presence is crucial to the Saguntum episode,
since her death initiates the revelation of Hannibal’s raging ira
against Saguntum and the Romans in general.89 What Asbyte’s
death betokens for the Carthaginian general is that in her demise,
Hannibal sees the elision of otherness and a reflection of his own end
and Carthage’s figurative ‘decapitation’ at the end of the poem. Like
Asbyte, Hannibal will be slowly marginalised and his voice will be
absorbed as from a hero-warrior he becomes an effigy in Scipio’s
triumph. After all, Hannibal’s heroism proves to be of no use for the
capture of Saguntum, since it is Juno’s arrangement to send Tisi-
phone in order to persuade the Saguntines to commit suicide that
leads to the sack of the city, not Hannibal’s extraordinary bravery.
Hannibal enters an empty city at the end of book 2 (irrumpunt
uacuam Poeni tot cladibus arcem, ‘the Carthaginians rush into the
citadel, empty by so many disasters’, 2.692), while the poet-uates
closes the book with a prophecy concerning the Carthaginian’s own
89
Vinchesi (2005), 119 and n.88, correctly observes that the epithet belliger applies
only to Asbyte (2.168) and Hannibal (1.38 and 3.162) in the poem.
unheroic death and suicide (2.699–707). Theron has ultimately failed
to secure his city’s salvation.90
When the city can no longer endure the long siege (and the
prolonged famine),91 a sharp contrast arises to this attachment to
the defence of Saguntum, which can be attributed to the Saguntines’
close relationship with the Romans (and their gods, such as Hercules).
Hercules implores the goddess Fides to come to the Saguntines’ help
(2.475–525),92 but in her speech, Fides reveals that human beings
have long forsaken her; and indeed, the Romans themselves are
included among those who have equally desecrated her name:
nemo insons; pacem servant commercia culpae. (‘No one is innocent;
complicity in guilt preserves peace’ 2.506).93 Now Hercules realises
the futility of his plea on behalf of his people. The Saguntines’ love for
their country transforms them completely under the spell of Juno’s
agent, Tisiphone.94 When Juno declares her own war by inspiring
the female population with bacchic frenzy, the two elements of the
Saguntine people will come to the surface: they are no longer Greek or
Roman, as they strive to destroy their past by the mass suicide and the
burning of the city. Both Juno and Tisiphone, disguised as Tiburna,
90
As Keith (2010), 368, eloquently notes: ‘Asbyte is the first significant Carthagi-
nian casualty, her death presaged by the fall of her Amazonian comrade Harpe
(2.116–24) just as Hannibal will be the last, his death anticipated beyond the con-
clusion of Silius’ epic.’
91
Ariemma (2004) explores the intertextual relationship of episode of the famine
with Lucan’s Vulteius episode in De bello ciuili 4, as he views the Punica as a ‘retro-
spective anticipation’ of Lucan’s poem.
92
See Juhnke (1972), 192–3, for the Homeric background of the episode. For a
discussion of Hercules’ role in the Punica, see von Albrecht (1964), passim; Bassett
(1966); Kissel (1979), 153–60; Liebeschuetz (1979), 170–73; Fincher (1979), 43–52;
Vessey (1982); Billerbeck (1986a) and (1986b); Laudizi (1989), 112–13; Matier (1989),
7–8; Mezzanotte (1995), 372–3; Helzle (1996), 265–6; Ripoll (1998), 112–32; Asso
(1999), 80–81; Marks (1999), 147–93; Asso (2003); Augoustakis (2003a); Marks
(2005a), 148–63; Moretti (2005). For Hannibal’s associations with Hercules, see the
most recent discussion in Augoustakis (2003a) and Gibson (2005).
93
For the similarity with Ovid’s Astraea in Met. 1.149–50, see Bruère (1958), 478.
94
On the role of Juno in the poem (and Virgil’s Aeneid), see Ramaglia (1952–3);
von Albrecht (1964), 167–8; Kissel (1979), 30–37; Lorenz (1968), 4–67; Häussler
(1978), 198–206; Küppers (1986), 61–92; Laudizi (1989), 73–92; Feeney (1991),
303–4. On the influence of Valerius Flaccus’ Lemnian episode on Silius, see Ripoll
(1999), 512–13.
address the Saguntines as Rutulians (2.541 and 567), a name with
ominous reminiscences of Turnus’ loss at the end of Virgil’s Aeneid.
Tiburna does not seem a coincidental choice for Tisiphone. She is
the wife of Murrus and also an offspring of Daunus (2.557). Tibur-
na’s name carries a direct relationship with Tibur, a place of worship
for Hercules, the tutelary god of Saguntum.95 The Fury uses her to
avert the mothers from succumbing to Carthaginian rule and sub-
jecting themselves to possible slavery under the Sidonian mothers
(2.571–4). In effect, the beginning of Tiburna’s speech is indicative of
Juno’s initiative to annihilate the identity of the Saguntine people:
‘sat Fidei proauisque datum . . . ’ ‘Enough we have given to Loyalty
and our ancestors . . . ’, 2.561). The distraught and frenzied women
are kindled further by the omen of the sacred serpent’s departure
from Zacynthus’ tomb; Zacynthus, the founder of Saguntum, repre-
sents the city genius, whose spirit, abiding by the homonymous hero’s
tomb (constructed by Hercules himself), is, therefore, now abandon-
ing the city (2.580–91).96 Any ties between Tiburna, Hercules, Mur-
rus, and her native city (as a descendant of Daunus, the Rutulian/
Italian) are now rescinded, unbeknownst to the woman driven by
Tisiphone’s goads. The Saguntines burn their heirlooms, which once
accompanied their ancestors from faraway Zacynthus and Ardea, and
thus they destroy any evidence of their present, past, and future at the
sight of death:
certatim structus surrectae molis ad astra
in media stetit urbe rogus; portantque trahuntque
longae pacis opes quaesitaque praemia dextris,
Callaico uestes distinctas matribus auro
armaque Dulichia proauis portata Zacyntho
et prisca aduectos Rutulorum ex urbe penates.
huc, quicquid superest captis, clipeosque simulque
infaustos iaciunt enses et condita bello
effodiunt penitus terrae gaudentque superbi
uictoris praedam flammis donare supremis. (2.599–608)
95
See Miniconi and Devallet (1979), 60. Cf. Murrus’ last prayer to Hercules,
before he dies (1.505–7). Pace Spaltenstein (1986), 162.
96
See Asso (1999), 80, on the aetiological aspect of the episode.
A pyre, zealously built, stood in the middle of the city, whose height rose to
the stars; they drag and carry the wealth of a long peace and the prizes won
by valour, that is the clothes embroidered by the mothers with Gallician
gold, the Dulichian weapons brought by their ancestors from Zacynthus,
and the household gods carried across the sea from the ancient city of the
Rutulians. Here the conquered people throw whatever is left to them, and
their shields too and their cursed swords. And from the bowels of the earth,
they dig up what they had hidden during the war and they rejoice in giving
to the last fire the booty of the arrogant victor.
The burning consists of the destruction of both works of peace, such
as the clothing produced by women, and of weapons of war, carried
by men, as well as the tokens of the foreigners’ arrival and establish-
ment of the once new city of Saguntum, the images of their home-
land gods. The burning at the instigation of the Erinys constitutes
the annulment of the Saguntines’ recognition of their identity as
‘Ardeans’ or ‘Zacynthians’.97 Their Dionysiac frenzy will result in a
Stoic, Roman death, which nevertheless wipes out the Saguntines’
ties with their Roman patria. In their stirring of the earth’s bowels,
the Saguntines reverse the act of founding a city, as we know it from
the foundation of Carthage, for instance, with the uncovering of the
head of the horse.98 At the same time, however, their act constitutes a
jarring reversal of the ritual of burial: this is a funereal pyre without
subsequent burial, without hope for future rest of the souls, ensured
by the return of the dead to mother-earth.99 This pyre then can be
read also as a cenotaph, a tomb in which Roman identity is inciner-
ated.100 In hybrid Saguntum, this becomes not a story of founding,
but rather one of utter destruction.
97
Pace Bernstein (2008), 182, who sees an indirect assertion of the dominance of
Rutulian identity in the mass suicide.
98
See Augoustakis (2003b), 124–5, for a discussion of the use of this imagery on
Hannibal’s shield; on Hannibal’s shield see the following studies: von Albrecht
(1964), 173–7; Vessey (1975); Kissel (1979), 185–92; Küppers (1986) 154–64; Laudizi
(1989), 107–12; Venini (1991); Devallet (1992); Pomeroy (2000), 157–8; Campus
(2003); Ganiban (2010) and Harrison (2010).
99
See Augoustakis (forthcoming) on the relationship between the Saguntine pyre
and Cornelia’s ‘funeral’ of Pompey in Lucan 9.
100
Hardie (2002) 84: ‘The cenotaph, which does not even contain the bones or
ashes of the person, is the purest, and hence most potent, case of the monument that
offers a surrogate presence for the absence of the dead person.’
The eradication of anything that reminds the citizens of their origins
is only one step away from what occurs in the next scene. This oblit-
eration effort progresses to the utter devastation of family ties.101 The
public and the private merge into one and the same. The ensuing
slaughter is a nefas inspired by the rage of Juno through Tisiphone:
princeps Tisiphone lentum indignata parentem
pressit ouans capulum cunctantemque impulit ensem
et dirum insonuit Stygio bis terque flagello.
inuitas maculant cognato sanguine dextras
miranturque nefas auersa mente peractum
et facto sceleri illacrimant. hic turbidus ira
et rabie cladum perpessaeque ultima uitae
obliquos uersat materna per ubera uisus. (2.614–21)
First Tisiphone, resenting a parent’s delay, in joy pushed the hilt forward and
drove the reluctant sword, while she cracked her hellish scourge twice
and thrice. They stain their unwilling hands with the blood of their relatives
and they marvel at the crime, performed with loathing—and then they cry
over the wickedness they have wrought. Distraught by rage and by the
madness of disaster and of a life that has endured extremities, this one
turns a sidelong glance at his mother’s breasts.
The various events that follow emphasise the lack of piety among
members of the same family, such as the wife’s towards her husband,
a son’s towards his father, a brother’s towards his own brother.102 For
instance, Tymbrenus’ killing of his father is portrayed, in gruesome
detail, as a deformation of the body that looks like his own:
At medios inter coetus pietate sinistra,
infelix Tymbrene, furis, Poenoque parentis
101
Compare the situation in besieged Capua: before the city’s surrender the
goddess Fides arrives (Pun. 13.281–91), an Erinys frequents a banquet of the traitors
(13.291–4), while several of the ringleaders commit suicide (13.296–8, 374–80),
before the final victory of the Romans and the capture of the city. On the connection
between the suicides at Saguntum and Capua see von Albrecht (1964), 62; Kissel
(1979), 97 n.25; Burck (1984a), 45; Schenk (1989), 360; Cowan (2007a), 26–30.
102
See McGuire (1997), 213–14, for the allusions to Lucan’s De bello ciuili 2.146–
57. McGuire correctly points to the text’s preoccupation with Roman civil strife and
the engaging of the episode with similar passages in Lucan.
dum properas auferre necem, reddentia formam
ora tuam laceras temerasque simillima membra. (2.632–5)
But in the midst of the crowd, you, ill-starred Tymbrenus, with a perverse
piety you become enraged, and while you hasten to deprive the Carthaginian
of your parent’s slaughter, you mutilate a face that resembles your own—and
you desecrate a body very close to your own image.
By murdering his own father, Tymbrenus destroys a reflection of his
own self and his history. Likewise, the death of the twins, Eurymedon
and Lycormas, adds to the confusion and annihilation of memory
and identity:
uos etiam primo gemini cecidistis in aeuo,
Eurymedon fratrem et fratrem mentite Lycorma,
cuncta pares, dulcisque labor sua nomina natis
reddere et in uultu genetrici stare suorum.
iam fixus iugulo culpa te soluerat ensis,
Eurymedon, inter miserae lamenta senectae,
dumque malis turbata parens deceptaque uisis
‘quo ruis? huc ferrum’ clamat ‘conuerte, Lycorma’,
ecce simul iugulum perfoderat ense Lycormas.
sed magno ‘quinam, Eurymedon, furor iste?’ sonabat
cum planctu geminaeque notis decepta figurae
funera mutato reuocabat nomine mater,
donec transacto tremebunda per ubera ferro
tunc etiam ambiguos cecidit super inscia natos. (2.636–49)
Also you, twin brothers, fell in your prime, Eurymedon and Lycormas, each an
exact likeness of the other, alike in every point. It was a sweet toil for your
mother to recognise her sons by name and to decide who is who, by looking at
each son’s face. Now the sword that had pierced your neck, had already freed
you from the blame, Eurymedon, amidst the lament of your poor old mother;
and while the parent, disturbed by the sorrow and deceived by whom she
thought she had seen, exclaims: ‘Where do you rush? Turn your blade here,
Lycormas,’—behold! Lycormas had already stabbed his throat with the sword.
But she cried with a big groan: ‘What kind of fury is this, Eurymedon?,’ and
deceived by the likeness of the twins, the mother kept calling back the dead by
their wrong names, until, with a sword driven through her quivering breasts,
she fell over her sons, whom even then she could not distinguish.
The death of the mother and her two sons brings this book to a full
circle, recalling vividly Mopsus, who had also died over his two sons.
His otherness distinguishes him as a foreigner within the city of
Saguntum, a Cretan among Romans and Zacynthians, in search of
a better life. In this case, the mother is unable to identify her sons
properly and thus annuls the ancestral, Roman custom of conclama-
tio, the calling of the dead person’s name three times, rendering it
futile in this case.103 Although the poet addresses such deeds of
apparent bravery as infelix gloria (‘pitiable glory’, 2.613) and lau-
danda monstra (‘praiseworthy monstrosities’, 2.650), the result of the
mass suicide remains dubious: iniustis neglecta deis (‘scorned by the
unfair gods’, 2.657). As Keith rightly points out, ‘Silius both praises
the Saguntines for their fidelity . . . and abhors the carnage with its
overtones of civil discord’.104
This idea of a loss of communal and private identity is reinforced,
in the final scene of the episode, by Tiburna’s death. As Tiburna
perishes on the tomb of Murrus, she re-enacts the death of Dido,
whose suicide is described in the same terms of sacrifice on Hannibal’s
shield earlier in book 2 (422–5). Thus Tiburna stops being a Sagun-
tine and becomes the Other, the Bacchant who in a frenzy sacrifices
herself over the weapons and the tomb of her deceased husband
(arma super ruit et flammas inuadit hiatu, ‘she falls over the weapons
and enters the fire with open mouth’, 2.680). She comes closer to the
Carthaginian Dido, whose death sets the poem in motion. Now,
Tiburna not only defies the norms set by her gender but is portrayed
with her femininity lost, as the poet assimilates her to Allecto, the
infernal Fury, at the moment when she disturbs the dead and metes
out punishment for Pluto (qualis . . . Allecto, 2.671–3).105 Tiburna’s
103
See Lemaire (1823), 1.145; pace Spaltenstein (1986), 171.
104
See Keith (2000), 92; cf. also 92–3:
His [the poet’s] attribution of praise and blame in the episode also demonstrates an
unfaltering commitment to the ‘natural’ hierarchy of gender in the structure of
Roman epic warfare, for the glorious achievement of the Saguntines is inspired by
Hercules, who sends Loyalty to fortify the citizens out of concern for the city he
founded . . . , while their unheroic mutual slaughter is provoked by Tisiphone . . .
105
Dietrich (2005), 80, observes:
Through his references to passages from Aeneid 4 and 7, Silius creates an association
of female lamentation with bacchic frenzy and the furies in a series of connections
between Tisiphone/Tiburna, and Allecto, Amata and Dido . . . In evoking Virgil’s
sacrifice over the weapons of Murrus seals the death of Saguntum; the
fire finishes off what the sword has spared.
Hannibal’s entrance to the empty city is marked by the lack of
distinction (nullo discrimine, 2.681).106 Everything looks the same:
semambusta . . . / infelix . . . turba (‘half-burned . . . tragic . . . crowd’,
2.681–2). His effort to conquer and assimilate the Saguntines has
proved vain, while at the same time the absence of the Romans is
underscored in the narrative as a defining element of the next phase
of the war. As McGuire has observed, ‘Silius encourages the reader to
look for traces of Romanitas in Saguntum itself ’.107 I submit, how-
ever, that the Saguntines themselves strive to erase their ties with
Rome. The obliteration of Roman identity becomes an absence at all
levels, absence of strategy and common policy, absence of virtue and
pity.108 As book 2 comes to a close, there is no distinction between
the always cunning Carthaginians and the Romans: their mutual lack
of fides proves destructive for the Iberian city. Moreover, as same and
other seem to converge rather than diverge, Hannibal’s fate of exile
and death by poison, an anachronistic prediction on the poet’s part,
is not different from the fate that awaits so many Roman generals,
even Scipio himself among others, as we saw in the beginning of this
chapter. At the same time, however, it serves to underscore the
Carthaginian’s own alienation from his patria, which is owed to a
prolonged stay in another land, Italy, as we shall see at the end of this
chapter. Both Carthage’s and Rome’s encounters with otherness
utterly fail in the beginning of the poem, as the transformation of
the Roman city into a diverse empire requires a prolonged process of
assimilation of diversity. Saguntum’s silenced existence will speak
volumes in the remainder of the Punica as the city becomes exemp-
lary for her hybridity and unique nature as an urbs on the periphery
lamenting women through the figure of Tiburna Silius emphasises her potential
violence, realised in the havoc wreaked upon Saguntum.
106
As McGuire (1997), 186, observes: ‘Suicide, as eloquent an act as it might be, is
an act of self destruction, and so, at the same time as it defines the absolute
opposition to tyranny of the person who carries it out, it also terminates this
opposition.’
107
McGuire (1997), 210.
108
See Ariemma (2007) on Hannibal’s repetition of the burning of Saguntine
monumenta at Liternum in book 6.
that strives for her own identity, away from the big centres of either
Rome or Carthage. Emphasis on Asbyte and the (m)others-mur-
derers can only serve as a reminder of the chaotic world of the
Thebaid, a reflection of what we could call Silius’ ‘poetics of defeat’:
it is from this chaotic and civil-war-like narrative that Rome is going
to emerge as an idealised entity, destined to lead the world’s future.
From this regressive act, the journey between autonomia and asym-
bolia, the semiotic genotext and the symbolic phenotext, silence/
Bacchic frenzy and speech, hybridity is born, the sole viable way to
success and revitalisation.
GERMANA ELISSAE: A CARTHAGINIAN REB ORN
As has been noted in the introduction of this chapter, in the Punica,

Silius fashions rivers, lakes, and their inhabitants as active ‘fighters’
against the Roman or the Carthaginian forces: this is nature’s revenge
for the destruction wrought upon the environment and its elements.
Consider, for instance, the resistance Hannibal meets in his crossing
of the Alps (in the narrative of 3.463–76 and 518–56: adverse
weather, winds, avalanches) or Scipio’s encounter with the personi-
fied Trebia, whom he accuses of having become Carthaginian: quae-
nam ista repente / Sidonium, infelix, rabies te reddidit amnem? (‘what
sudden madness has turned you into a Carthaginian river, wretched
Trebia?’ 4.647–8). The river’s answer counters the general’s threat to
change the river’s name (amnis tibi nomina demam, ‘I shall rob you of
the name of river’, 4.645), as the Trebia calls attention to Scipio’s
rashness: adde modum dextrae aut campis incumbe propinquis (‘put a
limit to your deeds of arms, or else you shall fall on the nearby plains’,
4.666).
In another instance, before the battle at Lake Trasimene, Juno
assumes the disguise of the lake’s numen, Thrasymennus, and ap-
pears to Hannibal in a dream, revealing the lake’s Asian origins:
namque ego sum, celsis quem cinctum montibus ambit / Tmolo missa
manus, stagnis Thrasymennus opacis. (‘For I am Thrasymennus, the
lake of shady water, whom, surrounded by high mountains, settlers
sent from Tmolus inhabit’, 4.737–8). Like the River Trebia, who is
accused of being an ally of the Carthaginians, Lake Trasimene con-
spires against the Romans. In truth, Silius’ geo-ethnographic digres-
sion informs us at length of the site’s origins from Asia Minor
(5.7–23), from a region around the river Tmolus.109 Silius explains
the story of Tyrrhenus and his son’s, Thrasymennus’, abduction by
the nymph Agylle. The emphasis on the origins of rivers and their
role in the war becomes crucial for the poet, who thus underscores
the foreign elements within Italy. These forces work against the Ro-
mans, especially in the first phase of the war, during the terrible
defeats at the Ticinus, the Trebia, Trasimene, and Cannae.
Therefore, it comes as no surprise that Juno once again exploits
nature’s elements before the battle at Cannae, as she aspires to help
her protégé, by summoning the help of Anna Perenna.110 In the
opening lines of book 8, Silius underlines the importance of Fabius
as the first significant obstacle that Hannibal faces in the completion
of his plans for conquering Rome. The emergence of the famous
Cunctator as a dictator of the Roman people in book 6 (609–18),
upon Jupiter’s order, has caused a major difficulty for the Carthagi-
nian general. The counter-action comes from Juno (8.25–38), who
summons the Roman nymph Anna from the bed of the River Nu-
micius, as the most appropriate person to inspire Hannibal with
warlike action, just before the battle of Cannae. Anna follows Juno’s
precepts (8.39–43). Parenthetically, in his poetic ‘archaeology’, Silius
takes the opportunity to expand on the nymph’s fate after Dido’s
death (8.50–201).111 After this digression, the narrative resumes to
inform us how Anna’s mission is accomplished, as she appears to
Hannibal and reiterates Juno’s words (8.202–25). Succumbing to the
109
See a discussion of this aetiological story in Asso (1999), Vinchesi (2004),
Augoustakis (2005), and Cowan (2009).
110
Only in 12.705 does Juno for the first time appear to Hannibal uero ore (‘in her
real appearance’).
111
For an analysis of the episode of Anna Perenna see Bruère (1959), 228–9, who
discusses the influence of Ovid’s Fast. 3.543–656. See also Santini (1991), 5–62;
Goldman (1997); Ariemma’s (2000a) commentary; and most recently Dietrich
(2004), 2–7; Ganiban (2010); and Keith (2010). A. Barchiesi (2001a), 335, briefly
comments on the elegiac and epylliac tones of the episode, as a mediation between
the Aeneid and the Fasti.
divine queen’s will, Hannibal prepares his soldiers for battle, while he
promises to confer due honour upon both Anna and her sister Dido
(8.226–31).
In this episode, the poet exploits Anna’s story to underscore both
her Romanitas and her inherent otherness. Juno first apostrophises
the nymph by referring to her heritage from Belus, which she shares
with Hannibal: ‘sanguine cognato iuuenis tibi, diua, laborat / Hanni-
bal, a uestro nomen memorabile Belo . . . ’ (‘Goddess, the youth akin to
you is in trouble, Hannibal, a well-known name, a descendant from
your own Belus . . . ’, 8.30–1). Juno’s use of the deictic and possessive
uestro emphasises the forced connection between an already Roma-
nised Anna and the Carthaginian general. What the goddess wants to
mobilise is the inherent Carthaginian in Anna’s blood and to displace
the Romanised goddess from her present status, both literary and
historical. Anna obeys the command by wishing to help her native
people:
. . . sit fas, sit tantum, quaeso, retinere fauorem
antiquae patriae mandataque magna sororis,
quamquam inter Latios Annae stet numen honores. (8.41–3).
May it be proper, I beg, may I only keep the support of my ancient country
and the great commands of my sister, although the deity of Anna is among
those honoured by the Romans.
By attaching herself to her antiqua patria, not only does Anna
renounce her new status by marginalising herself into a foreign
element in Rome/Italy, but she also wishes to attach herself to a
model of patria that is fraught with its own sinister elements of
Dido’s death and curse that lead Hannibal to pursue a lost cause.
As Juno’s instrument, like Hannibal, Anna is portrayed as a confused
figure and shows the same signs as the general in misplacing her
feelings towards the wrong country, thus revealing the problematics
of full acculturation, present in the poem: could an imported goddess
be fully Romanised and acculturated in her new abode?
For instance, Silius refers with wonder to Anna’s cult as a strange
occurrence in Roman culture and highlights her foreign otherness:
. . . cur Sarrana dicent Oenotri numina templo / regnisque Aeneadum
germana colatur Elissae (‘. . . why the Italians consecrate a temple to a
Carthaginian goddess and why the sister of Dido is worshipped in the
kingdom of Aeneas’ descendants’, 8.46–7).112 The patronymic Aenea-
dum is juxtaposed with the name of Elissa, the person who set the
poem in motion in book 1. The paradox of Anna’s presence on Italian
soil is thus highlighted from the beginning of Silius’ excursus and
constitutes the driving force behind his ‘archaeological’ tour in
Roman folklore, ethnography, and literature.
From 8.144 to line 224a, however, the text as it stands is not
derived from the manuscript made by Poggio (and his copyist)
upon the discovery of the Punica in 1417 (Codex Sangallensis), but
appears for the first time in the Aldine edition of 1523, made by
Fr. Asulanus.113 Much ink has been spilled in favour of the authen-
ticity of these lines, which include the end of Anna’s narrative to
Aeneas concerning Dido’s death and the conclusion of Anna’s own
transformation into an Italian nymph. Heitland has maintained
that the disputed lines are genuine because they might have been
an omission made by Poggio’s copyist.114 In addition, Heitland
argues that on stylistic grounds the scene appears to be Silius’ own
creation.115 By contrast, in his Teubner edition of the Punica, Delz
disputes the authenticity of the aforementioned verses; in particular,
he contends that the close imitation of Virgil and Ovid in several
lines is alien to Silius’ technique and style.116 Recently, Brugnoli and
Santini have suggested that the Aldine addition is not a supplement
created by an ingenious scholar of the Renaissance,117 but rather a
genuine reworking of the Virgilian and Ovidian episodes, since many
lines of the alleged ‘lacuna’ are imitated in the works of Dante,
Boccaccio, Gautier de Châtillon, and Petrarch, whose poems predate
Poggio’s discovery in 1417.118
112
For a discussion of the metapoetics of repetam see A. Barchiesi (2001a), 335.
113
See Volpilhac-Lenthéric, Miniconi, and Devallet (1981), 125–7, and Ariemma
(2000a), 67–8, for a detailed discussion.
114
See Heitland (1896).
115
Heitland’s view is followed by Duff (1934), xvii; Kissel (1979), 193–6 and
n.100; Volpilhac-Lenthéric, Miniconi, and Devallet (1981), 125–7 (with caution).
116
Delz (1987), lxiv–lxviii.
117
For instance Jacobus Constantius, as Delz surmises.
118
See Brugnoli and Santini (1995), in particular 55–98. However, Santini (1991),
54–6, notices that the problem cannot be solved, despite his personal inclination to
ascribe the lines to Silius. The discussion by Brugnoli and Santini has found support-
ing reviews (by Devallet [1996], 376–7; Citti [1998], with reservations) but has also
The present situation of the text makes it difficult to decide
whether or not the conclusion of the scene is genuine. Although
one can argue for or against Silius’ authorship of the disputed lines,
it remains difficult to dismiss the fact that these verses are omitted
in the Codex Sangallensis. Unfortunately, the manuscript tradition is
clouded with ambiguities and the text itself poses several problems
concerning its authenticity. Ahl, Davis, and Pomeroy correctly observe
that any conclusion based on these lines ‘must necessarily be subject to
dispute’.119 The remaining portion of the text (8.25–143), however,
which includes Juno’s call to Anna and the first part of Anna’s story,
namely the events from her flight from Carthage to her arrival in Italy,
her meeting with Aeneas, and the beginning of her recounting of Dido’s
demise, will be employed here in order to draw some intratextual
parallels with other scenes in the Punica.
In particular, Juno’s behaviour in book 8 reminds the reader of the
goddess’s treatment of Tisiphone in book 2. As we have seen, during
the siege at Saguntum, Juno summons the Fury from the Underworld
in order to compel the Saguntines to commit suicide (2.526–52).
Juno’s action is motivated (in the form of a counter-action) by
Hercules’ plea to Fides, to intervene and help the Saguntines, who
suffer from hunger (2.475–525). Tisiphone, however, causes the
transformation of the Saguntine people from a pious and loyal race
into a violent mass. The havoc begins with the female characters who
slaughter and destroy everything in the city (553–680), thus erasing
Saguntum’s past and its ties with the Romans.
How can the parallel with Tisiphone be construed within the Rah-
menhandlung of the poem? Juno’s intervention in book 2 secures
Hannibal’s victory over the Saguntines. It is precisely the suicide
been strongly refuted by Reeve (1998); cf. the reaction by Brugnoli-Santini (1998).
Braun (1999) is correct in pointing out that the second half of the study fails to
persuade, namely that Silius had been available through the fourteenth century
without interruption.
119
Ahl, Davis, and Pomeroy (1986), 2497. Silius’ statement that Anna’s story is
obscured densa caligine ironically (and coincidentally), applies to the state of manu-
script tradition of the disputed lines also: multa retro rerum iacet atque ambagibus
aeui / obtegitur densa caligine mersa uetustas . . . ‘Far back in events and submerged in
dense darkness, lies the ancient story [of Anna], veiled with the uncertainty of
time . . . ’, 8.44–5).
committed by the Spanish people at Saguntum, and not Hannibal’s
victory, that merits the poet’s enthusiasm and praise at the end of the
book. Though her purpose is to abet her protégé, in fact Juno ironically
accomplishes the opposite: the victory over Saguntum is not a token of
Hannibal’s own heroism. Likewise, in book 8, by sending Anna to
inspire Hannibal with warlike frenzy, Juno becomes the means for the
completion of the fata, inasmuch as she makes Hannibal rush into a
battle that marks the beginning of the end, the beginning of his own
decline. In addition, the Olympian goddess uses once again a minor
deity as the medium for the achievement of her plans. And yet, does
Juno choose the most effective person in book 8?
A closer look at Anna’s presence in book 8 reveals that the Cartha-
ginian woman has been Romanised, by becoming a nymph of the
River Numicius; at the same time, her otherness is salient in the
narrative, because of her indisputable Punic descent. In his apos-
trophe to Anna, Silius addresses her as diua Indigetis castis conter-
mina lucis (‘the goddess, who dwells near the sacred grove of Indiges,
the native god’, 8.39), that is, a goddess, neighbour to the sacred
grove of Indiges-Aeneas.
In the beginning of the digression where Silius recounts Anna’s
story, Anna is depicted as an alien in her own country, because of her
fear of Iarbas’ plans (8.55–6); then her persecution continues, when
she first finds refuge in Battus’ land, because of her own brother’s,
Pygmalion’s, pursuit (8.57–64). Finally, she arrives on Italian soil, but
there also she is marked as a Sidonis (8.70), just as Hypsipyle, as we
saw in the Thebaid, was exemplified by her geonymic, Lemnias:
ergo agitur pelago, diuis inimica sibique,
quod se non dederit comitem in suprema sorori,
donec iactatam laceris, miserabile, uelis
fatalis turbo in Laurentes expulit oras.
non caeli, non illa soli, non gnara colentum
Sidonis in Latia trepidabat naufraga terra. (8.65–70)
Therefore, she is driven by the sea, hostile to the gods and her own self,
because she did not accompany her sister to death, until a fateful storm
drove her onto the Italian shores, tossed by torn sails, a pitiable sight.
Unaware of the clime and soil and its inhabitants, the Sidonian girl, ship-
wrecked upon the land of Latium, was in great fear.
Anna’s otherness is showcased in the beginning of the hexameter
(Sidonis, 8.70) by means of her alienation from her own country in
physical and emotional terms: she feels insecure everywhere, in
Carthage, Cyrene, and soon in Italy itself. Feeling guilty over Dido’s
death, Anna does not hesitate to blame Aeneas directly (solus regni
lucisque fuisti / germanae tu causa meae, ‘you alone were the reason of
my sister’s kingdom and life’, 8.81–2). Thus Anna exonerates herself
from the guilt and displaces her hurt feelings onto Aeneas.
Even in the part of the text that belongs to the Aldine addition, the
narrator exploits the ambiguities of Anna’s origins. For instance,
Dido’s appearance in the dream forces Anna to flee to the waters of
Numicius, where Anna becomes Romanised (nec iam amplius
aduena tectis / illa uidebatur, ‘nor did she seem a foreigner any longer
in that palace’, 8.163–4).120 Even though Dido harbours Anna’s
perpetual hatred against the Romans by pointing out Lavinia’s
schemes, at the same time she announces that Anna will become an
aeternum Italis numen . . . in oris (‘an everlasting deity in the Italian
shores’, 8.183).121 Anna, however, remains a Sidonis, a numen favour-
able towards the Romans (Sidonis et placido Teucros affarier ore, ‘a
Sidonian goddess and addressed the Trojans with friendly speech’,
8.199), though she initially faces the hatred of Lavinia (in both Ovid’s
Fasti and the Aldine addition).122 Hannibal calls Anna a decus generis
(‘glory of the nation’, 8.227) and a numen patrium (‘goddess of my
country’, 8.239), while she reveals her presence to him as uestri
generata e sanguine Beli (‘born from the blood of your ancestor
Belus’, 8.221). Although Silius underlines her genuine sympathy for
Hannibal, the poet also reminds us constantly that Anna has been
transformed into an Italian goddess. It is precisely Anna’s ‘nation-
ality’ that has prompted Ahl to observe that ‘Anna is the female
counterpart of Aeneas’ masculinity, as latently hostile to Rome as
Indiges is friendly.’123 I would like to suggest, however, that the poet
also exploits the Roman aspects of Anna, which we are inclined to
120
Cf. de Bustamante (1985).
121
Another woman who mingles with a river is Ilia (12.542–4), Anio’s wife.
122
Cf. Fast. 3.633–8 and Pun. 8.176–7.
123
Ahl (1985), 314. Ahl, Davis, and Pomeroy (1986), 2496–8, also underline this
inherent ‘hostility’ of Anna’s figure for the Roman culture. See also Dietrich (2004),
on the sinister association of Anna with the battle at Cannae.
dismiss because of her association with Dido. Keeping in mind that
the battle at Cannae signals the beginning of decline for Hannibal,
Anna’s mission acquires a twofold significance: on the one hand, as a
Carthaginian and faithful to her sister (retinere fauorem / antiquae
patriae mandataque magna sororis, 8.41–2), Anna is willing to help
Hannibal; and yet on the other hand, as an Italian goddess, she harms
her fellow citizen by compelling him to pursue a destiny that will
prove self-destructive.124 At the end of the scene, Hannibal vows to
dedicate a temple to Anna in Carthage, next to Dido, which, how-
ever, is impossible: Anna is a Roman nymph, with a twofold nature,
but of one abode, the River Numicius. When he urges his soldiers to
pursue battle at Cannae, Hannibal invokes Anna’s intervention:
en, numen patrium spondet maiora peractis.
uellantur signa, ac diua ducente petamus
infaustum Phrygibus Diomedis nomine campum. (8.239–41)
Behold! The goddess of our country promises a future greater than what we
have so far achieved. Let the standards be pulled up, and with the goddess as
our guide, let us seek the field, which is ill-omened for the Trojans because of
the name of Diomedes.
The future promised to Hannibal, however, will become elusive and
misleadingly successful, since the battle at Cannae represents the
zenith not only of the Carthaginian victories but also of Roman
uirtus. After Cannae, the decline for both parties involved in this
war is at hand, according to the poet (10.657–8). In short, Anna’s
intervention in book 8 highlights the uncertainties and the ambiguity
of her role as both a Carthaginian and a Roman figure.125
As we shall see in the fourth chapter of this study, the episode of
Anna’s intervention plays off against the importation of the Magna
Mater in the opening of the last book of the Punica. In Claudia’s case,
the audience receives a clear answer from the goddess concerning the
Vestal’s chastity; accusations of Anna’s chastity are never resolved but
124
In the Fast. 3.675–96, we find out how tricky Anna’s metamorphosis can be,
when she disguises herself as Minerva, a substitute that cheats Mars of his plan to
seduce the virgin goddess.
125
Santini (1992), 390–92 and Dominik (2006), 118–19, discuss this ambiguity in
Anna’s figure.
rather subsumed by her transformation, as she merges in the waters
of Numicius, an act that thus illustrates her future union with
Aeneas. Anna is left marginal, suspended between her two countries,
a patria she once had, and a new one in Rome, where, however, her
voice is subject to Juno’s whimsical behest: her transformation into a
‘Roman’ numen does not allow her the autonomy that ultimately
shapes identity. Even in her metamorphosis, we can observe a
palpable asymbolia: Anna finds refuge in the waters of the Numicius,
a waterscape clearly marked as masculine, not in the female recepta-
cle of the chôra, as exemplified by Tellus, as we shall see next.
THE RENEWAL OF TELLUS
The close relationship with, and care for, one’s fatherland proves an
important component in the process of becoming Roman. And yet,
rashness and irrationality of battle decisions, the electioneering prac-
tices, and contempt for Rome and by extension for one’s patria, in
the early books of the Punica, are but a few examples of behaviour
displayed by the Roman generals, for whom Silius draws little or no
connection with their patria (Flaminius in book 5; Varro in books
9–10). Moreover, as we have observed, Saguntum breaks its alliance
with Rome by burning its past, just as Asbyte is silenced forever and
burned, and as Anna’s efforts to reconnect with her antiqua patria
come to naught, by bringing about the opposite effect for the reci-
pient of her favour, namely the beginning of the end for Carthage.
By contrast, Nature in her appearance as Tellus in book 15 (522–63)
positively reverses the weakness of fathers and sons to be of assistance
to their patria. The presence of Tellus suggests a new icon of patria,
where the masculine patria is fused with the feminine notion of terra
mater: motherly affection and the regression to the feminine chôra is
the absolutely necessary link for the defeat of the other.126 Only after
Claudius Nero dreams of the personified Italian Tellus, is he filled
126
On Tellus and her conflation with Gaia and Demeter as Mother goddess, see
Phillips (2002), 100–101. The widely used formula Terra Mater (TLL, viii.443.6–16)
gives birth to the coinage of Tellus Mater, occurring in the first century bce (cf. Liv.
10.29.4 and Oakley [1997–2005], 4.323, with references to Var. R. 1.1.5 and Ov. Fast.
with desire for revenge and is able to inflict upon the Carthaginians
the first significant defeat in mainland Italy, at the Metaurus in 207
bce, thus preparing the ground for the final victory at Zama, in
Africa.127 Though natural as an idea, the portrayal of Tellus in Silius
is unique in Roman epic,128 inasmuch as Tellus replaces a similar
appearance of patria in Lucan. First the Oenotria Tellus shows Juno-
esque traits, complaining as Juno does in Aeneid 1.37–49, but also
reversing the hostile goddess’s image in the Punica by counterbalan-
cing her acts, since Juno has been the goddess so far who moves the
plot towards a Carthaginian victory:129
tantone (heu superi!) spernor contempta furore
Sidoniae gentis . . . ?
decima haec iam uertitur aestas,
ex quo proterimur. iuuenis . . .
intulit arma mihi temeratisque Alpibus ardens
in nostros descendit agros. quot corpora texi
caesorum stratis totiens deformis alumnis!
nulla mihi floret bacis felicibus arbor;
1.671, as well as Virg. Aen. 11.71, mater tellus, and Serv. ad Aen. 1.171, cum Tellurem
deam dicamus, terram elementum).
No difference between Tellus and mater terra is discerned in imperial literature, but
at times also an association with Magna Mater. See Gesztelyi’s (1981) detailed
analysis. On the dubious etymology of tellus, see Ernout-Meillet (s.v. tellus), perhaps
from Sanskrit talam (‘plain ground’), but also compare the curious existence of a
male counterpart (Etruscan Tellumo/Tellurus). For visual representations, see LIMC,
7.1.879–89. For the image of personified Italy in the Punica, see Venini (1978);
Santini (1991), 80; Mezzanotte (1995), 370–72.
127
See Augoustakis (2003b), 123–4.
128
See Spaltenstein (1990), 377. It should be noted that Silius uses Cicero’s
prosopopoeic portrait of Roma in Catil. 1.27 fused with the portrayal of the perso-
nified Patria in Catil. 1.18 (also called communis parens omnium nostrum, ‘common
parent of all of us’). In Cicero, Roma is looking proleptically at the possible cata-
strophe entailed by a Catilinarian war (cum bello uastabitur Italia, uexabuntur urbes,
tecta ardebunt, tum te non existimas inuidiae incendio conflagraturum? ‘When Italy
will be devastated, the cities will be destroyed, the houses will be burnt, then do you
not think you will burn in the “fire” of envy?’), a description echoed in Tellus’ words
about the utter devastation of the Italian countryside by Hannibal. Cf. Pl. Cri.
50a–4d. See also Ripoll (2000a), 158–9, on Cicero’s influence on Silius in this passage.
On the use of the figure of Patria in Cicero, see most recently Tzounakas (2006) with
further bibliographical references.
129
See Burck (1984a), 84–5, and Augoustakis (2003b), 124 n.38.
immatura seges rapido succiditur ense;
culmina uillarum nostrum delapsa feruntur
in gremium foedantque suis mea regna ruinis . . .
tum me scindat uagus Afer aratro,
et Libys Ausoniis commendet semina sulcis,
ni cuncta, exsultant quae latis agmina campis,
uno condiderim tumulo. (15.523–4, 526–7, 529–35, 538–41)
Oh, gods! Am I so much despised and spurned by the madness of the Punic
race? . . . This is now the tenth year we are being destroyed. The young
man . . . brought arms against me and having stained the Alps, furious, he
came down upon my fields. How many bodies have I covered! How many
times has my face been misshapen by the piles of my slain children! Now no
olive-tree of mine is covered with a fair crop of berries; the corn in the fields
is cut down unripe by a swift sword; the roofs of houses in the country fall
down into my lap and tarnish my kingdom with their ruins . . . Then the
African nomad may plough my fields, and the Libyan may commit seed to
the Ausonian furrows, unless I bury in one grave all the troops that so
proudly tread on my wide plains.
Tellus insists on the foreignness of the Hannibalic troops, calling
them by their geonymics (Sidonia gens, Afer, Libys) and lays special
emphasis on the Carthaginian’s act of staining the Roman territory
by his invasion (temeratis Alpibus), which results in partial to com-
plete sterility and utter destruction. The mother-earth’s face is dis-
figured (deformis) and stained: her primary function of reproduction
is eclipsed and replaced by Tellus’ task of burying her children.130
This topos of infertility, stressed by the future-less-vivid condition of
Africans ploughing Italian soil, sowing, and reaping fruits from their
foreign semina, becomes the source for Tellus’ quick action and
dramatic appearance in a dream to Claudius Nero:
hic iuuenem aggreditur Latiae telluris imago:
‘ . . . magnum aliquid tibi, si patriae uis addere fatis,
audendum est, quod depulso quoque moenibus hoste
uictores fecisse tremant . . .
surge, age, fer gressus. patulos regione Matauri
damnaui tumulis Poenorum atque ossibus agros.’
130
For this function of the proverbial tellus tumulat, see Schwartz (2002).
his dictis abit atque abscedens uisa pauentem
attrahere et fractis turmas propellere portis.
Rumpit flammato turbatus corde soporem
ac supplex geminas tendens ad sidera palmas
Tellurem Noctemque et caelo sparsa precatur
astra . . . (15.546, 549–51, 556–63)
Here the image of the Italian land approaches the young man: ‘ . . . If you
want to prolong the life allotted by the Fates to your fatherland, you must
dare something big, at which the conquerors may shudder to have per-
formed, even with the enemy driven away from the walls . . . Come on,
wake up, march! I have condemned the open fields by the region of the
Metaurus to be the grave for the bones of the Carthaginians.’ Having said
these things, she departs and even as she leaves, she seems to drag after her
the fearing general and to push the troops out from the broken gates.
Disturbed in his heart on fire, Nero wakes up and as a suppliant raising
both hands to the stars, he prays to Tellus and Night and the Stars that
strewed the sky . . .
Tellus uses strong language to underscore the certainty of success for
Nero in the upcoming battle, while she stresses that death for the
Carthaginians is guaranteed by her power as mother-earth who has
buried her children and now emerges as an avenger of the deaths of
so many of her own. At the same time, however, Tellus acts as a
medium that secures the prolongation of the life of Nero’s patria, as
an ideal matrona who secures generational continuity by instructing
her children to live on according to the mos maiorum. The striking
phrase si patriae uis addere fatis verifies the role of Tellus as the most
significant contributor to the modification of the purely masculine
term patria, whose import is utilised in the discourse between fathers
and sons to inspire male heroism and to secure the continuation of
the epic poem itself that is propelled by such deeds of courage in
one’s effort to save the country, the fatherland. Tellus exercises a
fascinating influence on Nero: she seems to drag behind her the
Roman general (attrahere), Silius says, to a symbolic chôra of
motherhood, from which the general will assume unprecedented
energy to annihilate the other and therefore form an identity based
on the accentuated differentiation between Roman and non-Roman.
A hapax in Silius, the verb attrahere complements the forceful
presence of the personified goddess (OLD, s.v. attraho 1),131 who has
abandoned her previous lament and complaint and has come to
Nero resolved. Tellus’ appearance constitutes a centripetal force
that aims at bringing the scattered Roman forces back to the centre,
back to the female aspects, once lost from the semantic register of
patria, by heightening the suffering of mother-earth but also by
stressing her extensive power to inflict death and destruction and
to exact revenge. Patria alone remains incomplete without Tellus’
intervention. Consider, for instance, the fickleness that pesters
Roman politics in the case of Claudius Nero’s colleague in the consul-
ship, Livius Salinator: he goes into exile on the basis of false accusa-
tions concerning embezzlement (15.596–7). Having being recalled,
however, to serve on the consulship at this critical juncture for his
patria, he magnanimously behaves in a similar manner, just as Tellus
instructs Nero to do: patriae donauerat iram (‘he had foregone his
resentment for the benefit of his fatherland’, 15.600).132 Livius assists
Nero in prolonging the life of the patria by forgiving the mistakes
committed by the people that constitute the body of the country.133
The use of verbs, such as addo and dono, underline the heroes’ effort
for a reconnection with their patria that often alienates its children.
131
Cf. Ov. Met. 3.563 (and an interesting use in 10.143 on Orpheus’ attraction of
animals) and Luc. 10.384.
132
On Livius Salinator, see Burck (1984a), 88–90, and Marks (2005a), 49–50, on
the ‘rejuvenation’ of Roman political figures through Scipio. Cf. Liv. 27.34.14: ut
parentium saeuitiam, sic patriae patiendo ac ferendo leniendam esse (‘as with the
harshness of parents, so one must with patience and endurance be lenient to his
country’).
133
Livius’ forgiveness towards his patria reminds the reader of Fabius’ fatherly
instructions (7.536–66) to his son, Quintus, not to hold any grudges against the
Roman people for giving Minucius equal authority to that of Fabius (7.515–16):
succensere nefas patriae (‘it is forbidden to be angry at your country’, 7.555). Quintus
thinks that his father is violated by the Roman people’s treatment (uiolasse parentem,
7.546), although Fabius himself strives to ingrain in the young man’s heart that
proper military strategies and the ancestral values of helping one’s country, even
when unfairly treated, require a certain impenetrability to anger, like that of Camillus
in the fourth century (390 bce). See Kissel (1979), 118–20, and Tipping (1999) on the
role of exemplarity. As will be discussed in chapter 3, Marus’ instruction to Serranus
involves the same strategy, which, however, is undercut by Marcia’s scepticism
concerning Regulus’ own impenetrability. On Fabius, see von Albrecht (1964),
68–77; Fernandelli (2006); Bernstein (2008), 139–45 (on Fabius and his son);
Fucecchi (2010); and Marks (2010) on Fabius–Quintus vs Cato–Brutus in Lucan.
At the same time, one does not fail to notice that Tellus is portrayed
as corrupted by the strangeness of Hannibal: Tellus is not going to be
the same, it seems, after this war. Same has changed into other, as other
has mostly failed to become same, but unbeknownst to it (as is often
the case) has influenced the perspective of same. In her discussion of
foreign otherness, Kristeva aptly comments on the interaction of same
and other as follows: ‘A first step was taken that removed the uncanny
strangeness from the outside, where fright had anchored it, to locate it
inside, not inside the familiar considered as one’s own and proper, but
the familiar potentially tainted with strangeness [emphasis my own]
and referred to . . . an improper past.’134 Silius locates the change
caused on Italy’s body in the past by alluding to a comparable appear-
ance of the prosopopoeic patria in Lucan and reminds the reader that
on account of Tellus’ resurrection, there will definitely be a time after
the Punica when patria will suffer again, in the future, by her own,
alienated, children:135
ut uentum est parui Rubiconis ad undas,
ingens uisa duci patriae trepidantis imago
clara per obscuram uultu maestissima noctem
turrigero canos effundens uertice crines
caesarie lacera nudisque adstare lacertis
et gemitu permixta loqui: ‘quo tenditis ultra?
quo fertis mea signa, uiri? si iure uenitis,
si ciues, huc usque licet.’ tum perculit horror
membra ducis, riguere comae gressumque coercens
languor in extrema tenuit uestigia ripa.
(Luc. 1.185–94)
When he came to the waters of little Rubicon, the mighty image of the patria
in distress appeared to the leader, clearly, through the murky night, most
grievous in her face, her white hair streaming from her tower-crowned head,
with tresses torn and shoulders bare, she stood in front of him and spoke
sighing: ‘Where do you march further? Where do you take my standards,
men? If you come lawfully, if you are citizens, this far only is allowed.’ Then
134
Kristeva (1991), 183.
135
On this episode in Lucan see Peluzzi (1999); Narducci (2002), 194–207;
Moretti (2007). It is noteworthy that Caesar in other sources (Plu. Caes. 32) is
portrayed as having intercourse with his mother, before crossing the Rubicon. The
image of Patria as a turrita figura is alluded to by Hannibal himself in Pun. 13.12–14.
trembling struck the leader’s limbs, his hair stiffened, and weakness stopped
his progress and held his feet at the river’s edge.
Caesar’s fear is followed by an intrepid speech in which he asks for
Roma’s support (summique o numinis instar / Roma, faue coeptis,
‘O Rome, equal of the highest deity, support my undertakings’, Luc.
1.199–200). As we shall see in our examination of Pomponia’s role in
Scipio’s education, the same phrase is used there by Scipio, to equate
Pomponia to the goddess Roma and patria. Here, however, Caesar is
seeking support for his unlawful plans, to march against his own
patria, against Rome, who appears in the image of an old woman,
past childbearing. Silius replaces Lucan’s patriae trepidantis imago with
Latiae telluris imago not only in order to underscore the resolve of
Tellus in taking the war in her hands and thus in reversing the atmo-
sphere of civil war Rome, but also in order to stress the role of Tellus as
the mother par excellence, without whom success is impossible: thus
the poet emphasises the impasse of Lucanian poetics, where the old
figure of the patria is literally invaded/abandoned by both the Caesar-
ians and the Pompeians; Lucan’s poignant conclusion of the second
question with uiri underlines the manly nefariousness of men turning
against their patria, their fatherland. Though Caesar internalises the
patriae imago by translating his prayer into a prayer to Roma herself,
thus aligning patria with the feminine city, he defies the warnings.
Whereas Lucan’s patria comes to Caesar in a dream clara per obscuram
. . . noctem, Silius transforms the details of the dream and the clarity of
the vision: Nero prays to both Tellus and Nox, in a suppliant’s manner,
an emphatic juxtaposition to Caesar’s haughtiness, while Tellus, the
mother-earth, drags him into a feminine space, from which masculine
action bursts out (fractis turmas propellere portis). Nero is still in awe
and fear (pauentem), a stark contrast to Caesar’s horror and languor. In
a figurative fashion, Caesar’s resolve and courage is absorbed by Tellus
who now propels Nero to action, as Caesar forces his troops to cross
the Rubicon. What is more, Tellus herself plays a very significant role
in the forthcoming battle, undertaking significant action by confusing
the Carthaginians into falling into a trap:
implicat actas
caeco errore uias umbrisque fauentibus arto
circumagit spatio sua per uestigia ductos. (15.618–20)
She confuses their tracks and makes them lose their way in the dark;
favoured by the darkness, she makes them go round and round without
advancing and retrace their steps.
Thus a feminine goddess, Tellus, henceforth behaves like a uir, put-
ting Nero in the position of the person attracted to the commands of
the deity, much like Hannibal appears as the object of Juno’s angry
politics of revenge.
As we have seen in the beginning of this chapter, Hannibal displays a

misplaced attachment to Capua, by finding in it an altera patria and
thus replacing Carthage with an elusive other. It is not surprising then
that Hannibal’s attachment to the wrong mother-model, Dido, a
mother that never was in the first place, is reinstated in the last
book, by an obsession he develops towards the Italian tellus, which
again nevertheless proves to be fleeting and temporary.
As the Carthaginian is departing from Italy in book 17, the last
book of the poem, Silius seizes the opportunity to portray the
Carthaginian in the same terms as his wife, Imilce, when in book 3
she parts from her husband in Spain:
ductor defixos Itala tellure tenebat
intentus uultus, manantesque ora rigabant
per tacitum lacrimae et suspiria crebra ciebat,
haud secus ac patriam pulsus dulcesque penates
linqueret et tristes exul traheretur in oras. (17.213–17)
Hannibal kept his eyes steadily fixed on the Italian land, and silent tears were
flowing down his cheeks; he was sighing numerous times, not otherwise
than when as an exile, expelled, he was leaving behind his country and his
sweet household gods and was being dragged into dismal shores.
haerent intenti uultus et litora seruant,
donec iter liquidum uolucri rapiente carina
consumpsit uisus pontus tellusque recessit. (3.155–7)136
136
In the Loeb and the Budé translations, the focalisation centres on Imilce alone,
which however does not explain adequately the plural intenti uultus, especially as
since in 3.152, Silius explicitly stresses the common grief of their separation: inter se
fletibus orant (‘they converse together and mingle their tears’).
Their eyes cling to one another and watch the shore, until the sea made sight
impossible and the land fell back, as the swift ship sped on its watery way.
In book 3, as Imilce is separated from Hannibal (abripitur diuulsa
marito, 3.154), for a moment we are invited to visualise their parting,
focalised from the perspective of both husband and wife, as their gaze
remains fixed to one another, in this near cosmogonic event, where
the pontus and the tellus are separated from each other, before we see
the parting through Imilce’s own eyes, when, from the boat, she sees
the land recede. In book 17, therefore, the use of intentus uultus
centres on Hannibal’s isolation, who is now alone and separated from
another female presence, that of the Italian tellus, which he finds hard
to abandon, just as if he were abandoning his own patria. When he
refers to Hannibal’s famous attachment to Italy, Livy uses the words
patria and terra but does not exploit the role of tellus, as Silius does:
raro quemquam alium patriam exsilii causa relinquentem tam maestum
abisse ferunt quam Hannibalem hostium terra excedentem; respexisse saepe
Italiae litora. (Liv. 30.20.7)
They say that rarely any other man leaving his country to go into exile had
departed as sad as Hannibal was, when he was withdrawing from the
enemies’ land: they say he repeatedly looked back upon the shores of Italy.
In the historian, however, the distinction between patria and terra bears
a significance for Hannibal’s attachment, as one not towards his own
patria but towards a land that never bore him (terra [mater]). Hanni-
bal’s act of respexisse indicates the leader’s lack of firm resolution, which
ultimately proves destructive, since he wavers now, unlike his courage
and resolve in the earlier books, when he crosses the Alps, for instance.
In Silius, there is a certain irony that resonates with the Livian quote,
such as Hannibal’s paradoxical, marginal status as a foreigner in Italy
and as a strange body on the Italian tellus; but on another level also, the
reader knows that Hannibal’s fate is such that he will actually be exiled
from Carthage and will end his life on dismal shores. Earth, sky, and sea
conspire to transform the Carthaginian general into the other, the alien
from every land and sea. As Tellus acquires masculine traits in her effort
to take off and discharge from her body the Carthaginian stain, so is
Hannibal’s attachment represented in a reversal of genders, which blurs
the boundaries of male vs female.
The passage in book 17 recalls vividly Pompey’s departure from
Italy, as Lucan stresses the connection between Magnus and his terra,
as well as the patrios portus, and the litora:137
solus ab Hesperia non flexit lumina terra
Magnus, dum patrios portus, dum litora numquam
ad uisus reditura suos . . .
(Luc. 3.4–6)
Magnus alone did not bend his gaze from the Hesperian land, until [he saw]
his fatherland’s harbours and the shores disappear, never again to return to
his sight . . .
In the Punica, we watch the same process as portrayed in Livy and in
Lucan on Pompey, with the weight placed on the land, the tellus, who is
modified by a different geonymic each time (Itala, Daunia, Ausonia): et
sensim coepere procul subsidere montes / nullaque iam Hesperia et nus-
quam iam Daunia tellus, . . . (‘And [when] the mountains began to grow
less and less in the distance slowly, and nowhere was the Hesperian
land, and nowhere was the Daunian soil any longer . . . ’, 17.219–20).
During the epic, Virgilian storm that follows and leads Hannibal back
to his patria, in an Aeneas moment, the Carthaginian goes as far as to
call his brother, Hasdrubal, felix for having died on the Italian tellus:138
et cui fata dedere / Ausoniam extremo tellurem apprendere morsu (‘And
whom Fate allowed to “bite” the Ausonian soil as you died’, 17.262–3).
It is as though Tellus’ appearance effectively set in motion the curse she
promises in book 15 on Hasdrubal and the Carthaginians: tellus tumu-
lat. A Homeric formula,139 the act of biting the soil, brings about a
mysterious, eternal connection of the dead—even through a for-
eigner—with the soil and the maternal space of tellus.140
137
See Currie (1958); Brouwers (1982), 83–4; Ahl, Davis, and Pomeroy (1986),
2516–17; Fucecchi (1990), 159–60; and Marks (2008) and (2010) on Hannibal and
Pompey.
138
On the Virgilian echoes in the storm of the final book, see most recently
Villalba Álvarez (2004) with further bibliography and Manolaraki (2010).
139
Spaltenstein (1986) 376; cf. Il. 2.418, Aen. 10.489 and 11.418, Pun. 5.526–7,
9.383–4.
140
Cf. the beginning of book 16, after Hasdrubal’s demise: Bruttia maerentem
casus patriaeque suosque / Hannibalem accepit tellus (‘the land of Bruttium received
Hannibal mourning over the disaster of his country and his own’, 16.1–2). As
Bernstein (2008), 139, notes, Hannibal’s speech ‘reveals a significant contrast with
Hannibal pursues a reunion with the Italian soil until the very end,
in his final threatening words before he disappears from the narra-
tive, before he becomes an ekphrasis in Scipio’s triumph, portrayed
in his flight from the battlefield (sed non ulla magis mentesque
oculosque tenebat, / quam uisa Hannibalis campis fugientis imago,
‘but not any other sight was attracting the minds and eyes more
than the image of Hannibal fleeing from the battlefield’, 17.643–4), a
memorial of his fleeting presence in the poem, always elusive and
ever present to haunt the Romans for many generations to come:
mihi satque superque
ut me Dardaniae matres atque Itala tellus,
dum uiuam, expectent nec pacem pectore norint. (17.613–15)
It is enough for me and more than enough, that while I am alive, the
Dardanian mothers and the Italian land shall await me, and they shall not
know any peace in their heart.
Silius crafts a portrait of bloodthirsty Hannibal until the very minute
of his disappearance from the poem: Hannibal vows his return and
forebodes the lack of peace for the ages to come.141 Yet again, in his
last words, the Carthaginian displays an imitation of Dido’s last
moments and especially the curse that set in motion this poem on
the Second Punic War. Lack of peace is Hannibal’s lasting legacy to
the Romans, as Dido’s curse announces the three Punic wars to
follow. Once more, Hannibal dons a feminine mask, that of Dido,
an act that shows his attachment to the false mother-model, to the
wrong country, to a hostile tellus. As Keith has recently observed in
an essay on the role of Orientalism in the poem, ‘Silius’ representa-
tion of Hannibal as a female-focused hero . . . inscribes him, and his
countrymen (the effeminate Tyrians), in the position of the losers in
the “battle of the sexes” and thereby renders impotent the Carthagi-
nian challenge to Roman hegemony of the Mediterranean’.142
Aeneas’ perception of the relationship between family and state. Whereas Aeneas
praises a group, the Trojan men who died ante ora patrum, Hannibal directs his
ÆŒÆæØ to Hasdrubal alone.’
141
Reminiscent of Pompey’s last speech in Luc. 8.622–35. See Narducci (2002),
363 n.70, and Marks (2010).
142
Keith (2010), 372.
From the preceding analysis of the role of Tellus in complementing
the masculine traits of patria and therefore supplementing the se-
mantic register associated with Romanness, I would like to stress the
lack of clear-cut boundaries between Roman and Carthaginian de-
pendence on the motherly, the other element in one’s self. Both Nero
and Hannibal are drawn by the same desire to attach themselves to a
tellus that has suffered very much and has to eject one of the two,
namely the foreign and alien, after having visible stains on her body
from the other’s stay on her territory for so many years. Tellus
becomes the catalyst in motivating Nero to defeat Hasdrubal, Han-
nibal’s brother, a second Hannibal himself,143 as the Magna Mater
will set in motion the expulsion of Hannibal from Italian terrain in
the last book, as we shall see. Both goddesses embody two faces of the
same coin, however, the same and the other, the Roman and the non-
Roman, and their ultimate conflation is the only route to success.
Silius takes us on a fascinating trip of what constitutes Roman and
non-Roman, same and other, by parading a series of failed relation-
ships between fathers and sons, metropolis and colonies, disoriented
foreigners in their displaced feelings for the (m)other. During this
quest, motherhood also changes, as we shall see next, from the
ineffective appeal of Marcia to Regulus to Pomponia’s successful
instruction of her son on how to become a true Roman.
143
On Hasdrubal as geminus Hannibal, see Augoustakis (2003b).
3
Comes ultima fati: Regulus’ Encounter with
Marcia’s Otherness in Punica 6
Marcia:
‘Why do I think on what he was! he’s dead!
He’s dead, and never knew how much I loved him
...
Amidst its agonies, remembered Marcia,
And the last words he uttered called me cruel!
Alas! He knew not, hapless youth, he knew not
Marcia’s whole soul was full of love and Juba.’
(J. Addison, Cato: A Tragedy, 1713,
Act IV.iii.43–4, 46–9)
James Addison’s play Cato, inspired by the ancient sources, such as

Plutarch and Lucan, among others, celebrates the love of the king of
Numidia, Juba, for Cato’s (imaginary) daughter, Marcia, named after
Cato’s wife.1 The verses of this epigraph could have been inspired by
Silius’ portrait of Marcia, wife of Regulus, in Punica 6, and for the
informed reader in fact the last word, Juba, comes as a surprise, since
it can easily be replaced by Regulus, for the passage resonates with
Marcia’s own words to her captive husband, Regulus, in the context
of the encounter between husband and wife as detailed in Silius’
account, which we shall explore in this chapter.
The sixth book of the Punica opens with the aftermath of the battle
at Lake Trasimene: the victory of the Carthaginians has been total.
1
The passage is quoted from the edition by Henderson and Yellin (2004), 77.
Regulus’ Encounter with Marcia’s Otherness 157
An analeptic narrative on the adventures of Regulus in Libya during
the First Punic War occupies a large portion of this book (6.62–551).
Regulus’ son, Serranus, wounded after the battle at Trasimene, finds
refuge at the house of his father’s faithful companion, Marus. In a
flashback narrative, Marus relates the killing of a serpent at the River
Bagrada (6.140–293), the capture of Regulus and his mission to
Rome (6.299–402), Marcia’s reaction to her husband’s uncompro-
mising attitude, Regulus’ speech to the Senate (6.403–520), and his
final return to Carthage, resulting in his death (6.521–51).
The poet brings several innovations into his account in book 6 in
comparison to pre-Silian tradition. He introduces three characters
around the figure of Regulus who are otherwise unknown or remain
anonymous in our historiographical or literary sources. The first is
Serranus, Regulus’ son.2 Clearly Regulus’ son must have participated
in the battle at Trasimene, but this fabricated Serranus is called iuuenis
(6.101, 415) and flore nitens primo (‘in the flower of his youth’, 6.65),
references that further complicate historical chronology. Another
Silian innovation is Marus, Regulus’ faithful companion during his
tribulations in Africa. His presence fits into the scheme of Silius’
portrayal of Serranus’ ‘education’ by Marus, who in a flashback
expounds on the story of Regulus’ heroic adventures in Africa and
Rome, inasmuch as generational continuity would be guaranteed
through the precepts of an older man.3 But most importantly, Silius
gives Marcia herself a substantial role in the narrative.
In this chapter, we shall look at how Marcia’s presence enhances
our understanding of her husband, Regulus, but also sheds light on
the situation in Rome during both Punic wars. By appropriating the
2
Although we know of the consulship of one of Regulus’ sons, in 227 bce, this
person was not called Serranus, an agnomen of the gens Atilia, made up to pun with
the etymology of the name from the verb sero (cf. Spaltenstein [1986], 395). For the
etymology of Serranus and the intended pun see Virg. Aen. 6.844 (cf. Frölich [2000],
150). Serranus’ youth plays off against Marus’ old age, which is several times
illustrated in the narrative (6.94, 100, 118, 299). Williams (2004), 72 n.10, points to
a possible association between the name and the Carthaginian names ‘Sarra/Sarra-
nus’ (also Skutsch [1985], 632).
3
Häussler (1978), 170, correctly notices that the episode of Marus and Serranus
reminds the reader of Caesar’s meeting with Amyclas in Lucan De bello ciuili 5
(among other scenes in literature, such as Evander and Aeneas). See also Brouwers
(1982), 80.
Virgilian and Lucanian traditions,4 through Marcia’s plea to Regulus,
Silius underscores her husband’s weakness and inability to secure
stability in Roman political affairs during and after his consulship.
I argue that this female character assumes a significant position in the
poem: as the first Roman mother to be given a voice in the authorial
narrative of Marus’ analeptic narrative of the First Punic War,
Marcia’s subversive presence points to the male protagonist’s failure
to safeguard his own family and thus questions the value of patria
over domus. As an outsider of this male-centred narrative, Marcia’s
appearance raises important questions about the effectiveness of
the decisions men make. In this sense, from Marcia’s point of view,
close scrutiny of the portrait of ‘Regulus the Saint’ undermines his
exemplary display of Stoic fides and uirtus.5
In a web of interdependence among Marcia, Regulus, and their
son, this close relationship brings to prominence Marcia’s role as
the embodiment of motherhood on the one hand and, in the
absence of the father, as the symbol of maternal potestas on the
other. The old man’s story functions both analeptically and prolep-
tically, poised between the world of the First Punic War and the
current situation in the Second Punic War, looking both in the past
and in the present, the hic et nunc of Roman affairs amidst the
destruction after the defeat at Trasimene. As the following analysis
demonstrates, Marcia’s speeches counterbalance Marus’ andro-
centric narrative: even though the wife of Regulus is portrayed as
the distraught woman who is separated from her husband in the
First Punic War, by questioning her husband’s actions in her pre-
sence outside Marus’ narrative, Marcia assumes the same role of
suspending generational continuity and once again of painting an
authorial, subversive portrait of her husband’s actions, in her own
brief flashback.
4
Regulus’ Marcia is modelled after Cato’s Marcia in De bello ciuili 2. See Brouwers
(1982), 79; Spaltenstein (1986), 419; Frölich (2000), 279. On the relationship between
the two poets, see Marks (2010) with further bibliography.
5
With an epigrammatic comment, Steele (1922), 325, deflates the role of the
female in the present episode: ‘Silius tried to vary the monotony of historical
narrative by the introduction of a hero of the First Punic War, with variety added
by the part taken by Marcia.’
Just as Marcia is relegated to her marginal space in the periphery of
the narrative and just as her symbolic voice, to use Kristeva’s termi-
nology, becomes mute by the semiotic noise of the oars of the boat
that takes Regulus back to Carthage to die, within Marus’ narrative,
so does Marcia come out of her house after several years of seclusion
and utters an equally subversive speech that puts motherhood in the
frame of otherhood and alienation from one’s own patria. There is
nothing in Marcia’s presence that allows her to be absorbed into the
symbolic of male ideology, the Kristevan phenotext, since her appear-
ance from her domus strongly suggests her isolation in the feminine
chôra, the phenotext, from which her Maenadic voice can be heard as
a unique position of a Roman mother who nevertheless behaves in a
non-Roman fashion. Her voice of dissent opposes her son’s adher-
ence to his father’s model and directs her offspring away from the
destructive traits of Regulus’ character. By pointing to her husband’s
failures and disagreeing with a particular course of action, Marcia
signals a departure from established norms and as a result constitutes
a centrifugal force from the accustomed norms of previous Roman
leadership towards a new model, soon to be embodied by Scipio. The
voice of the mother cannot at this point be aligned and moulded
according to the demands of the male, Roman ethical code, since the
latter has proved to be in many respects deficient. At the same time,
Marcia is marked as a figure from Rome’s past and is marginalised,
signalling a departure towards a new model of motherhood, which
we shall see epitomised in Pomponia and non-Roman women from
the periphery in the following chapter.
REGULUS AND THE PUNICA: BRIDGING

TRADITIONS?
Let us begin by examining the different traditions explored by Silius

in the amalgamated figure of Regulus in the Punica. According to the
Flavian poet, after his unsuccessful campaign and capture in Libya by
the Carthaginians’ Spartan ally, Xanthippus (6.299–345), Regulus
returns to Rome upon the demand of the Carthaginians, to negotiate
peace terms and an exchange of prisoners. Among Silius’ sources for
Regulus’ recovery to Rome is Horace’s famous Roman Ode (Carm.
3.5): the Augustan poet himself is the inheritor of a growing tradition
around the legend and figure of Regulus, whose mission to Rome
seems certainly unknown to Polybius and Diodorus.6 Critics often
dismiss the story of Regulus’ presence in Rome as fictional, created by
the Romans to atone for Regulus’ mistakes in Libya during his com-
mand of the army there.7 Regulus’ growing legend, commonly typified
as Regulussage or Heldensage, moulded in the first century bce by
C. Sempronius Tuditanus and enhanced by Q. Aelius Tubero, is fully
fleshed out by Cicero and Livy.8 The former of the two early annalists
turns Regulus into the Stoic hero par excellence, while the latter
expands on the details of Regulus’ superhuman fight against the
monstrous serpent of the River Bagrada, in Africa.9 Thus, we can
distinguish two different traditions in the two centuries that precede
the composition of the Punica. On the one hand, Polybius and Dio-
dorus emphasise the mistakes, flaws, and failure of the Roman leader-
ship under Regulus, while the latter also provides valuable information
about Regulus’ punishment in Carthage and the vengeance that fol-
lowed at Rome against Carthaginian prisoners and was initiated by
6
For an examination of Horace and Silius, see Williams’s (2004) recent treatment.
Shumate (2006), 71, briefly treats the role of Regulus’ wife in Horace. Polybius
1.29–35 gives the account of the battles that took place in Africa (Ecnomus, Adys,
Aspis) during the year 256–255 bce but does not provide us with the account of
Regulus’ mission to Rome. Diodorus does not give us any information concerning
Regulus’ mission either, although he goes into detail about his punishment and
torture in Carthage (23.11–16).
7
Lazenby (1996), 106.
8
Among many references to Regulus in the Ciceronian corpus, the praise of
Regulus’ exemplary character in Fin. 2.20.65 and 5.37.82 and in Off. 3.99.26–100.27
epitomises Cicero’s view (the discussion continues until 3.115.32 on Regulus’ oath).
Cf. Wezel (1873), 54–6, for Silius’ combination of the tradition from Cicero and
Horace and Ripoll (2000a), 159, for Cicero. Unfortunately, Livy’s full account has
been lost to us (Periocha 18). See n.56 below.
9
For an examination of the sources on Regulus from the second century bce
onwards see Mix (1970), 14–24 and 32–55; Ariemma (1999), 80 n.5; Frölich (2000),
266–9 and 305–10; Gendre and Loutsch (2001), 131–72; Williams (2004), 70–71.
There is an unanswerable question concerning Naevius, whether he refers to Regulus’
punishment and death in Carthage: seseque ei perire mauolunt ibidem / quam cum
stupro redire ad suos popularis (‘they prefer to die there than return to their country-
men stained with ill-repute’, fr. 46 Strzelecki). See M. Barchiesi (1962), 442–51.
Regulus’ wife.10 What is more, in Polybius’ and Diodorus’ accounts we
witness an unvarnished view of Regulus’ exploits, a reality that enables
us to view later accounts with scepticism. On the other hand, the rest of
our sources underscore the sanctity of Regulus’ conduct, his Stoic
resistance to the ius postliminii, and his final martyrdom in Carthage.
Where does Silius stand? And furthermore, how does this affect
Marcia’s representation both inside and outside Marus’ heroisation of
Regulus’ exploits?
Silius, an inheritor of both poetic and historiographical sources, is at
the crossroads of these two diverse traditions.11 Though it would be
difficult to argue against the well-established theory that the poet
adopts Regulus as the Stoic hero whose virtues he exemplifies in book
6,12 at the same time, the reader cannot fail to notice that Regulus’
heroic qualities undergo a subtle transformation in the poem’s narra-
tive. He is considered the legendary model for younger Roman leaders
(such as Scipio), and yet his actions in Libya are reprehensible on
several occasions.13 In other words, the poet does not allow Regulus
to emerge as the flawless general Scipio becomes later in the poem.14
10
Diodorus 24.12 relates the story of Regulus’ wife’s revenge, as she allegedly
tortures Hamilcar and Bodostor, two Carthaginian prisoners ÆÆ Ø’ I ºØÆ
ÆPe KŒººØ ÆØ e ÇB (‘thinking that he [Regulus] died [in Carthage] because of
negligence’). As Williams (2004), 71, points out, the story of Regulus’ embassy back
to Rome is probably a fiction, ‘perhaps designed to explain or obscure the actions of
his wife’.
11
On Silius’ exploitation of practices from both genres, see most recently Gibson
(2010).
12
All of Silius’ critics underscore the relationship between Hercules and Regulus
or Regulus and Scipio. See Sechi (1951), 287–8; Bassett (1955), 1–20; von Albrecht
(1964), 62–8; Häussler (1978), 168–77; Kissel (1979), 122–3; Burck (1979), 284–5;
Billerbeck (1986a), 351–2; Ripoll (1998), 126–8, 159–60, 240–41, 247–8, 348–51;
Ariemma (1999); Frölich (2000); Fucecchi (2003); Williams (2004), 72–6. Ahl, Davis,
and Pomeroy (1986), 2522–3, view Regulus as an archetype for Fabius.
13
Williams (2004), 84:
Regulus’ policy of direct aggression and no avoidance resembles an anachronism of sorts, a
form of guileless ‘uirtus’ that is no match for Xanthippus or a Hannibal, and one that
contrasts with Fabius’ more enlightened strategy in the second Punic War . . . [T]he struggle
. . . is not just between Rome and Carthage but also between different versions—Regulan and
Fabian, even ‘traditional’ and ‘modern’—of Roman military virtue, strategy and heroism.
14
Hardie (1993a), 70–71, insists on the notion of a transformation that Regulus
undergoes, a kind of psychomachia in Stoic terms. Part of this process is his fight with
the serpent, which reflects ‘Regulus’ conquest of the serpentine passions in the
human breast’. Ripoll (1998), 247–8, develops the same idea of Regulus’ progress
As an illustration of Silius’ absorption of various threads of the
Regulus saga, let us turn to the series of events following the general’s
defeat in Libya. Having exposed the Carthaginians’ plan to exchange
hostages, Marus narrates in detail the trip from Carthage to Rome
(6.350–88), concentrating on Regulus’ state of mind. He is presented
as the exemplary figure of resistance, of Stoic patientia, constantia,
and fides. Regulus’ companion himself, Marus, assures Serranus that
his father surpassed all his expectations:
spes tamen una mihi, quamquam bene cognita et olim
atrox illa fides, urbem murosque domumque
tangere si miseris licuisset, corda moueri
posse uiri et uestro certe mitescere fletu. (6.377–80)
Although that inflexible loyalty of his had been well known to me for a long
time, yet one hope I still cherished: that, had it been allowed to us, wretched,
to reach the city and the walls and our house, the heart of the man could be
moved and could at least be softened by your tears.
The old man’s flashback constitutes a great example of a suasoria, a

lesson from exemplary figures of the past meant as an instruction for
the younger, male generations; and it is appropriately incorporated
into the male world of epic poetry. And yet, there are moments in his
narrative, as seen above, where Marus expresses his wishes that
Regulus had not been so unbent! Would that he had taken advantage
of his ius postliminii, according to which, once a man in captivity
returns to his city, he recovers all his rights.15 Regulus, however,
rejects this civil right, when he advises his fellow citizens to refuse
any negotiations (6.467–89) and forthwith confirms his decision to
return to Carthage and endure punishment there. Throughout the
towards achieving Stoic gloria and uirtus, and ranks the Roman consul in the same
category with other heroes, such as Hercules and Scipio for instance. Similarly,
Fucecchi (2003), 272, observes that ‘la storia di Regolo si adatta bene al tono
predominante nella prima parte dei Punica, dove si esalta la constantia del popolo
romano e dei suoi alleati fedeli (come Sagunto), la sua capacità di reagire ai momenti
di crisi’. Marks (2005b) explores the role of self-sacrifice (deuotio) in the poem but
does not examine Regulus as the character who ultimately sacrifices his life for
Rome’s salvation.
15
For a detailed examination of the ius postliminii in connection with Regulus see
Kornhardt (1954), 85–123, who juxtaposes Regulus’ example to the failed efforts to
retrieve the hostages after the battle at Cannae.
episode, Regulus further annuls his ius postliminii by refusing to wear
the toga (6.393–4), to salute the consul (6.396–8), or to sojourn at his
house (6.432–3), even if such conduct means that he must rebuff his
wife and two sons. In an atypical fashion, Marus wishes he could
change the denouement of his own narrative by giving voice to a
contrafactual condition he seems to have rehearsed many times as a
possible scenario, as they approach Rome: his hope is that Regulus’
obstinacy will be influenced by the lament of his family (uestro certe
mitescere fletu).16 What is Marcia’s role then but a construct in
Marus’ narrative that serves as a foil to Regulus’ behaviour?
Upon Regulus’ arrival in Rome, we learn of Marcia’s appearance
and her distraught condition. The wife enters the narrative by means
of a vividly gestural ecce:
Ecce trahens geminum natorum Marcia pignus
infelix nimia magni uirtute mariti,
squalentem crinem et tristes lacerabat amictus . . .
atque ea, postquam habitu iuxta et uelamine Poeno
deformem adspexit, fusis ululatibus aegra
labitur, et gelidos mortis color occupat artus . . .
me uoce quieta
affatus iubet et uestros et coniugis una
arcere amplexus pater,17 impenetrabilis ille
luctibus et numquam summissus colla dolori. (6.403–5, 407–9, 411–14)
Now Marcia showed up, dragging her two boys, the pledges of their love—
Marcia, unhappy because of the lofty virtue of her great husband; in her
grief, she was tearing apart her soiled hair and her garment . . . And after she
saw him near, changed in mien and humiliated by the Carthaginian dress,
with an extensive cry she fell in a faint, and the colour of death covered her
cold limbs . . . Talking to me with a tranquil voice, your father bid me hinder
the embraces both of you two and of his wife: he was impenetrable to grief
and never bowed his neck to pain.
The sight of her husband’s transformation, from a Roman general to
a Carthaginian prisoner, his head covered by the uelamine Poeno,
triggers Marcia’s first reaction. Regulus’ habitus is different, foreign
16
On contrafactuals in Silius, see Cowan (2010).
17
On reading patet or manet instead of pater see Ariemma (1999), 88 n.21.
behaviour accompanied by alien dress. These two aspects make him
deformem, a stranger to his own country. As Marcia comes prepared
for mourning, she faces for the first time a changed, African Regulus.
To a certain extent, Marcia’s expected behavioural collapse, read on
the surface as grief fed by conjugal fidelity and devotion,18 confirms
her literary ‘descent’ from other distraught women and similar
descriptions of female sorrow and lament in the Roman epic tradi-
tion. It has been correctly suggested that the episode of Regulus
recalls the wife of Cato in Lucan,19 from whom Silius borrows the
name for Regulus’ wife. Marcia becomes the literary ‘descendant’ of
Lucan’s Marcia, Cato’s wife, and also her potential historical ‘ances-
tress’. In this manner, Silius manufactures for the reader a perception
of historical continuity.20
LITERARY CONVENTION OR SUBVERSIVE SPEECH?
The description of Marcia adheres to generic representations of

women in grief, such as Virgil’s Andromache and Dido or Lucan’s
Cornelia.21 As we saw above, for instance, Marcia cries at the sight of
her husband and temporarily faints. Again, in 6.412–13, Marus
implies that Marcia’s efforts to embrace her husband, which indir-
ectly point to the recovery of her senses, fail; Marus is explicitly told
to remove both her and Regulus’ children from their father. Marcia’s
18
As Dietrich (2005), 81, observes: ‘In Marcia, Silius creates a female figure whose
devotion to her husband, children and marriage, like the relationships of her counter-
parts in Lucan, is emblematic of Roman values.’
19
See the relevant discussion in von Albrecht (1964), 65 n.52; Ahl (1976), 268–71;
Kissel (1979), 122–3; Billerbeck (1986a), 351–2; Ariemma (1999), 87 and 96–7;
Dietrich (2005), 80–83. Häussler (1978), 171, points to the relationship between
this episode and Hercules’ fight against Antaeus in Luc. 4.593–660.
20
See McGuire (1995), 110–18, on the use of historical personalities of later
Roman history in the battle of Cannae in book 8.
21
Cf. the final episode in book 4, where Imilce tears her hair and scratches her
cheeks on the occasion of her son’s imminent sacrifice (see chapter 4, 199–205). On
the connection with female figures in Virgil and Lucan, see also Spaltenstein (1986),
419–20; Ariemma (1999), 91–2. Certainly, Marcia is also fashioned as another
Ovidian, elegiac Dido (Her. 7). Dietrich (2005) links female expressions of grief in
the first books of the poem to the description of Scipio’s grief in book 13.
portrayal as a woman who gives in to grief has attracted critics’
comments on the topological, rather formulaic, description of her
behaviour. For instance, Marcia’s behaviour has been construed as a
token of conjugal fidelity, an attribute that certainly cannot be
denied, yet constitutes an oversimplification.22 Within Marus’ nar-
rative, Marcia may seem to reinforce Regulus’ firm decision to die for
his country, but in her appearance in the Roman present, the Second
Punic War, not the past of Marus’ story in the First Punic War,
Marcia appears as an opponent to and victim of the war, when she
advises her son not to follow in the footsteps of his father; thus she
invalidates her position as conveyor of traditional ‘Roman’ values, as
a Roman mother would do. Therefore, Marcia does not comply with
the ideal of a Roman matrona but rather denounces the war as a
merely futile operation.
After Marus’ description of Regulus’ arrival at Rome and his
encounter with Marcia, Serranus interrupts the old man and relates
his own recollection of the scene. What is left in his memory is a
superhuman figure (humana maior species erat, ‘his stature was more
than human’, 6.426). Serranus affirms that he has seen nothing
similar to that image thereafter (nil posthac oculis simile incidit,
‘none like him have I seen since’, 6.430). This remark confirms that
Marus’ ‘instruction’ of Serranus has been successful. Marus then
continues his account of Regulus’ mission in Rome, as if to corro-
borate and inflame the young man’s passion to retrace his father’s
‘journey’. The hero passes outside his house without entering it; he
sojourns at the sedes Poenorum instead (6.433). From the description
of the outside appearance of Regulus’ house, Marus moves to Mar-
cia’s appearance on the threshold (in limine primo, 6.436):
quo fers gressus? non Punicus hic est,
Regule, quem fugias, carcer. uestigia nostri
22
Casale (1954), 32; La Penna (1981), 234; La Penna (2000), 67–9. As Dietrich
(2005), 83, recognises, ‘her [Marcia’s] appearance in mourning indicates the uncer-
tain future of Rome itself as he [Regulus] returns to Carthage’. Von Albrecht (1964),
64–5, interprets Marcia’s presence as a figure that is opposed to Regulus’ personality.
Regulus does not give in to misericordia, while Marcia entreats him to surrender to
sentimentalism. Therefore, Marcia reminds us of Xanthippe, who was dismissed by
Socrates in the Platonic Phd. 60a.
casta tori domus et patrium sine crimine seruat
inuiolata larem. semel hic iterumque (quid, oro,
pollutum est nobis?) prolem gratante senatu
et patria sum enixa tibi . . .
non ego complexus et sanctae foedera taedae
coniugiumue peto. patrios damnare penates
absiste ac natis fas duc concedere noctem. (6.437–42; 447–9)
Where are you heading? Regulus, this place, from which you run away, is not
the Carthaginian prison. This house, unstained, preserves the prints of our
chaste marriage-bed and our household gods without guilt. Here, with the
Senate and our country wishing us joy, once and again I bore you offspring
(what, I ask, have I done to degrade you?) . . . Neither do I seek your
embraces nor the union that the holy torch brings nor marriage. Stop
shunning the household gods of your country and consider it proper to
grant your sons one night.
In her first speech, directly quoted by Marus and certainly recon-
structed from a male perspective, Marcia dramatically emphasises
Regulus’ ius postliminii.23 Marcia’s Roman, matronly presence in
limine primo reminds the reader of the possibility that Regulus still
has to make use of his right, and, therefore, enter his house.24
Marcia’s repeated use of words such as gressus (437), uestigia (438),
and sedes (442) underscores the importance that the limen in a
broader sense plays in this scene. Regulus prefers the uilla publica
in the Campus Martius, the sedes Poenorum (433), to his own house,
while after Marcia’s plea he continues on his way, escorted by the
Carthaginians, until they reach the limen Tyrium (451). The follow-
ing day, Regulus enters the Curia, where he delivers his speech. There,
once again, he refuses the exhortations of the senators to sit on his
solita sedes or to follow uestigia nota (459).25 Through his refusal to
23
For the elegiac reminiscences of Marcia’s Anrede, see Ariemma (1999), 92–5.
24
Consider also the similarity with Imilce, who bids farewell to Hannibal in litore
primo (3.128), with emphasis laid again on the liminality of the place. The notion of
limen constitutes an important quality in imperial epic poetry, not merely in terms of
topography, but in terms of the protagonists’ efforts to transgress the limits imposed
by gender or tradition. Compare, for instance, Valerius Flaccus’ insistence on the ‘first
threshold’ in his account of both the Lemnian women—Hypsipyle and Medea in
Argonautica 2.136, 237, 255, and 7.110.
25
This is precisely the proof of Regulus’ achievement of ‘sanctity’ through refusal
to succumb to the prescriptions of earthly pleasures (cf. Billerbeck [1986a], 352).
take advantage of the ius postliminii, Regulus places himself outside the
Roman populace, especially when he alienates himself from his wife and
children. By contrast, Marcia’s adherence to the limits of the household
strongly distinguishes her from her husband, as a wife who stays within
the boundaries of her household and therefore of her gender. In addi-
tion, consider the emphasis placed on words such as sum enixa tibi in
442 or mecum in 446, the companionship once shared between husband
and wife, now shattered by war and alienation. Furthermore, Marcia’s
words reveal the use of rhetoric by the wife who appropriates masculine
language to persuade Regulus: her insistence on patria (or patrius the
adjective) is characteristic (patrium, 439; patria, 442; patrios, 448). In
Marcia’s vision, the patria becomes an extension of her household with
its gods (Lares and Penates), as it sanctions her fertility. Motherhood
and the state are aligned here to oppose Regulus’ heroic behaviour, as he
hastens away to another patria. As we have seen in the previous chapter,
however, displacement and dislocation from one’s patria bodes ill for
the protagonist, Hannibal, or in this case, Regulus. Marcia’s rhetoric
fails, as a result of a borrowed voice that rather propagates the male,
heroic code. Ultimately, although she stresses her importance within
her household, Marcia cannot function as the catalyst who would make
her husband change his mind. In this regard, Marcia follows in the
footsteps of her literary ‘ancestress’.
LUCAN’S MARCIA AND THE FOREB ODING

OF DOOM
. . . ÆæŒÆ, KØØŒB ŒFÆ r ÆØ ªıÆEŒÆ, æd q › ºª . . .

(Plu. Cat. Mi. 25.1)
[He married] Marcia, a woman who seemed to be capable and
reputable, about whom there existed the most abundant talk . . .
Let us turn our attention now to Lucan and Cato’s Marcia. As I have
already observed, the literary predecessor of Regulus’ Marcia
is Lucan’s Marcia, the wife of Cato. Although Brouwers has long
recognised the literary affiliation between the two Marcias, only
recently have critics paid attention to some of the details of this
intertextual relationship.26 In Lucan’s second book, after Brutus’
meeting with Cato, Marcia makes her appearance at dawn and asks
Cato to remarry her (Luc. 2.326–49).27 Though previously married
to Cato, Marcia has been willingly conceded as a wife to Hortensius,
and after the latter’s death she is once again reunited to her previous
husband, Cato. In this episode, just after Hortensius’ funeral, Marcia
appears in black. The wedding that follows (Luc. 2.350–71) has
correctly been identified by scholars as an ‘anti-wedding’ ritual.28
As Keith observes, Marcia’s funereal attire adds a foreboding tone to
her speech and acts.29 I would like to pursue further the similarities
between Cato’s and Regulus’ Marcias and interpret them within the
context of Punica 6.
Even though Marcia arrives at Cato’s house at dawn (Luc.
2.326–8), Lucan emphasises darkness rather than the approaching
light of daybreak:
quondam uirgo toris melioris iuncta mariti,
mox, ubi conubii pretium mercesque soluta est
tertia iam suboles, alios fecunda penates
impletura datur geminas et sanguine matris
permixtura domos . . .
(Luc. 2.329–33)
Once, as a virgin, she was joined in marriage to a better husband; soon when
the prize and the reward of marriage, a third child now, was paid and, as a
fertile woman, she is given to fill another home [with offspring] and to ally
the two houses with the blood of a mother . . .
According to Lucan, Marcia’s two marriages were contracted for
the purpose of providing both Cato’s and Hortensius’ houses with
26
Cf. n.4 above. Ariemma (1999), 90, identifies the fusion of elegiac and epic
materials in this episode but considers Marcia’s presence as autonomous with regard
to Regulus’ portrayal: ‘uno sviluppo sostanzialmente autonomo rispetto all’intera
tradizione relativa al personaggio di Regolo’. Marcia’s elegiac voice adds to the
polyphony of the epic, according to Ariemma (1999), 115. For Lucan’s Marcia’s
elegiac voice see Harich-Graz (1990), 212–23.
27
See also Plutarch’s Cat. Mi. 25–6. On Lucan’s Marcia, see Quartana (1918) and
most recently Sannicandro (2007).
28
See Ahl (1976), 247–52; Henderson (1987), 135; Bartsch (1997), 125; Boëls-
Janssen (2002), 136–7; Esposito (2004) 41–2; Sannicandro (2007), 94–5.
29
See Keith (2000), 88. D’Alessandro Behr (2007), 150, notes: ‘As Marcia wel-
comes Cato in her embrace, the shadow of her funereal robe eclipses the shining
purple of Cato’s senatorial toga (2.367).’
children (fecunda and sanguine, Luc. 2.331–3). However, Marcia’s
ominous presence is marked by the force of the adjectives maerens
and maesta (Luc. 2.328, 337) and by the brief description of funerary
rites over Hortensius’ ashes (Luc. 2.333–6). Marcia’s subsequent
speech consists of a plea to her husband, Cato, to take her back,
not only as his wife but also as his comrade in war. The reunion of the
couple, in both private and public spheres, will then be complete:30
dum sanguis inerat, dum uis materna peregi
iussa, Cato, et geminos excepi feta maritos:
uisceribus lassis partuque exhausta reuertor
iam nulli tradenda uiro. da foedera prisci
illibata tori, da tantum nomen inane
conubii; . . .
non me laetorum sociam rebusque secundis
accipis: in curas uenio partemque laborum.
da mihi castra sequi . . .
(Luc. 2.338–43; 346–8)
While the blood and while maternal strength was in me, I did your bidding,
Cato, and fruitfully received two husbands; with womb exhausted, tired from
child-bearing, I return to be given to no other husband now. Renew the ties
unimpaired of our former marriage, grant me only the empty name of
spouse . . . As no partner in prosperity or joy do you receive me: into anxieties
I come, to share your struggles. Allow me to accompany the camp . . .
In her speech, Marcia stresses her physical exhaustion; in Luc. 2.338–41,
she underscores the importance of maternity for generational continu-
ity. Marcia is also well aware of her role in the civil war and does not
have any illusions. The words in curas uenio partemque laborum
(347) pun on the description of painful childbirth, earlier in her speech,
which in Latin would also be expressed through the same word, labor.31
Since Marcia’s labours have been portrayed as exhausting and bloody,
her plea to share Cato’s warlike labores foreshadows the fate of
her husband himself. In addition, when Marcia refers to the foedera
30
Fantham (1992), 139–40, examines the political and moral dimensions in
Cato’s remarriage to Marcia.
31
Notice also the pun with partem and partu, hidden behind Marcia’s words. On
women as ‘vessels’ and child-bearers, Cantarella (1995).
prisci . . . /tori(Luc. 2.341–2) and the nomen inane / conubii (Luc. 2.342–3),
she prepares the reader for the unusual non-marriage that follows.
As Ahl has correctly noted, Marcia’s presence constitutes an allego-
rical embracing of a ghost, a dedication to death rather than life.32
What adds to the ominous tone of the episode is the poet’s manipula-
tion of Marcia’s plea, which is repeated in book 6 by the infernal witch,
Erichtho, in one of her efforts to resurrect the dead body and make it
reveal the gloomy scenery of the Underworld, the Roman shades
devoured by discordia and civil war. In her third speech addressed to
the body of the dead soldier, Erichtho’s language alludes to Marcia’s
own words: ne parce precor: da nomina rebus, / da loca; da uocem qua
mecum fata loquantur . . . (‘Please, do not hold back! Give names to the
events, give the places, give a voice through which the Fates may speak
to me . . . ’, Luc. 6.773–4). The anaphora of the imperatives exactly
repeats Marcia’s entreaty to be reunited to Cato and to be given an
empty name (da foedera . . . da nomen . . . da castra).33 Thus Marcia’s
speech is transformed into an infernal spell, which is intended to reveal
further discord and to perpetuate the chaotic circumstances of Roman
civil strife. Marcia’s presence does not release the tension but rather
discloses the inextricable complexities of Cato’s private life, which
ultimately reflects on his dedication to an ‘empty’ and lost cause.
Several echoes from Lucan’s Marcia’s speech are included in her
literary ‘successor’s’ first speech, while other elements are incorpo-
rated into later speeches of Regulus’ Marcia. Like her ‘ancestress’,
Regulus’ Marcia faces a similarly difficult situation: her husband’s
captivity has annulled their marriage, at least as long as he refuses to
recognise their conjugal bonds. Marcia’s reference to the birth of her
two children (enixa sum tibi, Pun. 6.442) confirms her power as a
mother and as a medium for generational continuity, just as Cato’s
Marcia did in her speech. In addition, Regulus’ Marcia’s indication of
the uestigia nostri / casta tori (6.438–9) alludes to Cato’s Marcia’s
description of her own conjugal bed in terms of foedera prisci illibata /
32
Cf. Ahl (1976), 251.
33
See Armisen-Marchetti (2003), 253, who argues that Marcia simply wants a
‘communauté’, and Sannicandro (2007), 92 and n.34, on the Stoic ideal of marriage as
ı
øØ and
ı ŒÆd ª ø Æø ŒØøÆ (‘living together, sharing of life
and children’, Musonius Rufus 13a, 67–8 Hense). Sannicandro (2007), 92, also
comments briefly on the allusion to Propertius’ Arethusa (4.3.45–6).
tori (Luc. 2.341–2).34 In short, both women try to defend their chastity
as a means for securing their husbands’ approval of their requests.
In her plea in Punica 6, Marcia explicitly states that she does not
seek the bonds of marriage or a union (of whatever kind) with her
husband: the words complexus, foedera taedae, and coniugium
(6.447–8) allude to Lucan’s Marcia and, in particular, to her abortive
efforts to reunite with her husband. However, the same words point
to a pattern of behaviour that Regulus’ Marcia refuses to repeat (non
ego . . . peto, 6.447–8), given that the same conduct was followed by
Cato’s Marcia to no avail. Silius’ Marcia knows well what will happen
to her if she asks for something she cannot obtain. It is as if she knew
that Lucan’s Marcia’s plea had resulted in an anti-wedding, and is
therefore careful not to ask for a nomen inane. In particular, at the
end of Lucan’s description of the ‘funereal’ wedding of Cato and
Marcia, the poet notices how Cato abstains from sexual intercourse,
refusing Marcia’s entreaty for a renewal of their conjugal bonds: nec
foedera prisci / sunt temptata tori (‘nor were the ties of the former
marriage-bed attempted’, Luc. 2.378–9).35 Cato’s Weltanschauung
does not permit sexual association, except for Venerisque . . . maxi-
mus usus / progenies (‘and the greatest value of Venus, offspring’, Luc.
2.387–8).36 At any rate, we know that Marcia’s maternal potency has
been exhausted. Thus, as though Silius’ Marcia did not want to make
the same mistakes as her predecessor, at the coda of her first speech
she anticipates Regulus’ refusal: non ego complexus et sanctae foedera
taedae / coniugiumue peto.37 The alert reader recognises between the
34
See Spaltenstein (1986), 422; Ariemma (1999), 96–7.
35
On Cato’s attachment to the Republic, as a husband and father, see Dietrich
(2005), 82: ‘By remarrying Marcia, who represents a worn-out Roman Republic
returning to the values represented by her first husband, Cato becomes a “bride-
groom of the state”.’ D’Alessandro Behr (2007), 148–61, discusses how Cato’s huma-
nisation is visible in the emphasis on his luctus and fatherly attachment to the
Republic.
36
See Finiello (2005), 165–9: ‘Die ganze Szene dient also nicht dazu, Catos und
Marcias stoische Lebensweise rühmend hervorzuheben’ (169). See Sklenář (2003),
72–9, who keenly observes that Marcia succeeds where Brutus has failed (cf. Luc.
2.350); cf. Sannicandro’s (2007) discussion.
37
As Ariemma (1999), 97–9, notes, Regulus’ Marcia’s words remind us of the
Virgilian intertext in Aen. 4.431–3. I think that Regulus’ Marcia intends to contrast
her plea to that of her predecessor, Cato’s Marcia. Since Dido’s words are spoken to
Anna, there is not an exact parallelism between Dido’s and Marcia’s situation here.
lines Marcia’s own message, non ut Catonis Marcia: ‘I will change the
tradition by not following my predecessor’s conduct.’ Regulus’ Mar-
cia is in agony to find other means to make Regulus ‘surrender’, by
reversing the plea of Lucan’s Marcia.
Some other elements from Cato’s Marcia’s speech are adopted in
the structure of Punica 6, in particular the darkness and funereal
atmosphere of Lucan’s episode and the sinister tone of Cato’s Mar-
cia’s prayer. The darkness that surrounds the episode between Marcia
and Cato encompasses Silius’ whole book, from the very beginning
to the last appearance of Marcia. More specifically, the sixth book of
the Punica opens with the Sun yoking his horses at the breaking of a
new day in the East: et foeda ante oculos strages propiusque patebat/
insani Mauortis opus (‘And the hideous massacre and the work of
insane warfare lay open clearer before the eyes’, 6.5–6). Not surpris-
ingly, the dawn reveals the totality of the Roman disaster, and the
gleaming daylight is clouded over by the hideous sight of the mas-
sacre.38 And this is not the only instance of darkness looming over
scenes in the sixth book of the Punica. The scattered troops of Roman
soldiers try to find refuge in the woods nearby, per noctem (‘at night’,
6.58), while Serranus himself, wounded and exhausted, arrives at
Marus’ house furto ereptus opacae / noctis (‘rescued from doom by
the connivance of dark night’, 6.70–1). What is more, the analeptic
narrative on his father’s exploits will take place in the night, after
Marus has taken good care of Serranus’ wounds (6.89–95), in parti-
cular while dawn has not yet broken (6.98). Later, when the news
of the disaster at Trasimene breaks at Rome, there is a confusion
between day and night, since the Roman population can find rest
neither during the day nor overnight (6.562–3).
In addition, when Marus takes Serranus to the city to see his
mother, we learn that Marcia has withdrawn from public life and
shuns the light of day. Only on the occasion of the new disaster does
she exit her house:
hic inter trepidos curae uenerandus agebat
Serranum Marus, atque olim post fata mariti
38
See Bassett (1959), 10–34, for allusions to the aftermath of Pharsalus (Luc.
7.786–95).
non egressa domum uitato Marcia coetu
et lucem causa natorum passa ruebat
in luctum similem antiquo. (6.574–8)
Here in the middle of the anxious crowd, Marus, worthy of honour for his
care, was leading Serranus. And, although she had never left her house for a
long time since her husband’s death but had avoided society and endured
the light [of life] for the sake of her children, Marcia was rushing forth in
mourning similar to the old one.39
Due to Regulus’ death, Marcia’s isolation points once again to the lack
of light that permeates the whole book. She is sequestered in her
house, as the chiastic order in 6.576 points out, non egressa . . . uitato
Marcia coetu, with the word domum in the centre of the hexameter.
The darkness of Marcia’s life adds another perspective to our under-
standing of Regulus. The hero is transformed into the light and hope
of the Roman people, and when he is put to death by the Carthagi-
nians, this beam of light seems to be extinguished, for his wife above
all.40 This observation is in accordance with Marus’ earlier comment
that the gods have decided to take away the Romans’ leader (6.130–1).
The purpose of Marus’ narration is to secure generational continuity
and literally to illustrate for young Serranus his father’s heroic ex-
ploits.41 However, the pessimistic and dark tone we discern in
Lucan’s interlude between Cato and Marcia is also applicable to
the sixth book of the Punica and adds ominous features to Silius’
characters as well.
As we have seen, Cato’s Marcia makes her appearance still dressed
in funereal attire, even though the episode takes place after Horten-
39
The phrase similem antiquo elliptically refers to Marcia’s mourning of Regulus.
Marcia is once again prepared to mourn a member of her family, her son. See
Spaltenstein (1986), 431.
40
Marcia’s conduct parallels Cornelia’s obsession with death and her isolation
after Pompey’s death: decreuit pati tenebras . . . amat pro coniuge luctum . . . composita
in mortem (‘resolved to suffer darkness . . . loves her grief in her husband’s stead . . . lay
composed for death’, Luc. 9.110, 112, 116). On Cornelia’s and Marcia’s ‘instructions’
to their respective sons, see Augoustakis (forthcoming).
41
See Häussler (1978), 175: ‘Das ist der Sinn des 6. Buches: Verheißung aus
Erinnerung’; Gendre and Loutsch (2001), 157: ‘L’originalité de Silius Italicus consiste
à montrer Marus nous signaler à tout moment les réactions que Regulus aurait dû
avoir, s’il avait été un homme normal, mais qu’il n’a pas eues en tant que grand
homme exceptionnel.’
sius’ death, and she will ask for a remarriage to Cato. This mood of
death and impending disaster overshadows the second appearance of
Regulus’ Marcia, where we can see how the Lucanian tradition is
further absorbed.42 After Regulus’ speech in the Senate, in which he
advises his fellow citizens not to yield to the demands of the enemy,
the populace at Rome is sorrowful. At this point in the narrative,
Marcia reappears:
tollite me, Libyes, comitem poenaeque necisque.
hoc unum, coniunx, uteri per pignora nostri
unum oro: liceat tecum quoscumque ferentem
terrarum pelagique pati caelique labores.
. . . accipe mecum
hanc prolem. forsan duras Carthaginis iras
flectemus lacrimis, aut si praecluserit aures
urbs inimica suas, eadem tunc hora manebit
teque tuosque simul; uel si stat rumpere uitam,
in patria moriamur. adest comes ultima fati. (6.500–3, 506–11)
Take me on board, Libyans, a companion to his punishment and death.
Husband, in the name of the offspring from my womb, I ask you this one
thing alone: suffer me to endure along with you whatever toils of the earth or
the sea or the sky . . . Take me and your children with you. Perhaps with tears
we could bend the harsh wrath of Carthage, or if the hostile city closes off
her ears, then the same final moment will await you and yours together. Or,
if you are resolved to end your life, let us die in our own country. Here is the
companion of your fate to the end.
42
Cf. Argia’s request to Adrastus in Theb. 3.696: da bella, pater (‘give wars,
father!’). The setting is the same as in Lucan, with the darkness of night adding a
gloomy tone:
. . . iam nocte suprema
ante nouos ortus, ubi sola superstite Plaustro
Arctos ad Oceanum fugientibus inuidet astris. (3.683–5)
. . . now at the end of the night, before dawn, when Arctos’ wagon sole-surviving envies the
stars fleeing towards the Ocean.
while Argia carries at her breast her baby son, Thessander (3.682–3). Also, cf. Jocasta’s
mission to the Argive camp to dissuade Polynices from initiating war (Theb. 7.470–
563), especially 7.470–1: iam gelidam Phoeben et caligantia primus / hauserat astra dies
(‘now the first daylight had swallowed up cold Phoebe and the dark stars’).
Marcia’s insistence on the word comes, with which her speech
opens and ends (6.500, 511), reveals her intentions to follow the
paradigm of Lucan’s Marcia, who offers to accompany her husband
in the theatre of war operations.43 As Keith has noted in a different
context, such declarations question the seeming occlusion of women
from the epic narrative and should alert us to scrutinise how these
female voices undermine male structures of authority. Regulus’
Marcia is resolved to die together with her husband, because she is
able to foresee Regulus’ death. The reference ceu in funere (6.497)
discloses the extent to which Marcia is aware of her husband’s
future.44 Regulus’ Marcia fulfils our expectations, as seen through
the lens of Marus’ fashioning of a dutiful wife ready to sacrifice
herself and to partake of her husband’s labores. Yet Marcia knows
precisely that labores mean death and is ready to suffer together with
her husband, though she may know that her request is futile. Her
hypothetical supposition that she would be able perhaps to sway the
43
Cornelia is called a comes six times in Luc. 5.804, 8.100, 147, 190, 589, 649. In
book 3, Imilce asks Hannibal to accompany him to war. She starts with the question
mene, oblite tua nostram pendere salute, / abnuis inceptis comitem? (‘Do you reject me
as a partner of your undertaking, having forgotten that my life depends on yours?’
3.109–10), alluding to Dido’s reproach mene fugis? (‘Do you flee me?’ Aen. 4. 314)
and Cornelia’s complaint non olim casu pendemus ab uno? (‘Have we not always been
subject to the same fate?’ Luc. 5.769). As a response to Hannibal’s advisory remarks,
Imilce chastises him for forsaking her and their marriage and she expresses her
willingness to follow him in his vast expedition as a comes (3.110) (a suauissima
contentio, according to Lemaire [1823], 1.165). Imilce is prepared to cross the
mountains with her husband and his army and to endure every labor (3.113). It is
worth noticing that several women in literature, such as Marcia and Cornelia in
Lucan, or Agrippina, Germanicus’ wife, in Tacitus, also demand that they share a part
in their husbands’ expeditions (cf. Arria in Pliny’s 3.16, whose request to follow her
husband in Rome was finally rejected; or Arethusa’s wish in Propertius’ 4.3 to follow
Lycotas in battle). Imilce continues by assuring her husband of womanly strength
(crede uigori / femineo, ‘trust female power’, 3.112–13) and of the power of love
(castum haud superat labor ullus amorem, ‘no toil defeats pure love’, 3.113), declaring
in her manifesto that her love and affection may overcome boundaries and transgress
the limits of traditional gender roles.
Despite the powerful beginning of her speech and her ardent desire to follow her
husband, Imilce ends with what seems to be a conciliatory remark: sin solo adspicimur
sexu fixumque relinqui, / cedo equidem nec fata moror; deus annuat, oro. (‘However, if
we are judged by gender alone, and it is established [for me] to be left behind, well, I
for my part yield and will not delay fate . . . ’, 3.114–15).
44
Pace Spaltenstein (1986), 425, who does not think that Marcia could suspect at
all Regulus’ punishment.
Carthaginian authorities (forsan . . . flectemus lacrimis) by means of
female lament, renders her efforts ineffective, inasmuch as lament is
confined to the female space of seclusion from the manly, public
domain of Roman affairs, but most importantly lament has proved
to be a futile means of persuasion, as we saw above in Marus’ secret
wish to bend Regulus’ obstinacy at the sight of his wife and children.
In her last apostrophe, Marcia again exploits a loaded word, patria,
juxtaposing it to an already distanced Regulus, who is in the liminal
‘body’ of water, in a boat ready to sail off to Africa. The repetitive
emphasis on ultima (ultima comes, ultima uox) relegates, in a Kris-
tevan reading, Marcia’s voice to the margins of the narrative, as her
symbolic voice is overpowered by the semiotic noise of the oars, and
her borrowed voice is silenced by Marus, who now hastens to com-
plete his portrait of Regulus the Stoic saint.
MARCIA’S DIDOESQUE FAREWELL—

IMPENETRABILITY WOUNDED
What follows is Regulus’ Stoic resistance, his IŁØÆ,45 which trans-
forms Marcia into another Dido:
tum uero infelix mentem furiata dolore
exclamat fessas tendens ad litora palmas:
‘en, qui se iactat Libyae populisque nefandis
atque hosti seruare fidem! data foedera nobis
ac promissa fides thalamis ubi, perfide, nunc est?’
ultima uox duras haec tunc penetrauit ad aures;
cetera percussi uetuerunt noscere remi. (6.514–20)
Then indeed, her mind frantic with grief, unhappy Marcia stretches her
weary hands to the water’s edge and exclaims: ‘Behold the man who boasts
45
It accords with Regulus’ earlier description as pacatus frontem (6.369) together
with the phrase impenetrabilis ille (6.413). The closest parallel in the poem is
Camillus’ description in similar terms in 7.560–1: pacata fuissent / ni consulta uiro
mensque impenetrabilis irae (‘had it not been for the placid wisdom of Camillus and
his refusal to harbour wrath’).
of preserving his loyalty to Libya and its nefarious people, our enemy!
Faithless man, where are now the pact made with me and the faith you
promised at our marriage?’ This then was the last sound that penetrated to
those impervious ears; as for the rest, the oars, thrust in the water, prevented
[him] from knowing.
Marcia’s third speech abounds in Virgilian echoes, in particular the

confrontation between Dido and Aeneas. The contrasting pair of fides
and perfidia reminds the reader of Dido’s accusations to Aeneas in
Aeneid 4 (305, 366, 421). In three lines, Marcia questions the validity of
Regulus’ fides and condemns him as perfidus. The first use of fides
applies to Regulus’ faithfulness towards Rome, while the second refers
to his conjugal fidelity: in Marcia’s eyes, Regulus has become a Cartha-
ginian, characterised mainly by the Punic perfidia! Regulus’ possession
of duras aures echoes the description of Aeneas in Aeneid 4.428. What
is more, Marcia’s initial exclamation en qui se iactat corresponds to
Dido’s curse-speech, when she ironically says en dextra fidesque (‘be-
hold the right hand and the loyalty’, Aen. 4.597). Moreover, by means
of allusion to Dido, Marcia questions Regulus’ decision to remain
faithful to his oath and die in Carthage, just as Dido questioned
Aeneas’ mission to found Rome.46 In particular, the word foedera
(6.517) alludes to both the private and the public responsibilities of
the Roman general. We should keep in mind that in her first speech,
Marcia reminds Regulus of their foedera taedae, their contract of
marriage. However, the same word is used in connection with Regulus’
mission to Rome (noua Elissaei foedera patres/consultant mandare,
‘the Senate of Carthage resolved to send new conditions’, 6.346–7).47
Why then does Silius choose to model Marcia’s speech on Dido’s
speeches to Aeneas? Certainly, Marcia’s Didoesque guise accentuates
the climactic pathos of the episode. At the same time, however, it also
reflects a departure from Lucan’s Marcia, and to a certain degree
from Cornelia. Regulus’ Marcia is furiata dolore (6.514), an attribute
46
Ariemma (1999), 106–13, discusses the Virgilian allusions in the episode (to
Andromache and the mother of Euryalus also). He observes the similarities between
Aeneas and Regulus but also the differences between them (114).
47
Cf. Aen. 4.339 and 624. In the first passage, Aeneas uses the word foedera with
regard to marriage, while in the second passage Dido curses any treaties between the
two races (nec foedera sunto, ‘let there be no treaties’).
that is not applied to either Cornelia or Cato’s Marcia in Lucan. In
this respect, Marcia resembles the Bacchic aspects of Dido’s dis-
traught condition in Aeneid 4.48 What is emphasised is the bitter
irony of Marcia’s words. We learn that her last words, ultima uox
(6.519), were heard by Regulus, while the rest of her speech was
silenced by the noise of the oars: ironically, remus is a masculine
noun, viz. oars are plied by men. In Marus’ flashback, Marcia is
relegated to the margins of the narrative; the voice he gave her in the
space of his story is now muted, her momentary autonomy turned
into an asymbolia. Like Dido, Marcia questions Regulus’ alienation,
his search for a substitute country. She opens her speech with Libya,
her husband’s newly found allegiance, and closes with a reference to
the wedding chamber, which he is now forsaking. Marcia thus
distinguishes herself as a Roman, within Rome, and her domain as
defined by her position within the Roman domus. Regulus turns all of
sudden into the Roman general who needs to situate himself in the
periphery, outside the centre, in order to define his Romanness by
suffering cruel death in the hands of the Carthaginians. At the same
time, Marcia is a Roman woman who fails to behave like a Roman
matrona, her voice is exiled in the margins of the narrative that must
revolve around Regulus’ sacrifice. The phrase ultima uox resonates
with the ending of her second speech, namely the plea to become
Regulus’ comes ultima (6.511).
‘SECURING’ THE FUTURE
And yet, Silius’ conclusion of an otherwise generically expected fare-

well episode between husband and wife defies the norms of genre.49
48
Virgil twice uses the adjective furiatus, first for Coroebus and then for Aeneas
himself (Aen. 2.407 and 588). Consider also the description of Dido in Pun. 8.95–7 as
furibunda (‘maddened’).
49
Compare, for instance, Statius’ Ach. 1.960, the parting scene between Achilles
and Deidamia: irrita uentosae rapiebant uerba procellae (‘the windy gusts were
snatching his vain words away’).
While Regulus is described in terms of impenetrability in the whole
scene, Marcia’s words function as a catalyst for the opposite outcome.
The emphasis laid on the phrase ultima uox duras penetrauit ad aures
encapsulates the power of Marcia’s words. Regulus’ refusal to use the
rights of postliminium during this episode, and his portrayal as
impenetrabilis ille (6.413), the Stoic hero par excellence, are at last
questioned by Silius’ comment on Marcia’s ultimate speech. The
general is indeed affected—but by which words? From the context
of Marcia’s last sentence (data foedera nobis / ac promissa fides
thalamis ubi, perfide, nunc est? 6.517–18), two possibilities arise:
Regulus hears either the words perfide nunc est or the whole sentence.
Marus’ intervention ‘saves’ the reputation of the hero, by drowning
out the remainder of Marcia’s speech and by muting her voice: cetera
percussi uetuerunt noscere remi (6.520). Despite the silencing of the
woman’s voice, our perception of Regulus has slightly changed, as the
poet has put into question the magnificence of the Roman general, by
using the verb penetrare immediately after Marcia’s frantic provoca-
tion. Is he the Stoic hero par excellence, as tradition has depicted
him? I think there is space for some further questioning of Regulus’
role in book 6.
Why does the poet choose first to portray his heroine as another
wife of Cato, then as another Dido raving at the abandonment of
her partner? There is a remarkable intermingling of sources—
Silius’ usual practice—yet the result is unique. An explanation on
the grounds of conventionality is not sufficient. As I have shown
from the outset of this chapter, Marcia’s voice of dissent has a
subversive role. Her display of power and ‘masculinity’ competes
with Regulus’ own qualities. Therefore, we have to look into the
representation of Regulus in this episode and ponder whether
Regulus is truly and unequivocally portrayed as the flawless general
or whether his portrait contains certain flaws that Silius deliberately
exploits.
Let us first look at Marcia’s last appearance in the poem and her
speech to her son Serranus. As we have seen, Marus takes Serranus to
see his mother, Marcia, in Rome. Marcia now emerges outside
Marus’ narrative; she is not the construct of Marus’ literary imagina-
tion and manipulation. Silius describes the woman’s mourning and
isolated life, another token of his emphasis on the darkness and the
difficulty of the period for the Roman state.50 In her final speech, the
only one that is not reported by Marus in his analeptic narrative, Marcia
addresses her adolescent son before she disappears from the poem:
leue uulnus? an alte
usque ad nostra ferus penetrauit uiscera mucro?
quicquid id est, dum non uinctum Carthago catenis
abripiat poenaeque instauret monstra paternae,
gratum est, o superi. quotiens heu, nate, petebam,
ne patrias iras animosque in proelia ferres
neu te belligeri stimularet in arma parentis
triste decus. nimium uiuacis dura senectae
supplicia expendi. (6.580–8)
Is his wound slight? Or has the violent edge of the sword pierced deep to my
vitals? Whatever it may be, I thank you, gods, as long as Carthage does not
snatch him away in fetters or resume the awful tortures of his father’s
punishment. Alas, my son, how many times was I begging you not to
bring into your fighting your father’s rage and ardour, and for the honour
of your warlike father, which brings sorrow, not to spur you on for war.
I have paid the harsh punishment of very long-lived old age.
As far as we can discern, Marcia’s behaviour has not significantly

changed: she is still turbata, mostly because she is being psychologi-
cally prepared for the death of her son (ruebat / in luctum similem
antiquo, 6.577–8).51 From previous descriptions, she has retained this
feature, now slightly altered. In 514, she is portrayed as furiata, while
in 578 she is turbata, an adjective otherwise reserved for Juno in the
poem (cf. 2.529, 10.337, 12.701, 17.604). In addition, Marcia em-
phasises once again her maternal power by referring to Serranus’
wound as the source for her own demise: ad nostra penetrauit uiscera
mucro.52 The most striking expression of Marcia’s resentment of war
50
Cf. 6.552–73. After Marus’ digression, Fama flies to the city and spreads uera ac
ficta (‘true and false tidings’, 6.554), with the result that alarm and hysteria dominate
in people’s hearts.
51
Compare the difference between Marcia’s reaction and that of anonymous
feminae in Liv. 22.7.13–14: several women die of joy upon seeing their sons return
safe from the battle at Trasimene.
52
Pace Rebischke (1913), 13: ‘Postea Serrranus a Maro Romam ducitur ad matrem;
et matri quoque poeta, ut conclusione addita episodium apte finiretur, sermonem
and her criticism of Regulus’ actions is her intention to interrupt
generational continuity, to undo what Marus has achieved in his
long narrative, from her perspective as mother.53 Her (striking)
advice to Serranus is to avoid imitating his father’s ira et animus
in war, because these are the very qualities that destroyed Regulus.
Marcia calls Regulus’ heroism triste decus, a qualification that Silius
himself applies to Regulus in 2.435, when he inserts Regulus’ defeat
and death in Libya as a scene on Hannibal’s shield (2.433–6).
Marcia’s interpretation of Regulus’ command in Libya undermines
his depiction as a Stoic hero: ira is a trait opposing the virtues of a
true Stoic. How can we explain this contradiction, especially since
Regulus is constantly represented in the poem as IÆŁ , pacatus
fronte, placido ore, impenetrabilis? As Marcia becomes a non-Roman
within Rome, Regulus’ stature as the perfect Stoic is also dimin-
ished.
In this last speech, Marcia refers to Regulus’ punishment in Carth-
age as monstra (6.583),54 a fair statement, as Marus’ narrative shows.
The penalty consisted of Regulus’ enclosure into a frame with a series
of iron pikes piercing his body (6.539–44). According to Marus,
tribuit uu. 579–89, quo eius de filio recuperato laetitiam demonstrauit ultimumque
Reguli uirtutem praedicauit.’ We do not learn anywhere in this description of Marcia’s
happiness or rejoicing.
53
Marcia’s efforts resemble Thetis’ in Statius’ Achilleid, namely to stop her son
from participating in the Trojan War by offering him seclusion in Scyros instead.
54
The type of punishment varies in different authors. See Mix (1970); Spalten-
stein (1986), 428; Frölich (2000), 305–10. At 2.340–44, Gestar, the Carthaginian
senator, refers to a crucifixion (343–4), thus making Marus’ narrative inconsistent
with earlier versions of Regulus’ death in the Punica. On Regulus’ death by crucifix-
ion, see Cotta Ramosino (1999), 93–105, for a discussion of the appropriation of
Christian symbolism. Is this inconsistency due to Silius’ own mistake or is it inten-
tional in order to show the incredibility of Marus’ account? In my opinion, Silius
intends to portray Marus’ narrative as extravagant and exaggerating. Consider
Marus’ own comments on the credibility of his words: uix egomet credo (‘scarcely
do I believe it myself ’, 6.194) on the monstrosity of the serpent; si qua fides (‘if you
believe me’, 6.386) on Regulus’ unbending behaviour in Rome. In addition, Marus’
version of Regulus’ death does not involve crucifixion, as on Hannibal’s shield, for
another reason. When Marcia refers to Serranus’ wounds penetrating her body
(6.580), she thus alludes to Regulus’ own death in the wooden frame, pierced by
swords.
Regulus was deprived of sleep as he was constantly pierced by the
edges of the spears (fodiunt ad uiscera corpus, ‘pierced deep into his
flesh’, 6.544). I would like to suggest, however, that behind Marcia’s
definition of her husband’s punishment as monstra, there is a hidden
allusion. In conjunction with the type of Regulus’ torture in the
wooden frame, the reference to monstra points to the relationship
between Regulus’ killing of a serpent in Libya, a violation of nature,
and his own death—a punishment for his transgression. As we shall
see next, Regulus’ trespassing of the boundaries between nature and
the imposition of culture (or in other words, Romanisation) is
scrutinised by the poet as the source of the general’s death in Carth-
age. Excessive display of manliness ultimately leads to death, a well-
known and exploited topos in the epic tradition, but if we read this
episode as Regulus’ own IæØÆ, then at the same time, the text
opens up for other potential readings that lay bare several ‘cracks’ in
Regulus’ saintly portrait, carefully crafted to underline the hero’s own
otherness.
TRANSGRESSING AGAINST NATURE: THE SERPENT

AND VIRGIL’S CAMILLA
A major part of Marus’ narration to Serranus is dedicated to the defeat

of a serpent at the River Bagrada (6.140–293), a place close to Regulus’
camp (in the year 256 bce).55 Extending over 153 lines, Marus’ narra-
tion focuses on the monstrosity of the serpent, its vicious behaviour,
and its defeat by the Roman general.56 This episode is a major proof of
Silius’ tendency in book 6 to suppress the power of light and allow
55
For an examination of the episode in terms of intertextual relations see Bassett
(1955).
56
Cf. Liv. Periocha 18: Atilius Regulus in Africa serpentem portentosae magnitudinis
cum magna clade militum occidit (‘In Africa, Atilius Regulus killed a snake of super-
natural size, while he lost many soldiers’). Livy’s lost account is briefly elaborated in
V. Max. 1.8.ext.19.
supremacy to the dynamics of darkness, as we have seen above. Both
the lucus and the dwelling of the serpent lack light:57
lucus iners iuxta Stygium pallentibus umbris
seruabat sine sole nemus, crassusque per auras
halitus erumpens taetrum exspirabat odorem.
intus dira domus curuoque immanis in antro
sub terras specus et tristes sine luce tenebrae. (6.146–50)
Nearby, a motionless grove was keeping the Stygian woods without sun, with
colourless shades; and from it bursting through the air a thick vapour was
spreading a repulsive stench. Inside there was a dreadful house and a vast
subterranean cavern in a winding cave, where the dismal darkness let in no
light.
In addition, we learn that the serpent’s bodily sustenance consists of

devouring all kinds of animals: lions, birds, and cattle. In particular,
because of hot weather the cattle are driven to the river (6.157–8),
where they meet death. Thus, even the presence of light, just like its
absence, proves destructive in such a disastrous location, since the
sun causes death.
After the serpent’s first attack, dismemberment, and devouring of
Aquinus and Avens (6.166–203), Regulus is informed of the situation
while he still wages war: magna audendi flagrabat amore (‘burning
with a passion for great achievements’, 6.209). The Roman leader’s
preparations resemble the siege of a city (6.211–15). The fight fol-
lows, during which a number of soldiers and horses are devoured by
the monster (216–40). Regulus’ intervention and speech aim at
encouraging the Romans to face the hostile serpent. Subsequently,
the Roman general casts his spear (hasta, 247) against the serpent
successfully. Marus repeats the same action (263), followed by the
rest of the soldiers (267–9). A catapult strikes the final blow and the
serpent is now severely weakened. Finally, the serpent is literally
mutilated: its stomach is perforated with spears, its eyeballs are
taken out, its tail is pinned to the ground (273–8).
57
The lack of light is a topos for the dwellings of such monstra. See Martin (1979),
33. Bassett (1955), 13–14 n.29, correctly notices that Silius’ description follows
Virgil’s accounts of Polyphemus and Cacus.
At this moment, Silius introduces a new element in his version of
events, namely the tragic aftermath of the serpent’s murder and its
effect on the surrounding nature:58
erupit tristi fluuio mugitus et imis
murmura fusa uadis, subitoque et lucus et antrum
et resonae siluis ulularunt flebile ripae.
heu quantis luimus mox tristia proelia damnis,
quantaque supplicia et quales exhausimus iras!
nec tacuere pii uates famulumque sororum
Naiadum, tepida quas Bagrada nutrit in unda,
nos uiolasse manu seris monuere periclis.
haec tunc hasta decus nobis pretiumque secundi
uulneris a uestro, Serrane, tributa parente,
princeps quae sacro bibit e serpente cruorem. (6.283–93)
From the grim river burst a roaring, and from the inner depths growling is
poured forth, while suddenly both the grove and the cave and the banks of
the river wailed re-echoing to the woods. Alas, with what great losses did we
soon pay for the grim battle, and how much punishment and wrath did we
drink up! Nor did the pious seers remain silent: they warned us of later
dangers, because we had violated with our hand the servant of the Naiad
sisters, whom Bagrada nurtures with its warm stream. Then, it was this
spear, Serranus, given to me from your parent as an honour and reward for
the successful wound, the first one to have drunk the blood from the sacred
serpent.
Regulus’ deed is explicitly described as a violation against nature

(uiolasse manu, 6.290), on which Marus blames the ensuing cata-
58
It is Silius’ own invention that this serpent is hallowed, a detail absent from Livy.
See Häussler (1978), 172. Bassett (1955), 9 and n.70, gives parallels in Latin literature,
where we see the motif of serpentes sacri. Various passages in Ovid (the serpent of
Cadmus in Met. 3 and Cadmus’ own transformation in book 4), Valerius Flaccus (the
Trojan monstrum in Arg. 2), and Statius (the female monster in Theb. 1.597–626 and
the serpent in Theb. 5, in particular line 511) reconfirm the ‘sanctity’ of different
monstra, and prove how the violation of this religiosity results in punishment and
retribution. For an examination of similar landscape descriptions in Statius, see
Newlands (2004), 133–55. As John Penwill rightly points out to me, one may
compare and contrast Cato’s men’s acknowledgement that their attempt to march
through land nature has assigned to serpents deserves punishment (Luc. 9.854–62);
Cato does not resort to violence to resolve the problem but employs the potions of
the Psylli.
strophe for the Roman army in Libya and its disastrous outcome for
Regulus himself.59 Both the uates and the poet portray the defeat of
the serpent in terms of a transgression and ‘penetration’ of nature’s
mysteries, which results in retribution. As Martin has correctly re-
marked, the fact that the serpent is called monstrum exitiabile (6.151)
reminds the reader of the etymology of the word monstrum from the
verb monere.60 Therefore, the serpent foreshadows future disasters for
Regulus, since it functions as a warning sign. Moreover, the sooth-
sayers warned the army (monuere, 6.290) and explicitly stated the
serpent’s sanctity (sacro, 6.293). Knowing the tragic end that awaited
Regulus, Marus is in a position to lament the tristia proelia against the
serpent, followed by the wrath of nature and of its constituents, the
Naiads to whom the serpent was a famulus (6.288).61 What Silius
underlines is the violation and transgression against nature and the
sacredness of the place intruded upon.62
Moreover, Silius’ allusiveness establishes a connection between the
serpent and Camilla, which further accentuates the pathos of the
episode but also the sexual overtones hiding behind the description
of the defeat of the serpent. Through the association with Camilla,
the poet stresses the sacredness of the serpent as famulus and at the
same time the violation and ‘penetration’ of the serpent’s body by the
spear, an act followed by retribution. More specifically, with the
phrase princeps quae sacro bibit e serpente cruorem (6.293), Silius
directly alludes to Camilla’s death in Aeneid 11:63 hasta sub exsertam
donec perlata papillam / haesit uirgineumque alte bibit acta cruorem
(‘Until the spear, carried through under her exposed breast, held fast
and driven deeply, drank the virgin blood’, Aen. 11.803–4). The
introduction of Camilla as a literary predecessor of the serpent is
telling. Both Camilla and the serpent are pierced through with spears
employed by male agents, precisely to signify a type of sexual pene-
59
Häussler (1978), 172, calls it ‘tragisch-unvermeidlicher Schuld’.
60
Martin (1979), 30.
61
Consider as a reverse parallel the cerua in 13.115–37, which leaves Capua
willingly and enters the Roman camp, to be slain by Fulvius in honour of Diana.
The cerua is also called famula Dianae (13.124). For an examination of the motif see
Franchet d’Espèrey (1977), 157–72. On the cerua, see Bernstein (forthcoming).
62
See Santini (1981), 522–34.
63
Bassett (1955), 20 n.71.
tration. In addition, the word famulus (6.288) reminds us of Camil-
la’s sacredness as famula to the Latonia uirgo (Aen. 11.558). And this
is not the only other verbal echo; Marus’ lament for the tribulations
that resulted from their killing of the sacred serpent resonates with
Opis’ lament of Camilla’s death:64
prospexit tristi mulcatam morte Camillam,
ingemuitque deditque has imo pectore uoces:
‘heu nimium, uirgo, nimium crudele luisti
supplicium Teucros conata lacessere bello! . . . ’
(Aen. 11.839–42)
She looked into the distance at Camilla, beaten down by grim death, and
cried and gave forth this speech from deep in her heart: ‘Alas, too cruel,
virgin, too cruel a penalty you have paid for having tried to provoke the
Trojans in battle! . . . ’
Not only are Opis’ words luisti supplicium imitated in Marus’ speech
(luimus proelia, 6.286), but also the reference to Camilla’s death as
tristi morte reminds us of the tristia proelia against the serpent
(6.286).65 Since the serpent’s death alludes to Camilla’s demise,
Regulus here fights an Amazonomachy of sorts. By penetrating the
female chôra of mother-nature and killing one of its constituent
elements, the Roman can be viewed in the act of civilising the
unknown, the barbaric, the uncanny. Both the serpent and Camilla
represent the other, the monstrous, the asymbolic, the locus where
male and female merge into an indistinguishable hybrid. It becomes
clear, however, that this area of the river, the sacred space in parti-
cular, and Africa more generally, as we have seen in the previous
chapter, is especially recalcitrant to such efforts of Romanisation and
assimilation. What ensues is Regulus’ own punishment as a result of
transgression. The poet exploits the common feature of retribution
64
Bassett (1955), 9.
65
In addition, after Regulus hurls his spear, the serpent is depicted as a passive
recipient, unfamiliar with civilisation and in particular with weapons: et chalybem
longo tum primum passus in aeuo (‘and for the first time then in his long life he
suffered the steel’, 6.255). The use of the participle passus, often ascribed to women to
denote rape or invasion (cf. Adams [1982], 189–90), is demonstrative of the serpent’s
inability to react. The participle is used several times with sexual connotations in
connection to female figures (2.83, 5.160, 6.577, 13.548, 13.829).
as the direct result of such violation: by effacing otherness, Regulus
destroys himself in the end, in the same space where he encounters
otherness in the first place.
If we interpret the episode of the serpent as transgression against
nature and its native elements, as well as a violation of a sacred
place, how does this affect our perception of Regulus’ figure? It is
important to notice that Regulus is responsible for the defeat of the
serpent and thus for perpetrating the crime. Regulus’ conquest of
the serpent is the first token of his heroic accomplishments in the
book. When he underscores the significance of Regulus’ bravery for
the outcome, Silius also puns with Regulus and his arte regendi
(6.257), as he calls it. This recognition of his ars regendi amply
demonstrates Regulus’ leading position among the Roman soldiers,
and correspondingly his accountability for breaching the balance in
the sacred grove.
All critics of Silius consider Regulus to be the mortal reincarnation
of Hercules and Cato.66 Nevertheless, Silius is careful to depict the
negative side of Regulus’ character as well: his inadequacy as Roman
general, just like several heroes in the Punica embody the darker sides
of Hercules, chief among them Hannibal. His fight against the
serpent can be interpreted as a struggle against the power of evil,
but it also presents a picture of violation. In this respect, how
different is Regulus from Hannibal and his transgression in crossing
the Alps?67 In such instances, Silius deconstructs the polarities of
same and other: the Roman and the non-Roman seem to converge
rather than diverge, with Marcia in the centre, orchestrating the
‘demolition’ of her husband’s portrait.
66
See n.12 above.
67
For Hannibal’s act as a violation of the Alps see Augoustakis (2003a), 235–57.
There is also another instance of violation of nature, the arrival of the Carthaginian
fleet at Caieta (7.409–93). Proteus prophesies that the unnatural and defiling ‘pene-
tration’ by the classis Phoenissa will turn against the Carthaginians in the end; on the
prophecy’s retrospective references to the Trojan Paris, see Ripoll (2000c), 99–103.
For an examination of the episode in book 7, see Nicol (1936), 38–9; Bruère (1958),
496; Nesselrath (1986), 214–15; Stärk (1993), 132–43; Perutelli (1997b), 470–8.
FASHIONING A NEW GENERATION: MARCIA

‘SOWING THE SEED’
As has been noted above, Marcia asks her son Serranus not to follow
his father’s iras animosque (6.585), while she calls Regulus’ death in
Carthage monstra (6.583). The word monstra is used there as a
reminiscence of Regulus’ murder of the serpent earlier in the book
and of his erasure of ‘monstrous’ otherness. His death in Carthage
bears many similarities to the death of the serpent. After he is
enclosed in a wooden frame, Regulus is pierced with spears (6.544).
As we have seen, the serpent is also pierced to death by the spears of
the soldiers and is gradually mutilated. By the same token, Regulus is
forced to immobility, since whenever he turns around, he is pierced
with the edges of the steel and therefore deprived of sleep until he
dies. In mirroring these two death scenes, the poet reflects on the
nature of otherness as well: Regulus negates his Romanness in order
to reinforce it but only by embracing an uncomfortable otherness,
that is the alienation from his patria and the adoption of Carthagi-
nian dress and behaviour; the serpent negates the forces of Roman-
ness that strive to assimilate the African landscape through death,
destruction, and invasion.
Just as Regulus emerges as the paradoxical Roman/non-Roman,
Marcia further deconstructs his Stoic features. Marcia’s claim that
Regulus’ motive for war was his ira questions his stature as Stoic hero
by assimilating him with the serpent. In the narrative of the dragon at
Bagrada, the word ira is used three times to define the serpent’s
raging nature (6.234, 253, 268).68 However, during the battle between
the Carthaginians and the Romans that took place in Libya when
Xanthippus came, Marus notes that they were also under the influ-
ence of ira: feruebat Mauors, nec mens erat ulla sine ira (‘The battle
was heating up, and there was no mind without rage’, 6.317). During
68
Von Albrecht (1964), 66, has correctly noticed that the description of the
serpent’s reactions closely matches Juno’s behaviour in the Punica. Words such as
turbo, spiritus, tempestas, and procella remind us of Juno’s use of storm and the forces
of the Underworld in order to fulfil her aims.
the same battle, Regulus is trapped and captured by Xanthippus.69 In
his account, Marus leaves some space for controversy regarding
Regulus’ actions:
abripuit traxitque uirum fax mentis honestae
gloria et incerti fallax fiducia Martis.
non socios comitumue manus, non arma sequentum
respicere; insano pugnae tendebat amore
iam solus . . . (6.332–6)
Glory, the stimulus of a noble heart, and false confidence in fickle Mars,
snatched and carried the man away. He did not look back at his fellows or
the throng of his companions, he did not look back at the arms of the
followers; now he was pressing on alone with an insane desire for battle.
Because of his one-sided pursuit of glory, Regulus is not the same

person we encounter later in the narrative. Despite the efforts of
critics to explain away the phrase insano amore (6.335), there is no
sufficient justification.70 Ripoll remarks that miscalculation during
battles is a common feature among generals such as P. Scipio (Sci-
pio’s father), Fabius, or Hannibal himself;71 he also adds that the
pursuit of glory is often associated with fury but does not necessarily
entail a critical judgement of the generals in question. Therefore,
Ripoll concludes that Regulus is more heroised than denigrated
through his mistakes, inasmuch as the poet blames Xanthippus’ use
of fraud to trap the Roman general.72 If we take into account,
however, Polybius’ version of the battle between the two enemies,
together with certain allusions in the phrase insano amore, Ripoll’s
conclusions become open to further scrutiny.
As I observed at the beginning of this chapter, Silius is at the
crossroads of tradition concerning the portrait of Regulus. Both
Polybius’ account on the one hand, where there is no mention of
Regulus’ mission to Rome, and the heroised and exaggerated version
69
Unlike Livy, who does not mention the use of trickery, Silius represents
Xanthippus as fraudem nectens (‘weaving treachery’, 6.326). See Häussler (1978), 173.
70
Spaltenstein (1986), 414, says that the phrase ‘ne contient pas un jugement’.
71
For instance, P. Scipio, Scipio’s father, and Hannibal are led to war by cupido /
laudis et ad pugnas Martemque insania concors (‘thirst for glory and kinship in their
insane passion for war and battle’, 4.99–100). See chapter 2 (106–9).
72
Ripoll (1998), 240–41.
of Cicero or Horace on the other, seem to be intermingled in Silius’
narrative. More specifically, Silius’ use of phrases such as fallax
fiducia or insano amore points to an affiliation between his version
and Polybius’ account of the events in 256–255 bce: under the
influence of his own successes, Regulus miscalculated the opportu-
nities of the situation. According to Polybius (1.31–2), after his
victory in Africa, Regulus tried to negotiate and impose severe
terms on the Carthaginians, who did not accept them and instead
invited Xanthippus for help. The subsequent battle between Regulus
and Xanthippus turns into a defeat due to fear and inexperience,
according to the Greek historian (1.33–4). Polybius’ emphasis on the
hubris that Regulus falls into explains Silius’ oblique criticism of the
general’s surrender to passion (insano amore):
˚Æd ªaæ e ØÆØE B
fi åfiÅ ŒÆd ºØÆ ŒÆa a PæÆªÆ KÆæª æ
KçÅ AØ Øa H æŒı ıøø. › ªaæ ØŒæfiH ææ P
Øf º Pb ıªªÅ E ÆıØ Ææa Æ ÆPe Xª
Å ø æd B ÆıF øÅæÆ. (Plb. 1.35.2–3)
For utterly to distrust good fortune, and especially when enjoying success,
proved obvious to all at that time, because of Marcus’ misfortune. For,
having shown neither mercy nor forgiveness to those who made a mistake
a little before, he was being led captive himself to beg for these things in
regard to salvation.73
Therefore, Regulus’ command in Africa was not free of blame.74
Silius’ knowledge of Polybius’ account could have influenced him
73
Diodorus draws a similar conclusion:
P c ‹ ª ø ÆYØ KºÆåÅ æÆ B ıçæA IÅ ªŒÆ. B ªaæ
æÆæåÅ ÆPfiH Å ººÆºÆÆ c IØÆ ŒÆd c ÆNåÅ MººÆ, E
b NØ ıÆØ f ¼ººı KÆ æØÆ çæE K ÆE KıÆØ, e b
~ æÅçÅ c IıåÆ, ø MÆªŒŁÅ c o
æØ ŒÆd c KıÆ
ªØ, ‰
ç æØ, æÆçÅæfiÅ ÆıF c ıªªÅ ŒÆd e ıªŒåøæÅ E KÆØŒØ
º. (23.15.4)
Indeed this man, responsible for the situation, did not carry away the smallest
portion of the disaster. In exchange for his previous fame, he received many times
greater dishonour and disgrace, and by his personal misfortunes, he taught the rest to
be moderate in handling power; and the worst of all, having deprived himself of the
forgiveness and the pity accorded to sinners, he was forced to endure the arrogance
and the power of those whose misfortune he treated with haughtiness.
74
See also Walbank (1957–79), 1.92–4.
in carefully incorporating elements that show the deficiencies
of Roman political leadership during the First Punic War that are
replicated in the early years of the Second Punic War. We should also
keep in mind that the digression in book 6 takes place after three major
Roman defeats, in the Trebia, the Ticinus, and Trasimene. Certainly,
Regulus has the potential to become a model for Scipio Africanus, who
in the course of the poem emerges as the chosen deliverer of the
Roman people. Yet at the same time, the poet differentiates the two
generals by underscoring Regulus’ shortcoming.
Moreover, the phrases insano pugnae tendebat amore (6.335) to-
gether with incerti fallax fiducia Martis (6.333) remind the reader of
the opening of book 6, when daylight discloses the catastrophe that
took place in Trasimene: insani Mauortis opus (6.6).75 Here, another
source is echoed in Regulus’ description during the battle with
Xanthippus, namely Virgil’s Aeneid. After Allecto’s infernal interven-
tion, Turnus is aroused for war: saeuit amor ferri et scelerata insania
belli, / ira super (‘Rages the love for steel and the damnable madness
for war, and above all wrath’, Aen. 7.461–2). In these two lines, we
find a summary of the incentives for conducting war, all attested in
Regulus’ case as well: amor ferri, insania belli, ira.76 The parallel
between Regulus and Turnus further adumbrates Silius’ intentions
in portraying the Roman general as a particularly complex figure. His
paradigm of bravery and Stoicism is carefully counterbalanced by
his previous actions. In addition, the allusion to Virgil’s Aeneid is
complemented by an intratextual allusion. The phrase insano pugnae
amore (6.335) plays off against an earlier description of Regulus.
The Roman general is being informed of the casualties his
soldiers have suffered by the serpent, while he magna audendi fla-
grabat amore (‘he was burning with desire of great achievements’,
6.209). At this point in the narrative, Regulus is legitimately inspired
by amor belli, since he has not yet committed the sacrilege. After the
75
In 8.310–11, Varro, the consul responsible for the disaster in Cannae, is called
insanus, an adjective that is not used elsewhere for Roman generals.
76
Cf. Aen. 7.550, where Allecto is willing to pursue her catastrophic plans further
insani Martis amore. Further instances of the insanus amor can be found in Virgil’s
Ecl. 10.44 and Aen. 2.343.
killing of the serpent, he is transformed, and his amor belli becomes
insanus.77
What is more, Scipio’s father advises his son to control his ardour
in battle, a trait that will distinguish him from Regulus’ failure: ‘ . . .
per nostri, fortissime, leti / obtestor causas, Martis moderare furori! . . . ’
(‘I entreat you, my bravest son, remember the causes of our death
and control your ardour in battle!’, 13.669–70). As we shall see in the
next chapter, Scipio’s instruction by his mother in the Underworld
will safely lead the Roman general to the victory over Hannibal. But
what about Marcia and Serranus?
LI OCCHI CASTI DI MARZIA TUA: EMB EDDING

MARCIA IN THE PUNICA
‘ma son del cerchio ove son li occhi casti

di Marzia tua, che ’n vista ancor ti priega,
o santo petto, che per tua la tegni:
per lo suo amore adunque a noi ti piega.
...’
‘Marzı̈a piacque tanto alli occhi miei
mentre ch’i’ fu’ di là,’ diss’elli allora
‘che quante grazie volse da me, fei.
Or che di là dal mal fiume dimora,
più muover non mi può, per quella legge
che fatta fu quando me n’ usci’ fora . . . ’
(Dante Purgatorio, 1.78–90)78
77
Compare the first image of the ekphrasis at Liternum, where Silius portrays
Regulus as too rushing into the war. He would have chosen otherwise, had he known
the outcome:
primus bella truci suadebat Regulus ore, / bella neganda uiro, si noscere fata daretur
(‘First, Regulus was persuading war, with his fierce countenance, a war that should
have been spoken against by the man, if he could know the future’, 6.658–9).
For Hannibal’s visit to Liternum and the ekphrasis at the temple of the anonymous
deity, see Fowler (1996), A. Barchiesi (2001b), 138–9, and Marks (2003).
78
‘But I am of the circle where the chaste eyes of your Marcia are, who in her look
still prays you, O holy breast, that you hold her for your own. For love of her, then,
incline yourself to us . . . ’ He then said, ‘Marcia so pleased my eyes while I was yonder
that every kindness she wished of me I did. Now that she dwells beyond the evil
Just as Regulus rejects Marcia’s plea to honour his domus and stay in
Rome, Dante’s Lucan in Purgatorio 1 is free from the bondage of the
Inferno and implicitly from Marcia’s persistent gaze. Dante, as a
careful reader of Lucan, encapsulates in these lines Marcia’s impor-
tance in the De bello ciuili as Cato’s wife. In this chapter, I have
scrutinised the role of Regulus’ Marcia in the sixth book of the
Punica. Marcia strives to abolish in Serranus’ mind what Marus has
established with his narrative. Her efforts concentrate on prohibiting
her son from following the destructive traits in Regulus’ character
that have brought about his ruin. It is not coincidental that the poet
carefully differentiates Serranus from his father by means of the
representation of his hasta. Although Regulus’ hasta becomes a
sacred object for Marus, who literally worships it (6.137–9), Serra-
nus’ hasta is described as fracta (6.69–70). Thus, we are able to
discern how the present generation of sons/soldiers, the epigonoi, is
different from their fathers’ generation. Marcia does not guarantee
the perpetuation of male ideals, precisely because the masculine
qualities embodied by her partner are destructive and blameworthy.
In her analysis of the relationship between Roman mothers and
adolescent sons, Dixon concludes: ‘The Roman mother, aristocratic
or otherwise, was expected to worry over her son and to urge him on
to proper achievements. He was expected to defer to her wishes
within recognised limits’.79 In Marcia, we see a fracture of this ideal
relationship. Marcia’s son, Serranus, has already failed when he
returns from Trasimene, defeated and wounded. Regulus cannot
provide exemplary behaviour for his son to follow; Serranus, espe-
cially, although he was advised not to follow the iras animosque of his
parent, has already participated in the battle at Trasimene and run
away, routed and bloodstained.80 What is more, Marcia’s advice
stream no more may she move me, by the law which was made when I came forth
from there . . . ’ (trans. Singleton).
79
Dixon (1990), 202.
80
I do not agree with Spaltenstein’s comment ([1986], 400) on 6.138 that Silius
should have been more careful in constructing a more believable scene, since Serranus
ought to have heard his father’s exploits already. It is precisely Marcia’s interrogation
of Regulus’ deeds that Marus is trying to deconstruct here, with his androcentric and
instructive narrative (cf. emphatic negative with the imperative ne cessa, in tu quoque,
care puer, dignum te sanguine tanto / fingere ne cessa atque orientes comprime fletus,
reflects the situation at Rome during these early years of the Second
Punic War. The Roman political leadership falls short in its duties to
save the state. Though Regulus provides certain good qualities for
future leaders to follow, no Roman leader will beneficially fulfil the
Stoic ideals until Scipio is fully empowered to face the enemy.
In this chapter, we have seen how Marcia’s speeches deconstruct
Marus’ androcentric narrative. Her resentful voice attempts a correc-
tion of her son’s admiration of his father as the Stoic model par
excellence. In a constant play of identities, Marcia in Rome plays off
against Regulus in Africa, while the wife does not embody the
expected voice of the female aligned and subdued to her husband’s
wishes and commands; by and large, Marcia then demolishes the
male-centred construct and semantic register surrounding patria, by
showing how, despite her own contributions to the country’s de-
mands, Regulus alienates himself from Roman affairs by coming into
Carthaginian territory, to redefine or in effect to salvage Romanness.
As Tipping has perceptively observed, there is a pervasive lack of
definition in the Virgilian and post-Virgilian epic hero, ‘the difficulty
of determining what it meant to be epic hero or Roman or both’.81
Simultaneously, however, in this constant negotiation of represen-
tations of Romans as non-Romans, we may conclude that boundaries
are weakened: Marcia is transformed into the atypical Roman
mother of the centre, who denounces the perfidia of her husband,
now almost an African, a Carthaginian in dress and demeanour. As
Kristeva observes, ‘by defying the polis and its jurisdiction one
‘you too, dear boy, must still think of yourself as worthy of such glorious descent and
check those starting tears’, 6.537–8). After Marus’ first reference to Marcia’s encoun-
ter with Regulus, Serranus bewails his father’s stern behaviour:
cur decus hoc, o dure, negasti,
tangere sacratos uultus atque oscula ab ore
libauisse tuo? dextram mihi prendere dextra
non licitum? (6.419–22)
‘You harsh one, why did you deny [us] to touch your sacred face and take kisses from your
lips? Was it not permitted to take your right hand in mine?’
This constitutes a failed meeting between a father and a son, sharply contrasted to
Scipio’s encounter with his mother and father in book 13 (see chapter 4, 213–21).
81
Tipping (2010), 218.
implicitly challenges the founding prohibitions of established society
and perhaps of sociality itself; . . . an overstepping of the prohibitions
that guarantee sexual, individual, and familial identity’.82 Marcia
oversteps such prohibitions, while her presence problematises the
role of motherhood in the Punica. In the preceding, Kristevan read-
ing of Punica 6, we have traced how both in the past and present
realities of Punic wars, the female always seems to recede into and
merge with the marginal chaos of the outside and how a mother will
be neither inside nor outside, neither known nor unknown. By
emphasising her husband’s failures, Marcia’s confinement into the
genotext of the female chôra mobilises a departure from established
norms and as a result constitutes a driving force for a new model for
future Roman leadership, which at this point in the war is much
needed for the survival of the Roman race, as we will see in the next
chapter. Such reconfiguration, however, will not be possible without
the support of motherhood, a catalyst in the emergence of empire.
82
4
Playing the Same: Roman and
Non-Roman Mothers in the Punica
The genre pervasive[ly] associat[es] women with the ‘public’

sphere, in their cultural and metaphorical relations to Roman
imperialism, militarism, and colonisation.
(A. M. Keith, Engendering Rome, 132)
In this chapter, the discussion will centre around two non-Roman

women, two outsiders in the Punica, two foreigners, whose presence
speaks volumes for the construction of sameness and otherness in
this historical epic: Hannibal’s wife, Imilce, who appears at the end of
book 4 to stop the sacrifice of their infant son, and Masinissa’s aged
mother, whose prophecy in book 16 becomes the catalyst for a
redefinition of the role of periphery. As we shall see, although Imilce’s
voice encompasses the reasonable thoughts of a civilised Roman
philosopher denouncing nefas, at the same time her autonomous,
paradoxically Roman, voice of freedom is marginalised. Imilce re-
fuses to comply with the traditional ancestral customs of the Cartha-
ginians: the poet addresses the difficulty of classifying Imilce as either
a Carthaginian or a Roman by transforming her into a Bacchant, who
nevertheless delivers a powerful speech whereby she condemns the
nefas of the impending sacrifice as a barbaric custom, alien to the
civilised empire of Silius’ contemporary Rome. Read against her
foreboding speech to Hannibal in book 3, Imilce’s suasoria at the
end of book 4 illuminates our understanding of Hannibal’s ascent to
power and his decline and fall. Just like Marcia’s, Imilce’s hybrid voice
displays the signs of autonomy; and yet, there is no space for Imilce
to succeed in promoting a pure Roman ideological code of pietas and
Playing the Same 197
fides among the Carthaginians; Imilce’s Roman deportment finally
becomes asymbolic.
By contrast to Imilce, Masinissa’s mother, who remains unnamed
in the poem, succeeds in promoting her son as a Roman ally, and her
confirmation of Scipio’s divine power is conducive to the Roman
victory over the Carthaginians. Through his mother’s intervention,
Masinissa emerges as the upright African leader (as opposed to the
hostile other, Hannibal) and espouses those components of Roman-
ness that are promoted by Scipio himself, such as uirtus, pietas, and
fides. As the poem comes to a close, Silius’ portrayal of female action
reflects the successful shift of power in the Roman political scene, by
Scipio’s emergence as supreme commander. This important change
is sanctioned through female power (Masinissa’s mother) and cul-
minates with the image of the Roman priestess Claudia Quinta
pulling the vessel of the Magna Mater, a goddess from the periphery.
In this passage, Romanness and otherness are joined with the pur-
pose of redeeming Roman ethics closely associated to women. At the
same time, the boundaries of Romanitas are being redefined. To be
sure, by the end of the poem, the (African) other is reshaped into the
same, as non-Roman otherness and Roman sameness have become
to a degree destabilised: through Hannibal’s defeat, Scipio emerges
as an Africanus;1 and the once hostile continent now becomes
Roman. Furthermore, the seeming deactivation of one polarity
(other vs same) is also achieved through the collapse and amalgama-
tion of gender hierarchies, inasmuch as female figures are portrayed
embracing all traditional Roman male values.2 And yet active female
participation in the male world of the Punica proves to be an
important force in morphing Romanness, as an all-inclusive term
1
See Tipping (1999), 276: ‘For an audience of the Punica familiar with Lucan’s
poem, Hannibal must be a (p)refiguration of what Romanity—at least in part—will
become’; and (2004), 370: ‘This epic points to a pivotal moment in Roman history:
the emergence from Republican multiplicity of the single leader whose individual
authority recalled Rome’s kingly beginning and anticipated its Imperial end.’
2
See Tipping (2004), 351: ‘Read as the belated central work of a trilogy of Roman
epic that begins with the Aeneid’s proto-Romanity and ends with Rome’s collapse
into the De bello ciuili, the Punica promises to be . . . the epic of Rome, glorifying
models of martial Romanity in victory over an external enemy at the height of the
Republic.’
for cosmopolitan identity, as we have seen in the introductory chap-
ter. Silius’ vision of womanhood and motherhood is satisfied and
completed with the ‘entrance’ of the female into the male symbolic,
according to Kristeva, into language, politics, time, and ultimately
culture.
EDONIS UT PANGAEA: IMILCE’S ART

OF DISSUASION
At the end of the fourth book of the Punica, after having defeated the
Roman armies at the Ticinus and the Trebia, Hannibal arrives at the site
of Lake Trasimene. Here Silius inserts a fictitious episode, which illus-
trates the institution of the Carthaginian custom of child-sacrifice
(molk).3 A Carthaginian embassy convenes with Hannibal in order to
ask his opinion concerning the vital issue of whether or not his son
should be sacrificed for the fulfilment of ancestral Carthaginian rites:4
mos fuit in populis, quos condidit aduena Dido,
poscere caede deos ueniam ac flagrantibus aris,
infandum dictu, paruos imponere natos. (4.765–7)
The people, whom Dido founded when she landed in Africa, were accus-
tomed to asking the gods for mercy through sacrifices and to offer up their
children upon fiery altars, a custom horrible to tell.
In this episode at the end of book 4, Imilce, Hannibal’s wife, makes
her second appearance. After parting with her husband in book 3
3
Kissel (1979), 15, and Ripoll (1998), 280, comment on the portrayal of the
Carthaginians as bloodthirsty. The episode has no parallel in the historical record.
Silius’ knowledge of this custom must derive from Ennius’ Annales (cf. also Curt.
4.3.23): Poeni suos soliti dis sacrificare puellos (‘The Carthaginians were accustomed to
sacrificing their boys to the gods’, 214 Skutsch). See Wezel (1873), 20; Woodruff
(1910), 383–5; Romano (1965), 88–90; Skutsch (1985), 381–3; Lucarini (2004), 112
n.18. On the influence of Ennius on Silius, see chapter 2 (105–6).
4
In fact, Hannon, Hannibal’s bitter opponent (discors antiquitus, ‘an old enemy’,
4.771), lurks behind this proposal; he is the person who has brought the motion into
the Carthaginian Senate for discussion and vote. For Hannon as the literary successor
of Virgil’s Drances, see Bruère (1971).
(61–157),5 Imilce returns as a persona dramatis (4.779–802) and
attempts to dissuade her fellow citizens from submitting this sacri-
legious offering to the gods, an act that she describes as nefas (4.797).
In her speech, Imilce directly addresses her absent husband, whom
she ironically rebukes for his futile efforts to expand the power and
dominion of his fatherland. Then, Imilce offers herself for sacrifice in
the stead of her child (me, me quae genui, uestris absumite uotis, ‘slay
me, me, the mother, and thus keep your vows’, 4.798). Finally,
Imilce’s plea exerts significant impact on the Carthaginian patres,
who prefer to have the issue solved by Hannibal himself (4.803–7).
Back in Italy, when the Carthaginian hero learns about the imminent
sacrifice to take place in Carthage (4.808–29), he refuses to have his
own child offered to the gods and proclaims that the donation to his
country will consist of a sacrificial substitute, namely the impending
slaughter of the Roman army at Trasimene.
In the portrait of Imilce, Silius draws on previous female epic
characters. Her behaviour is emblematic of the pathos of a woman
in grief, a feature well established in other literary sources, as we have
already seen in the portrayal of Marcia’s reaction or in the depiction
of several women in Statius’ Thebaid. More specifically, Imilce’s
portrayal as a frenzied woman accords with the representation of
5
In the introduction to that episode in book 3, the farewell between Hannibal and
Imilce, Silius informs his reader of the relationship between the Sarranian general and
his wife (cf. Vinchesi’s treatment of Imilce [2005], 98–107): uirgineis iuuenem taedis
primoque Hymenaeo / imbuerat coniunx memorique tenebat amore (‘Through the
torches of virginity and the first years of their marriage his wife had inspired love in
Hannibal, a young man then, and had held him with a love that remembers
[endures]’, 3.64–5). Hannibal’s wife detains her husband with memor amor: Silius’
words express the strong bond between the couple. However, deep inside, Hannibal
faces a troubling dilemma: Imilce on the one hand represents the amor coniugis, amor
familiae, that is, affection for his wife and child; but on the other hand Carthage and
its founder, Dido, control Hannibal with another sort of commitment, the amor
patriae. I want to thank Raymond Marks for pointing out that the last word of book 3
(713–14) is amor: Bostar / impleratque uiros pugnae propioris amore (‘and Bostar had
filled the men with desire for instant battle’). Memor amor forms a contrasting pair in
connection with Hannibal’s ira memor (cf. irarum elementa mearum, ‘the beginnings
of my anger’, 3.77). This hatred is one of the pivotal themes of the narrative, igniting
the eternal feud between the Romans and the Carthaginians (1.77–80); see Ganiban
(2010).
distraught women in Virgil, Ovid, and Lucan.6 Dido, Amata, and
Juturna in Virgil, as well as Lucan’s raving matrona in De bello ciuili 1,
form the backdrop against which Silius moulds a uniquely Roman
Imilce, as we shall see in her appearance in the present episode.
Imilce’s entrance in the narrative conforms with manifestations of
Bacchic otherness in the Latin epic tradition:
asperat haec foedata genas lacerataque crines
atque urbem complet maesti clamoris Imilce,
Edonis ut Pangaea super trieteride mota
it iuga et inclusum suspirat pectore Bacchum. (4.774–7)
Their fear was heightened by Imilce, who tore her cheeks and hair and filled
the city with woeful cries, as the woman of the Edoni, maddened by the
triennial festival, speeds over the ridges of Mt. Pangaeus and breathes forth
Bacchus who dwells in her breast.
A close look at intertextual connections suggests that Silius’ primary
model is Virgil.7 Both Anna in Aeneid 4 (673) and Juturna in Aeneid
12 (870–1), moved by sisterly love, disfigure their faces (unguibus
ora . . . foedans, ‘disfiguring her face with her fingernails’), while the
latter also tears her hair as an act of mourning over the approaching
death of her brother Turnus (crinis scindit . . . solutos, ‘tears her di-
shevelled hair’). Imilce’s mourning alludes explicitly to such exem-
plifications of extreme pain and suffering. Moreover, the description
of Imilce’s grief, which fills the city with cries, artfully intertwines
Virgilian and Ovidian models. Silius combines Amata’s lunatic reac-
tion after Allecto’s intervention (Aen. 7.377: immensam sine more furit
lymphata per urbem, ‘in a wild frenzy, she rages through the entire city,
out of her mind’) with a line from Georgics 4 (515: et maestis late loca
quaestibus implet, ‘she fills the places far and wide with her lamenta-
tion’), where the nightingale mourns for the loss of her brood.
Further, he borrows phraseology from Ovid’s portrayal of Althea
6
One cannot fail to recognise allusions to Catul. 64.61, Prop. 1.3.5–6, Ov. Am.
1.14.21, Her. 4.47 and 10.18, and Ars 1.312 and 3.710. Statius (Theb. 5.92–4)
compares one of the Lemnian women, Polyxo, to a Bacchant, yet there are no verbal
allusions in Silius that confirm an interdependence.
7
See Bruère (1952), 223–4, for allusions to Virgilian figures. Brouwers (1982),
81–2, discusses these allusions to Lucan.
losing her son, Meleager (Met. 8.447–8: maestis clamoribus urbem /
implet, ‘she fills the city with woeful cries’).8
Critics have laid emphasis on Silius’ dependence on other authors
and on an alleged canonisation of representations of distraught women
by Silius’ time. For instance, Bruère has accentuated the significant
influence of Virgil’s Amata, though he professes wonder that Silius also
alludes to Lucan’s anonymous matrona.9 Allusions to Virgilian figures
certainly cannot be coincidental, especially allusions to Dido or Amata.
As we have seen in our preceding examination of the Thebaid and the
Punica, however, it is not sufficient to identify allusions to previous
literary works without investigating the reason behind certain choices
Silius makes. For instance, if we consider that Dido is the founder of
Carthage and that special reference is made to her by tracing the
sacrificial custom back in time (aduena Dido, Pun. 4.765), then we
become apprised of a connection between Imilce and Dido. Taking into
account Imilce’s Bacchic reaction to her child’s sacrifice, we may
associate her situation with the frenzied aspects of Dido’s portrayal in
Aeneid 4. More specifically, the adjective furens is three times applied to
the predicament in which Aeneas’ presence has put the raving queen of
Carthage (Aen. 4.65, 69, 283).10 Furthermore, two similes from the
fourth book of the Aeneid establish Dido as a delirious and distraught
female figure: in Aeneid 4.300–3, Dido is assimilated to a Thyias, who in
an ecstatic state of mind celebrates the feast of Bacchus (trieterica
Baccho, Aen. 4.302), and at 4.469, Dido’s condition is compared to
Pentheus’ position when staring at the frantic mothers performing
their Dionysiac rites (Eumenidum ueluti demens uidet agmina Pentheus,
8
In these parallels, the compounds of pleo together with a description of sound
or space are used to express distress; cf. Aen. 2.769; 3.313; 5.341; 7.502; 9.39. Bruère
(1952), 226 n.24, points to all the above mentioned allusions, yet he does not identify
a possible echo of Statius’ Theb. 1.592–3, where Psamathe reacts to the loss of her
baby son, Linus: ipsa ultro saeuis plangoribus amens / tecta replet (‘out of her mind,
she fills spontaneously the house with wild laments’). See also chapter 1 (54 n.55).
9
See Bruère (1952), 223:
Imilce is upset about her son, as Amata had been about her daughter, and the queen’s
Bacchic seizure surely suggested to Silius the comparison of Imilce to a Bacchante . . . It is
curious that after having derived the notion of comparing Imilce to a Bacchante from his
recollections of Virgil, Silius borrows the expressions he uses in setting it forth from Lucan.
10
Cf. also Aen. 4.376, when Dido herself admits that she is possessed by furiae: heu
furiis incensa feror! (‘alas, I am borne burning with frenzy’).
‘just as Pentheus, maddened, sees the troops of the Eumenides’, 4.469).
Moreover, Imilce’s address to her absent husband and her loneliness in
her confrontation with the Carthaginian elders offer yet another simi-
larity to the abandoned queen of Carthage in Aeneid 4, as both women
are forsaken by their male partners. Dido’s presence in the background
of this episode establishes and confirms the continuity between Virgil-
ian female figures and Silius’ Imilce.
In addition, explicit references to Amata, who refuses to accept
Aeneas as her future son-in-law and husband of her daughter Lavinia,
disclose other correspondences to Imilce’s refusal to sacrifice her son.
For instance, Amata’s behaviour, instigated by the Fury Allecto, is con-
textualised within the frame of a Bacchic festival (Aen. 7.373–405).
Amata turns into a Bacchant and addresses the rest of the women with
Dionysiac exclamations, such as io matres (Aen. 7.400).11 Furthermore,
Amata is determined to preserve her maternum ius (si iuris materni cura
remordet, ‘if care for the maternal rights bites your hearts’, Aen. 7.402);
Imilce’s decision to stop the custom of child-sacrifice, particularly at
a moment when her own child’s fortune is at stake, highlights the
assertion of the maternum ius over the patria potestas, as exemplified
by the Carthaginian Senate, now acting instead of Hannibal himself.
Therefore, both women seek to stop the sacrifice of their child, either
neutral or figurative, and by extension to bring to a halt the political
designs of their men, Latinus and Hannibal respectively.
However, we should not ignore an important difference between
Virgilian women and Imilce: Amata’s frantic rout originates in Allecto’s
intervention and the poisonous infection that one of the latter’s ser-
pents instills in Amata’s chest (penitusque in uiscera lapsum / serpentis
furiale malum totamque pererrat, ‘and having glided deep into her
veins, the snake’s maddening venom courses through her whole
frame’, Aen 7.374–5).12 By contrast, Imilce is not influenced by any
external source of furor. The cause of her pain is the impending sacrifice
of her child. Despite her outburst against the Carthaginian custom and
its practitioners, Imilce is portrayed as a figure utterly reasonable, who
denounces the futility of child-sacrifice and uses clear and concise
11
Pace Spaltenstein (1986), 329, who considers io just ‘un appel au secours’.
12
Cf. the similar case of Tisiphone and the Saguntine women in Pun. 2.543–680.
See the discussion in chapter 2 (129–36).
arguments in order to persuade the elders of the Carthaginian Senate.
What is more, Imilce’s rhetoric makes her a woman who knows very
well what is at stake and who tries to persuade the male audience
accordingly. Such elements are absent from the representation of
Amata’s frenzy in Aeneid 7 or 12. The rationality that characterises
Imilce’s portrait differentiates her from the irrationality of both Dido
and Amata, who are completely out of control and give in to their grief.13
With this in mind, let us examine another source of influence on
Silius’ representation of Imilce, Lucan’s raving matrona. The first
book of the De bello ciuili comes to a close with a series of prophecies
illustrating future disasters for the Romans. The last of these is
articulated by a frenzied, unidentified, matrona:
nam, qualis uertice Pindi
Edonis Ogygio decurrit plena Lyaeo,
talis <inops animi subitoque instincta furore
saeuit> et attonitam rapitur matrona per urbem
uocibus his prodens urguentem pectora Phoebum:
‘quo feror, o Paean? qua me super aethera raptam
constituis terra? uideo Pangaea niuosis
cana iugis latosque Haemi sub rupe Philippos . . . ’
(Luc. 1.674–80)
13
Fucecchi (1992) exploits the intertextual relationship between this episode and
different scenes in Seneca’s Troades. Like Imilce in 4.798, Andromache tries to
persuade Ulysses to kill her instead of Astyanax, after having declared that she
would do anything to protect her boy’s safety:
qualis Argolicas ferox
turmas Amazon strauit, aut qualis deo
percussa Maenas entheo siluas gradu
armata thyrso terret atque expers sui
uulnus dedit nec sensit, in medios ruam
tumuloque cineris socia defenso cadam.
(Tro. 672–7)
As the wild Amazon kills the Greek troops, or as a Maenad, struck by the god and
armed with the thyrsus, terrifies the woods with her Bacchic steps and, ignorant of
herself, has given wounds nor has she felt any, so I will rush into your midst and, a
companion of ashes, fall having defended this mound.
These lines render plausible Fucecchi’s claim (1992), 54, that special emphasis is
placed on both women as seruatrices puerorum.
For, as a woman of the Edoni rushes down from Pindus’ peak, filled with
Lyaeus of Ogygia, so a matron, <bereft of reason and animated by a sudden
fury, rages> and is swept through the astounded city, revealing with these
words that Phoebus is motivating her heart: ‘O Paean, where am I borne? On
what land do you place me, swept over the air? I see the Pangaean mountain
white with snow-clad ridges and wide Philippi under Haemus’ rock . . . ’
As Brouwers has correctly pointed out, the Imilce simile abounds in
Lucanian echoes:14 the setting for both metaphors is Thrace (Edonis,
Pangaea, Pun. 4.776 Luc. 1.675, 679), a traditional locus of worship
for Bacchants; both Edonian women in the similes are inspired by
Bacchus (suspirat Bacchum, Pun. 4.778 plena Lyaeo, Luc. 1.675). In
addition, words such as urbem, pectore, iuga are used by Silius (4.775,
777) as reminders of Lucan’s description (per urbem, pectora, iugis).15
And yet, despite the common setting of both descriptions, there is a
substantial difference: Lucan names as the source of inspiration for
his frenzied matrona both Bacchus and Apollo (prodens urguentem
pectora Phoebum, Luc. 1.677), while in Silius there is no reference to
Apollo himself as the source for Imilce’s inspiration. In the Punica,
Bacchus sets into motion the raving Bacchant-Imilce who is ready to
pay due honour to the god up in the mountains of Thrace on the
14
Brouwers (1982), 81–2.
15
As Michler (1914), 36, notes (though without reference to Silius), Statius also
imitates Lucan’s Bacchant simile by incorporating it into his description of a frenzied
Theban woman:
sparsis subito correpta canistris
siluestris regina chori decurrit in aequum
uertice ab Ogygio trifidamque huc tristis et illuc
lumine sanguineo pinum disiectat et ardens
erectam attonitis implet clamoribus urbem . . .
(Theb. 4.378–82)
While her holy panniers are scattered, suddenly snatched up, the queen of the troop
of the woods rushes to the plain from Ogygia’s peak, and in her sadness waves a three-
forked pine torch here and there with a bloody light; and ablaze she fills the excited
town with frantic cries . . .
I have shown in boldface what Statius borrows from Lucan, while I have underlined
Statius’ imitation of Ovid’s Met. 8.447–8. I think it is doubtful whether Statius
imitates Ovid in the last line or echoes Silius’ comparable phrase in 4.775: atque
urbem complet maesti clamoris Imilce. On the composition of the two poems, see
Introduction (8–9 n.20).
occasion of the trieteris. How, then, do we explain the emphasis
placed by Silius on Bacchus and the elision of Apollo’s power?16
In the different treatments of Apollo and Bacchus in Lucan and
Silius lies the key point for our examination of Imilce, as the latter
poet invites us to look more carefully into the nature of Imilce’s
character itself. In Silius’ simile, though it is deeply influenced by his
predecessors, Virgil and Lucan, Apollo’s presence is not verbally
evident. Yet Imilce incorporates both elements, the Apolline and
the Bacchic, and can switch from the prophetic to the frantic. Imilce
is depicted as a potential Bacchant-prophetess, who, though raving
in her grief, delivers a speech abounding in reasonable arguments
against human sacrifice. As I shall show, the Apolline element in
Imilce’s character, though verbally absent, is intertwined with the
Bacchic aspects of her nature to portray a powerful woman-prophe-
tess,17 who does not hesitate to condemn the whole war and her
husband’s enterprises as nefas.
In order to synthesise our conclusions from this study of allusions,
let us turn to Imilce’s speech itself and the peculiarity of its content.
Although she starts with an apostrophe to her husband, she con-
tinues with a denunciation of human sacrifice that does not have any
immediate literary predecessors. Her discourse is artistically con-
structed around her arguments about the futility of human sacrifice,
in particular that of her son. Imilce’s speech, however, also has levels
of irony: she opposes her husband’s imperialism and conveys a
subversive message concerning the usefulness of the war in general.
More specifically, Imilce’s speech is artistically constructed and
rhetorically assembled: despite occasional exclamations (io, heu . . .
heu), Hannibal’s wife gives us the impression of a person who by
using well-prepared arguments tries to persuade the Carthaginian
elders and who does not give in to grief completely. For instance,
Imilce does not faint at the end of the episode, a generic ending for
16
In the De bello ciuili, Lucan intertwines the power of Bacchus and the power of
Apollo in more than one place. For this duality, see Masters (1992), 118–33.
17
Cf. the Sibyl in Aen. 6.77–8: at Phoebi nondum patiens immanis in antro /
bacchatur uates (‘but not yet bearing patiently the sway of Apollo, the prophetess
comes to a state of wild frenzy in the cave’).
such scenes of intense sorrow and dramatic tension.18 Her speech
is divided into two symmetrical parts, consisting of twelve lines
each; she first addresses her husband (4.779–90) and then denounces
the vanity of human sacrifice and its destructive effects on the
Carthaginian male population (4.791–802). In these twenty-four
lines, Imilce manages to gain a deferral of the decision, now to be
taken solely by Hannibal himself.
When Imilce urges her husband to continue his operations, she
apostrophises him by saying:
io coniunx, quocumque in cardine mundi
bella moues, huc signa refer. uiolentior hic est,
hic hostis propior. tu nunc fortasse sub ipsis
urbis Dardaniae muris uibrantia tela
excipis intrepidus clipeo saeuamque coruscans
lampada Tarpeis infers incendia tectis.
interea tibi prima domus atque unica proles
heu gremio in patriae Stygias raptatur ad aras.
i nunc, Ausonios ferro populare penates
et uetitas molire uias. i, pacta resigna
per cunctos iurata deos. sic praemia reddit
Carthago et tales iam nunc tibi soluit honores. (4.779–90)
O my husband, in whatever frontier of the world you are now stirring up
war, bring your army back here. Here there is a more violent, a more
pressing foe. Perhaps at this moment beneath the walls of the Dardanian
city itself, you, fearless, receive the hurtling missiles with your shield;
perhaps you are brandishing a dreadful torch and setting fire to the Tarpeian
temple. Meanwhile, your first-born and only son, alas, is seized in the heart
of his native country, for an infernal sacrifice. Go now, ravage the household
gods of the Romans with your sword and march by ways forbidden to man.
Go, break the treaty witnessed by all gods. Such is the reward you get from
Carthage, and such the honours she pays you now!
Imilce’s apostrophe consists of ironic imperatives (4.787–8) addressed
to Hannibal, whereby she underlines the futility of the war her husband
has undertaken. Imilce raises serious doubts concerning the value of
Hannibal’s efforts to save his country by implicitly criticising his
18
Cf. Aen. 4.391–2 (Dido), 8.584 (Evander); Met. 11.460 (Alcyone); Theb. 11.643
(Ismene).
exploits: the series of imperatives (i, populare, molire . . . i, resigna) lays
emphasis on the value of Hannibal’s war against the Romans. His wife
questions the advantage that the war will have for his own country and
family in particular, since the Carthaginians themselves are unqualified
to appreciate such enterprise. Through reference to the breaking of
treaties (pacta . . . per cunctos iurata deos), Hannibal’s wife criticises the
war itself as a sacrilege. In their inability to define the divine, the
Carthaginians uphold values that run contrary to divine law and cus-
tom. Thus Imilce delivers a speech against nefas in general. As we will
see, nefas can be defined as referring strictly to the barbaric custom of
human sacrifice and/ or more broadly to the war against the Romans.
After having urged Hannibal to come back, Imilce turns to the
Carthaginian elders. Well aware that there will be no response, since
her husband is away, Imilce’s suasoria now concentrates on another
form of futility, namely human sacrifice:
quae porro haec pietas delubra adspergere tabo?
heu primae scelerum causae mortalibus aegris,
naturam nescire deum! iusta ite precatum
ture pio caedumque feros auertite ritus.
mite et cognatum est homini deus. hactenus, oro,
sit satis ante aras caesos uidisse iuuencos.
aut si uelle nefas superos fixumque sedetque,
me, me, quae genui, uestris absumite uotis.
cur spoliare iuuat Libycas hac indole terras?
an flendae magis Aegates et mersa profundo
Punica regna forent, olim si sorte cruenta
esset tanta mei uirtus praerepta mariti? (4.791–802)
Moreover, what sort of religion is this, that sprinkles the temples with blood?
Alas, their ignorance of the divine nature is the chief cause that leads wretched
mortals into crime. You ought to go and pray for things lawful with pious
incense but eschew bloody and cruel rites. God is gentle and akin to human
beings. To this extent, I beg you, let it suffice to see slain cattle before the altars.
Or, if you are sure beyond all doubt that wickedness is pleasing to the gods,
then slay me, me the mother, and thus keep your vows. Why rob the land of
Libya of the promise shown by this child? If my husband’s glorious career had
been thus nipped in the bud long ago by the fatal lot, would not that have been
as lamentable a disaster as the battle by the Aegates islands when the power of
Carthage was sunk beneath the waves?
The final segment of Imilce’s speech portrays the speaker as a civi-
lised person, in complete opposition to bloodthirsty Hannibal, her
husband. As has been noticed, Imilce’s denunciation of human
sacrifice has its literary predecessors in the works of Cicero and
Ovid in particular.19 Imilce’s speech, however, acquires a more gen-
eral tone, since she does not borrow from the language of the
previous authors or refer explicitly to the practice of human sacrifice.
This generalisation enables Imilce to carry an important message: she
is being transformed into a civilised person, whose distinctiveness is
underscored by the content of her speech. Hannibal’s wife is meta-
morphosed into a carrier of Roman philosophical ideas against
human sacrifice. Her denunciation of the act of child-sacrifice itself
as a nefas coincides with the poet’s own words at the introduction of
the scene: the savage rite of the Carthaginians is infandum dictu
(4.767). Imilce, a ‘foreigner’ in the Punica, as the wife of the enemy,
would normally be perceived by the Roman reader as an anti-Roman,
a woman whose values cannot (and/or should not) be identical to a
Roman woman’s beliefs. Yet Imilce’s presence in this episode con-
firms rather the opposite. She denounces the primitive sacrificial
custom observed by her fellow citizens. Thus, her speech places her
in the margin of Carthaginian society by rendering her a ‘foreigner’
to her own environment. To borrow from Pagán’s terminology
applied to certain Tacitean characters, Imilce’s words constitute a
‘voice of freedom’,20 inasmuch as she delivers a potentially dangerous
message, while her position as an outsider renders her voice more
palatable to a male, elite audience. In a sense, Imilce’s Roman voice
emerges in sharp contrast to Carthaginian standards, since for them
civilisation and religiosity have different meanings and connotations
(lack of pietas, fas, and fides) that are sharply contrasted to those of
19
See Spaltenstein (1986), 329–30, citing Cicero’s Rep. 3.15 and Ovid’s Fast.
1.337–8. Bruère (1952), 227 n.27, also mentions the influence of Pythagoras’ speech
in Metamorphoses 15.173–5. There is another unnoticed parallel in Ovid’s Met.
13.461, namely Polyxena’s condemnation of the absurdity of human sacrificial offer-
ings to appease the gods. The similarities that this passage bears with Lucretius’
beliefs against human sacrifice, as expressed in book 1 (83–101) of De rerum natura,
have been observed by Steele (1922), 325, although one cannot find specific verbal
allusions. The idea of scelus in connection with human sacrifice is certainly Lucretian.
20
Cf. Pagán (2000b).
her Carthaginians fellow citizens.21 Not only does she use the meth-
odology of Roman philosophical discourse, such as that of Cicero
and, to a certain extent, of Lucretius concerning the hideousness of
human slaughter, but she also acquires a voice similar to Lucan’s,
inasmuch as the latter uses the word nefas to condemn the insanity of
the civil war in general.22 In other words, Imilce’s role in this episode
is not that of a passive female figure who ‘surrenders’ to the demands
of the male heroes and of generic expectations.
As has become evident in our examination of the intertextual
relationship between Imilce and her literary predecessors, the poet
has fused several models in his portrayal of the Carthaginian queen.
What are Silius’ intentions, however, in depicting Imilce, the enemy’s
wife, as both a non-Roman woman-Bacchant and a Roman matrona?
How can Imilce be presented as a woman overcome by furor and at
the same time able to deliver a powerful, reasonable speech against
human sacrifice? And finally, how are we to read Imilce’s presence as
inscribed within the polarity between Romans and Carthaginians,
same and other, male and female?
In order to appreciate the blending of the Bacchic and the Apolline
in Imilce’s figure, let us look back to book 3, where the poet digresses
on her pedigree, from both Apollo and Bacchus:
at contra Cirrhaei sanguis Imilce
Castalii, cui materno de nomine dicta
21
See Ripoll (1998), 275–86, for an analysis of pietas in the poem. Ripoll (1998),
280, correctly distinguishes between the Roman meaning of pietas and the Carthagi-
nian perversion of pietas (cf. Thomas [2001] on perfidia).
22
Imilce’s plea to die instead of her child echoes similar requests in Virgil
(Euryalus’ mother in Aen. 9.494, me primam absumite ferro (‘first kill me by the
sword’); see Hardie (1993a), 51, and Seneca’s Troades (Andromache in 680, me
sternite hic ferro prius, ‘first lay me low with the sword’). Most importantly, however,
Silius exploits Cato’s appeal in Luc. 2.315–16 to be killed before the libertas and the
state perish: me solum inuadite ferro (‘do kill only me with the sword’, 2.315). Imilce’s
position as a mother is similar to Cato’s, since the great leader is called by Lucan urbi
pater est urbique maritus (‘he is a father to the city and a husband’, 2.388); on the
dative urbi, see Sklenář (2003), 74 n.31. Furthermore, Imilce condemns human
sacrifice as nefas, while Cato criticises the impending war between Caesar and
Pompey as summum nefas (Luc. 2.286). On the failure of female rhetoric in Statius’
Achilleid, for instance, see Heslin (2005), 105–55.
Castulo Phoebei seruat cognomina uatis23
atque ex sacrata repetebat stirpe parentes:
tempore quo Bacchus populos domitabat Iberos
concutiens thyrso atque armata Maenade Calpen,
lasciuo genitus Satyro nymphaque Myrice
Milichus indigenis late regnarat in oris
cornigeram attolens genitoris imagine frontem.
hinc patriam clarumque genus referebat Imilce
barbarica paulum uitiato nomine lingua. (3.97–107)
And to him [Hannibal] replied the descendant of Castalius from Cirrha,
Imilce, whose city, Castulo, named after Castalius’ mother, still preserves the
name of Apollo’s priest. Thus Imilce traced her pedigree to a sacred stock. At
the time when Bacchus was conquering the Iberian people and attacking
Calpe with his thyrsus and with the spears of his Maenads, Milichus was
born of a lustful Satyr and the nymph Myrice; Milichus had held dominion
widely in his native country, carrying horns on his forehead, looking just like
his father. From him Imilce drew her nationality and noble blood, since the
name [of Milichus] had been slightly corrupted in the barbaric tongue.
From Silius’ description of Imilce’s ancestors we gather that there is a
mingling of Apolline and Bacchic traits in her personality.24 And Imilce’s
Apolline features permeate the farewell scene in book 3 by means of her
prophetic ability to foreshadow Hannibal’s failure (109–27):
i felix, i numinibus uotisque secundis
atque acies inter flagrantiaque arma relictae
coniugis et nati curam seruare memento.
quippe nec Ausonios tantum nec tela nec ignes 119
nec quemquam horresco, qui se tibi conferret unus, 125
quantum te metuo. ruis ipsos alacer in enses 120
obiectasque caput telis. te nulla secundo
euentu satiat uirtus, tibi gloria soli
fine caret, credisque uiris ignobile letum
belligeris in pace mori. tremor implicat artus. (3.116–25)
23
I agree with Spaltenstein (1986), 189, that the phrasing of lines 98–9 is awkward;
the city of Castulo could have been named after Castalius himself, not after his
mother’s name (presumably Castalia?).
24
According to Picard (1968), 105, Imilce’s name would be a transcription from
the Punic Himilké, ‘sister of the king’, while Milichus comes from MLK, ‘king’.
Go and prosper, go with favouring gods and prayers! And amid the battles and
the blazing arms, remember to keep in mind the care for your wife whom you
are leaving and for your child. For I fear neither the Romans nor the spears or
the firebrands or anyone who might meet you in single combat, as much as I
fear you. You rush fiercely right upon swords and you expose your head to
missiles. No virtue satisfies you, not even on a successful occasion; you are the
only one for whom glory lacks limits, and you consider it an inglorious end
for soldiers to die in peace. Trembling takes hold of my limbs.
When Imilce touches upon the nature of her husband’s character, she
is warning him of his impetuous temperament and simultaneously
alluding to the dangers that lurk behind such behaviour, just as Marcia
does to her son Serranus, concerning his father’s character. The
Carthaginian woman seems prescient of the outcome, the final defeat
of Hannibal and the non-fulfilment of his wishes, as she emphasises
with quantum te metuo (3.120), again at the beginning of a hexameter.
The series of negatives (nulla, caret, ignobile) that Imilce uses implies
that the subsequent expedition may be ultimately ill-fated.25
Imilce’s complex temperament, replete both with Bacchic and
Apolline elements, resurfaces in book 4, where, as we have seen, she
is compared to a frenzied woman, and yet one wonders whether
Imilce is a true Bacchant? Does Bacchus really inspire her speech? Or
is her prophetic power manipulated by the poet, and to what effect?
25
Kissel (1979), 106, does not discuss in detail the meaning of this episode.
Certainly, Hannibal’s Weltanschauung, as expressed by Imilce here, echoes Roman
military values. I do not agree with Ripoll (1998), 244, that Imilce understands
Hannibal’s heroic ideal. I believe that Imilce disapproves of Hannibal’s enterprise to
launch a war against the Romans, because she is aware of its disastrous outcome (cf.
Argia in Theb. 2.332–52). In addition, Imilce’s foreshadowing of future disasters is
confirmed by Hannibal himself. Immediately after Imilce’s words, Hannibal starts his
second speech with his own interpretation of his wife’s ‘message’:
ominibus parce et lacrimis, fidissima coniunx.
et pace et bello cunctis stat terminus aeui,
extremumque diem primus tulit. (3.133–5)
Spare the bad omens and the tears, my most faithful wife. Both in peace and in war,
there stands for all of us an end to our lives, and the very first day brings together the
last one.
On Imilce’s powerful presence in book 3, see Vinchesi (1999b), (2001), 62–3, and
(2005), 98–107; Augoustakis (2001), 10–35.
By conferring upon Imilce the characteristics of a distraught
woman, the poet, from the outset of the narrative, relegates Imilce,
the outsider in Carthaginian society, because of her Spanish origin,
to the distant realm of Thracian Bacchants, a place where nefas and
orgiastic rites abound. In the reader’s mind, this association with
the Bacchic cult and direct allusions to other literary Bacchants
(Amata for instance) turn Imilce’s voice into a hybrid, unclassified,
other. She is both Roman and non-Roman, a civilised figure and a
barbarian, a Roman matrona and a foreign Bacchant, an insider and
at the same time an outsider. As soon as she delivers her message,
her Apolline ‘voice of freedom’ is marginalised and eliminated from
the narrative.
From the perspective of Kristeva’s analysis, Imilce’s phenotext,
produced by the genotext of the female chôra, yields to us an image
of a woman drawn to Roman philosophical ideas, a woman set
against human sacrifice, who knows very well that her words, if
interpreted correctly, can convey the message of danger. To be sure,
Imilce’s persuasive voice achieves a deferral of the sacrifice, at least
for the time being. Unlike Marcia’s, Imilce’s rupture from the Bacchic
semiotic into the Apolline symbolic does not take place by means of a
voice borrowed within an androcentric narrative. Yet does she man-
age to cancel the plans of Fate? Ultimately, the symbolic is predicated
on male discourse, and the decision is made by Hannibal. Hannibal
himself seems to know that the outcome of the war is ambiguous,
since he makes clear that he needs his son to continue war with the
Romans in the future. The general also alludes to the sacrifice that
will replace his son’s sacrifice, namely his victory at Trasimene. In a
word, Hannibal cancels the sacrifice of his son, but he promises a
substitute human slaughter:
at puer armorum et belli seruabitur heres.
spes, o nate, meae Tyriarumque unica rerum
Hesperia minitante salus, terraque fretoque
certare Aeneadis, dum stabit uita, memento.
perge (patent Alpes) nostroque incumbe labori. (4.814–18)
But the boy will be spared as the heir of my career in war. You, my son, are
my hopes and the only safeguard of the Carthaginian affairs against the
threat of Italy; remember to fight against the Aeneadae both on land and sea,
as long as you live. Go forward—the Alps lie open—and apply yourself to
my task.26
In Imilce’s character, we can find the first witness of the ‘Romanisa-
tion’ of women-foreigners, an image fully shaped in the figure of
Masinissa’s mother in book 16. However, although Masinissa’s
mother, as we will see, is successful in advising and directing her
son’s activities, Imilce cannot contribute substantially to the welfare
of her country. Her ominous speech foreshadows future disasters,
while her role as seruatrix pueri does not permit her to undertake real
action.27 Despite the Roman traits in her character, Imilce’s autono-
mous presence retains the asymbolic Bacchant status, the recession
into the semiotic, a (m)other who fails in her efforts to save her child
from the destruction that the war will bring, despite her Apolline
ability to foresee the ultimate defeat of Carthage.28
NE BELLA PAVESCAS: MOTHERS AS ‘EDUCATORS’

AND THE REGENERATION OF THE FEMALE
In an episode in Punica 16, we can see that mothers are positively

represented as influential and beneficial for both the outsiders,
non-Romans, and the Romans themselves. After telling of the
Roman victories over Hannon and Hasdrubal at the opening of
book 16 (38–114), Silius relates the events of the alliance between
26
Yet cancellation of rites eventually entails destruction, as Hardie has pointed out
(1993a), 51:
Sacrificial substitution intersects with, and threatens to annihilate, generational
replacement. Hannibal sees his son not as the one sacrificial victim but as the ‘one
hope’ of his family and of Carthage . . . Hannibal’s hopes that his son will take place as
great leader of his people (4.818: nostroque incumbe labori) will come to nothing.
See also Ripoll (1998), 68.
27
See also Dietrich (2005), 82: ‘Imilce exemplifies the values that Rome prized in
its mothers and wives, especially the preservation of family relationships.’
28
Silius mentions the son twice in the rest of the poem: in 13.880, with reference
to Hannibal’s exile and death away from Carthage, and in 17.334, when Hannibal
exhorts his soldiers at Zama.
Masinissa, king of Numidia, and Scipio (115–69).29 The poet’s
inventiveness is manifested in his account of a divine omen, which
ostensibly makes Masinissa change sides and ally himself with the
Romans:
huic fesso, quos dura fuga et nox suaserat atra,
carpenti somnos subitus rutilante coruscum
uertice fulsit apex, crispamque30 inuoluere uisa est
mitis flamma comam atque hirta se spargere fronte. (16.118–21)
Masinissa, tired out, was enjoying sleep, which the hard retreat and the
darkness of night had made welcome, when suddenly a ruddy tongue of fire
was seen to burn bright on the crown of his head. The harmless flame caught
his curly hair and spread over his shaggy brow.
A long tradition of similar episodes in pre-Silian literature could
explain the presence of this scene in book 16.31 More specifically, the
Virgilian models of Ascanius’ and Lavinia’s burning heads undoubt-
edly stimulated Silius to create a comparable episode.32 As Marks has
observed, the omen justifies Masinissa’s decision to change sides as
morally right, one which enjoys the support and favour of the gods;33
according to Ripoll, Silius exploits the omen to underscore the
absence of calculating duplicity behind the Numidian prince’s diplo-
matic decision.34 I would like to focus on a particular aspect of this
episode, namely the treatment of Masinissa’s aged mother and her
role in determining her son’s decisions. After the appearance of the
omen, she is asked to construe the will of the gods:
29
See Marks (1999), 258–73, and (2005a), 169–71, as well as Ripoll (2003b), for
an analysis of 16.115–274.
30
Notice the emphasis on Masinissa’s curly and shaggy hair, a sign of his exotic
provenance, coupled with manliness (hirta), possibly to avoid ambiguity with the
well-known (effeminate) curly hair of Dionysus/Bacchus.
31
See Marks (2005a), 170 n.21, and Ripoll (2003b), 97–102, for a discussion of
other instances in Latin literature.
32
See Spaltenstein (1990), 405–6. It is not coincidental, however, that Silius chose
to replace the father (Anchises) with a mother figure at this point, going back to the
Livian tradition of Tanaquil (Liv. 1.39.2–3). On the historical role of Masinissa see
Walsh (1965) and Decret and Fantar (1998), 103–15.
33
Marks (1999), 259.
34
See Ripoll (2003b), 99 and 111, who places the episode in the historical context
of Flavian policies concerning the Romanisation of Africa. For the meeting between
Masinissa and Scipio, see Liv. 28.35.
at grandaeua deum praenoscens omina mater
‘sic, sic, caelicolae, portentaque uestra secundi
condite’ ait. ‘duret capiti per saecula lumen.
ne uero, ne, nate, deum tam laeta pauesce
prodigia aut sacras metue inter tempora flammas.
hic tibi Dardaniae promittit foedera gentis,
hic tibi regna dabit regnis maiora paternis
ignis et adiunget Latiis tua nomina fatis.’
sic uates, iuuenisque animum tam clara mouebant
monstra nec a Poenis ulli uirtutis honores,
Hannibal ipse etiam iam iamque modestior armis. (16.124–34)
But his aged mother, foreknowing the omens of the gods, said: ‘Be it so, o
inhabitants of heaven! Be propitious and ratify your portent! May the light
shine on his head for all ages! Do not, my son, do not fear such favourable
signs of the gods; do not be afraid of the sacred flame on your brow. This fire
promises you an alliance with the Dardan people; this fire will provide you
with a kingdom wider than your fathers ever ruled and shall add your name
to the history of Rome.’ Thus spoke the prophetess, and the young man’s
heart was moved by a miracle so unmistakable. Also his valour had received
no recognition from Carthage; and even Hannibal himself was less valiant in
the battle day by day.
The poet explicitly intertwines the prophetic power of Masinissa’s
mother with the prediction of prosperous events. The anonymous
mother possesses the power of foreseeing the future (deum praenos-
cens omina, 16.124, and uates, 16.132). Yet the most significant part
of her short speech is the intratextual connection it yields with
Pomponia’s speech to Scipio, to which I will turn for a moment.
In his descent to the Underworld in book 13,35 Scipio has the
chance to gaze at the panorama of past and future Roman history.
Among the highlights of his journey is the meeting with his mother,
Pomponia. During Scipio’s ‘educational’ trip, the Sibyl urges him to
see his mother, who had died in labour:36 ‘. . . sed te maternos tempus
35
There is extensive secondary literature on the Nekyia of book 13. In particular,
see De Luca (1937); Ramaglia (1954); von Albrecht (1964), 149–52; Juhnke (1972),
280–97; Reitz (1982); Billerbeck (1983); Ripoll (1998), 248–51; Marks (1999), 88–146
and (2005a), 133–47; Hardie (2004), 151–3; Klaassen (2010); and Tipping (2010).
36
Juhnke (1972), 286, points to the similarities between Scipio’s meeting with
Pomponia and Odysseus’ with Anticleia in Od. 11.152–225. See also Kissel (1979), 169
cognoscere uultus, / cuius prima uenit non tardis passibus umbra’
(‘. . . But it is time for you to learn your mother’s face, whose shade
comes first, not in slow pace’, 13.613–14). The Sibyl’s announcement
emphasises the importance of Pomponia’s appearance and encounter
with her son, a meeting during which the Roman mother will
enlighten her adolescent son concerning the divine identity of his
father.37 The emphasis on the infinitive cognoscere surrounded by the
phrase maternos uultus suggests that Scipio’s meeting with his
mother acquires significance, not only as a revelation of true parent-
hood through the mother, but also as a cognitive ‘trip’ back to the
maternal chôra, which the hero did not have the chance to experience
during the formative years of his childhood and adolescence.38 Se-
paration from the maternal womb at the time of birth in Scipio’s case
coincides with the death of the mother: the lack of the maternal
presence is revealed to us now, as Scipio must see his mother’s face
first, in order to become acquainted with her features, even those of a
dead person, a ghost.
In her address to her son, Pomponia stresses the difficulty imposed
on her during the day of her impregnation by Jupiter.39 She is careful
in explaining and insisting that Jove is Scipio’s real father. Pomponia
also lays emphasis on the fact that she was forced to surrender
(membra ligauit / amplexus, ‘an embrace clasped my limbs’, 13.638–9)
and accentuates that her pregnancy has been necessary for the welfare
of Rome.40 Once she delivers Scipio, Pomponia is freed from the
n.21, Reitz (1982), 92, and Ripoll (2001a). One should also keep in mind that there is a
constant interaction with Aen. 6 and the meeting between father and son there.
37
Venus’ role in the Punica, albeit restricted, is significant for the completion of fata;
see Kissel (1979), 170. For instance, consider the scene with Jupiter in 3.557–629 (Feeney
[1991], 304) or her role in corrupting the Carthaginians in 11.385–409 (see also chapter
2, 109–12). For the scene in book 3, see Czypicka (1987); Taisne (1992); Ripoll (1998),
509–15; see Marks (1999), 436–50, and (2005a), 211–17, for further bibliography.
38
Contrast Achilles in Statius’ Ach. 1.250: dubitatque agnoscere matrem (‘and he
hesitates to recognise his mother’). The verb cognosco is used seven times (out of a
total of nineteen) in book 13, a sign of the emphasis laid on Scipio’s ‘educational’
experience in the Nekyia.
39
On the figure of Pomponia, see the analyses of Reitz (1982), 90–92; Marks
(2005a), 137–9; and briefly Tipping (2010).
40
Critics have long recognised that behind the myth of Scipio’s divine parentage
lies the influence of the Alexander tradition. See Laudizi (1989), 126; Rocca-Serra
(1990); Ripoll (1998), 248–51; Marks (1999), 106 and 116–38, and (2005a), 142–7,
aetherium pondus (‘divine weight’, 13.629). Thus, she becomes the
carrier of divine will, without damaging her chastity and reputation
as uniuira. In a word, Scipio’s mother is converted into the medium for
Rome’s salvation, while she retains all the grandeur and majesty of a
Roman matrona.
The most significant moment in Pomponia’s speech lies in her
exhortation to young Scipio. The Roman is urged to pursue war,
because the victory belongs to him, in particular on account of his
divine origins:
uerum age, nate, tuos ortus, ne bella pauescas
ulla nec in caelum dubites te attollere factis,
quando aperire datur nobis, nunc denique disce. (13.634–6)
But mark me, my son, and at last you shall learn what I am permitted to
disclose—the secret of your birth; then you shall not fear any wars or may be
secure that you shall raise yourself to heaven by your deeds.
Pomponia advises her son to be fearless and brave. The subjunctives in
the negative purpose clauses used at this point in the narrative (ne . . .
pauescas, nec . . . dubites) together with the imperatives (age, disce)
formulate the basis of Pomponia’s advice and of masculine presence.41
As we have examined previously, in the Punica, we often find fathers
educating their sons and inspiring them with love for their country.42
By contrast, what we witness here is a mother, who educates her son
for further discussion; Tipping (2010). A. Barchiesi (2001a), 340, has pointed out that
such a genealogy is painted by Silius in Ovidian colours (also cf. Wilson’s [2004]
study), portraying a Venus ‘licenziosa, senza cui lui [sc. Scipio] non potrebbe essere
l’indispensabile salvatore di Roma’. As Barchiesi stresses, Scipio oscillates between
Republican myth and imperial apotheosis. The reader is also invited to draw a parallel
with Plautus’ Alcmena in the Amphitruo.
41
Compare the contrast with Scipio the Elder’s advice to his son, when his father
advises Scipio against immoderation (Martis moderare furori, 13.670), just as Marcia
did her son (discussed in chapter 3). Scipio the Elder’s justification of his piece of
advice is sat tibi sint documenta domus (‘there is enough experience of your kinsmen’,
13.671), i.e. his and his brother’s death in Spain (dramatised in Silius’ narrative here,
when compared to Liv. 25.36). Scipio needs such admonition, as in the siege of
Capua, in the beginning of the book, he is portrayed as insatiabalis (13.218; the
adjective is applied to Scipio again when he meets the lawgivers of the Twelve Tables
in 13.755), while the verb furit is also employed (13.392).
42
See chapter 2 (97–112). Contrast Marcia in chapter 3.
according to the interests of Roman affairs, because she is aware of the
truth about Scipio’s divine parentage and destiny.43
In particular, Scipio’s address to his mother, which precedes
Pomponia’s speech, confirms the uniqueness of this encounter and
the significance of the mother-figure for the development of her
adolescent son’s character:
ergo ubi gustatus cruor admonuitque Sibylla
et dedit alternos ambobus noscere uultus,
sic iuuenis prior: ‘o magni mihi numinis instar,
cara parens, quam, te ut nobis uidisse liceret,
optassem Stygias uel leto intrare tenebras . . . ’ (13.621–5)
So, when the ghost had tasted of the blood, and the Sibyl had informed her
and given to both the opportunity to recognise each other’s face, thus the
young man spoke first: ‘O dear mother, as dear to me as a mighty god, how
much would I have liked even to die and enter the Stygian darkness, for a
sight of you! . . . ’
Scipio’s address to his mother as magni mihi numinis instar demon-
strates Pomponia’s sanctity and prophetic ability.44 Through her death,
she is able to retain all the characteristics of a chaste Roman wife and
also to acquire a special place in the Underworld. Pomponia’s ability to
foresee the prosperity of her offspring differentiates her from other
mothers in the poem who may possess prophetic power but foresha-
dow a negative rather than a successful outcome. By contrast, Pompo-
nia furnishes her son with advice about the values he will need in order
to overcome the enemy. Furthermore, Scipio’s words allude to Caesar’s
address of Roma in Lucan: summique numinis instar / Roma (‘Rome,
equal to the highest deity’, Luc. 1.199–200). By establishing such a
strong intertextual association, Silius adopts and reverses the Lucanian
context: Caesar’s words preface his crossing of the Rubicon, an act that
ruins any link with his patria and the goddess, Roma; Scipio’s address,
conversely, bonds his mother, Pomponia, with the figure of Roma, a
link that betokens the alignment of the maternal figure with the City,
Scipio’s (mother)land. Pomponia’s deification in the eyes of her son is
not an exaggerated rhetorical convention but most importantly an
43
Marks (1999), 101, discusses the didactic purpose of the Nekyia.
44
Helzle (1996), 274, points out that this phrase differentiates Scipio from
Odysseus in Odyssey 11.
elevation of motherhood to the same height as the personified Roma.
By meeting his mother, Scipio comes to terms with his own ‘foreign-
ness’: as Kristeva points out, ‘the foreigner has lost his mother’;45
therefore, by reconnecting with the lost motherly space, Scipio dis-
covers not only his identity, but also the sameness within his otherness,
that is to say, his Romanness and what makes him stand out as Roman.
If we compare the two episodes where the mothers assume a
protagonist’s role, we can immediately recognize the resemblances.
Aside from the similarity of Scipio’s and Masinissa’s age (both are
called iuuenes, 13.623 16.132), there are other points of contact
also.46 First, both sons remain dutiful to their mothers and value
their opinions highly.47 Second, both mothers advise their sons to be
fearless, while they predict their offspring’s future renown. In particu-
lar, when Masinissa’s mother states ne . . . pauesce prodigia (16.127–8),
this phrase reminds us of Pomponia’s remark to Scipio ne bella
pauescas (13.634). Just as Pomponia is well aware of Scipio’s divine
parentage, so Masinissa’s aged mother possesses the prophetic ability
that enables her to know precisely the will of the gods. This is the
most important connection between the two scenes: Masinissa’s
mother is called uates (16.132), while Scipio addresses his mother
as magni mihi numinis instar (13.623).
Moreover, as Marks has correctly noticed, there is a significant
difference between Silius’ and Livy’s accounts concerning Masinissa’s
change of political alliance during the war.48 In Livy (28.35), there is
no divine intervention, no explanation of Masinissa’s action, and no
indication of his mother’s presence. More specifically, Silius is our
only source for Masinissa’s mother’s useful intervention to persuade
her son.49 In addition, Masinissa himself mentions his mother in his
speech to Scipio and thus adds weight to her presence in the episode.
During his address to the Roman general (16.140–53), Masinissa
45
Kristeva (1991), 5.
46
On the role of age in Silius see Ripoll (2003a).
47
See Marks (1999), 261 and 262 n.24.
48
Marks (1999), 268–70.
49
See Nicol (1936), 50–51, who considers her to be a historical person. Zonaras
(9.12; Dio Cassius 17) also mentions Masinissa’s mother in a different context (how
she and some augurs were part of Hasdrubal’s plan to corrupt the Spaniards in
Scipio’s camp):
refers to his mother as sacra parens (16.140), whose good advice
made him seek alliance with the Romans.
It is intriguing that the role of the mother is given the first place in
the narrative. This choice is not coincidental. In the same speech to
Scipio, Masinissa apostrophises him as nate Tonantis (16.144), a
phrase whose implications have not been suggested in the poem
since Pomponia’s revelations in book 13.50 In other words, a foreign
king is the first person to remind Scipio of his own mother’s assertion
earlier in the poem, namely that he is the son of a god. By referring to
his own, ‘barbarian’, mother and at the same time appropriating the
words of Pomponia, Masinissa marks the connection between the
two episodes and affirms the importance of mothers for both his own
and Scipio’s development. Through the divine manifestation of his
destiny and his mother’s intervention, Masinissa finds his identity;
by this time in the poem, Scipio has also been able to learn the
truth about himself through his meeting with Pomponia. And yet
Masinissa himself is the first person in Silius’ narrative to make the
connection, which is to say, to acknowledge Scipio’s divine origins
and to address him with due honour.
This leads to another important aspect of Masinissa’s mother’s
character that needs to be discussed. It should be surprising to see
that the Roman Pomponia and the foreign mother of Masinissa
complement each other by sharing the same ideals and values.51
Masinissa’s aged mother, though an outsider, is an atypical bar-
barian, inasmuch as she has been assimilated to Roman ideology and
Œi KØæªÆ Ø, N c ¥ Ø e OæŁø KŒÆæÆåŁ ŒÆd ff

ÆØı Åæ ŁØÆÆ Ç ÅØ ÆPø ~ ª ŁÆØ KÅÆ.
And he would have accomplished something, had not the soothsayers, frightened by
the actions of the birds, and the mother of Masinissa, through her prophetic
utterances, caused them [the Spaniards] to be examined.
50
See Marks (1999), 260 n.22.
51
See Dräger (1995) for an examination of Jason’s mother in Valerius Flaccus’
Argonautica 1, and how she is transformed into a Roman matrona; cf. Zissos (2008),
379–81, and Manuwald (2000). Consider also the emphasis Tanaquil places on her
foreignness, when she urges Servius Tullius to become king, after the attack on
Tarquinius Priscus:
erige te deosque duces sequere qui clarum hoc fore caput diuino quondam circum-
fuso igni portenderunt. nunc te illa caelestis excitet flamma; nunc expergiscere uere.
et nos peregrini regnauimus . . . (Liv. 1.41.3)
civilisation as a prospective ally.52 In spite of this acculturation, she
nevertheless keeps her identity as the mother of a foreign king, and thus
is viewed as an outsider who implements and enriches the centre but
also sanctions the centre’s political ideology by admitting Scipio’s
divine power. By this time, Rome has found its saviour, the true Stoic
hero, the man who has been chosen to impose peace and security in
Roman affairs. Thus, traditional Roman values, once in danger of being
irrevocably extinguished, are now regenerated, reinforced by new ele-
ments that stem from the periphery.53
TEMPUS COGNOSCERE MANES FEMINEOS: THE

FEMALE CHÔRA IN THE GEOGRAPHY
OF THE UNDERWORLD
Let us now turn to some other examples that epitomise chastity and
womanhood in this last pentad in the Punica (books 13–17). In the
Arouse yourself and follow the guidance of the gods, who once foretold that this head
shall be famous, by the token of divine fire poured out upon it. Now this divine fire
urges you on, now wake in earnest. We too ruled, even though foreigners . . .
Tanaquil exploits the prodigy of the flames around Servius’ head to promote him as
the future king of Rome, stressing the fact that Tarquinius Priscus was also a foreigner
who managed to climb up to the throne.
52
This is the most important alliance of the war. At the end of their meeting,
Masinissa and Scipio exchange gifts; in Livy, however, the exchange of gifts takes place
after Sophonisba’s death, as a means to appease the distraught mind of Masinissa:
addit uerbis honorem: neque magnificentius quicquam triumpho apud Romanos
neque triumphantibus ampliorem eo ornatum esse quo unum omnium externorum
dignum Masinissam populus Romanus ducat . . . (Liv. 30.15.12)
He added another tribute with the following words: that there was nothing higher for
the Romans than a triumph and that from those who triumphed, no one had a more
magnificent array than the one Masinissa, deemed worthy by the Roman people,
alone of all foreigners . . .
Masinissa had already played a key role in the campaigns in Spain, which even led to
the deaths of Scipio’s father and uncle; cf. Liv. 25.34, for Masinissa’s attack that
precipitates the Elder Scipio’s death.
53
A parallel change of political alliance involving women can be found in a well-
known vignette on Trajan’s column (scene 45), which has recently been reinterpreted
(R. R. R. Smith [2002], 79) as portraying local provincial women torturing Dacians
(and not Roman soldiers, as was heretofore maintained). These women seem to be on
the side of Rome, just like Masinissa’s mother.
Nekyia in book 13, after Scipio sees the shades of Alexander (762–76),
of Homer (778–97),54 and of other heroic figures (798–805), he
suddenly notices Lavinia (806). Then, the Sibyl seizes the opportu-
nity to present to the young general the shades of various female
figures of the Roman past (nam uirgo admonuit tempus cognoscere
manes / femineos, ‘for the Sibyl warned him that it is time to learn
the ghosts of women’, 13.807–8). This review of female figures
among the dead involves again a strong instructive element (cognos-
cere), such as the one we saw in the case of Scipio’s mother, Pom-
ponia. This catalogue of women, modelled on Homer’s,55 is divided
into two parts: in the first section, the Sibyl demonstrates to Scipio
the virtuous heroines of Roman history (13.809–30), while in the
second part, at Scipio’s request, the prophetess reveals the reasons
behind the severe punishments of three women, well-known for
their ill conduct (13.831–50a).56
First Scipio stares at Lavinia, Veneris nurus (13.809),57 the origi-
nator, Urmutter, of all Roman mothers. Together with Hersilia,
Romulus’ wife, Lavinia is characterised by her ability to associate
two different races and blend them into one: Lavinia brings together
the Trojans and the Latins (13.810), while Hersilia’s intervention
conjoins the Latins with the Sabines (13.812–15).58 Thus, the first
pair of female figures possesses the ability to bring peace. The second
pair of women is connected through their ability to foresee the
future: the nymph Carmentis, Evander’s mother, predicts her son’s
and the Romans’ illustrious future (nostros tetigit praesaga labores,
‘she “touched” with her prophecies on our toils’, 13.817),59 while
54
On Homer, see e.g., von Albrecht (1964), 151–2; Reitz (1982), 115–17; Hardie
(1993a), 115; Marks (2005a), 145; and extensively Manuwald (2007), 82–90.
55
Cf. Od. 11.235–330; see von Albrecht (1964), 150; Juhnke (1972), 404; Spalten-
stein (1990), 273.
56
Kissel (1979), 182 n.61, notices that the catalogue of women is divided in three
parts: a. 806–22, b. 824–30, c. 833–49. Thus, he separates two bigger parts of
seventeen lines each with an interlude of seven lines. This is in accordance with the
Prinzip des goldenen Schnitts. See Reitz (1982) and (1993) for an analysis of the
catalogue.
57
Dido also calls herself Veneris nurus in Pun. 8.143.
58
The poet draws from Ovid’s Fast. 3.206–12, a detail absent from Livy’s account
in 1.13. See Spaltenstein (1990), 274.
59
Cf. Aen. 8.336–41.
Tanaquil, the wife of Tarquinius the Elder, is the woman who predicts
her husband’s coming reign (castae / augurio ualuit mentis uentur-
aque dixit / regna uiro et dextros agnouit in alite diuos, ‘possessing a
pure heart, she prophesied the future kingdom to her husband and
recognised the divine favour in the flight of a bird’, 13.818–20).60
Both women possess the visionary ability to influence those actions
of their relatives most conducive to success.
A pair of female figures that epitomises pudicitia follows, Lucretia
and Verginia, who die for their country’s common weal:61
ecce pudicitiae Latium decus, inclita leti
fert frontem atque oculos terrae Lucretia fixos.
non datur, heu, tibi, Roma (nec est, quod malle deceret),
hanc laudem retinere diu. Verginia iuxta,
cerne, cruentato uulnus sub pectore seruat,
tristia defensi ferro monumenta pudoris,
et patriam laudat miserando in uulnere dextram. (13.821–7)
Behold! The Roman glory of chastity, Lucretia, famous for her death,
comes forward, her eyes fixed upon the ground. It is not given to you,
alas, Rome, to preserve this praise for too long (nor is there anything else
which it would behove you to prefer). Next to her, see, Verginia keeps the
wound under her bloody chest, the sad record of her modesty, which was
defended by the steel; and she praises the right hand of her father for the
lamentable wound.
Herself a uirgo, the Sibyl exalts the examples of Lucretia and Verginia,
since they epitomise traditional Roman values of bravery, loyalty, and
chastity. They prepare the reader for the last female figure of the first
section, Cloelia, who concentrates the characteristics of all previous
pairs:
illa est, quae Thybrim, quae fregit Lydia bella,
nondum passa marem, quales optabit habere
quondam Roma uiros, contemptrix Cloelia sexus. (13.828–30)
60
Cf. Liv. 1.34.8.
61
See Spaltenstein (1990), 274–5, on Silius’ sources for these two stories (Lucretia:
Liv. 1.57–60; Verginia: Liv. 3.44).
She is the one who crossed the Tiber,62 who broke the Lydian wars,63 not yet
having experienced a man: Cloelia, a despiser of her sex. One day, Rome will
pray for men like this girl.
These lines bring to mind the story of Cloelia, told to Hannibal, upon
his request, in book 10 during the battle of Cannae.64 At the death of
Cloelius, a Roman soldier, his horse manages to come and find him
amidst the heap of corpses, offering him its back to mount on
(10.449–71). Marvelling at the horse’s behaviour, Hannibal asks
Cinna (a Roman turncoat) who this man is, while at the same time
he prepares to kill him.65 Cinna says that this is Cloelius, a man of a
mighty stock, whose ancestor is Cloelia:
bis Cloelia senos
nondum complerat primaeui corporis annos,
una puellarum Laurentum et, pignora pacis,
inter uirgineas regi tramissa cateruas.
facta uirum sileo. rege haec et foedere et annis
et fluuio spretis mirantem interrita Thybrim
tranauit frangens undam puerilibus ulnis.
cui si mutasset sexum natura, reuerti
forsan Tyrrhenas tibi non licuisset in oras,
Porsena. (10.492–501)
Cloelia had not yet completed twelve years of youthful life, one of the
Roman girls and in the midst of the maidens’ band, and she was sent to
the king as pledge of peace. I keep silent about the deeds of men. Having
spurned the king, and the treaty, and her age, and the river, being fearless,
she swam across the Tiber, breaking the wave with her childish elbows.
If nature had changed her sex, perhaps it would not have been allowed
you, Porsena, to return to the Tyrrhenian shores.
With the phrase facta uirum sileo, Cinna underscores Cloelia’s hero-
ism, her chastity, and her bravery at the same time. Cloelia’s trans-
gression of gender roles and of the limits her sex imposed on her
62
Cf. Aen. 8.651: et fluuium uinclis innaret Cloelia ruptis (‘and having broken the
chains, Cloelia swims in the river’).
63
In Liv. 2.13, the peace is made before Cloelia’s escape.
64
On stories narrated to Hannibal, see chapter 2 (106–7 n.31).
65
Ripoll (1998), 54, briefly discusses Cloelius’ figure. Nicol (1936), 13–14, quotes
a similar episode in Pliny the Elder.
becomes a positive attribute for the young woman. As Keith has
shrewdly observed, ‘the heroism of the masculine Roman west con-
stitutes a perfectly balanced counterweight to the fatal eastern effemi-
nacy of the Carthaginian foe in the Orientalist and sexist plot of
Silius’ epic.’66 All three pairs of female figures in this catalogue re-
establish order in the Roman state by means of their virtues; with
Cloelia we reach the climax of this ascent to glory.
The second part of the catalogue intensifies the integrity of women
in the first section, by elaborating on the examples of three women
who were punished for their crimes: Tullia (13.833–8), Tarpeia
(13.839–43), and the anonymous Vestal virgin (13.844–50a). Tullia
and Tarpeia betrayed their family and country,67 while the Vestal lost
her virginity (exuta sibi uirginitate, ‘by “taking off ” her maidenhood’,
13.849). Critics have maintained that the anonymous Vestal is prob-
ably Cornelia, punished in 89–90 ce by Domitian and buried alive.68
Silius places the punishment of Cornelia last in the list, not only
because of its contemporaneous relevance to the Domitianic regime
but also because of the association of Cornelia with the house of the
Cornelii and Scipio himself, as his direct descendant. From Sueto-
nius, we learn that Cornelia had been acquitted once before:
Nam cum Oculatis sororibus, item Varronillae liberum mortis permisisset
arbitrium corruptoresque earum relegasset, mox Corneliam maximam uir-
ginem, absolutam olim, dein longo interuallo repetitam atque conuictam
defodi imperauit, stupratoresque uirgis in comitio ad necem caedi, excepto
praetorio uiro . . . (Dom. 8.4)
66
Keith (2010), 373.
67
See Spaltenstein (1990), 276 (Tullia: Liv. 1.48 and Ovid’s Fast. 6.585–636;
Tarpeia: Liv. 1.11 and Prop. 4.4).
68
See Wistrand (1956), 45–6; Laudizi (1989), 30–32; Mezzanotte (1995), 367–9.
On Domitian as a despot in this punishment, see Tipping (2010). The punishment of
the Vestal Cornelia is related in Suet. Dom. 8.4, Dio Cass. 67.3.3–4, Plin. Ep. 4.11, and
is alluded to in Statius’ Silu. 1.1.36 (exploratas iam laudet Vesta ministras, ‘does Vesta
now praise her endorsed servants?’). For the precise date of Cornelia’s punishment
see Courtney’s comment on Juvenal 4.9–10 (1980), 202, who places the incident in 93
ce, and Jones (1996), 77–8, who dates it in 89–90 ce. We know very little about
Cornelia (see Raepsaet-Charlier [1987], 245), perhaps the same Cornelia who takes
office in 65 ce (Tac. Ann. 15.22), daughter of Cornelius Cossus (Tac. Ann. 14.20).
For while he allowed the Oculatae sisters and Varronilla to choose their own
form of death and relegated their seducers, soon afterwards, when the senior
Vestal Cornelia, who had been acquitted some time previously, was again,
much later, accused and convicted, he ordered that she be buried alive and
that her defilers should be beaten to death with rods in the Comitium, with
the exception of a man of praetorian rank . . .
As we shall see in the next section, the participle absolutam olim plays
off against the representation of Claudia Quinta, who manages to
release herself from the crime, alleged against her by the people,
through the intervention of the goddess.69 As becomes evident, the
first two guilty female figures in the catalogue, Tullia and Tarpeia,
play off against Hersilia, Verginia, and Cloelia, while the chief Vestal
reverses the illustrious example of Lucretia’s chastity.
It has been acknowledged by critics that the purpose of this list of
female figures that dwell in the Netherworld is to enlighten Scipio and
Silius’ audience alike on the mos maiorum and traditional Roman values
that had perished in their time.70 It has also been recognised that this
69
What is more, in Pliny’s account, the Vesta Maxima is portrayed in terms
similar to Claudia Quinta. By his right as pontifex maximus, but also as a sign of
his cruelty, Pliny comments, Domitian summons the rest of the priests in the Alban
palace:
Quin etiam cum in illud subterraneum demitteretur, haesissetque descendenti stola,
uertit se ac recollegit, cumque ei manum carnifex daret, auersata est et resiluit
foedumque contactum quasi plane a casto puroque corpore nouissima sanctitate
reiecit omnibusque numeris pudoris ººc æØÆ å På ø E.
(4.11.6–9)
Moreover, when she was sent down to that underground chamber and her robe was
stuck as she descended, she turns back to catch it; and as the executioner gave her a
hand, she drew away springing back in horror and as if clearly in a last act of chastity,
she avoided the loathsome touch from her pure and unstained body. Then observing
all the rules of shamefulness, she ‘took great care to fall in a decent manner’.
As Cornelia is led to her tomb, her stola, the emblem of her chastity is stuck, she turns
back to pick it up, while she avoids touch with the impure hands of the carnifex, a
man whose name denotes flesh and its passions. She is able to save her castum et
purum corpus from pollution. Pliny exploits Cornelia’s death as an example of
Domitian’s harshness (ardebat ergo Domitianus et crudelitatis et iniquitatis infamia,
‘therefore, Domitian was burning with his infamous cruelty and injustice’, 4.11.11).
See Vinson (1989) for her analysis of Pliny’s technique of uituperatio in 4.11.
70
See Casale (1954), 33–6; Kissel (1979), 181–2; Reitz (1982), 125: ‘Die beiden
Frauenkataloge geben eindrucksvolle positive und negative Beispiele der altrö-
mischen Tugenden, die nach stoischer Überzeugung das Fundament des gesunden
catalogue of illustrious women anticipates the episode with Claudia
Quinta at the opening of book 17 (1–47).71 I would like to take the
instructive aspect of the catalogue in book 13 a step further. The image
of Claudia Quinta’s chastity and religiosity announces the restoration of
ethos and the ascent to glory for the Romans, following the path that
Pomponia and Masinissa’s mother have paved in previous books.
Before we turn to Claudia Quinta and the arrival of the Magna
Mater, it is important to remember that Silius omits or changes
important details of the historical record in order to ensure Claudia’s
indisputably prominent position in the beginning of the last book of
the Punica. In particular, the poet downplays the role of Sophonisba
during the last years of the war and her heroic death as described by
Livy (30.11–15) and famously expanded upon in the Renaissance
Latin epic tradition by Petrarch (Africa 5–6.73).72 Sophonisba,
daughter of Hasdrubal, son of Gisgo, was married to Syphax, the
Massylian king, thus causing the latter to join the Carthaginians in
alliance and to turn down Scipio’s friendship:73
fasque fidemque simul prauo mutatus amore
ruperat atque toros regni mercede pararat.
uirgo eximia specie claroque parente,
Hasdrubalis proles. thalamis quam cepit ut altis,
ceu face succensus prima taedaque iugali74
uertit opes gener ad Poenos, Latiaeque soluto
foedere amicitiae dotalia transtulit arma. (17.69–75)
Gemeinwesens bilden.’ Reitz (1993), 316, continues: ‘Propositum autem singulis

partibus commune est Romam conditam creuisse potentemque factam esse uiribus
operaque singulorum hominum uirtute praestantium.’ Mezzanotte (1995), 366–9,
discusses the movement towards the so-called correctio morum under the Flavians.
71
Mezzanotte (1995), 369.
72
See Burck (1984b), 110–23, for a comparison of Silius’ and Livy’s accounts.
73
In 16.168–274, Syphax makes a treaty with the Romans; he is portrayed as pacator
Syphax (16.221), the model surrogate king (domesticating lions, 16.235–6), when he
meets with Scipio, another pacator (16.245). When Syphax is attacked by the Romans,
however, he barely escapes his camp (set on fire), almost naked (se uelamine nullo /
uix . . . ereptum, ‘scarcely rescued, with no clothes on’, 17.114–15). His nudity extends to a
metaphorical level too, since it plays off against his presence in book 16, where dressed up
as a king, he is called nec nudus uirtute (‘not bare of manliness’, 16.171).
74
Syphax was a widower when he married Sophonisba.
Having been changed by vicious love, he [Syphax] at one and the same time
had broken the propriety and loyalty and had procured marriage at the
expense of his kingdom. There was a virgin girl of extreme beauty and of an
illustrious parent, the daughter of Hasdrubal. When he received her in his
lofty chambers, as though inflamed by a torch and the flame of a first
marriage, he turned his wealth over to the Carthaginians, as a son-in-law,
and having broken the Roman treaty of friendship, transferred his forces as
dowry [to the Carthaginians].
Sophonisba is mentioned in two other places in the narrative, to
illustrate that she is the cause of Syphax’s destruction and defeat
(nam surdas coniunx obstruxerat aures, ‘for the wife had blocked the
ears of Syphax and made them deaf ’, 17.84; and ira pudorque dabant
et coniunx, tertius ignis, / immanes animos, ‘anger, shame, and a wife,
the third incentive, were supplying him with immeasurable passion’,
17.112–13).75
However, Silius does not mention Sophonisba’s courageous atti-
tude to enslavement and her heroic death. When Syphax is defeated
by Laelius and Masinissa, Sophonisba asks Masinissa to make the
best decision for her, even if that entails death (Liv. 30.12.12–16).
Parenthetically, Livy notes that she was of outstanding beauty and at
a flourishing age (forma insignis et florentissima aetas, ‘a remarkable
beauty and very young age’, 30.12.17). Then, Masinissa marries her;
when Laelius and later Scipio find out, they are clearly displeased with
the young man’s irrational behaviour (30.12.21–2 and 30.14.4–11).
75
Line 84 presents an interpretative puzzle: is it Sophonisba, who obstructs
Syphax from allying with the Romans, or is it the love affair of the old man that
has reduced him to an observient coniunx? Both interpretations seem possible.
Cf. Liv. 30.13.12 (Syphax’s claim):
illis nuptialibus facibus regiam conflagrasse suam; illam furiam pestemque omnibus
delenimentis animum suum auertisse atque alienasse, nec conquiesse donec ipsa
manibus suis nefaria sibi arma aduersus hospitem atque amicum induerit.
From those wedding torches his palace had been burned down, that pestilential Fury
with all her allurements had enticed and deranged his mind. She had never rested
until with her own hands she had put on him unspeakable arms against his guest and
friend.
However, Livy observes that these words were said by Syphax on account of his
jealousy for Sophonisba’s marriage to Masinissa (30.14.1–2). Syphax’s change of
alliance ominously underscores his breaking of fides and fas (he is called barbarus
in Pun. 17.113).
Finally, in order to save Sophonisba from becoming a captive of the
Romans, Masinissa sends poison to her, which the young woman
bravely takes and dies (30.15.7–8).76
What is the reason behind Silius’ omission of this episode? Signs of
hasty composition in the last books of the poem have been variously
explained by critics who construe certain omissions on account of
Silius’ illness and death in 101 ce.77 In addition, Marks’s observation
that Claudia’s chastity and Scipio’s sexual continence are meant to
play off against Syphax’s lust, is correct.78 However, this explanation
does not account for the erasure of Sophonisba’s important role in
African affairs. In my opinion, an insertion of Sophonisba’s marriage
to Masinissa would damage the portrait of the latter. We have already
examined how important he becomes in book 16 through compar-
ison to Scipio. Moreover, the details of Sophonisba’s heroic death
would considerably ‘challenge’ Claudia Quinta’s supremacy as an
exemplary figure in the book, to which we now turn.
CAELICOLUM PHRYGIA GENETRICEM SEDE:

A FOREIGN GODDESS IN ROME
In the last books of the Punica (13–17), the representation of Roman

values of motherhood and womanhood reflects the complete reor-
76
Contrast to Silius’ omission of the Sophonisba drama, Petrarch’s expansion on
the Livian episode, with the Didoesque descent of Sophonisba to the shades, in the
opening of the sixth book of the Africa (6.1–73). Petrarch exploits the episode as a
discourse on his own unsuccessful love for Laura; see the relevant discussion in
Warner (2005), 20–50. Petrarch could not have read the Punica; see von Albrecht
(1964), 118–44, and more recently, Schubert (2005), pace ter Haar (1997).
77
See, for instance, Mezzanotte (1995), 369:
In quest’ottica non deve perciò apparire sorprendente il fatto che Silio menzioni
appena un personaggio femminile, Sofonisba, a cui Livio, invece, aveva dato ben altro
peso e spessore. Lo storico patavino l’aveva infatti raffigurata come un personaggio di
rara belezza e di grande fascino e seduzione. Silio le dedica, al contrario, appena
cinque versi: forse si può spiegare col fatto che il poeta avesse fretta di concludere il
poema, ma non va per questo trascurato l’attaccamenti ai valori tradizionali (in auge,
in epoca flavia) di Silio.
78
Marks (1999), 350–53. On Scipio’s sexual continence, see the Epilogue (245–6).
ganisation of Roman affairs in the last years of the war on a political
level and by extension reflects on the changes wrought on the se-
mantic register of Romanitas as well. More specifically, Scipio be-
comes the catalyst for Roman political life; he incorporates youth,
bravery, trustworthiness, and decisiveness, elements that lead to the
final victory over Carthage. Yet it is not only the change in the male
protagonist’s behaviour that can be observed in these later years of
the war. The system of values that women exemplify has also chan-
ged.79 Silius has us take particular note of symbols of chastity and
loyalty among the female figures that emerge towards the end of the
poem.80
Let us look at the opening of book 17 in detail. After the debate in
the Senate between Fabius and Scipio (16.600–700) concerning the
destruction of Carthage,81 and before the conclusion of the war with
the battle at Zama, we learn about the advent of the Magna Mater at
Rome (1–47).82 According to a Sibylline prophecy, the importation
79
Consider for instance the difference in the behaviour of the female population
in books 7 and 12. In 7.74–89, a group of women (femineus . . . chorus, 7.76) prays to
Juno for deliverance from Hannibal’s ‘plague’. In vain, they offer a uelamen to the
queen of the gods and other gifts to Pallas, Apollo, Mars, and Dione (7.82–7).
Another massive presence of women is attested in book 12, when the matrons offer
their jewellery and precious belongings for the sake of preserving the well-being of
public affairs (12.306–13). As Silius notes, the women’s motive for such a forfeiture
has been their willingness to partake in the laus that a victory against Hannibal would
bring to the Roman people (laudis poscere partem, ‘demanded part of the praise’,
12.307). Yet the behaviour of women has changed since book 7. Their hopes have
been refreshed and therefore they have become more active partakers in the action
than submissive spectators of events. It is noteworthy that Silius is not following Livy
in this particular episode of the women’s contribution, for in Livy (26.36.5), it is the
Senate that orders that Roman citizens submit a public toll for the needs of the war.
Moreover, Livy situates the event later than Silius. By emphasising the willingness of
the female population, Silius underlines the change that they have undergone and
their eagerness for action.
80
Mezzanotte (1995), 369.
81
See Marks (1999), 311–47, and (2005a), 47–55, for an analysis of this episode.
82
For an analysis see Casale (1954), 36–8; Bruère (1959), 243–4; von Albrecht
(1968), 76–95, and (1999), 301–16; Marks (1999), 347–50, and (2005a), 240. Klotz
(1933), 22–3, compares this episode to Livy’s account (29.10.4–11.8 and 29.14.5–
14.14). See also Nesselrath (1986), 223, and Burton (1996) on the Livian account.
Stehle (1989) discusses the political implications of the importation of both Cybele’s
and Venus’ cults into Rome during this period, and in particular, how female
sexuality is deployed as a metaphor for Rome’s power as a state. Silius chooses to
blur the chronology of the importation of the cult: it seems as though he dates it in
of the cult of Cybele to Rome would chase away the enemy. P. Scipio
Nasica is chosen to welcome the goddess to the city (17.5–15), until a
crowd of women takes over the task of dragging the ship with ropes
(quae traherent celsam religatis funibus alnum, ‘to draw the tall vessel
with secure ropes’, 17.17). When the boat stops and refuses to proceed
any further (substitit adductis renuens procedere uinclis / sacra ratis
subitisque uadis immobilis haesit, ‘refusing to move further by the
pulling of the ropes, the sacred ship stopped and suddenly it became
stuck motionless on the river-bed’, 17.24–5), the priest of Cybele
demands that the task be finished by a pure and chaste woman:
parcite pollutis contingere uincula palmis
et procul hinc, moneo, procul hinc, quaecumque profanae,
ferte gradus nec uos casto miscete labori,
dum satis est monuisse deae. quod si qua pudica
mente ualet, si qua illaesi sibi corporis adstat
conscia, uel sola subeat pia munera dextra. (17.27–32)
All you unchaste, refrain from touching the ropes with guilty hands! Leave
far away from here, far away, I warn you, and do not share in the sacred task;
or the goddess may not be content with a mere warning. But if any woman
has strength on account of her chaste mind, if any woman who stands here is
conscious of a body unstained, let her, even with her right hand alone,
undergo the pious duty.
Then though her reputation is darkened by false reports (non aequa
populi male credita fama, ‘discredited by a false rumour among the
people’, 17.34), Claudia Quinta undertakes the task and prays to the
goddess (17.36–40). An important aspect is revealed in Claudia’s gen-
ealogy, as we have seen with so many other female figures so far: Hic
prisca ducens Clausorum ab origine nomen / Claudia . . . (‘Here was
Claudia, who derived her name from the ancient stock of the Clausi’,
17.33–4). Silius exploits her genealogy to point to Claudia’s Sabine
origins,83 as she becomes an example of the successful amalgamation
202 instead of 205 bce. The poet, however, exploits the specific details from the
Livian account, such as the report that Rome was lacking alliances in the East at the
time: nullasdum in Asia socias ciuitates habebat populus Romanus (‘in Asia, the
Roman people had as yet no allied cities’, Liv. 29.11.1).
83
See Lemaire (1823), 2.345–6, and Spaltenstein (1990), 447, who point out that
the detail is absent in Livy but found in Ovid’s Fast. 4.305.
between the Latin and the Sabines into one race, the Romans. Claudia
will offer to her people the chance to stand united and conquer
Hannibal, by facilitating the importation of the Great Mother’s cult
into Rome. She concludes her speech in the following manner:
‘si nostrum nullo uiolatum est crimine corpus, / testis, diua, ueni et facili
me absolue carina’ (‘If my body has not been violated by any stain, you,
goddess, come as a witness and prove my innocence through the vessel’s
easy movement’, 17.39–40). Immediately after Claudia’s intervention,
the ship begins to move and everyone’s hopes are restored that the end
of the war is indeed approaching (17.41–7).
Scholars have correctly observed the significant role that chastity,
piety, and morality play in the episode of the Magna Mater.84 It has
also rightly been maintained that the elevation of morale from
Cybele’s arrival at Rome corresponds to the military success later in
the book, at Zama.85 I would like to suggest, pace von Albrecht,86 that
Claudia herself takes a central place in Silius’ narrative.
If we pay close attention to the description of the hesitation of the
ship and Claudia’s intervention, we see that references to chains and
bondage are salient. The word uinclum is used to illustrate the refusal
of the ship to surrender (adductis renuens . . . uinclis, 17.24), while the
ropes are fastened together in order to drag the vessel (religatis
funibus, 17.17). Then, the priest of Cybele demands that no polluted
hands touch the uincula (17.27); the contact of the profanae with the
statue of the goddess would result in failure and corruption. These
references to the chains reflect the moral ‘captivity’ of the Roman
people, from which the goddess supposedly will set them free. How-
ever, no polluted women may touch the ropes of the boat. Only
Claudia can serve as intermediary to Cybele; when she entreats the
Magna Mater to free her from the ignobility of her crimen (17.39–40),
the priestess uses the imperative absolue (17.40). The verb is also
used in connection with the uincula of the boat, since the goddess
nods positively to Claudia’s plea and surrenders to the power of the
84
See von Albrecht (1968), 95, and (1999), 310; Marks (1999), 349.
85
Marks (1999), 350, and (2005a), 240.
86
Von Albrecht (1968) and (1999), 301–16. See also Bruère (1959), 243–4, for a
comparison to Ovid’s Fast. 4.249–349. On Claudia’s pudicitia in Livy, Propertius, and
Ovid, see Langlands (2006), 65–9.
ropes. Tum secura capit funem is the phrase used after Claudia’s
speech (17.41) to demonstrate that Claudia is in control of the
ropes and does not surrender to the vessel but rather actively
drags it to the shore. What is more, the verb ab-soluere metaphori-
cally re-enacts the ‘moral’ release that Claudia’s reputation will
enjoy. Both Claudia and the Romans are freed from their burdens,
she of the crimen, Rome of the foreign enemy.
There is an additional reason why the verb used in Claudia’s case is
not unintentional. It can be contextually associated with Pomponia,
Scipio’s mother. What we learn from Pomponia’s account to Scipio
about her pregnancy is striking, namely that her labour was painless:87
excipit his mater: ‘nullos, o nate, labores
mors habuit nostra; aetherio dum pondere partu
exsoluor, miti dextra Cyllenia proles
imperio Iouis Elysias deduxit in oras
attribuitque pares sedes, ubi magna moratur
Alcidae genetrix, ubi sacro munere Leda . . . ’ (13.628–33)
The mother replies with these words: ‘No suffering, my son, attended my
death; when through my delivery I was freed from the divine burden, the
offspring of Cyllene, with his mild right hand, has led me to the shores of
Elysium by the command of Jove and has given me the same place, where the
great mother of Alcides, where Leda dwells with sacred honour . . . ’
Pomponia stresses the word exsoluor, which plays off against the verb
used later in her speech to portray her impregnation by Jupiter:
membra ligauit (13.638). We can discern how the poet carefully
reverses the image of Pomponia’s ‘rape’ and transforms it into an
episode where only the positive result is exalted, namely Scipio’s
birth. After we have listened to Pomponia’s account, there is no
space to question her chastity as uniuira and wife of Scipio’s mortal
‘father’. In other words, Scipio’s mother retains all the grandeur and
majesty of a Roman matrona. Likewise, Claudia is ‘delivered’ from
the afflictions of ill reputation and sets in motion the beginning of a
new generation of morality at Rome.
87
Marks (1999), 100–01, correctly notices that Pomponia responds quite casually,
even cheerfully, to Scipio’s words.
Claudia’s successful intervention reflects the reorientation of Ro-
manitas in the poem. By placing the Vestal at the opening of the last
book, Silius opposes her character to other female figures in the
poem. Claudia Quinta becomes the only female whose plea is an-
swered. Not only is her name saved from ill reputation (crimen), but
she is also transformed into an effective figure who can bring pros-
perity and moral regeneration to Rome. Claudia Quinta is the only
woman in the poem who succeeds in both her private and public
lives, to become the embodiment of Roman values and ideas con-
cerning womanhood.
This Romanisation of the Magna Mater and the adoption of a
foreign cult in Rome plays off against the presence of Anna Perenna
in book 8. As we have seen, the Carthaginian goddess remains in the
fringes of the narrative, as both Roman and non-Roman, a Sidonis
and a numen assimilated to the Italian landscape. The portrayal of
Anna as a displaced person who longs for the antiqua patria is
juxtaposed to the Magna Mater’s presence in Rome as the goddess
who sanctions her new country by ‘blessing’ the chastity of the chief
Vestal. There is, however, another layer of meaning to explore in the
scene, one that reveals the foreign elements crystallised by the
arrival of the Phrygian goddess. When the vessel is on its way to
its destination and just before Claudia’s interference, the poet
invites us to visualise the whole group of followers of the Magna
Mater:
circum arguta cauis tinnitibus aera, simulque
certabant rauco resonantia tympana pulsu
semiuirique chori, gemino qui Dindyma monte
casta colunt, qui Dictaeo bacchantur in antro,
quique Idaea iuga et lucos nouere silentes. (17.18–22)
All round the cymbals made a noise with their hollow tinklings, and at the
same time the drums vied with the cymbals resounding with their hoarse
note, and the choruses of the half-men, who worship her in the twin peaks of
chaste Dindyma, who revel in the cave of Dicte, and who have known the
heights of Ida and the silent groves.
On the one side, women only must drag the ship, while on the other
side we see the followers of the goddess lining up with their char-
acteristic and well-known equipment.88 The use of the verb bacchor
in this case is characteristic of the new, rather cosmopolitan order
announced by the arrival of Cybele, the coexistence of an exotic cult
with a purifying ritual. These novelties of the imported cult, viewed
from a Roman perspective, eradicate the differences between centre
and periphery and make Romanness an ever-changing feature which
can, and should, be reinforced from the outsider others. Simulta-
neously, however, behind the depiction of, and the emphasis laid on,
the Eastern provenance of the cult, as a worship performed by
choruses of semiuiri in a Bacchic state, lurks Silius’ foreknowledge
and therefore problematisation of such an importation for its im-
plications on future Roman civic life: the Magna Mater cult will soon
give rise to the Bacchanalian affair, in 186 bce,89 an event outside the
perimeter of the poem. Thus Silius intimates that the Punic War is
after all the zenith of Rome’s moral ascent, as well as a reference point
for subsequent generations, such as his audience under the Flavians.
We see that the poet introduces the figure of Claudia Quinta and
juxtaposes her indisputable chastity to the presence of the goddess,
who comes from outside the centre and thus introduces new standards
within the walls of the city (Phrygia . . . sede petitam / Laomedonteae
sacrandam moenibus urbis, ‘sought from her seat in Phrygia, to be
worshipped within the walls of the Laomedontean city’, 17.3–4).
A Roman matrona as a priestess meets with the foreign deity and
88
The orgiastic rites underscore the effeminacy of the Eastern people, including
the Trojans/Romans themselves (cf. Numanus Remulus and Ascanius in Aen. 9.617 or
Parthenopaeus’ attack on Amphion in Theb. 9.800, uestri feriunt caua tympana patres,
‘your fathers beat hollow cymbals’).
89
On the Bacchanalian affair, see most recently Takács (2000) and Pagán (2004),
50–67. Certainly, the final lines of the poem are open to interpretation, as the rise but
also the future decline of the empire seemingly coincide: cf. Silius’ apostrophe to
Rome exactly in the middle of the poem:
nam tempore, Roma,
nullo maior eris. mox sic labere secundis,
ut sola cladum tuearis nomina fama. (9.351–3)
Rome, you will be greater at no other time; soon you will fall by later victories so that
you shall be looked upon only by the rumour of your defeats.
through a prayer makes a pact: the goddess lets the vessel be landed and
approves of the woman’s chastity and pudor. The outsider goddess
becomes the catalyst for the annihilation of the Carthaginian other,
the enemy par excellence, who could not be absorbed or acculturated
and therefore had to be extinguished.90
Thus, in book 17, Silius chooses to portray Claudia as the embodi-
ment of chastity and purity and places her at the climax of a series of
female figures that have paved her way, such as Pomponia and Masi-
nissa’s mother. Clearly, the voice of women in the last books of the
poem conveys overt male values and ideals with regard to motherhood
and matronhood. ‘Barbarian’ (m)otherhood has become assimilated to
the sameness of the Roman male ideal. Yet there is a price to be paid.
Romanness itself becomes more flexible and pliable by the forces of the
periphery. This reconfiguration of female morality according to male
principles amply demonstrates the importance of female action for the
completion of the war and the vital role of women in the Roman society
as mothers, educators, and—most significantly—guardians of genera-
tional continuity.
One feels that cosmopolitanism emerges from the core of a global movement
that makes a clean sweep of laws, differences, and prohibitions . . . A challenge
to the very principle of human association is what is involved in cosmopolitan
utopia: the rules governing exchanges with the other having been abolished
(no more State, no more family, no sexual difference), is it possible to live
without constraints—without limits, without borders—other than individual
demands? Two possibilities are then open: either absolute cynicism based on
individual pleasure, or the elitism of lucid, self-controlled beings, of wise men
who manage to be reconciled with the insane.
(Julia Kristeva, Strangers to Ourselves, 60–61)
In the above quote, Kristeva delineates the trends visible in Hellenis-

tic cosmopolitanism and concludes that the Stoics opted for the
90
Wilson (2004), 235, observes that ‘whereas Silius begins the main narrative of
the Punica in a Virgilian mode, with his recapitulation of the myth of Dido’s
foundation of Carthage . . . , he concludes the poem in an Ovidian mode, converting
Livy’s account of Scipio’s triumph . . . into a mirror of Ovid’s climactic celebration of
the paradox of human immortality.’
second possibility, namely of a utopian ideal rather than a concrete
reality—what I would say belongs more in the sphere of literary
imagination than serves as a reflection of historical actualities. In
Silius’ reconstruction of the glorious past and of events that took
place more than 250 years before his time, the role of otherness and
of the periphery becomes a catalyst for the welfare of the empire.
Female power proves to be an important factor in the shaping of
Roman identity, since women emerge as important factors in this
reflection on idealised cosmopolitanism, on what is Roman and what
has the potential to become Roman. Moral values of the past are
revived and underscored as paragons necessary for prosperity and
success. The system of these values (pietas and fides) is reinforced
from the periphery by the incorporation of outsiders, as prospective
associates, and by their assimilation to the ideological code dictated
by the centre. At the same time, however, the notion of Romanness
undergoes a significant change as it becomes mandatory for Romans
to embrace otherness and to accept the terms of this coexistence,
even if this coexistence betokens the destabilisation and flexibility of
polarities such as centre and periphery, male and female.91
91
As Tipping (1999), 277, reminds us:
The final scene is a good example of the way in which, even as it constructs model
Romanity, even as, perhaps, it assumes an apparent air of nostalgia, the Punica raises
questions about those models that it presents, and so challenges any comfortable
sense that the past was a Republican paradise.
also in (2007), 241:
While the Punica’s apostrophe to Scipio may create the illusion of foreclosure on
history, history had, as Silius raced to complete his epic, brought to pass not only the
civil war and Caesarism in Lucan’s poem, but also the political demise of the
controversially individualistic Scipio Africanus.
Cf. also Dietrich (2005), 85 and 87, on how Scipio as a lamenting figure problematises
the role he will play in Roman politics after the Punic Wars and Rome’s dangers from
forces within, once the external enemy is defeated.
Epilogue: Virgins and (M)others:
Appropriations of Same and Other
in Flavian Rome
Nam michi si, cogente Deo, patrieque cadendum est,

Quid iuuat obniti contra Fatoque prementi
Humanas afferre manus? Moriamur inermes!
Viuat et in toto regnet ferus Hanibal orbe!
(Petrarch, Africa 2.27–30)
For if according to God’s plan my fatherland has to fall, what help is it to
strive with human efforts for the opposite, with Fate resisting? Let us die
unarmed! Let barbarian Hannibal live and rule over the whole world!
˚Æ æÆ Ł ª ı åøæ
Ææ
æı.
ˇƒ ¼ŁæøØ ÆP qÆ Ø ŒØÆ ºØ.
And now, what’s to become of us without barbarians?
These people were some sort of a solution.
(C. Cavafis, Waiting for the Barbarians, 1904)1
In Petrarch’s Africa, Scipio finds out that his victory over Hannibal
will not rescue the Roman state ultimately from its fated downfall.
In the lines above, Scipio reviews a well-established topos in Latin
literature, Rome’s inevitable gradual decline and fall after the
destruction of Carthage, after the elimination of the barbarian ene-
mies, who present the final stumbling block to the expansion of the
1
Translation K. Friar.
Epilogue: Virgins and (M)others 239
empire and the spread of (Roman) civilisation.2 In the preceding
chapters, the focus has shifted from the tension between Argive and
Theban women in Statius’ Thebaid, on the one hand, through the
open-endedness of the poem and the poet’s confession of poetic
powerlessness, to the optimistic closure of the Punica, on the other
hand, with its positive integration of Roman and non-Roman female
figures, an assimilation made possible only through the long process
of the restoration of the res publica in the hands of the great patriarch
Scipio.3 By contrast to the Thebaid, where the semiotic chôra of
female lament finds its rupture into the symbolic realm of Statius’
poetry temporarily, only to be dismissed by the poet as a mode
transgressive from the epic discourse, Silius presents us with an
ideal fusion, whereby the female presence activates those mechan-
isms conducive to the resolution of the conflict—male and female,
same and other collapse into one, collaborative group, as Claudia
Quinta hauls the vessel of the foreign goddess into the City and thus
displaces Hannibal from the Italian tellus towards the margins of the
poem and, in a way, of history itself.
Let us now turn to the epilogues of both poems for another
glimpse at the boundaries that have preoccupied us in the course of
this book:
salue, inuicte parens, non concessure Quirino
laudibus ac meritis non concessure Camillo:
nec uero, cum te memorat de stirpe deorum,
prolem Tarpei mentitur Roma Tonantis.
(Pun. 17.651–4)
2
See e.g., Sal. Cat. 2; Liv. Pref. 9–10, probably itself an embryonic concept found
as early as the mid-first century BCE in Porcius Licinus’ fragment: Poenico bello
secundo Musa pinnato gradu / intulit se bellicosam in Romuli gentem feram, ‘In the
Second Punic War, the Muse with her winged pace brought herself to the Roman
people in a warlike manner’, (fr. 1 Courtney), where the adjective bellicosam applies
well to both the Muse and the Roman people. On this controversial fragment, see
Skutsch (1970), 120–21; Mattingley (1993); and also Whitmarsh (2001), 9.
3
Marks (2005a), 284: ‘The epic . . . makes the argument that one-man rule can be
a stabilising and unifying force, especially in times of extreme peril . . . The epic
teaches us that one man alone is not enough to achieve stability, however; he needs
the consensus of the people and senate of Rome . . . ’
Hail to you, undefeated father, who will not yield to Quirinus in glory or to
Camillus in meritorious deeds! Rome tells no lie, when she calls you an
offspring of the gods and the son of the Thunder-god of the Tarpeian
Capitoline.
durabisne procul dominoque legere superstes,
o mihi bissenos multum uigilata per annos
Thebai? . . .
iam te magnanimus dignatur noscere Caesar . . .
uiue, precor; nec tu diuinam Aeneida tempta,
sed longe sequere et uestigia semper adora.
(Theb. 12.810–12, 814, 816–17)
My Thebaid, on whom I have spent twelve wakeful years, will you long
endure and be read when your master is gone? . . . Now the magnanimous
emperor deigns to know you . . . Live, I pray, and do not compete with the
divine Aeneid, but ever follow her footsteps from afar in adoration.
Both epic poems end with exhortations, in the form of imperatives:

Silius apostrophises Scipio, son of Jupiter, the parens of the Republic,
with the assertion that the victorious Roman general is equal to
Romulus, the founder of the state and of the empire in general.
Statius addresses his own Thebaid, with the hope that as a poem it
will withstand successfully the comparison to the divine Aeneid, an
epic with an already god-like status.4 Behind Silius’ address to Scipio,
however, lurks a literary gesture, as well, not to Virgil, but to Livy.
After Romulus’ miraculous ascension to heaven, Livy claims, the
patres urge the Roman military youth to perform and thus seal
what will become the ritual invocation for the feast of the Parentalia:5
parentemque urbis Romanae saluere universi Romulum iubent (‘All
order that Romulus should be hailed as the god-parent of the city of
Rome’, Liv. 1.16). Silius invokes the intertext of this formula (saluere
iubent) as a gesture to his historian-predecessor, whose text has been
instrumental for the composition of the Punica, just as the Aeneid has
admittedly been the poetic antecedent for Statius. As the Thebaid is
proclaimed equal to the Aeneid, with a gesture towards the divine
4
Pollmann (2004), 284–9; Rosati (2008) connects the prologue of the poem to
Domitian with the epilogue in terms of acknowledging political and literary ‘paternity’;
cf. also Rosati (2002) on Statius’ negotiations of poetic inspiration.
5
See Ogilvie (1965), 86. On Domitian as Romulus, see Cowan (2002), 170–76.
nod of the emperor with regard to the poet’s laborious enterprise, so
is Scipio elevated as identical to Quirinus, and consequently the
Punica is placed as a commendable successor in a long line of
Roman epic poets and historians.6 Scipio is by no means inferior to
Quirinus: the phrase echoes Jupiter’s similar pronouncement in book
3, when the divine king proclaims that Quirinus himself will yield his
place in the future apotheosis of Domitian (solioque Quirinus/con-
cedet, ‘Quirinus will give up his throne’, Pun. 3.627–8).7 Thus both
poets express their debt to tradition and place themselves within the
sequence of Latin literature, which they have helped to enhance in
their own right, as they engage in a figurative dialogue with the
emperor, a prominent figure in both epilogues.
Even though discussion of the epilogues has centred around the
picture of Domitian as a reflection of the pro- or anti-Domitianic
views of the poets and their poems, I would like to move away from
this debate:8 as Domitian figures in no uncertain terms in both
6
On the relationship between Silius and Roman historiography, see most recently
Gibson (2010) and Pomeroy (2010).
7
Jupiter’s prophecy of a tantum regnum (Pun. 3.588) rests upon the conquering of
the world as expressed by Vespasian’s and Domitian’s own feats: the empire’s borders
will extend to the north as fas as Thyle and the Rhine and south in Africa and the
Near East. Domitian himself is apostrophised as Germanicus (3.607), an appellation
indicative of the empire’s close relationship with the periphery, upon which its
vitality rests. On the prophecy, see Marks (2005a), 211–17. McDermott and Orentzel
(1977) examine the connection between the prophecy and the end of book 14
(686–8). Marks (2005a), 209–44, offers a comprehensive study for the connection
between Scipio and Domitian; see also Stürner (2008) and Bernstein (2008), 156, but
contra see Tipping (2010), 218: ‘[T]he shifting figure of Scipio with which the Punica
ends is also suggestive of the Virgilian and post-Virgilian epic hero’s lack of defini-
tion, of the difficulty of determining what it meant to be epic hero or Roman or both.’
8
On Statius’ views on Domitian in the epilogue, see Ganiban (2007), 231–2, who
interprets the epic as a critique of kingship but not of Domitian himself; McNelis
(2007), 176–7, points to the lack of satisfactory closure at the end of the poem as
emblematic of Statius’ views of the Flavian regime. Cf. Augoustakis and Newlands
(2007) and Augoustakis (2007) on the ‘poetics of intimacy’ that appropriately con-
veys Statius’ anxieties. See Marks (2005a), 245–88, on the Punica’s association with
the Domitianic principate, where the critic concludes that the poem ‘was as much an
epic for Domitian’s Rome as it was an epic about the Second Punic War. So much so
that when Domitian died, it lost its ideal reader, its didactic purpose, and its raison
d’ être’. See Coleman (1986) and (2000) for literary production ‘under the wings’ of
the emperor and its status upon the emperor’s murder respectively. König (2005),
205–53, interprets the games in book 16 in the light of the Domitianic regime ‘as a
epilogues, in a manner of a conclusion to this study, I would like to
offer a suggestion about the importance of polarities, such as centre
and periphery, for the culture and society of Domitianic Rome.9 The
two Cancelleria marble reliefs,10 discovered in 1937 and 1939, pro-
vide ample illustration of a shift in Flavian art from themes of fertility
and the imperial family in detail (as witnessed in the Ara Pacis, for
instance), to the new dynasty itself, Vespasian and Domitian in
particular, where gods (and personifications of abstract notions)
mingle with humans, in the absence of mothers and children.11
The prevailing opinion is that Relief B portrays Vespasian’s aduentus
to the city in 70 CE, with Domitian at his side (fig. 1).12 On the left
side of the fragmented relief, our gaze is directed towards the perso-
nification of Roma, in Amazonian costume, and one of the Vestals
(fig. 2). Roma is seated on a throne, spear in one hand, waiting for
the new emperor to come into the city’s pomerium.13 There is little
consensus, however, concerning Relief A, which has generated debate
among critics (fig. 3). Domitian is the central figure of the relief,
either in a profectio, setting out for war in the frontiers of the empire,
or an aduentus, a victorious return from his war against the Chatti
(in 83 CE). The last of the Flavians is accompanied by Minerva and
Mars on his left side and an Amazonian figure on his right side, who
appears to be urging him on. Because of the similarities between the
two Amazonian figures in the two reliefs, it has been concluded that
reflection of the passivity which the Roman people have chosen, or been forced to
choose, in their viewing of the horrors of contemporary warfare’ (253).
9
Most recently, Keith (2007) has contributed to our understanding of ekphraseis
in Statius’ Thebaid (and Ovid’s Metamorphoses) as a reflection of imperial (Dom-
itianic) architecture, without drawing specific analogies, however, as I shall try to do
in this epilogue.
10
The reliefs have attracted the attention of scholars and art historians alike.
I indicate some representative studies, with often opposing views, concerning the
theme of each relief: Magi (1945); Toynbee (1957); Bonanno (1976), 52–61; Kleiner
(1992), 191–2; Darwall-Smith (1996), 172–7 and 303 (bibliography); Newlands
(2002), 16–17; Henderson (2003).
11
Newlands (2002), 16.
12
By both Magi (1945) and Toynbee (1957); while Magi supports the idea also for
Relief A, Toynbee proposes that Relief A represents a profectio, a predominant view
now (see e.g. Darwall-Smith [1996], 174 n.214).
13
Cf. BMC, 2.121 no. 565 and pl. 21.9, Roma helmeted with spear in right hand
and round shield, with Vespasian laureate.
Figure 1. Rome, Cancelleria Relief B, Vespasian’s Aduentus.
Figure 2. Rome, Cancelleria Relief B, Vespasian’s Aduentus, detail of Roma.

Figure 3. Rome, Cancelleria Relief A, Domitian’s Profectio.
the second woman is also Roma, though many support the idea of a
personified Virtus.14 Roma in an Amazonian costume, with bare
breast, is not a Flavian innovation. Roma is often portrayed in such
clothing and posture.15 What keys into our reading of the Flavian
epics under discussion is the visual depiction of Roma in Flavian art
as a warrior, with her adopted Amazonian apparel, as one reinforcing
the divide between insiders and outsiders. On the widely accepted
reconstruction of the relief as a profectio, with Domitian setting out
against the Sarmatians (in 92–3 CE), then we are gazing on Roma
fashioned as Hippolyte, in the same manner we have seen Statius
portraying the Amazon whom Theseus brings to Athens, an outsider,
14
Keller (1967), 194–202 and 209, suggests that both female figures portray Virtus
rather than Roma, and in particular, Domitian’s Virtus (also Darwall-Smith [1996],
173–4). I follow Toynbee’s (1957) interpretation of Roma in both reliefs. For Domi-
tian’s effort to redefine Virtus, see Tuck (2005). McDonnell (2006), 146–9, examining
similar representations of Virtus, concludes that:
The ancient Romans had no conceptual difficulties in conceiving of an armed
Amazon seated in the attitude of a city goddess as Roma, and of a standing Amazon
as Virtus. What is significant about the relationship between the two images is that
when the Romans wanted to represent Virtus in cult, on coins, and in art, they
employed the very same image used for the personified Roma. (149)
15
See Calza’s (1926–7) still informative examination and appendix with all of the
representations of Roma as an Amazon (notably, in the Temple of Augustus and
Roma in Ostia), as well as Arrigoni (1984), 884–7 and especially n.41. For instance,
cf. Roma on the Ara Pacis and the Gemma Augusta; see D’Ambra (1993), 89, and
Castriota (1995), 142–3.
and yet a prospective Athenian. While the female warrior covers the
emperor’s hand, as she urges him on to pursue fearlessly his under-
taking, another goddess, Minerva, the emperor’s own protectress,
escorts him on the road.16 Memorialised on the Cancelleria Relief B,
we find Rome as an Amazon, a virgin woman-warrior, appropriately
positioned together with the Vestal virgin, not in the central location
of the frame but in the borders of the visual narrative instead.
Conceivably Rome is waiting to usher and sanction the emperor
into the city. In the visual arts, clear emphasis is laid on virginity,
and the war-like imagery of both Minerva and Roma mark the
conspicuous absence of motherhood, from both reliefs. It is the
same topos we have examined in the final book of the Punica, a
contrast to the rampant effeminisation at the end of the Thebaid: in
Statius, female lament prevails, its silencing (successful or not) by the
authorial voice notwithstanding, while Hippolyte, an Amazon who
embodies (m)otherhood, is about to bear offspring to Theseus; and
yet in Silius, Claudia Quinta, the Vestal Virgin, whose pudicitia is
documented beyond doubt, overshadows the dangerously heroic
Sophonisba, the other, who stays in the margins of the narrative,
remaining voiceless and anonymous. As motherhood becomes idea-
lised in the figure of Pomponia and the mother-prophetess of Masi-
nissa, at the same time virginity and the reformation of moral values
by the Flavians comes to the forefront of the narrative in the Punica,
as a manifestation and reflection of the trends in Flavian art. Since
the Roman ideals of the past are exploited to reinforce gender
boundaries, by reimposing the cosmic order through Scipio’s victory
over the African other, boundaries collapse: an Amazonian other is
now in the centre. Roma is portrayed as a figure from the periphery,
since the periphery provides those examples that the centre has failed
to project.17 This image of purity and virginity is also emphasised by
the punishment of the Vestal Cornelia, mapped by Silius on the
16
Henderson (2003), 250–51: ‘Side by side with Mars, hustling in hot pursuit of
Victory for Rome . . . This myth hems the hero in with the unwomen warriors, but the
massive god of war pledges that manliness (uirtus) brings Roman success.’
17
Ending with Nero’s regime. See Joshel (1997) for the corrupt centre vs the ideal
periphery (Messalina vs the German wives in Tacitus’ Germania, for instance).
geography of the Flavian Underworld, or by Scipio’s rescue of the
virgin Spanish princess:18
quin etiam accitus populi regnator Hiberi,
cui sponsa et sponsae defixus in ossibus ardor.
hanc notam formae concessit laetus ouansque
indelibata gaudenti uirgine donum.
(Pun. 15.268–71)
Moreover, by Scipio the ruler of a Spanish tribe was summoned, who had a
promised bride and loved her passionately. And Scipio joyful and trium-
phant gave her back, remarkable for her beauty, freely to the bridegroom
who rejoiced in an unpolluted bride.
Scipio’s continence celebrates the new order proclaimed by the

Flavian gens and Domitian in particular.19 Pudicitia and pudor are
reinstated after the decadent years of the last of the Julio-Claudians.
This portrayal of Rome’s Amazonian status, however, is sanctioned
and approved by the periphery also, as becomes evident in the
seldom recovered female voice within the androcentric milieu of
Roman or Romanised elite provincial culture: the Hymn to Rome
(N # PÅ) by the Greek poetess Melinno, epitomises the ideas
examined in our analysis of the Flavian epic poets:20
åÆEæ Ø, # PÆ, ŁıªÅæ @æÅ,
åæıæÆ Æ$çæø ¼ÆÆ,
e L ÆØ Kd ªA …ºı
18
Cf. Plb. 10.19.3–7; Liv. 26.50; V. Max. 4.31.1. The episode recalls Alexander’s
similar gesture to Darius’ female relatives (Curt. 3.12.21). See Nicol (1936), 119;
Spaltenstein (1990), 358; Ripoll (1998), 462–4; Marks (2005a), 237–8. The subject is
exploited in later art also in a similar manner (see book cover), for instance, in Van
Dyck’s painting The Continence of Scipio, now at Christ Church Picture Gallery,
Oxford; the analogy intended here is between Scipio and James I, who intervenes
for the marriage of George Villiers, first duke of Buckingham to Lady Katherine
Manners. It seems that ideals such as this always find fertile ground before elite
audiences, either Flavian or Jacobean.
19
For the moral restoration promoted by Domitian, see Grelle (1980) and
D’Ambra (1993); in the Punica, Mezzanotte (1995) and Marks (2005a), 235–42.
20
Melinno is called Lesbian in the sources, but of course both her name and the
island of origin exemplify the presupposition that all melic poets come from Lesbos;
see M. L. West (1978), 104; De Martino (2006), 284–92. Of course, the verbal
exploitation of the pun between the noun ÞÅ (‘strength’) and the city’s name is
obvious.
ÆNb ¼ŁæÆı.
d Æ fi , æ
ØÆ, øŒ EæÆ
ŒF Iææ Œø
ÆØºB fi IæåA,
ZçæÆ ŒØæÆB fi åØÆ Œæ
IªfiÅ.
~
fi Æ Pa ªºÆ fi ŒæÆæH ºø
æÆ ªÆÆ ŒÆd ºØA ŁÆºÆ
çªªÆØ. f IçÆº ø Œı
æ~ fi Æ
¼Æ ºÆH.
Æ b çººø › ªØ ÆNg
ŒÆd Æºø
¼ºº ¼ººø
d Æ fi ºÅØ sæ IæåA
P Æ
ººØ.
q ªaæ KŒ ø f Æ ŒæÆı
¼æÆ ÆNåÆa ªºı ºåØ
hÆåı ˜Ææ ‹ø IEÆ
ŒÆæe { I IæH.
(Suppl. Hell. 541.1–20 [1983], 268–9)21
Hail Rome, daughter of Ares, warlike queen with your golden belt, you who
dwell in holy Olympus, unshakably always set on the earth. To you alone,
elder daughter, Fate gave the royal glory of unbroken rule, in order to be the
leader, having royal power. Under the straps of your strong yoke the breasts
of the earth and of the grey sea are bound tightly; you govern the cities of
people securely. Greatest Time, who causes all things to falter and alters the
life sometimes this way, sometimes another, for you alone does not change
the favourable wind of your rule. For you indeed alone from all the cities
give birth to the strongest, spear-bearing, great men, as if from men[?] you
brought forth the rich crop of Demeter’s fruit.22
Even though Melinno’s poem has been dated to various different

periods, from the Hellenistic times to the early second century CE,23
21
The text is attested in Stobaeus 3.7.12, in the section æd IæÆ.
22
Translation modified from Lind (1972), taking into account Bowra (1957).
23
In the Suppl. Hell., Lloyd-Jones and Parsons (1983), 269, describe the style of
the poem as turgidus iste stilus et inanium iterationum strepitus, dating it in the
Hadrianic period. Usener (1900), 290, proposed metrical affiliations with Statius’
Silu. 4.7, also in Sapphic stanzas, and therefore dated the poem in the first century CE,
between Horace and Statius; contra see Giangrande (1991). For conjectures on the
Hellenistic origins of the poem, see Bowra (1957); Lind (1972), especially n.84, on the
worship of Rome as a goddess attested as early as 195 BCE in Asia Minor, the festival
we can safely follow the recent consensus concerning the dating to
the end of the first and beginning of the second century CE. Melinno’s
perspective of Rome’s grandeur and primacy over the world reflects
the representation of Roma as a warrior Amazon, as we saw above,
but also, and most importantly, supports the goddess’ alignment
with the role of Tellus, Terra Mater, since the city bears the greatest
men, as seen in the final stanza. Melinno’s poetic tropes echo the
patterns of Greek epic poetry, a tradition subsumed into the long line
of Latin epic: Rome is apostrophised as the daughter of Ares in the
first line, a clear allusion to the opening lines from the cyclic Aethio-
pis, @æÅ ŁıªÅæ ªÆº æ IæçØ (‘daughter of great-
hearted Ares, murderer of men’, fr.1 West). Melinno repositions
Penthesilea’s description from the beginning of the hexameter to
the end, thus allowing place for the hymnic åÆEæ and the name of
Rome. The hymn also ends with epic overtones in ŒæÆı ¼æÆ
ÆNåÆa ªºı evoking the great tradition in which the poetess
situates her work, but also refashioning the cosmos of martial epic
poetry into a female space, where the city clearly plays the role of the
mother, by means of images of fertility in the last stanza, reinforced
by the maternal earth and sea in the exact middle of the poem
( æÆ ªÆÆ ŒÆd ºØA ŁÆºÆ, 10). As Mellor has pointed out,
‘despite its brevity, this little poem impressively encapsulates the
themes of Roman rule found in later Latin poetry’.24 Although the
negotiation of Greekness vs Romanness in imperial Greek literature
is by no means the subject of this book,25 I submit that Melinno’s
uniquely female voice contributes to our understanding of the ne-
gotiation of gender and identity as attested in imperial Latin epic
poetry, from the male perspective, especially when considered as a
parallel with the representation of Roma as a virgin Amazon in
Flavian art. Where literature problematises the relationship between
called Romaia earliest known from Delphi in 189 BCE, among other indications of
Rome’s prestige in the eastern Mediterranean in the second century BCE; Mellor
(1975), 121–4. Gauger (1984) dates Melinno in the early principate, followed by
Raimondi’s (1995–8) perceptive study of Melinno and the themes of the poem,
dating it most probably in the early second century CE, Torres Guerra (2003), and
Alekniené (2006).
24
Mellor (1975), 124.
25
See e.g. Whitmarsh’s (2001) perceptive and insightful study on the subject.
virginity, pudicitia, and the dangers of motherhood on the one hand,
art elides the latter, refocusing the lens solely on the former.
While sexual continence in the form of virginity represents the
ideal correctio morum promoted by the new regime and the princeps
pudicus, the presence of Amazonian imagery, in the figures of Roma
and Minerva, is not altogether lacking further undertones. Minerva’s
adoption for the championship of the last of the Flavians underscores
her status as the virgin protectress of the arts and especially weav-
ing.26 Unfortunately, the state of the Cancelleria Reliefs will never
allow us to know their exact placement within other Flavian monu-
ments27 and to prove a direct correlation between Minerva the
warrior and Minerva the punisher, as clearly depicted in the frieze
of the Forum Transitorium. Arachne’s execution conceals Minerva’s
double power as civiliser and ruthless warrior. As D’Ambra has
correctly observed, ‘[Arachne] is trapped in her virginal state without
ever being able to become a bride, to marry and have children. Her
labor is sterile and fruitless.’28 Virginity has its own limitations. It is
only recognised as the antecedent of marriage; weaving and wool-
work are not devoid of consequences. As we have seen, Hippolyte is
transposed into the Athenian culture and will contribute to the
future of the Athenian king, however gloomy that may prove by
the birth of Hippolytus.
Preoccupation with Virtus and warrior Amazons does not stop in
the Cancelleria Relief and the Forum Transitorium, however. Domi-
tian’s building programme, it has been observed, serves his ‘policy of
cultural renewal’, his vision of moral and social reform.29 Is it mere
coincidence then that the fountain in the lower level of the Domus
Augustana, the private section of the imperial abode on the Palatine,
is made in the shape of Amazonian peltae (fig. 4)?30 This lower floor
26
Henderson (2003), 253: ‘no one should forget for a moment that this virgin
[Minerva] can be a killer . . . Mind Minerva on the war-path. Worth avoiding.’ Cf. also
Dominik (1994a), 177, on Minerva in the Thebaid.
27
See Darwall-Smith (1996), 176, for possible positions in the Temple of Fortuna
Redux or the Porticus Diuorum.
28
D’Ambra (1993), 108. Also Fredrick (2003), 223–7.
29
D’Ambra (1993), 5.
30
For Domitian’s palace (Domus Flavia and Augustana), see Darwall-Smith
(1996), 185–201, and Packer (2003).
Figure 4. Rome, Domus Augustana, lower peristyle.
is one of the few places of the complex visible from below the
Palatine,31 thus exposed to the people’s gaze, while at the same
time one of the emperor’s most private rooms (room 8 in fig. 5)
leads directly to the Amazonian fountain.32 Coincidence or well-
calculated imperial propaganda? As MacDonald observes, ‘[Domi-
tian] claimed the rounded whole of the earth, and it was this that
Rabirius’ [the architect’s] creation was intended to declare.’33 If we
can judge from the pervasive use of the theme of Penthesilea’s defeat
in the hands of Achilles, for instance, as preserved in the newly
excavated villa of Herodes Atticus in the Peloponnese, chronologi-
cally of the same time period at the beginning of the second century
CE (copied from a Hellenistic original), then we may draw some
31
Darwall-Smith (1996), 200.
32
MacDonald (1982), 74, observes that ‘the domed octagonal chambers of the
lower level, each generated in radial symmetry from a vertical center line, implied
seamless perfection’.
33
Ibid.
2 3 5
4
14
13
12 8 7
10
11
6
15
17 18
16
012 345 10 15 20 25 30 METERS
Figure 5. Rome, Domus Augustana, lower level, reprinted from MacDonald.
conclusions about the importation of such depictions from the

periphery, as well as the influence of similar depictions of
the Roman centre in the art of the periphery of the empire.34 The
conquered periphery comes into the heart of the city, in the Palatine,
while Domitian fashions himself as the conqueror and pacifier of the
barbarian extrema mundi. The relationship, however, seems to be one
34
See Spyropoulos (2006) for pictures of fascinating mosaics from Herodes’ villa.
For other iconic representations of Penthesilea and Hippolyte, see LIMC 1.596–601
and 601–603 s.v. Amazones.
of mutual influence and interaction: the periphery is Romanised, but
at the same time certain elements are being adopted by the centre
and find their way into the emperor’s private abode, the Domus
Augustana.35 And yet, we should beware: as Fredrick has correctly
pointed out, this is an emperor who meticulously exploits his build-
ing programme to facilitate his ability to ‘invade the supposedly
impenetrable elite male body through surveillance and violence’.36
In light of our examination of both the Punica and the Thebaid, even
under the emperor’s penetrating gaze, the poets of the period
endorse the emperor’s strategy of acculturation and assimilation, by
idealising the trends already visible in the Second Punic War or by
pointing to the failures following the Theban (and consequently
Roman) fratricide.
In any act of reading, there will always be many levels at work . . . [E]very
time we read something, we play the role of a reader for whom this is new,
while at the same time playing other reading roles which are not. It is in both
the gap and the communication between these levels of reading that
intelligibility can occur.
(A. Sharrock, Seduction and Repetition in Ovid’s ‘Ars amatoria’ 2, 292)
This study does not seek to claim that the Flavian poets are prescient
feminists, of course, but rather to underscore the problematisation of
defining polarities, such as the ones we have been used to employing
in categorising Roman vs non-Roman, male and female, the civilised
vs the barbaric and monstrous. In Domitianic Rome, as the foregoing
analysis has indicated, there is a subtle renegotiation of such binar-
isms, both on the narrative and visual levels, with the epic poets in
the forefront of such, in a sense paradoxical, ‘dialogue’ vis-à-vis the
elusive and often misinterpreted emperor, if we can claim such a
relationship in historical terms.
35
In the opening quotation from Valerius Flaccus’ Argonautica in the Introduc-
tion to this volume, Venus urges Medea to leave the isolation of her Amazonian land
and follow Jason, a Roman Jason this time, to the centre of action. She urges Medea to
become a Roman!
36
Fredrick (2003), 201, making clear that this is not a trait of the ‘bad’ emperors
alone. See Vout (2007) on how the emperors’ ‘objects of lust’ are transformed into
visual representations of Roman hegemony.
My own Kristevan lens, even though confined in its own limita-
tions of modern psychoanalysis, nevertheless proves an important
tool in analysing imperial Latin literature, a period fascinating in its
own right from our modern perspective: a big empire that reaches its
peak, with a growing anxiety concerning its future, and a profound
questioning of the Virgilian aphorism sine fine. Upon this multi-
faceted tableau, the poets embroider several female figures both as
autonomous and as asymbolic, both monstrous and grotesque, com-
pelling and captivating, unexpected and yet predictable.
In an era when the other does not and rather often should not
constitute or be conflated with the same, in an age when breaking the
norm is not always appreciated and endorsed, despite our claims to
the opposite, the Flavian poets lure us into partaking of a multi-
layered discourse on similar issues, in this incessant process of respi-
cere, of ana- and proleptically looking forward to the future with a
firm foot placed on the preceding literary history and historical
exempla. Otherness not only as ethnic, cultural, religious, or political
(with its pro-, or anti-Domitianic overtones) but also as a renewal
wrought on the core of the epic tradition, a breaking away from the
norm, either by a detour towards purely mythological themes, such
as the Thebaid (perhaps to extend the analogy, the Roma-id) or by a
turn in the direction of a seemingly, wholesome national epic, which
nevertheless is called by the enemy’s name, the Punica.
Bibliography
See also pp. xiii–xiv for texts and translations used and abbreviations.
Adams, J. N. (1982), The Latin Sexual Vocabulary (London: Duckworth).
——(2003), ‘Romanitas and the Latin Language’, CQ 53: 184–205.
Ahl, F. (1976), Lucan: An Introduction (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press).
——(1985), Metaformations: Soundplay and Wordplay in Ovid and Other
Classical Poets (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press).
——(1986), ‘Statius’ Thebaid: A Reconsideration’, ANRW 2.32.5:
2803–912.
——, Davis, M. A., and Pomeroy, A. (1986), ‘Silius Italicus’, ANRW 2.32.4:
2492–561.
Albrecht, M. von (1964), Silius Italicus: Freiheit und Gebundenheit römischer
Epik (Amsterdam: P. Schippers).
——(1968), ‘Claudia Quinta bei Silius Italicus und bei Ovid’, AU 11: 76–95.
——(1999), Roman Epic: An Interpretative Introduction (Leiden, Boston,
Cologne: Brill).
Alekniené, T. (2006), ‘Le poème de Mélinno dans l’Anthologie de Jean
Stobée: Une erreur d’interprétation?’ Philologus 150: 198–202.
Alexiou, M. (1974; 2nd edn 2002), The Ritual Lament in Greek Tradition
(Lanham, MD: Rowman & Littlefield).
Anderson, W. S. (1999), ‘Aeneid 11: The Saddest Book’, in C. Perkell,
ed., Reading Vergil’s ‘Aeneid’ (Norman: Oklahoma University Press):
195–209.
Anzinger, S. (2007), Schweigen im römischen Epos. Zur Dramaturgie der
Kommunikation bei Vergil, Lucan, Valerius Flaccus und Statius (Berlin
and New York: Walter de Gruyter).
Aricò, G. (1960), ‘Sul mito di Lino e Corebo in Stat. Theb. I, 557–668’, RFIC
38: 277–85.
——(1961), ‘Stazio e l’Ipsipile euripidea. Note sull’imitazione staziana’,
Dioniso 35: 56–67.
——(1991), ‘La vicenda di Lemno in Stazio e Valerio Flacco,’ in M. Korn
and H. J. Tschiedel, eds, Ratis omnia vincet: Untersuchungen zu den
‘Argonautica’ des Valerius Flaccus (Hildesheim, Zurich, and New York:
G. Olms): 197–210.
Bibliography 255
Ariemma, E. M. (1999), ‘Silio Italico e il tradimento di Regolo (tra esem-
plarità epica e understatement elegiaco)’, in G. Abbamonte, A. Rescigno,
A. and R. Rossi, eds, Satura: Collectanea Philologica Italo Gallo ab Amicis
Discipulisque Dicata (Naples: Arte Tipografica): 79–116.
——(ed.) (2000a), Alla Vigilia di Canne. Commentario al Libro VIII dei
‘Punica’ di Silio Italico (Naples: Loffredo).
——(2000b), ‘Tendenze degli studi su Silio Italico. Una panoramica sugli
ultimi quindici anni (1984–1999),’ BStudLat 30: 577–640.
——(2004), ‘Lo spettro della fame, l’arsura della sete (Sil. II 461–474)’, in
P. Esposito and E. M. Ariemma, eds, Lucano e la tradizione dell’epica latina
(Venice: Guida): 153–91.
——(2007), ‘Visitare i templi: Ripensamenti virgiliani (e lucanei) nei Punica
di Silio Italico’, Centopagine 1: 18–29.
——(2010), ‘Cuncti Varro Mali: The Demagogue Varro in Punica 8–10’, in
A. Augoustakis, ed., Brill Companion to Silicus Italicus (Leiden, Boston,
Cologne: Brill): 241–76.
Armiseen-Marchetti, M. (2003), ‘Les liens familiaux dans le Bellum civile de
Lucain’, in I. Gualandri and G. Mazzoli, eds, Gli Annei: Una famiglia nella
storia e nella cultura di Roma imperiale. Atti del Convegno internazionale di
Milano–Pavia, 2–6 maggio 2000 (Como: New Press): 245–58.
Arrigoni, G. (1984), ‘Amazzoni alla romana’, RSI 96: 871–919.
Asso, P. (1999), ‘Passione eziologica nei Punica di Silio Italico: Trasimeno,
Sagunto, Ercole e i Fabii’, Vichiana 1: 75–87.
——(2001), ‘Passione eziologica nei Punica di Silio Italico: La morte di
Pirene’, AIONfilol 23: 215–32.
——(2003), ‘Human Divinity: Hercules in the Punica’, Vichiana 5: 239–48.
——(2010), ‘Hercules as a Paradigm of Roman Heroism,’ in A. Augoustakis,
ed., Brill Companion to Silicus Italicus (Leiden, Boston, Cologne: Brill):
179–92.
Augoustakis, A. (2001), Facta virum sileo: Reconstructing Female Action in
Silius Italicus’ ‘Punica’ (Diss., Brown University, Providence, RI).
——(2003a), ‘Lugendam formae sine uirginitate reliquit: Reading Pyrene and
the Transformation of Landscape in Silius’ Punica 3’, AJPh 124: 235–57.
——(2003b), ‘Rapit infidum victor caput: Ekphrasis and Gender Role Reversal
in Silius Italicus’ Punica 15’, in P. Thibodeau and H. Haskell, eds, Being There
Together (Minnesota: Afton Historical Society Press): 110–27.
——(2005), ‘Two Greek Names in Silius Italicus’ Punica’, RhM 148 (2005):
222–4.
——(2006), ‘Coniunx in limine primo: Regulus and Marcia in Punica 6’,
Ramus 35.2: 144–68.
256 Bibliography
Augoustakis, A. (2007), ‘Unius amissi leonis: Taming the Lion and Caesar’s
Tears (Siluae 2.5)’, in A. Augoustakis and C. E. Newlands, eds, Statius’s
‘Siluae’ and the Poetics of Intimacy, Arethusa 40: 207–21.
——(2008a), ‘The Other as Same: Non-Roman Mothers in Silius Italicus’
Punica’, CPh 103: 55–76.
——(2008b), ‘An Insomniac’s Lament: The End of Poetic Power in Statius’
Silvae 5.4’, in C. Deroux, ed., Studies in Latin Literature and Roman
History 14 (Brussels: Latomus): 339–47.
——ed. (2010a), Brill Companion to Silius Italicus (Leiden, Boston, Co-
logne: Brill).
——(2010b), ‘Per hunc utero quem linquis nostro: Mothers in Flavian Epic’,
in L. H. Petersen and P. Salzman-Mitchell, eds, Mothering and Motherhood
in Ancient Greece and Rome (Austin: University of Texas Press).
——(forthcoming), ‘sine funeris ullo ardet honore rogus: Burning Pyres in
Lucan in Silius Italicus’ Punica’, in P. Asso, ed., Brill Companion to Lucan
(Leiden, Boston, Cologne: Brill).
——and Newlands, C. E. (2007), ‘Introduction: Statius’s Siluae and the
Poetics of Intimacy’, in A. Augoustakis and C. E. Newlands, eds, Statius’s
‘Siluae’ and the Poetics of Intimacy, Arethusa 40: 117–25.
Auverlot, D. (1992), ‘Le catalogue des armées alliées de Carthage dans les
Punica de Silius Italicus: Construction et fonction (Livre III, vers 222 à
414)’, IL 44.1: 3–11.
Bahrenfuss, W. (1951), Die Abentuer der Argonauten auf Lemnos bei Apollonios
Rhodios, Valerius Flaccus, Papinius Statius (Diss., Christian-Albrechts-
Universität, Kiel).
Baier, T., ed. (2001), Valerius Flaccus ‘Argonautica’ Buch VI. Einleitung und
Kommentar (Munich: G. H. Beck).
Barchiesi, A. (2001a), ‘Geneaologie letterarie nell’epica imperiale: Fonda-
mentalismo e ironia’, in E. A. Schmidt, ed., L’histoire littéraire immanente
dans la poésie latine (Geneva: Fondation Hardt): 315–62.
——(2001b), Speaking Volumes. Narrative and Intertext in Ovid and Other
Latin Poets (London: Duckworth).
Barchiesi, M. (1962), Nevio epico. Storia, interpretazione, edizione critica dei
frammenti del primo epos latino (Padua: Cedam).
Barrett, W. S., ed. (1964), Euripides ‘Hippolytos’ (Oxford: Oxford University
Press).
Barthes, R. (1970), ‘L’étrangère’, La Quinzaine Littéraire 94, 1–15 mai: 19–20
(repr. in English in Lechte and Zournazi [2003], 11–14).
Bibliography 257
Bartsch, S. (1997), Ideology in Cold Blood (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University
Press).
Bassett, E. (1953), ‘Silius Italicus in England’, CPh 48: 155–68.
——(1955), ‘Regulus and the Serpent in the Punica’, CPh 50: 1–20.
——(1959), ‘Silius Punica 6.1–53’, CPh 54: 10–34.
——(1963), ‘Scipio and the Ghost of Appius’, CPh 58: 73–92.
——(1966), ‘Hercules and the Hero of the Punica’, in L. Wallach, ed., The
Classical Tradition: Studies in Honor of Harry Caplan (Ithaca, NY: Cornell
University Press): 258–73.
Beaty, M. D. (1960), Foreshadowing and Suspense in the ‘Punica’ of Silius
Italicus (Diss., University of North Carolina, Chapel Hill).
Bernstein, N. (2003), ‘Ancestors, Status, and Self-Presentation in Statius’
Thebaid ’, TAPhA 133: 353–79.
——(2008), In the Image of the Ancestors: Narratives of Kinship in Flavian
Epic (Toronto: University of Toronto Press).
——(forthcoming), ‘The White Doe of Capua (Silius Italicus, Punica
13.115–137)’, Scholia.
Bessone, F. (2002), ‘Voce femminile e tradizione elegiaca nella Tebaide di
Stazio’, in A. Aloni, ed., I Sette a Tebe: Dal mito alla letteratura. Atti del
seminario internazionale, Torino, 21–22 febbraio 2001 (Bologna: Pàtron):
185–217.
——(2006), ‘Un mito da dimenticare. Tragedia e memoria epic nella
Tebaide’, MD 56: 93–127.
——(2008), ‘Teseo, la clementia e la punizione dei tiranni: Esemplarità e
pessimismo nel finale della Tebaide’, Dictynna 5: 1–54.
Bettenworth, A. (2004), Gastmahlszenen in der antiken Epik von Homer bis
Claudian: Diachrone Untersuchungen zur Szenentypik (Göttingen: Vanden-
hoeck & Ruprecht).
Bettini, M. (1977), ‘Ennio in Silio Italico’, RFIC 105: 425–47.
Billerbeck, M. (1983), ‘Die Unterweltbeschreibung in den Punica des Silius
Italicus’, Hermes 111: 326–38.
—— (1986a), ‘Aspects of Stoicism in Flavian Epic’, in F. Cairns, ed., Papers of
the Liverpool Latin Seminar, Fifth Volume 1985 (Liverpool: Francis
Cairns): 341–56.
——(1986b), ‘Stoizismus in der römischen Epik neronischer und flavischer
Zeit’, ANRW 2.32.5: 3134–43.
Boëls-Janssen, N. (2002), ‘De Casina aux noces de l’âne: Les rites nuptiaux
détournés’, REL 80: 129–49.
Bona, I. (1995), ‘Conoscenze etno-geografiche dell’Africa nei Punica di Silio
Italico (III 231–324)’, AALig 52: 487–99.
258 Bibliography
Bona, I. (1996), ‘Dalla Spagna all’Italia. Il passagio delle Alpi nei Punica di
Silio Italico’, in A. F. Bellezza, ed., Un incontro con la storia nel centenario
della nascita di Luca de Regibus 1895–1995 (Genoa: Università degli studi
di Genova): 181–94.
——(1998), La visione geografica nei ‘Punica’ di Silio Italico (Genoa:
Università degli studi di Genova).
Bonanno, A. (1976), Portraits and Other Heads on Roman Historical Relief up
to the Age of Septimius Severus (Oxford: Oxford University Press).
Bond, G. W., ed. (1963), Euripides ‘Hypsipyle’ (Oxford: Oxford University
Press).
Bonjour, M. (1975), Terre natale: Études sur une composante affective du
patriotisme romain (Paris: Les Belles Lettres).
Bonneford-Coudry, M. and Späth, T., eds (2001), L’invention des grands
hommes de la Rome antique. Actes du colloque du Collegium Beatus Rhe-
nanus, August 16–18 septembre 1999 (Paris: De Boccard).
Bouquet, J. (2001), Le songe dans l’épopée latine d’Ennius à Claudien
(Brussels: Latomus).
Bowra, C. M. (1957), ‘Melinno’s Hymn to Rome’, JRS 47: 21–8.
Boyd, B. W. (1992), ‘Virgil’s Camilla and the Traditions of Catalogue and
Ecphrasis (Aeneid 7.803–17)’, AJPh 113: 213–34.
Boyle, A. J., ed. (1987), The Imperial Muse: Ramus Essays on Roman Litera-
ture of the Empire. To Juvenal through Ovid (Berwick, Australia: Aureal).
——ed. (1990), The Imperial Muse: Ramus Essays on Roman Literature of the
Empire. Flavian Epicists to Claudian (Bendigo, Australia: Aureal).
——ed. (1993), Roman Epic (London and New York: Routledge).
——and Dominik, W. J., eds (2003), Flavian Rome: Culture, Image, Text
Braun, L. (1999), Review of Brugnoli and Santini (1995), Gnomon 71: 727–9.
Braund, S. H. (1996), ‘Ending Epic: Statius, Theseus and a Merciful Release’,
PCPhS 42: 1–23.
——(2006), ‘A Tale of Two Cities: Statius, Thebes, and Rome’, Phoenix 60:
259–73.
Brouwers, J. H. (1982), ‘Zur Lucan-Imitation bei Silius Italicus’, in J. den
Boeft and A. H. M. Kessels, eds, Actus: Studies in Honour of H. L. W. Nelson
(Utrecht: Instituut voor Klassieke Talen): 73–87.
Brown, J. (1994), Into the Woods: Narrative Studies in the ‘Thebaid’ of Statius
with Special Reference to Books IV–VI (Diss., Cambridge University, UK).
Bruère, R. T. (1952), ‘Silius Italicus Punica 3.62–162 and 4.763–822’, CPh 47:
219–27.
——(1958), ‘Color Ovidianus in Silius’ Punica 1–7’, in N. I. Herescu, ed.,
Ovidiana: Recherches sur Ovide (Paris: Les Belles Lettres): 475–99.
Bibliography 259
Bruère, R. T. (1959), ‘Color Ovidianus in Silius’ Punica 8–17’, CPh 54: 228–45.
——(1971), ‘Some Recollections of Virgil’s Drances in Later Epic’, CPh 66:
30–34.
Brugnoli, E. and Santini, C. (1995), L’additamentum Aldinum di Silio Italico
(Rome: Accademia Nazionale dei Lincei).
——(1998), ‘Un’occasione mancata’, GIF 50: 261–4.
Burck, E. (1971), ‘Die Vorbereitung des Taciteischen Menschen- und
Herrscherbildes in der Dichtung der frühen römischen Kaiserzeit’, in
G. Radke, ed., Politik und literarische Kunst im Werk des Tacitus (Stuttgart:
Klett): 37–60.
——(1978), ‘Unwetterszenen bei den flavischen Epikern’, in Abhandlungen
der Akademie der Wissenschaften und der Literatur, Geistes- und Sozialwis-
senschaftlichen Klasse 8 (Mainz: Akademie der Wissenschaften und der
Literatur).
——(1979), ‘Die Punica des Silius Italicus’, in E. Burck, M. von Albrecht,
and W. Rutz, eds, Das römische Epos (Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche
Buchgesellschaft): 254–99.
——(1981a), ‘Romanitas und Humanitas in der römischen Epik der frühen
Kaiserzeit’, in Letterature comparate: problemi e metodo. Studi in onore di E.
Paratore (Bologna: Pàtron): 631–45.
——(1981b), ‘Epische Bestattungsszenen. Ein literarhistorischer Vergle-
ich’, in E. Lefèvre, ed., Vom Menschenbild in der römischen Literatur II
(Heidelberg: Carl Winter): 429–87.
——(1984a), ‘Silius Italicus: Hannibal in Capua und die Rückeroberung der
Stadt durch die Römer’, in Abhandlungen der Akademie der Wissenschaften
und der Literatur, Geistes- und Sozialwissenschaftlichen Klasse 13 (Mainz:
Akademie der Wissenschaften und der Literatur).
——(1984b), Historische und epische Tradition bei Silius Italicus (Munich:
G. H. Beck).
——(1988), ‘Fides in den Punica des Silius Italicus’, in J. Safarewicz, ed.,
Munera Philologica et Historica Mariano Plezia oblata (Wroclaw: Zaklad
Narodowy im. Ossolinskich): 49–60.
Burgess, J. F. (1972), ‘Statius’ Altar of Mercy’, CQ 22: 339–49.
Burton, P. J. (1996), ‘The Summoning of the Magna Mater to Rome (205
b.c.)’, Historia 45.1: 36–63.
Bustamante, J. M. D. de (1985), ‘El sueño come motivo genérico y como
motivo tradicional en Silio Itálico’, Euphrosyne 13: 27–50.
Butler, H. E. (1909), Post-Augustan Poetry from Seneca to Juvenal (Oxford:
Clarendon Press).
Calza, G. (1926–7), ‘La figurazione di Roman nell’ arte antica’, Dedalo 7:
663–87.
260 Bibliography
Campus, A. (2003), ‘Silio Italico, Punica, II, 391–456: Lo scudo di Annibale’,
RAL 14.1: 13–42.
Cantarella, E. (1995), ‘Marzia e la locatio uentris’, in R. Raffaelli, ed., Vicende
e figure femminili in Grecia e a Roma: Atti del Convegno, Pesaro 28–30
aprile 1994 (Ancona: Commissione per le pari opportunità tra uomo e
donna della Regione Marche): 251–8.
Carrara, P. (1986), ‘Stazio e i primordia di Tebe. Poetica e polemica nel
prologo della Tebaide’, Prometheus 12: 146–58.
Casale, P. F. G. (1954), Silio Italico (Mercato S. Severino).
Casali, S. (2003), ‘Impius Aeneas, impia Hypsipyle: Narrazioni mensognere
dell’Eneide alla Tebaide di Stazio’, Scholia 12: 60–68.
——(2006), ‘The Poet at War: Ennius on the Field in Silius’ Punica’,
Arethusa 39: 569–93.
Castriota, D. (1995), The Ara Pacis Augustae and the Imagery of Abundance in
Later Greek and Early Roman Imperial Art (Princeton, NJ: Princeton
University Press).
Caviglia, F., ed. (1973), La ‘Tebaide’ Libro I (Roma: Ateneo).
Citti, F. (1998), Review of Brugnoli-Santini (1995), Eikasmos 9: 453–60.
Clare, R. J. (2004), ‘Tradition and Originality: Allusion in Valerius Flaccus’
Lemnian Episode’, in M. Gale, ed., Latin Epic and Didactic Poetry (Swansea:
Classical Press of Wales): 125–47.
Clausen, W. (1994), Virgil Eclogues (Oxford: Clarendon Press).
Coffee, N. (2006), ‘Eteocles, Polynices, and the Economics of Violence in
Statius’ Thebaid’, AJP 127: 415–52.
Coleman, K. M. (1986), ‘The Emperor Domitian and Literature’, ANRW
2.32.5: 3087–115.
——(2000), ‘Latin Literature After ad 96. Change or Continuity?’ AJAH 15:
19–39.
Cotta Ramosino, L. (1999), ‘Il supplizio della croce in Silio Italico: Pun.
I.169–181 e VI. 539–544’, Aevum 73: 93–105.
Courtney, E., ed. (1980), A Commentary on the ‘Satires’ of Juvenal (London:
Athlone Press).
Cowan, R. (2002), In My Beginning Is My End. Origins, Cities and Foundations
in Flavian Epic (Diss., Oxford University, UK).
——(2007a), ‘The Headless City: The Decline and Fall of Capua in Silius
Italicus’ Punica’, ORA 1542, at http://ora.ouls.ox.ac.uk/objects/uuid%
3Adceb6b5a-980c-46ca-ac9e-088615e7fbea (accessed 3 Nov. 2009).
——(2007b), ‘Reading Trojan Rome: Illegitimate Epithets, Avatars, and
the Limits of Analogy in Silius Italicus’ Punica’, ORA 1559, at http://ora.
ouls.ox.ac.uk/objects/uuid%3A11faca95-f158-4cef-a109-48b676c15baf
(accessed 3 Nov. 2009).
Bibliography 261
Cowan, R. (2009), ‘Thrasymennus’ Wanton Wedding: Etymology, Genre,
and Virtus in Silius Italicus, Punica’, CQ 59.1: 226–37.
——(2010), ‘Virtual Epic: Counterfactuals, Sideshadowing, and the Poetics of
Contingency in the Punica’, in A. Augoustakis, ed., Brill Companion to Silicus
Italicus (Leiden, Boston, Cologne: Brill): 323–51.
Criado, C. (1998), ‘El proemio de la “Tebaida” estaciana: Una estructura no
virgiliana’, FlorIlib 9: 111–40.
——(2000), La teologı́a de la Tebaida Estaciana: El anti-virgilianismo de un
clasicista (Hildesheim, Zurich, New York: Olms-Weidmann).
Currie, H. (1958), ‘Lucan 3.8 ff. and Silius Italicus 17.158 ff.’, Mnemosyne
11: 49–52.
Czypicka, T. (1987), ‘Funzionalità del dialogo tra Venere e Giove nel libro III
delle Puniche di Silio Italico’, Eos 75: 87–93.
D’Alessandro Behr, F. (2007), Feeling History: Lucan, Stoicism, and the Poetics
of Passion (Columbus: Ohio State University Press).
D’Ambra, E. (1993), Private Lives, Imperial Virtues. The Frieze of the Forum
Transitorium in Rome (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press).
Danesi Marioni, G. (1989), ‘Un martirio stoico: Silio Italico, Pun. 1.169 sgg.’,
Prometheus 15: 245–53.
Darwall-Smith, R. H. (1996), Emperors and Architecture: A Study of Flavian
Rome (Brussels: Latomus).
Davis, C. (1995), ‘The Abject: Kristeva and the Antigone’, Paroles Gelées 13:
5–23.
Decret, F. and Fantar, M. (1998), L’ Afrique du Nord dans l’antiquité, 2nd edn
(Paris: Payot).
Delarue, F. (2000), Stace, poète épique: Originalité et cohérence (Louvain and
Paris: Peeters).
——et al., eds (1996), Epicedion. Hommage à P. Papinius Statius 96–1996
(Poitiers: La Licorne).
De Luca, T. (1937), L’ oltretomba nelle ‘Puniche’ di Silio Italico (Fano).
De Martino, F. (2006), Poetesse greche (Bari: Levante).
Deremetz, A. (2004), ‘Tradition, vraisemblance et autorité fictionelle’,
Dictynna 1: 5–26.
Devallet, G. (1987), ‘Silius Italicus et les rites funéraires: Punica 13.466–87’,
in A.-M. Chanet, ed., Lalies: Actes des sessions de linguistique et de littéra-
ture 9 (Paris: Presses de l’École Normale Supérieure): 153–60.
——(1992), ‘La description du bouclier d’Hannibal chez Silius Italicus
(Punica 2.395–456): Histoire et axiologie’, in M. Woronoff, ed., L’univers
épique: Rencontres avec l’antiquité classique II (Paris: Les Belles Lettres):
189–99.
——(1996), Review of Brugnoli-Santini (1995), RPh 70: 376–7.
262 Bibliography
Dewar, M., ed. (1991), Statius ‘Thebaid’ IX (Oxford: Clarendon Press).
——(2003), ‘Multi-Ethnic Armies in Virgil, Lucan, and Claudian: Inter-
textuality, War, and the Ideology of Romanitas’, SyllClass 14: 143–59.
Dietrich, J. S. (1999), ‘ “Thebaid” ’s Feminine Ending’, Ramus 28: 40–52.
——(2004), ‘Rewriting Dido: Flavian Responses to Aeneid 4’, Prudentia
36.1: 1–30.
——(2005), ‘The Sorrow of Scipio in Silius Italicus’ Punica’, Ramus 34:
75–91.
Dixon, S. (1990), The Roman Mother, 2nd edn (London and New York:
Routledge).
——(1992), The Roman Family (Baltimore, MD: Johns Hopkins University
Press).
Dominik, W. J. (1994a), The Mythic Voice of Statius. Power and Politics in
the ‘Thebaid’ (Leiden, Boston, Cologne: Brill).
——(1994b), Speech and Rhetoric in Statius’ ‘Thebaid’ (Hildesheim, Zurich,
New York: Olms-Weidmann).
——(1997), ‘Ratio et dei: Psychology and the Supernatural in the Lemnian
Episode’, in C. Deroux, ed., Studies in Latin Literature and Roman History
8 (Brussels: Latomus): 29–50.
——(2003a), ‘Hannibal at the Gates: Programmatising Rome and Romani-
tas in Silius Italicus’ Punica 1 and 2’, in A. J. Boyle and W. J. Dominik, eds,
Flavian Rome (Leiden, Boston, Cologne: Brill): 469–97.
——(2003b), ‘Following in Whose Footsteps? The Epilogue to Statius’
Thebaid’, in A. F. Basson and W. J. Dominik, eds, Literature, Art, History:
Studies on Classical Antiquity and Tradition in Honour of W. J. Henderson
(Frankfurt am Main: Lang): 91–109.
——(2006), ‘Rome Then and Now: Linking the Saguntum and Cannae
Episodes in Silius Italicus’ Punica’, in R. R. Nauta, H.-J. van Dam, and
J. J. L. Smolenaars, eds, Flavian Poetry (Leiden, Boston, Cologne: Brill):
113–27.
Dorfbauer, L. J. (2008), ‘Hannibal, Ennius und Silius Italicus: Beobachtun-
gen zum 12. Buch der Punica’, RhM 151: 83–108.
Dräger, P. (1995), ‘Jasons Mutter—Wandlung von einer griechischen
heroine zu einer römischen Matrone’, Hermes 123: 470–89.
DuBois, P. (1982), Centaurs and Amazons. Women and the Pre-History of the
Great Chain of Being (Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press).
Dutsch, D. M. (2008), Feminine Discourse in Roman Comedy. On Echoes and
Voices (Oxford: Oxford University Press).
Esposito, P. (2004), ‘Lucano e la “negazione per antitesi”’, in P. Esposito
and E. M. Ariemma, eds, Lucano e la tradizione dell’epica latina (Venice:
Guida): 39–67.
Bibliography 263
Esposito, P. and Ariemma, E. M., eds (2004), Lucano e la tradizione dell’epica
latina (Venice: Guida).
——and Nicastri, L., eds (1999), Interpretare Lucano (Naples: Arte Tipo-
grafica).
Fantham, E., ed. (1982), Seneca’s ‘Troades’ (Princeton, NJ: Princeton
University Press).
——ed. (1992), Lucan, ‘De bello civili’ 2 (Cambridge: Cambridge University
Press).
——(1997), ‘Envy and Fear the Begetter of Hate?: Statius’ Thebaid and the
Genesis of Hatred’, in S. M. Braund and C. Gill, eds, The Passions in
Roman Thought and Literature (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press):
185–212.
——(1999), ‘The Role of Lament in the Growth and Eclipse of Roman Epic’,
in M. Beissinger, J. Tylus, and S. Wofford, eds, Epic Traditions in the
Contemporary World: The Poetics of Community (Berkeley, Los Angeles,
London: University of California Press): 221–35.
Farrell, J. (1999), ‘Aeneid 5. Poetry and Parenthood’, in C. Perkell, ed.,
Reading Vergil’s ‘Aeneid’ (Norman Oklahoma University Press): 96–110.
Feeney, D. C. (1991), The Gods in Epic: Poets and Critics of the Classical
Tradition (Oxford: Clarendon Press).
Fernandelli, M. (2006), ‘La maniera classicistica di Silio. Tre esempi dal libro
VII’, in Incontri triestini di Filologia Classica 5: 73–118.
Fiehn, C. (1917), Quaestiones Statianae (Diss., Friderica Guilelma University,
Berlin).
Fincher, H. (1979), A Thematic Study of Silius Italicus’ ‘Punica’ (Diss., Florida
State University, Tallahassee).
Finiello, C. (2005), ‘Der Bürgerkrieg: Reine Männersache? Keine Männer-
sache! Erictho und die Frauengestalten im Bellum ciuile Lucans’, in
C. Walde, ed., Lucan im 21. Jahrhundert. Lucan in the 21st century. Lucano
nei primi del XXI secolo (Munich and Leipzig: K. G. Saur): 155–85.
Fortgens, H. W., ed. (1934), P. Papinii Statii de Opheltis funere carmen
epicum, ‘Thebaidos’ Liber VI 1–295, versione batava commentarioque
exegetico instructum (Zutphen: Nauta & Co).
Fowler, D. (1996), ‘Even Better Than the Real Thing: A Tale of Two Cities’, in
J. Elsner, ed., Art and Text in Roman Culture (Cambridge: Cambridge
University Press): 57–74 (repr. in Fowler [2000], 86–107).
——(2000), Roman Constructions. Readings in Postmodern Latin (Oxford
and New York: Oxford University Press).
Franchet d’Espèrey, S. (1977), ‘Variations épiques sur un thème animalier’,
REL 55: 157–72.
264 Bibliography
Franchet d’Espèrey, S. (1999), Conflit, violence et non-violence dans la
‘Thébaı̈de’ de Stace (Paris: Les Belles Lettres).
Frank, M., ed. (1995), Seneca’s ‘Phoenissai’. Introduction and Commentary
Fredrick, D. (2003), ‘Architecture and Surveillance in Flavian Rome’, in
A. J. Boyle and W. J. Dominik, eds, Flavian Rome (Leiden, Boston,
Freudenburg, K. (2001), Satires of Rome. Threatening Poses from Lucilius to
Juvenal (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press).
Frings, I. (1991), Gespräch und Handlung in der ‘Thebais’ des Statius
(Stuttgart and Leipzig: B. G. Teubner).
——(1992), ‘Odia fraterna’ als manieristisches Motiv—Betrachtungen zu
Senecas ‘Thyest’ und Statius’ ‘Thebais’ (Stuttgart: Franz Steiner).
——(1996), ‘Hypsipyle und Aeneas—zur Vergilimitation in Thebaid V’, in
F. Delarue et al., eds, Epicedion (Poitiers: La Licorne): 145–60.
Frölich, U. (2000), Regulus, Archtyp römischer Fides: Das sechste Buch als
Schlüssel zu den ‘Punica’ des Silius Italicus (Tübingen: Stauffenburg).
Fucecchi, M. (1990), ‘Empietà e titanismo nella rappresentazione Siliana di
Annibale’, Orpheus 11: 21–42.
——(1992), ‘Irarum proles: un figlio di Annibale nei Punica di Silio Italico’,
Maia 44: 45–54.
——ed. (1997), La teichoscopia e l’innammoramento di Medea. Saggio di
commento a Valerio Flacco ‘Argonautiche’ 6.427–760 (Pisa: ETS).
——(1999), ‘La vigilia di Canne nei Punica e un contributo allo studio dei
rapporti fra Silio Italico e Lucano’, in P. Esposito and L. Nicastri, eds,
Interpretare Lucano (Naples: Arte Tipografica): 305–42.
——(2003), ‘I Punica e altre storie di Roma nell’epos di Silio Italico’, in
A. Casanova and P. Desideri, eds, Evento, racconto, scrittura nell’antichità
classica: Atti del Convegno internazionale di studi: Firenze, 25–26 novembre
2002 (Florence: Università di Firenze): 269–92.
——(2005), ‘Il passato come nemico: Annibale e la velleitaria lotta contro
una storia esemplare’, Dictynna 2: 1–29.
——(2007), ‘Camilla e Ippolita, ovvero un paradosso e il suo rovescio’,
CentoPagine 1 (2007): 8–17.
——(2010), ‘The Shield and the Sword: Q. Fabius Maximus and M.
Claudius Marcellus as Models of Heroism in Silius’ Punica’, in A. Augous-
takis, ed., Brill Companion to Silius Italicus (Leiden, Boston, Cologne:
Brill): 219–39.
Fulkerson, L. (2005), The Ovidian Heroine as Author: Reading, Writing, and
Community in the Heroides (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press).
Bibliography 265
Gale, M., ed. (2004), Latin Epic and Didactic Poetry. Genre, Tradition, and
Individuality (Swansea: Classical Press of Wales).
Galinsky, K. (1981), ‘Vergil’s Romanitas and his Adaptation of Greek Heroes’,
ANRW 2.31.2: 985–1010.
Ganiban, R. T. (2007), Statius and Virgil: The ‘Thebaid’ and the Reinterpretation
of the ‘Aeneid’ (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press).
——(2010), ‘Virgil’s Dido and the Heroism of Hannibal in Silius’ Punica’,
in A. Augoustakis, ed., Brill Companion to Silius Italicus (Leiden, Boston,
Gauger, J. D. (1984), ‘Der Rom-Hymnos der Melinno (Anth. Lyr. II 6,209 f.)
und die Vorstellung von der Ewigkeit Roms’, Chiron 14: 267–99.
Gendre, M. and Loutsch, C. (2001), ‘C. Duilius et M. Atilius Regulus’, in
M. Bonneford-Coudry and T. Späth, eds, L’invention des grands hommes
de la Rome antique (Paris: De Boccard): 131–72.
Georgacopoulou, S. (1996a), ‘Catalogues et listes de personnages dans la
Thébaı̈de’, in F. Delarue et al., Epicedion (Poitiers: La Licorne): 93–129.
——(1996b), ‘Clio dans la Thébaı̈de de Stace: À la recherche du kléos perdu’,
MD 37: 167–91.
——(2005), Aux frontières du récit épique: L’emploi de l’apostrophe du
narrateur dans la ‘Thébaı̈de’ de Stace (Brussels: Latomus).
Gesztelyi, T. (1981), ‘Tellus–Terra Mater in der Zeit des Prinzipats’, ANRW
2.17.1: 429–56.
Giangrande, G. (1991), ‘Melinno’, in F. De Martino, ed., Rose di Pieria (Bari:
Levante): 221–46.
Gibson, B. J. (2004), ‘The Repetitions of Hypsipyle’, in M. Gale, ed., Latin
Epic and Didactic Poetry (Swansea: Classical Press of Wales): 149–80.
——(2005), ‘Hannibal at Gades: Silius Italicus 3.1–60’, Papers of the Langford
Latin Seminar 12: 177–95.
——(2010), ‘Silius Italicus: A Consular Historian?’ in A. Augoustakis, ed.,
Brill Companion to Silius Italicus (Leiden, Boston, Cologne: Brill): 47–72.
Goldman, M. (1997), A Commentary on Silius Italicus’ ‘Punica’ 8.25–241
(Master’s thesis, University of Kansas, Lawrence).
Götting, M. (1969), Hypsipyle in der ‘Thebais’ des Statius (Diss., Universität
Tübingen).
Grelle, F. (1980), ‘La correctio morum nella legislazione flavia’, ANRW 2.13:
340–65.
Groesst, J. (1887), Quatenus Silius Italicus a Vergilio pendere videatur (Diss.,
Martin-Luther-Universität, Halle-Wittenberg).
Gruzelier, C. (1994), ‘The influence of Virgil’s Dido on Statius’ portrayal of
Hypsipyle’, Prudentia 26: 153–65.
266 Bibliography
Haar, L. G. J. ter (1997), ‘Sporen van Silius’ Punica in boek 1 en 2 van
Petrarca’s Africa’, Lampas 30.3: 154–62.
Håkanson, L. (1973), Statius’ ‘Thebaid’. Critical and Exegetical Remarks
(Lund: Liber-Läromedel/Gleerup).
——(1976), Silius Italicus. Kritische und Exegetische Bemerkungen (Lund:
Liber-Läromedel/Gleerup).
Hall, E. (1989), Inventing the Barbarian: Greek Self-Definition through Tra-
gedy (Oxford: Oxford University Press).
Hardie, P. (1990), ‘Ovid’s Theban History: The First “Anti-Aeneid”?’ CQ 40:
224–35.
——(1993a), The Epic Successors of Virgil (Cambridge: Cambridge University
Press).
——(1993b), ‘Tales of Unity and Division in Imperial Latin Epic’, in
J. H. Molyneux, ed., Literary Responses to Civil Discord (Nottingham:
University of Nottingham): 57–75.
——(1997), ‘Closure in Latin Epic’, in D. Roberts, F. Dunn, and D. Fowler,
eds, Classical Closure: Reading the End in Greek and Latin Literature
(Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press): 139–62.
——(2002), Ovid’s Poetics of Illusion (Cambridge: Cambridge University
Press).
——(2004), ‘In the Steps of the Sibyl: Tradition and Desire in the Epic
Underworld’, MD 52: 143–56.
Hardwick, L. (1990), ‘Ancient Amazons—Heroes, Outsiders, or Women’,
Greece & Rome 37: 14–36.
Harich-Graz, H. (1990), ‘Catonis Marcia: Stoisches Kolorit eines Frauenpor-
traits bei Lucan (II 326–350)’, Gymnasium 97: 212–23.
Harrison, S. J. (2010), ‘Picturing the Future Again: Proleptic Ekphrasis in
Silius’ Punica’, in A. Augoustakis ed., Brill Companion to Silius Italicus
(Leiden, Boston, Cologne: Brill): 279–92.
Hartmann, J. M. (2004), Flavische Epik im Spannungsfeld von generischer
Tradition und zeitgenössischer Gesellschaft (Frankfurt am Main: Peter Lang).
Häussler, R. (1978), Das historische Epos von Lucan bis Silius und seine
Theorie. Studien zum historischen Epos der Antike. II. Teil: Geschichtliche
Epik nach Virgil (Heidelberg: Carl Winter).
Heinrich, A. (1999), ‘Longa retro series: Sacrifice and Repetition in Statius’
Menoeceus Episode’, Arethusa 32: 165–95.
Heitland, W. E. (1896), ‘The “Great Lacuna” in the Eighth Book of Silius
Italicus’, Journal of Philology 24: 188–211.
Helm, R. (1892), De P. Papinii Statii ‘Thebaide’ (Berlin: Mayer & Mueller).
Helzle, M. (1996), Der Stil ist der Mensch: Redner und Reden im römischen
Epos (Stuttgart and Leipzig: B. G. Teubner).
Bibliography 267
Hemelrijk, E. A. (1999), Matrona docta: Educated Women in the Roman Élite
from Cornelia to Julia Domna (London and New York: Routledge).
Henderson, D. and Yellin, M. E. (2004), Cato: A Tragedy and Selected Essays
(Indianapolis, IN: Liberty Fund).
Henderson, J. (1987), ‘Lucan / The Word at War’, in A. J. Boyle, ed., The Imperial
Muse . . . To Juvenal through Ovid (Berwick, Austral: Aureal): 122–64.
——(1991), ‘Statius’ Thebaid / Form Premade’, PCPhS 37: 30–80.
——(1993), ‘Form Remade / Statius’ Thebaid’, in A. J. Boyle, ed., Roman
Epic (London and New York: Routledge): 162–91.
——(1998), Fighting for Rome. Poets and Caesars, History and Civil War
(Cambridge: Cambridge University Press).
——(2003), ‘Par Operi Sedes: Mrs Arthur Strong and Flavian Style, The
Arch of Titus and the Cancellaria Reliefs’, in A. J. Boyle and W. J. Dominik,
eds, Flavian Rome (Leiden, Boston, Cologne: Brill): 229–54.
Hershkowitz, D. (1994), ‘Sexuality and Madness in Statius’ Thebaid,’ MD 33:
123–47.
——(1995). ‘Patterns of Madness in Statius’ Thebaid’, JRS 85: 52–64.
——(1997), ‘Parce metu, Cytherea: “Failed” Intertext Repetition in Statius’
Thebaid, or, Don’t Stop Me If You’ve Heard This One Before’, MD 39: 35–52.
——(1998a), The Madness of Epic: Reading Insanity from Homer to Statius
(Oxford: Clarendon Press).
——(1998b), Valerius Flaccus’ ‘Argonautica’: Abbreviated Voyages in Silver
Latin Epic (Oxford: Clarendon Press).
Heslin, P. J. (2005), The Transvestite Achilles: Gender and Genre in Statius’
‘Achilleid’ (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press).
——(2008), ‘Statius and the Greek Tragedians on Athens, Thebes and
Rome’, in J. J. L. Smolenaars, H. J. van Dam, and R. R. Nauta, eds, The
Poetry of Statius (Leiden, Boston, Cologne: Brill): 111–28.
Heuvel, H. (1932), Publii Papinii Statii ‘Thebaidos’ Liber Primus (Zutphen:
Nauta & Co).
Heynacher, M. (1877), Über die Stellung des Silius Italicus unter den Quellen
zum zweiten punischen Krieg (Berlin: Weidmannsche Buchhandlung).
Hill, D. E. (2008), ‘Jupiter in Thebaid 1 Again’, in J. J. L. Smolenaars, H. J. van
Dam, and R. R. Nauta, eds, The Poetry of Statius (Leiden, Boston,
Hinds, S. (1998), Allusion and Intertext: Dynamics of Appropriation in
Roman Poetry (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press).
Hingley, R. (2005), Globalizing Roman Culture, (London and New York:
Routledge).
Hoffmann, M., ed. (1999), Statius, ‘Thebais’ 12, 312–463. Einleitung, Über-
setzung, Kommentar (Göttingen: Duehrkohp & Radicke).
268 Bibliography
Holland, J. E. (1976), Studies on the Heroic Tradition in the ‘Thebaid’ of
Statius (Diss., University of Missouri).
Holst-Wahrhaft, G. (1992), Dangerous Voices: Women’s Laments and Greek
Literature (London and New York: Routledge).
Hornsby, R. (1966), ‘The Armor of the Slain’, PQ 45: 347–59.
Horsfall, N., ed. (2000), Virgil, ‘Aeneid’ 7: A Commentary (Leiden, Boston,
Cologne: Brill).
——ed. (2003), Virgil, ‘Aeneid’ 11: A Commentary (Leiden, Boston, Cologne:
Brill).
Howell, P. (1980), A Commentary on Book 1 of the Epigrams of Martial
(London: Athlone Press).
Hunter, R. L. (1989), Apollonius of Rhodes ‘Argonautica’ Book III (Cambridge:
Cambridge University Press).
Hutchinson, G. O. (1993), Latin Literature from Seneca to Juvenal (Oxford:
Oxford University Press).
Jamset, C. (2005), Marginal Men: Gender and Epic Identity in Statius’
Parthenopaeus and Achilles (Diss., Oxford University, UK).
Janan, M. (2001), The Politics of Desire. Propertius IV (Berkeley, Los Angeles,
London: University of California Press).
Jensen, B. (2002), Leaving the M/other. Whitman, Kristeva, and Leaves of
Grass, (Madison, NJ: Fairleigh Dickinson University Press).
Jones, B. W. ed. (1996), Suetonius ‘Domitian’ (London: Bristol Classical
Press).
Joshel, S. (1997), ‘Female Desire and the Discourse of Empire: Tacitus’s
Messalina’, in J. P. Hallett and M. B. Skinner, eds, Roman Sexualities
(Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press): 221–54.
Juhnke, H. (1972), Homerisches in römischer Epik flavischer Zeit: Untersu-
chungen zu Szenennachbildungen und Strukturentsprechungen in Statius’
‘Thebais’ und ‘Achilleis’ und in Silius’ ‘Punica’ (Munich: G. H. Beck).
Keane, C. (2006), Figuring Genre in Roman Satire (New York and Oxford:
Oxford University Press).
Keith, A. M. (2000), Engendering Rome: Women in Latin Epic (Cambridge:
——(2002), ‘Ovidian Personae in Statius’s Thebaid’, Arethusa 35: 381–402.
——(2004–5), ‘Ovid’s Theban Narrative in Statius’ Thebaid’, Hermathena
177, 178: 177–202.
——(2007), ‘Imperial Building Projects and Architectural Ecphrases in
Ovid’s Metamorphoses and Statius’ Thebaid’, Mouseion 7: 1–26.
——(2010), ‘Engendering Orientalism in Silius’ Punica’, in A. Augoustakis,
ed., Brill Companion to Silius Italicus (Leiden, Boston, Cologne: Brill):
355–73.
Bibliography 269
Keller, E. (1967), ‘Studien zu den Cancelleria-Reliefs’, Klio 49: 193–215.
Kissel, W. (1979), Das Geschichtsbild des Silius Italicus (Frankfurt am Main
and Bern: Peter Lang).
Klaassen, E. K. (2010), ‘Imitation and the Hero,’ in A. Augoustakis, ed., Brill
Companion to Silius Italicus (Leiden, Boston, Cologne: Brill): 99–126.
Kleiner, D. E. E. (1992), Roman Sculpture (New Haven, CT: Yale University
Press).
Kleingeld, P. and Brown, E. (2002), ‘Cosmopolitanism’, in E. N. Zalta, ed.,
The Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy, at http://plato.stanford.edu/
entries/cosmopolitanism (accessed 3 Nov. 2009).
Klotz, A. (1933), ‘Die Stellung des Silius Italicus unter den Quellen zur
Geschichte des zweiten punischen Krieges’, RhM 82: 1–34.
Knox, P. (1995), Ovid Heroides: Select Epistles (Cambridge: Cambridge
University Press).
König, J. (2005), Athletics and Literature in the Roman Empire (Cambridge:
Konstan, D. (1993), ‘Sexuality and Power in Juvenal’s Second Satire’, LCM
18: 12–14.
——(2000), ‘Women, Ethnicity and Power in the Roman Empire’, at http://
www.stoa.org/diotima/essays/konstan1.pdf (accessed 3 Nov. 2009).
——(2005), ‘Plato’s Ion and the Psycholanalytic Theory of Art’, Journal
of the International Plato Society 5: 1–7, at http://www.nd.edu/~plato/
plato5issue/Konstan.pdf (accessed 3 Nov. 2009).
——(2009), ‘Cosmopolitan Traditions’, in R. Balot, ed., A Companion to
Greek and Roman Political Thought (Oxford: Blackwell): 473–84.
Kornhardt, H. (1954), ‘Regulus und die Cannaegefangenen: Studien zum
römischen Heimkehrrecht’, Hermes 52: 85–123.
Kristeva, J. (1969), Smeiotiw (Séméiótiké): Recherches pour une sémana-
lyse (Seuil: Paris).
——(1979), ‘Le temps des femmes’, 33/34 Cahiers de recherche de sciences des
textes et documents 5: 5–19.
——(1981), ‘Women’s Time’, Signs 7: 13–35.
——(1982), Powers of Horror, trans. L. S. Roudiez (New York: Columbia
University Press).
——(1984), Revolution in Poetic Language, trans. M. Waller (New York:
Columbia University Press).
——(1986), Tales of Love, trans. L. S. Roudiez (New York: Columbia University
Press).
——(1989), Black Sun: Depression and Melancholy, trans. L. S. Roudiez
(New York: Columbia University Press).
270 Bibliography
Kristeva, J. (1991), Strangers to Ourselves, trans. L. S. Roudiez (New York:
Columbia University Press).
——(1998), Visions capitales (Paris: Réunion des Musées Nationaux).
Krumbholz, G. (1955), ‘Der Erzählungsstil in der Thebais des Statius’, Glotta
3435: 93–139 and 231–60.
Küppers, J. (1986), Tantarum causas irarum: Untersuchungen zur einleitenden
Bücherdyade der ‘Punica’ des Silius Italicus (Berlin and New York: Walter de
Gruyter).
Kyriakidis, S. and De Martino, F., eds (2004), Middles in Latin Poetry (Bari:
Levante).
Kytzler, B. (1960), ‘Beobachtungen zum Prooemium der Thebais’, Hermes
88: 331–54.
——(1969), ‘Imitatio und Aemulatio in der Thebais des Statius’, Hermes 97:
209–32.
——(1986), ‘Zum Aufbau der statianischen Thebais. Pius Coroebus, Theb.
I 557–692’, ANRW 2.32.5: 2913–24.
——(1996), ‘Sola fida suis: Die Hypsipyle-Erzählung des Statius (Thebais,
Buch 5)’, JAC 11: 43–51.
Laird, A. (1999), Powers of Expression, Expressions of Power. Speech Presentation
in Latin Literature (Oxford: Oxford University Press).
Langlands, R. (2006), Sexual Morality in Ancient Rome (Cambridge: Cambridge
University Press).
La Penna, A. (1981), ‘Tipi e modelli femminili nella poesia dell’epoca dei
Flavi’, in Atti del congresso internazionale di studi vespasianei in Rieti 1979
(Rieti: Centro di studi varroniani): 223–51.
——(2000), Eros dai Cento Volti: Modelli etici ed estetici nell’età dei Flavi
(Venice: Marsilio).
Laudizi, G. (1989), Silio Italico. Il passato tra mito e restaurazione etica
(Galatina: Congredo).
Lazenby, J. F. (1996), The First Punic War (Stanford, CA: Stanford University
Press).
Lechte, J. (1990), Julia Kristeva (London and New York: Routledge).
——and Zournazi, M., eds (2003), The Kristeva Critical Reader (Edinburgh:
Edinburgh University Press).
Legras, L. (1905), Étude sur la ‘Thébaı̈de’ de Stace (Paris: Société nouvelle de
librairie et d’édition).
Leitch, V. B., ed. (2001), The Norton Anthology of Theory and Criticism
(New York and London: W. W. Norton & Company).
Lemaire, N. E., ed. (1823), Caius Silius Italicus. Punicorum libri septendecim,
2 vols (Paris).
Bibliography 271
Lesueur, R. (1986), ‘Les personnages féminins dans la Thébaı̈de de Stace’,
BSTEC 189–90: 19–32.
——(1992), ‘Les femmes dans la Thébaı̈de de Stace’, in M. Woronoff, ed.,
L’univers épique: Rencontres avec l’antiquité classique II (Paris: Les Belles
Lettres): 229–43.
——(1996), ‘La Thébaı̈de et ses deux voix: Le politique et le privé’, in
F. Delarue et al., eds, Epicedion (Poitiers: La Licorne): 71–81.
——(ed.) (2003a), Stace Thébaı̈de, 3 vols, 2nd edn (Paris: Les Belles Lettres).
——(2003b), ‘Claudia et la composition du livre XII de la Thébaı̈de’, REL 81:
190–99.
Liberman, G., ed. (2002), Valerius Flaccus: ‘Argonautiques’ Chants V–VIII
(Paris: Les Belles Lettres).
Liebeschuetz, J. H. W. G. (1979), Continuity and Change in Roman Religion
Lind, L. R. (1972), ‘Concept, Action, and Character. The Reasons for Rome’s
Greatness’, TAPhA 103: 235–83.
Loraux, N. (1998), Mothers in Mourning (Ithaca, NY, and London: Cornell
University Press).
Lorenz, G. (1968), Vergleichende Interpretationen zu Silius Italicus und Sta-
tius (Diss., Christian-Albrechts-Universität Kiel).
Lösch, S. (2008), ‘Dulce loqui miseris ueteresque reducere questus—Zur
Lemnos-Episode bei Statius (Theb. 5.49–498)’, in V.M. et al., eds, Vergil
und das antike Epos Strocka (Stuttgart: Franz Steiner Ver): 367–85.
Lovatt, H. (1999), ‘Competing Endings: Re-Reading the End of the Thebaid
through Lucan’, Ramus 28: 126–51.
——(2005), Statius and Epic Games: Sport, Politics and Poetics in the
‘Thebaid’ (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press).
——(2006), ‘The Female Gaze in Flavian Epic: Looking Out from the Walls
in Valerius Flaccus and Statius’, in R. R. Nauta, H.-J. van Dam, and J. J. L.
Smolenaars, eds, Flavian Poetry (Leiden, Boston, Cologne: Brill): 59–78.
——(2007), ‘Statius on Parade: Performing Argive Identity in Thebaid
6.268–95’, PCPhS 53: 72–95.
——(2010), ‘Interplay: Silius and Statius in the Games of Punica 16’, in
A. Augoustakis, ed., Brill Companion to Silius Italicus (Leiden, Boston,
Lucarini, C. M. (2004), ‘Le fonti storiche di Silio Italico’, Athenaeum 92: 103–26.
MacDonald, W. L. (1982), The Architecture of the Roman Empire, vol. I: An
Introductory Study (New Haven, CT, and London: Yale University Press).
Magi, F. (1945), I rilievi flavi del palazzo della Cancelleria (Rome: La Ponti-
ficia Accademia Romana di Archeologia).
272 Bibliography
Manolaraki, E. (2010), ‘Silius’ Natural History: Tides in the Punica’, in
A. Augoustakis, ed., Brill Companion to Silius Italicus (Leiden, Boston,
Manuwald, G. (2000), ‘Der Tod der Eltern Iasons. Zu Valerius Flaccus, Arg.
1,693–850’, Philologus 144: 325–38.
——(2007), ‘Epic Poets as Characters: On Poetics and Multiple Intertex-
tuality in Silius Italicus’ Punica’, RFIC 135: 71–90.
Marks, R. (1999), Scipio Africanus in the Punica of Silius Italicus (Diss.,
Brown University, Providence, RI).
——(2003), ‘Hannibal in Liternum’, in P. Thibodeau and H. Haskell, eds,
Being There Together (Minnesota: Afton Historical Society Press): 128–44.
——(2005a), From Republic to Empire. Scipio Africanus in the ‘Punica’ of
Silius Italicus (Frankfurt am Main: Peter Lang).
——(2005b), ‘Per uulnera regnum: Self-Destruction, Self-Sacrifice and
Deuotio in Punica 4–10’, Ramus 34: 127–51.
——(2006), ‘En, reddo tua tela tibi: Crista and Sons in Silius, Pun. X,
92–169’, in C. Deroux, ed., Studies in Latin Literature and Roman History
13 (Brussels: Latomus): 390–404.
——(2008), ‘Getting Ahead: Decapitation as Political Metaphor in Silius
Italicus’ Punica’, Mnemosyne 61: 66–88.
——(2010), ‘Silius and Lucan’, in A. Augoustakis, ed., Brill Companion to
Silius Italicus (Leiden, Boston, Cologne: Brill): 127–53.
Markus, D. (2000), ‘Performing the Book: The Recital of Epic in First-
Century c.e. Rome’, CA 19: 138–79.
——(2003), ‘The Politics of Epic Performance in Statius’, in A. J. Boyle
and W. J. Dominik, eds, Flavian Rome (Leiden, Boston, Cologne: Brill):
431–67.
Martin, M. (1979), ‘Le monstre de Bagrada: Silius Italicus Punica 6.146–296’,
Eidôlon 7: 20–42.
——(1980), ‘Le carmen bucolique dans l’univers épique: Daphnis et le
“pseudo-Daphnis” ou le reflet trompeur (Silius Italicus, Punica, XIV)’,
in Orphea Voce: Cahiers du Groupe de recherches sur la poésie latine
(Bordeaux: Université de Bordeaux III): 149–75.
——and Devallet, G., eds (1992), Silius Italicus: La guerre punique. Livres
XIV–XVII (Paris: Les Belles Lettres).
Masters, J. (1992), Poetry and Civil War in Lucan’s ‘Bellum civile’ (Cambridge:
Masterson, M. (2005), ‘Statius’ Thebaid and the Realization of Roman
Manhood’, Phoenix 59: 288–315.
Mastronarde, D. J., ed. (1994), Euripides ‘Phoenissai’ (Cambridge: Cambridge
University Press).
Bibliography 273
Matier, K. O. (1989), Silius Italicus at Bay: Pliny, Prejudice and the Punica
(Durban: University of Durban-Westville).
——(1991), ‘The Influence of Ennius on Silius Italicus’, Akroterion 36: 153–8.
Matthews, V. J., ed. (1996), Antimachus of Colophon: Text and Commentary
Mattingley, H. (1993), ‘L. Porcius Licinus and the Beginning of Latin Poetry’,
in H. D. Jocelyn and H. Hurt, eds, Tria lustra: Essays and Notes Presented
to John Pinsent (Liverpool: Liverpool Classical Monthly): 163–8.
Mauri, R. (1998), ‘Ricerca di modelli ellenistici nel proemio della Tebaide di
Stazio’, Acme 51: 221–5.
McAfee, N. (2004), Julia Kristeva, (New York and London: Routledge).
McDermott, W. C. and Orentzel, A. E. (1977), ‘Silius Italicus and Domitian’,
AJPh 98: 24–34.
McDonnell, M. (2006), Roman Manliness. Virtus and the Roman Republic
McGuire, D. T., Jr (1990), ‘Textual Strategies and Political Suicide in Flavian
Epic’, in A. J. Boyle, ed., The Imperial Muse . . . Flavian Epicists to Claudian
(Bendigo, Australia: Aureal): 21–45.
——(1995), ‘History Compressed the Roman Names of Silius’ Cannae
Episode’, Latomus 54: 110–18.
——(1997), Acts of Silence. Civil War, Tyranny, and Suicide in the Flavian
Epics (Hildesheim, Zurich, New York: Olms-Weidmann).
McGushin, P. (1985), The Transmission of the ‘Punica’ of Silius Italicus
(Amsterdam: A. M. Hakkert).
McNelis, C. (2004), ‘Middle-March: Statius’ Thebaid 7 and the Beginning of
Battle Narrative’, in S. Kyriakidis and F. De Martino, eds, Middles in Latin
Poetry (Bari: Levante): 261–309.
——(2007), Statius’ ‘Thebaid’ and the Poetics of Civil War (Cambridge:
Mellor, R. (1975), ¨ # &Å. The Worship of the Goddess Roma in the Greek
World (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht).
Mezzanotte, A. (1995), ‘Echi del mondo contemporaneo in Silio Italico’, RIL
129: 357–88.
Michler, W. (1914), De Papinio Statio M. Annaei Lucani imitatore (Diss.,
Schlesische Friedrich-Wilhelm Universität, Breslau).
Micozzi, L. (1998), ‘Pathos e figure materne nella Tebaide di Stazio’, Maia 50:
95–121.
——(1999), ‘Aspetti dell’influenza di Lucano nella Tebaide’, in P. Esposito and
L. Nicastri, eds, Interpretare Lacano (Naples: Arte Tipografica): 343–87.
274 Bibliography
Micozzi, L. (2001–2), ‘Eros e pudor nella Tebaide di Stazio: Lettura dell’epi-
sodio di Atys e Ismene (Theb. VIII 554–565)’, Incontri triestini di filologia
classica 1: 259–82.
——(2002), ‘Il tema dell’addio: Ripetizione, sentamentalismo, strategie di
continuità e altri aspetti della technica poetica di Stazio’, Maia 54: 51–70.
——ed. (2007), Il catalogo degli eroi: Saggio di commento a Stazio Tebaide 4,
1–344 (Pisa: Edizioni della Normale).
Miller, P. A. (2004), Subjecting Verses: Latin Love Elegy and the Emergence of
the Real (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press).
Mills, S. (1997), Theseus, Tragedy and the Athenian Empire (Oxford: Oxford
University Press).
Miniconi, P. and Devallet, G., eds (1979), Silius Italicus: La guerre punique.
Livres I–IV (Paris: Les Belles Lettres).
Mitchell, R. N. (1991), ‘The Violence of Virginity in the Aeneid ’, Arethusa 24:
219–38.
Mix, E. R. (1970), Marcus Atilius Regulus: Exemplum historicum (The Hague
and Paris: Mouton).
Moi, T. (1986), The Kristeva Reader (New York: Columbia University Press).
——(2002), Sexual/Textual Politics: Feminist Literary Theory, 2nd edn (Lon-
don and New York: Routledge).
Moisy, S. von (1971), Untersuchungen zur Erzählungsweise in Statius’ ‘The-
bais’ (Bonn: Rudolf Habelt).
Moretti, G. (2005), ‘Eracle varca le Alpi: Un mito geografico in Silio Italico
fra allegoria ed epos’, Studi Trentini di Scienze Storiche 84: 915–47.
——(2007), ‘Patriae trepidantis imago: La personificazione di Roma nella
Pharsalia fra ostentum e disseminazione allegorica’, Camenae 2: 1–18.
Morzadec, F. (2003), ‘Brumes et nuages dans les épopées de Lucain, Stace et
Silius Italicus: Entre mythologie et météorologie’, in C. Cusset, ed., La
météorologie dans l’antiquité: Entre science et croyance. Actes du Colloque
International Interdisciplinaire de Toulouse (2–3–4 mai 2002) (Saint-Étienne:
Université de Saint-Étienne): 179–200.
Mozley, J. H. (1933), ‘Statius as an Imitator of Virgil and Ovid’, CW 27: 33–38.
——(1963–4), ‘Virgil and the Silver Latin Epic’, PVS 3: 12–26.
Muecke, F. (2007), ‘Hannibal at the “Fields of Fire”: A “Wasteful Excursion”?’
MD 58: 73–91.
——(2010), ‘Silius Italicus in the Italian Renaissance’, in A. Augoustakis,
401–24.
Mulder, H. M., ed. (1954), Publii Papinii Statii ‘Thebaidos’ liber secundus
(Groningen: De Waal).
Bibliography 275
Narducci, E. (2002), Lucano. Un’epica contro l’impero (Rome and Bari: GLF
editori Laterza).
Nauta, R. R., Dam, H.-J. van, and Smolenaars, J. J. L., eds (2006), Flavian
Poetry (Leiden, Boston, Cologne: Brill).
Nesselrath, H.-G. (1986), ‘Zu den Quellen des Silius Italicus’, Hermes 114:
203–30.
Newlands, C. (2002), Statius’ ‘Silvae’ and the Poetics of Empire (Cambridge:
——(2004), ‘Statius and Ovid: Transforming the Landscape’, TAPhA 134:
133–55.
——(2006), ‘Mothers in Statius’ Poetry: Sorrows and Surrogates’, Helios 33:
203–26.
Newman, J. K. (1975), ‘De Statio epico animadversiones’, Latomus 34:
80–89.
Nicol, J. (1936), The Historical and Geographical Sources Used by Silius
Italicus (Oxford: Blackwell).
Niemann, K.-H. (1975), Die Darstellung der römischen Niederlagen in den
‘Punica’ des Silius Italicus (Bonn: Rudolf Habelt).
Noy, D. (2000), Foreigners at Rome. Citizens and Strangers (London:
Duckworth and the Classical Press of Wales).
Nugent, G. (1996), ‘Statius’ Hypsipyle: Following in the Footsteps of the
Aeneid ’, Scholia 5: 46–71.
——(1999), ‘The Women of the Aeneid: Vanishing Bodies, Lingering
Voices’, in C. Perkell, ed., Reading Vergil’s ‘Aeneid’ (Norman: Oklahoma
University Press): 251–70.
Oakley, S. P., ed. (1997–2005), Commentary on Livy Books VI–X, 4 vols
Ogilvie, R. M. (1965), A Commentary on Livy Books 1–5 (Oxford: Clarendon
Press).
O’Gorman, E. (1993), ‘No Place Like Rome: Identity and Difference in the
Germania of Tacitus’, Ramus 22: 135–54.
Oliver, K. (1993), Reading Kristeva. Unraveling the Double-Bind (Bloomington
and Indianapolis: Indiana University Press).
—— (1998), ‘Julia Kristeva’, at http://www.cddc.vt.edu/feminism/Kristeva.html
(accessed 3 Nov. 2009).
——(2005), ‘Julia Kristeva’, in M. Groden, M. Kreiswirth, and I. Szeman,
eds, The Johns Hopkins Guide to Literary Theory and Criticism, 2nd edn, at
http://litguide.press.jhu.edu (accessed 3 Nov. 2009).
Packer, J. E. (2003), ‘Plurima et amplissima opera: Parsing Flavian Rome’, in
A. J. Boyle and W. J. Dominik, eds, Flavian Rome (Leiden, Boston,
276 Bibliography
Pagán, V. E. (2000a), ‘The Mourning After: Statius’ Thebaid 12’, AJPh 121:
423–52.
——(2000b), ‘Distant Voices of Freedom in the Annales of Tacitus’, in
C. Deroux, ed., Studies in Latin Literature and Roman History, vol. 10
(Brussels: Latomus): 358–69.
——(2004), Conspiracy Narratives in Roman History (Austin: University of
Texas Press).
Parkes, R., ed. (2002), A Commentary on Statius, ‘Thebaid’ 4.1–308 (Diss.,
Oxford University, UK).
——(2005), ‘Men from before the Moon: The Relevance of Statius Thebaid
4.275–84 to Parthenopaeus and His Arcadian Contingent’, CPh 100:
358–65.
——(2008), ‘The Return of the Seven: Allusion to the Thebaid in Statius’
Achilleid ’, AJPh 129: 381–402.
Parsons, P. J. (1977), ‘Callimachus. Victoria Berenicis’, ZPE 25: 1–50.
Payne, M. (1993), Reading Theory. An Introduction to Lacan, Derrida, and
Kristeva (Oxford and Cambridge, MA: Blackwell).
Pease, A. S., ed. (1935), Publi Vergili Maronis ‘Aeneidos’ liber quartus
(Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press).
Peluzzi, E. (1999), ‘Turrigero . . . uertice. La prosopopea della patria in
Lucano’, in P. Esposito and L. Nicastri, eds, Interpretare Lucano (Naples:
Arte Tipografica): 127–55.
Pérez Vilatela, L. (2002), ‘Un ‘club-fighter’ en la Hispania prerromana: El
Saguntino “Theron”’, in S. Crespo Ortiz de Zárate and A. Alonso Ávila, eds,
Scripta antiqua: In honorem Ángel Montenegro Duque et José Marı́a Blázquez
Martı́nez (Valladolid: S. Crespo Ortiz de Zárate and A. Alonso Ávila): 255–64.
Perkell, C., ed. (1999), Reading Vergil’s ‘Aeneid’: An Interpretive Guide
(Norman: Oklahoma University Press).
Perutelli, A., ed. (1997a), C. Valeri Flacci ‘Argonauticon’ Liber VII (Florence:
Felice Le Monnier).
——(1997b), ‘Sul manierismo di Silio Italico: Le nimfe interrogano Proteo
(7.409–493)’, BStudLat 27: 470–78.
Phillips, C. R., III (2002), ‘Tellus’, in H. Cancik and H. Schneider, eds, Der
neue Pauly: Enzyklopädie der Antike, 12/1 (Stuttgart and Weimar:
J. B. Metzler): 100–1.
Picard, G. Ch. (1968), Annibale, il sogno di un impero (Rome: Gherardo Casini).
Pinto, M. (1953), ‘Il medaglione enniano nelle Puniche di Silio Italico’, Maia
6: 224–9.
Pollmann, K. F. L. (2000), ‘Statius’ Thebaid and the Legacy of the Aeneid ’,
Mnemosyne 54: 10–30.
Bibliography 277
Pollmann, K. F. L., ed. (2004), Statius, ‘Thebaid’ 12 (Introduction, Text, and
Commentary) (Paderborn, Munich, Vienna, Zurich: Ferdinand Schöningh).
——(2008), ‘Ambivalence and Moral virtus in Roman Epic’, in V. M. Strocka
et al., eds, Vergil und das antike Epos (Stuttgart: Franz Steiner): 355–66.
Pomeroy, A. (1990), ‘Silius Italicus as doctus poeta’, in A. J. Boyle, ed.,
The Imperial Muse . . . Flavian Epicists to Claudian (Bendigo, Australia:
Aureal): 119–39.
——(2000), ‘Silius’ Rome: The Rewriting of Vergil’s Vision’, Ramus 29:
149–68.
——(2010), ‘To Silius Through Livy and His Predecessors’, in A. Augoustakis,
27–45.
Poortvliet, H. M., ed. (1991), C. Valerius Flaccus’ ‘Argonautica’ Book II
(Amsterdam: VU University Press).
Quartana, M. (1918), ‘Marzia e Cornelia nel poema di Lucano’, A&R 21:
189–98.
Raepsaet-Charlier, M. Th. (1987), Prosopographie des femmes de l’ordre
sénatorial (Ier–IIème siècles) (Louvain and Paris: Peeters).
Raimondi, V. (1995–8), ‘L’-‘Inno a Roma’ di Melinno’, Helikon 35–8:
283–307.
Ramaglia, L. (1952–3), ‘La figura di Giunone nelle Puniche di Silio Italico’,
RSC 1: 35–43.
——(1954), ‘L’oltretomba nelle Puniche di Silio Italico’, RSC 2: 17–24.
Rebischke, R. (1913), De Silii Italici orationibus (Diss., Albertus-Universität,
Königsberg).
Reed, J. D. (2007), Virgil’s Gaze. Nation and Poetry in the ‘Aeneid’ (Princeton,
NJ, and Oxford: Princeton University Press).
Reeve, M. D. (1998), Review of Brugnoli-Santini (1995), CR 48.1: 195–6.
Reitz, C. (1982), Die Nekyia in den ‘Punica’ des Silius Italicus (Frankfurt am
Main and Bern: Peter Lang).
——(1993), ‘Quomodo Silius Italicus clararum mulierum enumeratione
carmen suum exornaverit’, Vox Latina 29: 310–19.
Reussner, A. (1921), De Statio et Euripide (Diss., Martin-Luther-Universität,
Halle-Wittenberg).
Reydams-Schils, G. (2005), The Roman Stoics. Self, Responsibility, and Affection
(Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press).
Ricci, C. (2005), Orbis in urbe: Fenomeni migratori nella Roma imperiale
(Rome: Quasar).
——(2006), Stranieri illustri e communità immigrante a Roma:Vox diversa
populorum (Rome: Quasar).
278 Bibliography
Richardson, L. (1992), A New Topographical Dictionary of Ancient Rome
(Baltimore, MD, and London: Johns Hopkins University Press).
Ripoll, F. (1998), La morale héroı̈que dans les épopées latines d’époque flavi-
enne: Tradition et innovation (Louvain and Paris: Peeters).
——(1999), ‘Silius Italicus et Valérius Flaccus’, REA 101: 499–521.
——(2000a), ‘Silius Italicus et Cicéron’, LEC 68: 147–73.
——(2000b), ‘L’image de l’Afrique chez Lucain et Silius Italicus’, VL 159: 2–17.
——(2000c), ‘Réécritures d’un mythe homérique à travers le temps: Le
personnage de Pâris dans l’épopée latine de Virgile à Stace’, Euphrosyne
28: 83–112.
——(2001a), ‘Le monde homérique dans les Punica de Silius Italicus’,
Latomus 60: 87–107.
——(2001b), ‘La restitution du Palladium à Énée chez Silius Italicus
(Punica, XIII, 30–81)’, LEC 60: 353–68.
——(2003a), ‘Vieillesse et héroı̈sme dans les épopées flaviennes: Silius Itali-
cus et Valérius Flaccus’, in B. Bakhouche, ed., L’ancienneté chez les anciens.
Tome II. Mythologie et religion (Montpellier: Université Montpellier III):
653–76.
——(2003b), ‘Un héros barbare dans l’épopée latine: Masinissa dans les
Punica de Silius Italicus’, AC 72: 95–111.
——(2006a), ‘Adaptations latines d’un thème homérique: La théomachie’,
Phoenix 60: 236–58.
——(2006b), ‘La legende de Pyréné chez Silius Italicus (Punica III, 415–440)’,
in J. Champaux and M. Chassignet, eds, Aere perennius: En hommage à
Hubert Zehnacker (Paris: Presses de l’Université Paris-Sorbonne): 643–64.
Rocca-Serra, G. (1990), ‘Imitatio Alexandri et stoı̈cisme: Manilius et Silius
Italicus’, in J.-M. Croisille, ed., Neronia IV: Alejandro Magno, modelo de los
imperatores romanos (Brussels: Latomus): 379–87.
Romano, D. (1965), Silio Italico, uomo, poeta, artista, attraverso una moderna
interpretazione filologica e psicologica, in Poesia e Scienza III (Naples:
Loffredo).
Rosati, G. (2002), ‘Muse and Power in the Poetry of Statius’, in E. Spentzou
and D. Fowler, eds, Cultivating the Muse. Struggles for Power and Inspiration
in Classical Literature (Oxford: Oxford University Press): 229–51.
——(2005), ‘Il “dolce delitto” di Lemno. Lucrezio e l’amore-guerra nell’Ipsipile
di Stazio’, in R. Raffaelli et al., eds, Vicende di Ipsipile. Da Erodoto a Metastasio
(Urbino: Quattroventi): 141–67.
——(2008), ‘Statius, Domitian and Acknowledging Paternity: Rituals of
Succession in the Thebaid’, in J. J. L. Smolenaars, H.-J. van Dam, and
R. R. Nauta, eds, The Poetry of Statius (Leiden, Boston, Cologne: Brill):
175–93.
Bibliography 279
Rosenmeyer, T. G. (1960), ‘Virgil and Heroism: Aeneid XI’, CJ 55: 159–64.
Roth, R. (2007), Styling Romanisation. Pottery and Society in Central Italy
Runchina, G. (1982), ‘Da Ennio a Silio Italico’, AFMC 6: 11–43.
Ruprecht-Mallersdorf, H. (1995), ‘Flavius Josephus, eine bisher nicht beachtete
Vorlage für Silius Italicus’, Gymnasium 102: 497–500.
Rutledge, S. H. (2000), ‘Tacitus in Tartan: Textual Colonization and Expansio-
nist Discourse in the Agricola’, Helios 27: 75–95.
Sanna, L. (2008), ‘Dust, Water and Sweat: The Statian puer between Charm
and Weakness, Play and War’, in J. J. L. Smolenaars, H.-J. van Dam, and
R. R. Nauta, eds, The Poetry of Statius (Leiden, Boston, Cologne: Brill):
195–214.
Sannicandro, L. (2007), ‘Per uno studio sulle donne della Pharsalia: Marcia
Catonis’, 64: 83–99.
Santini, C. (1981), ‘Presenza di motivi ecologici in Sil. It. Pun. VI 140–293’,
in Atti del congresso internazionale di studi vespasianei in Rieti 1979 (Rieti:
Centro di studi varroniani): 522–34.
——(1991), Silius Italicus and His View of the Past (Amsterdam:
J. C. Gieben).
——(1992), ‘Personaggi divini (e umani) nella Tebaide di Stazio e nei
Punica di Silio Italico’, in La storia, la letteratura e l’arte a Roma: Da
Tiberio a Domiziano. Atti del Convegno (Mantova: Accademia nazionale
virgiliana): 383–96.
Scaffai, M. (2002), ‘L’Ipsipile di Stazio, ovvero le sventure della virtù’, Prometheus
28: 151–70 and 233–52.
Schenk, P. (1989), ‘Die Gesänge des Teuthras (Sil. It. 11.288–302 u.
432–482)’, RhM 132: 350–68.
——(1999), Studien zur poetischen Kunst des Valerius Flaccus. Beobachtungen
zur Ausgestaltung des Kriegsthemas in den ‘Argonautica’ (Munich: G. H. Beck).
Schetter, W. (1960), Untersuchungen zur epischen Kunst des Statius (Wiesbaden:
O. Harrassowitz).
Schetter, W. (1962), ‘Die Einheit des Prooemium zur Thebais des Statius’,
MH 19: 204–17.
Schubert, W. (1984), Jupiter in den Epen der Flavierzeit (Frankfurt am Main
and Bern: Peter Lang).
——(2005), ‘Silius-Reminiszenzen in Petrarcas Africa?’ in U. Auhagen,
S. Faller, and F. Hurka, eds, Petrarca und die römische Literatur (Tübingen:
Gunter Narr): 89–102.
Schultz, K. (1994), Review of Kristeva (1991), Comparative Literature 46:
316–19.
280 Bibliography
Schwartz, M. (2002), Tumulat Italia Tellus: Gestaltung, Chronologie und
Bedeutung der römischen Rundgräber in Italien (Leidorf: Rahden).
Sechi, M. (1947), ‘Nota ad un episodio di storia sarda nelle Puniche di Silio
Italico’, Studi Sardi 7: 153–62.
——(1951), ‘Silio Italico e Livio’, Maia 4: 280–97.
Segal, C. (1977), ‘Sophocles’ Trachiniae: Myth, Poetry and Heroic Values’,
YCS 25: 99–158.
Sharrock, A. (1994), Seduction and Repetition in Ovid’s ‘Ars amatoria’ 2
Shumate, N. (2006), Nation, Empire, Decline. Studies in Rhetorical Continuity
from the Romans to the Modern Era (London: Duckworth).
Sjöholm, C. (2005), Kristeva and the Political (London and New York:
Routledge).
Sklenář, R. (2003), The Taste for Nothingness (Ann Arbor: University of
Michigan Press).
Skutsch, O. (1970), ‘On three fragments of Porcius Licinus and the Tutiline
gate’, BICS 17: 120–23).
——ed. (1985), The Annals of Q. Ennius (Oxford: Clarendon Press).
Smith, A. (1996), Julia Kristeva: Readings of Exile and Estrangement
(New York: St. Martin’s Press).
Smith, R. R. R. (2002), ‘The Use of Images: Visual History and Ancient
History’, in T. P. Wiseman, ed., Classics in Progress: Essays on Ancient
Greece and Rome (Oxford and New York: Oxford University Press):
59–102.
Smolenaars, J. J. L., ed. (1994), Statius ‘Thebaid’ VII: A Commentary (Leiden,
Boston, Cologne: Brill).
——(1996), “On went the steed, on went the driver”: An Intertextual
Analysis of Valerius Flaccus Argonautica 6.256–264, Statius Thebais
7.632–639 and Silius Punica 7.667–679’, in R. Risselada, J. R. Jong, and
A. Machtelt Bolkestein, eds, On Latin: Linguistic and Literary Studies in
Honour of Harm Pinkster (Amsterdam: J. C. Gieben): 151–60.
——(2008), ‘Statius Thebaid 1.72: Is Jocasta Dead or Alive? The Tradition of
Jocasta’s Suicide in Greek and Roman Drama and in Statius’ Thebaid’, in
J. J. L. Smolenaars, H.-J. van Dam, and R. R. Nauta, eds, The Poetry of
Statius (Leiden, Boston, Cologne: Brill): 215–37.
———, van Dam, H.-J., and Nauta, R. R., eds (2008), The Poetry of Statius
Snijder, H., ed. (1968), P. Papinius Statius ‘Thebaid’. A Commentary on Book
III (Amsterdam: A. M. Hakkert).
Soubiran, J. (1969), ‘De Coriolan à Polynice: Tite-Live modèle de Stace’, in
J. Bibauw, ed., Hommages à Marcel Renard I (Brussels: Latomus): 689–99.
Bibliography 281
Spaltenstein, F. (ed.) (1986), Commentaire des ‘Punica’ de Silius Italicus
(livres 1 à 8) (Geneva: Droz).
——(1990), Commentaire des ‘Punica’ de Silius Italicus (livres 9 à 17)
(Geneva: Droz).
——(1991), ‘Silius Italicus: Le catalogue des Italiens’, AION(ling) 13:
27–50.
——(2006), ‘A propos des sources historiques de Silius Italicus. Une ré-
ponse à Lucarini’, Athenaeum 94: 717–18.
Spentzou, E. (2003), Readers and Writers in Ovid’s ‘Heroides’. Trangressions of
Genre and Gender (Oxford University Press: Oxford).
Spyropoulos, G. (2006), ˙ ÆıºÅ ı ˙æÅ `ØŒ Å ¯Æ /¸Œı
˚ııæÆ (Athens: Olkos).
Stadler, H., ed. (1993), Valerius Flaccus, ‘Argonautica’ VII. Ein Kommentar
(Hildesheim, Zurich, New York: Olms-Weidmann).
Stärk, E. (1993), ‘Liebhabereien des Silius Italicus: Die Grotte des Proteus
auf Capri’, A&A 39: 132–43.
Steele, R. B. (1922), ‘The Method of Silius Italicus’, CPh 17: 319–33.
——(1930), ‘Interrelation of the Latin Poets under Domitian’, CPh 25:
328–42.
Stehle, E. (1989), ‘Venus, Cybele, and the Sabine Women: The Roman
Construction of Female Sexuality’, Helios 16: 143–64.
Steiniger, J. (1998), ‘Saecula te quoniam penes et digesta vetustas: Die Musen-
anrufungen in der Thebais des Statius’, Hermes 126: 221–37.
——ed. (2005), P. Papinius Statius, ‘Thebais’ (Kommentar zu Buch 4, 1–344)
(Stuttgart: Franz Steiner).
Stover, T. (2008), ‘The Date of Valerius Flaccus’ Argonautica’, PLLS 13:
211–29.
Strocka, V. M. et al., eds (2008), Vergil und das antike Epos: Festschrift Hans-
Jürgen Tschiedel (Stuttgart: Franz Steiner).
Stürner, F. (2008), ‘Silius Italicus und die Herrschaft des Einzelnen: Zur
Darstellung Hannibals und Scipios in den Punica’, in T. Baier, ed., Der
Legitimation der Einzelherrschaft im Kontext der Generationenthematik
(Berlin and New York: Walter de Gruyter): 221–41.
Sweeney, R. D., ed. (1997), Lactantii Placidi in Statii ‘Thebaida’ commentum
vol. I (Stuttgart and Leipzig: B. G. Teubner).
Taisne, A.-M. (1972), ‘Le rôle du serpent dans la mythologie de Stace’,
Caesarodunum 7: 357–80.
——(1992), ‘L’éloge des Flaviens chez Silius Italicus (Punica, III, 594–629)’,
Vita Latina 125: 21–8.
——(1994a), L’esthétique de Stace (Paris: Les Belles Lettres).
282 Bibliography
Taisne, A.-M. (1994b), ‘Stylisation épique de l’Histoire romaine de Tite-Live
aux chants III et IV de la Guerre punique de Silius Italicus’, in R. Chevallier
and R Poignault, eds, Présence de Tite-Live: Hommage au Professeur P. Jal
(Tours: Université de Tours): 89–99.
Takács, S. A. (2000), ‘Politics and Religion in the Bacchanalian Affair of 186
b.c.’, HSPh 100: 301–10.
Thibodeau, P. and Haskell, H., eds (2003), Being There Together: Essays in
Honor of Michael C. J. Putnam on the Occasion of his Seventieth Birthday
(Minnesota: Afton Historical Society Press).
Thomas, J.-F. (2001), ‘Le thème de la perfidie carthaginoise dans l’oeuvre de
Silius Italicus’, Vita Latina 161: 2–14.
Tipping, B. (1999), Exemplary Roman Heroism in Silius Italicus’ ‘Punica’
(Diss., Oxford University, UK).
——(2004), ‘Middling Epic?: Silius Italicus’ Punica’, in S. Kyriakidis and
F. de Martino, eds, Middles in Latin Poetry (Bari: Levante): 345–70.
——(2007), ‘Haec tum Roma fuit: Past, Present, and Closure in Silius
Italicus’ Punica’, in S. J. Heyworth, P. G. Fowler., and S. J. Harrison, eds,
Classical Constructions. Papers in Memory of Don Fowler, Classicist and
Epicurean (Oxford: Oxford University Press): 221–41.
——(2010), ‘Virtue and Narrative in Silius Italicus’ Punica’, in A. Augoustakis,
193–218.
Toll, K. (1997), ‘Making Roman-ness and the Aeneid’, ClAnt 16: 34–56.
Torres Guerra, J. B. (2003), ‘Melino: Un himno a Roma (Suppl. Hell. 541)’,
in C. Alonso del Real et al., eds, Vrbs aeterna: Actas y colaboraciones del
coloquio internacional, ‘Roma entre la literatura y la historia: Homenaje a la
profesora Carmen Castillo’ (Pamplona : EUNSA): 761–72.
Toynbee, J. M. C. (1957), The Flavian Reliefs from the Palazzo della Cancelleria
in Rome (London: Oxford University Press).
Tuck, S. L. (2005), ‘The Origins of Roman Imperial Hunting Imagery:
Domitian and the Redefinition of virtus under the Principate’, G&R 52:
221–45.
Tyrrell, W. B. (1984), Amazons: A Study in the Athenian Mythmaking
(Baltimore, MD, and London: Johns Hopkins University Press).
Tzounakas, S. (2006), ‘The Personified Patria in Cicero’s First Catilinarian:
Significance and Inconsistencies’, Philologus 150: 222–31.
Uccellini, R. (2006), ‘Soggetti eccentrici: Asbyte in Silio Italico (e altre donne
pericolose del mito’, GIF 57: 229–53.
Usener, H. (1900), ‘Beiläufige Bemerkungen’, RhM 55: 286–98.
Venini, P. (1961), ‘Studi sulla Tebaide di Stazio. L’imitazione’, RIL 95:
371–400.
Bibliography 283
Venini, P. (1964), ‘Furor e psicologia nella Tebaide di Stazio’, Athenaeum 42:
201–13.
——(1965a), ‘Echi Lucanei nel L. XI della Tebaide’, RIL 99: 149–56.
——(1965b), ‘Echi Senecani e Lucanei nella Tebaide. Tiranni e Tirannidi’,
RIL 99: 157–67.
——(1967), ‘Ancora sull’imitazione senecana e lucanea nella Tebaide di
Stazio’, RFIC 95: 418–27.
——ed. (1970), P. Papini Stati ‘Thebaidos’ Liber undecimus (Florence: La
Nuova Italia).
——(1972), ‘Ancora su Stazio e Antimaco’, Athenaeum 50: 400–03.
——(1978), ‘La visione dell’Italia nel catalogo di Silio Italico’, MIL 36:
123–227.
——(1991), ‘Lo scudo di Annibale in Silio Italico (Pun. 2.406–52)’, in Studi
di filologia classica in honore di Giusto Monaco III (Palermo: Università di
Palermo): 1191–200.
Vessey, D. W. T. C. (1970a), ‘Notes on the Hypsipyle Episode in Statius:
Thebaid 4–6’, BICS 17: 44–54.
——(1970b), ‘The Significance of the Myth of Linus and Coroebus in
Statius’ Thebaid I, 557–672’, AJPh 91: 315–31.
——(1970c), ‘Statius and Antimachus: A Review of the Evidence’, Philologus
114: 118–43.
——(1971a), ‘Noxia Tela: Some Innovations in Statius, Thebaid 7 and 11’,
CPh 66: 87–92.
——(1971b), ‘Menoeceus in the Thebaid of Statius’, CPh 66: 236–43.
——(1973), Statius and the ‘Thebaid’ (Cambridge: Cambridge University
Press).
——(1974), ‘Silius Italicus on the Fall of Saguntum’, CPh 69: 28–36.
——(1975), ‘Silius Italicus: The Shield of Hannibal’, AJPh 96: 391–405.
——(1982), ‘The Dupe of Destiny: Hannibal in Silius’ Punica III’, CJ 77:
320–35.
——(1984), ‘The Origin of Ti. Catius Asconius Silius Italicus’, CB 60: 9–10.
——(1985), ‘Some Aspects of Valerius Flaccus, Argonautica II, 77–305’, CJ
80: 326–39.
——(1986), ‘Pierius menti calor incidit: Statius’ Epic Style’, ANRW 2.32.5:
2965–3019.
Villalba Álvarez, J. (2004), ‘Ecos virgilianos en una tempestad épica de Silio
Itálico (Punica XVII 236–90)’, Humanitas (Coimbra) 56: 365–82.
Vinchesi, M. A. (1999a), ‘Alcune considerazioni sul caso di Dafni nel XIV
libro delle Guerre puniche di Silio Italico’, in F. Conca, ed., Ricordando
Raffaele Cantarella: Miscellanea di studi a cura di Fabrizio Conca (Bologna:
Cisalpino): 247–55.
284 Bibliography
Vinchesi, M. A. (1999b), ‘Imilce e Deidamia, due figure femminili dell’epica
flavia (e una probabile ripresa da Silio Italico nell’Achilleide di Stazio)’,
Invigilata Lucernis 21: 445–52.
——ed. (2001), Silio Italico. Le guerre puniche (Milan: Rizzoli).
——(2004), ‘La vicenda di Trasimeno (Silio Italico 5, 7–23) e la fortuna del
mito di Ila in età imperiale’, in M.-P. Pieri, ed., Percorsi della memoria II
(Florence: Polistampa): 103–11.
——(2005), ‘Tipologie femminili nei Punica di Silio Italico: La fida coniunx
e la virgo belligera’, in F. Gasti and G. Mazzoli, eds, Modelli letterari e
ideologia nell’età Flavia: Atti della III Giornata ghisleriana di Filologia
classica (Pavia, 30–31 ottobre 2003) (Pavia: Collegio Ghislieri): 97–126.
Vinson, M. P. (1989), ‘Domitia Longina, Julia Titi, and the Literary Tradition’,
Historia 38: 431–50.
Volpilhac-Lenthéric, J. et al., eds (1984), Silius Italicus: La Guerre punique.
Livres IX–XIII (Paris: Les Belles Lettres).
Volpilhac-Lenthéric, J., Miniconi, P., and Devallet, G., eds (1981), Silius
Italicus: La Guerre punique. Livres V–VIII (Paris: Les Belles Lettres).
Vout, C. (2007), Power and Eroticism in Imperial Rome (Cambridge:
Wacht, M. (1989), Concordantia in Silii Italici ‘Punica’ (Hildesheim, Zurich,
New York: Olms-Weidmann).
Walbank, F. W., ed. (1957–79), A Historical Commentary on Polybius, 3 vols
Walsh, P. G. (1965), ‘Massinissa’, JRS 55: 149–60.
Warner, J. C. (2005), The Augustinian Epic, Petrarch to Milton (Ann Arbor:
University of Michigan Press).
Wells, P. S. (1999), The Barbarians Speak. How the Conquered Peoples Shaped
Roman Europe (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press).
West, G. S. (1985), ‘Chloreus and Camilla’, Vergilius 31: 22–9.
West, M. L. (1978), ‘Die griechischen Dichterinnen der Kaiserzeit’, in
H. G. Beck, A. Kambylis, and P. Moraux, eds, Kyklos griechisches und
byzantinisches. Rudolf Keydell zum neunzigsten Geburtstag (Berlin and
New York: Walter de Gruyter): 101–15.
——ed. (2003), Greek Epic Fragments (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University
Press).
Wezel, E. (1873), De Silii Italici cum fontibus tum exemplis (Diss. Lipsiae,
Universität Leipzig).
Whitmarsh, T. (2001), Greek Literature and the Roman Empire. The Politics of
Imitation (Oxford: Oxford University Press).
Wijsman, H. J. W., ed. (2000), Valerius Flaccus, ‘Argonautica’, Book VI.
A Commentary (Leiden, Boston, Cologne: Brill).
Bibliography 285
Wilhelm, M. P. (1987), ‘Venus, Diana, Dido, and Camilla in the Aeneid ’,
Vergilius 33: 43–8.
Williams, G., ed. (2003), Seneca ‘De otio’, ‘De brevitate vitae’ (Cambridge:
——(2004), ‘Testing the Legend: Horace, Silius Italicus and the Case of
Marcus Atilius Regulus’, Antichthon 38: 70–98.
Wilson, M. (2004), ‘Ovidian Silius’, Arethusa 37: 225–49.
Wistrand, E. (1956), Die Chronologie der ‘Punica’ des Silius Italicus. Beiträge
zur Interpretation der flavischen Literatur (Diss., Göteborgs universitet).
Woodruff, L. B. (1910), Reminiscences of Ennius in Silius Italicus (London
and New York: Macmillan) (repr. in University of Michigan Studies 4:
355–424).
Ziarek, E. (2003), ‘The Uncanny Style of Kristeva’s Critique of Nationalism’,
in J. Lechte and M. Zournazi, eds, The Kristeva Critical Reader (Edinburgh:
Edinburgh University Press) 139–57.
Zissos, A., ed. (2008), Valerius Flaccus’ ‘Argonautica’ Book 1 (Oxford: Oxford
University Press).
This page intentionally left blank
Index Locorum
AESCHYLUS DIO CASSIUS

Septem 13 113 n.46
580–3 66 n.81 17 219–20 n.49
67.3.3–4 225 n.68
AETHIOPIS
fr.1 W 248 DIODORUS SICULUS
APOLLONIUS OF RHODES 3.52–5 118 n.65
Argonautica 3.66.5–6 118 n.65
3.678–80 2 23.11–16 160 n.6
23.15.4 190 n.73
APPIAN 24.12 161 n.10
Spanish Wars 25.15 113 n.46
12 113 n.46
ENNIUS
CATULLUS Annales
Carmina 34–50 (Skutsch) 72 n.94
64.61 200 n.6 214 198 n.3
CICERO EURIPIDES
De Finibus Fragments (Kannicht)
2.20.65 160 n.8 777 5 n.10
5.37.82 160 n.8 902 5 n.10
De Officiis 1047.2 5 n.10
3.99.26–100.27 160 n.8 Hecuba
De Republica 342–78 66 n.81
3.15 208 n.19 550–3 66 n.81
In Catilinam Helen
1.18 145 n.128 1478–86 2 n.3
1.27 145 n.128
Hippolytus
1.24 101 n.19
732–51 2 n.3
CURTIUS RUFUS Hypsipyle
Historiae Alexandri fr.60.10–12 (Bond) 60 n.63
3.12.21 246 n.18 fr. 60.90–96 58 n.60
4.3.23 198 n.3 fr. 64.72 43 n.33
CYCLICTHEBAIS fr. 64.77 50 n.47
fr. 1 W 35 fr.85.6 54 n.54
288 Index Locorum
EURIPIDES (continued)
1.48 225 n.67
Ion
1.57–60 223 n.61
796–99 2 n.3
2.13 224 n.63
Phoenissae 2.40.3–5 66 n.81
88–201 69 n.88 3.44 223 n.61
452–585 62 n.68 10.29.4 144 n.126
1274–6 67 n.82 Periocha 18 160 n.8, 182 n.56
1427–59 74 n.102 21.1 97 n.12
Suppliants 21.7–15 113 n.46
1034–71 88 n.134 21.46.7 107 n.33
23.8–9 109 n.37
HOMER
23.34.10 105 n.26
Iliad
23.40.1 105 n.26
2.418 153 n.139
25.34 221 n.52
Odyssey 25.36 217 n.41
11.152–225 215 n.36 26.13–14 113 n.46
11.235–330 222 n.55 26.36.5 230 n.79
HORACE 26.50 246 n.18
Carmina 27.7.13–14 180 n.51
3.5 160 27.26.12 104 n.22
JUVENAL 27.27.7 105 n.25
Satires 27.34.14 148 n.132
2 10 n.23 28.35 214 n.34, 219
3.58–125 10 n.23 29.10.4–11.8 230 n.82
4.9–10 225 n.68 29.11.1 231 n.82
29.14.5–14.14 230 n.82
LACTANTIUS 30.11–15 227
Diuinae Institutiones 30.12.12–17 228
6.6.19 7 n.15 30.12.21–2 228
In Thebaida Commentum 30.13.12 228 n.75
793 87 n.132 30.14.1–2 228 n.75
30.14.4–11 228
LIVY
30.15.7–8 229
Ab Urbe Condita
30.15.12 221 n.52
Pref.9–10 239 n.2
30.20.7 152
1.11 225 n.67
1.16 240–1 LUCAN
1.34.8 223 n.60 De Bello Ciuili
1.39.2–3 214 n.32 1.185–94 149–50
1.41.3 220–1 n.51 1.188 101 n.19
Index Locorum 289
LUCAN (continued) MARTIAL
1.199–200 150, 218 Epigrams
1.450 106 n.28 1 8 n.20
1.674–80 203–4
MELINNO
2.146–57 132 n.102
Hymn to Rome
2.286 209 n.22
1–20 246–8
2.315–16 209 n.22
2.326–71 168 MIMNERMUS
2.328 169 fr.21 W 71 n.92
2.329–33 168–9
2.331–7 169 MUSONIUS RUFUS
2.338–43 169–71 What is the primary goal of
2.346–8 169–70 marriage?
2.350 171 n.36 13a, 67–8 (Hense)
2.367 168 n.29 170 n.33
2.378–9 171 NAEVIUS
2.387–8 171 Bellum Poenicum
2.388 209 n.22 fr.46 (Strzelecki) 160 n.9
3.4–6 153
4.593–660 164 OVID
5.769 175 n.43 Amores
5.804 175 n.43 1.14.21 200 n.6
6.654–6 63 n.70 Ars Amatoria
6.773–4 170 1.312 200 n.6
7.786–95 172 n.38 3.710 200 n.6
8.100 175 n.43 Fasti
8.147 175 n.43 1.337–8 208 n.19
8.190 175 n.43 1.671 144–5 n.126
8.589 175 n.43 3.206–12 222 n.58
8.622–35 154 n.141 3.543–656 137 n.111
8.649 175 n.43 3.633–8 142 n.122
8.869–70 112 3.675–96 143 n.124
9.110 173 n.40 4.249–349 232 n.86
9.112 173 n.40 4.305 231 n.83
9.116 173 n.40 6.585–636 225 n.67
9.854–62 184 n.58
Heroides
10.384 148 n.131
1 46
LUCRETIUS 4.47 200 n.6
De Rerum Natura 6.19 46
1.83–101 208 n.19 6.114 46 n.40
290 Index Locorum
OVID (continued)
Cato the Younger
6.135 46 n.40
25–6 168 n.27i
6.136 46
25.1 167
6.139–40 46 n.40
7.133–8 95 n.9 POLYBIUS
10.18 200 n.6 1.29–35 160 n.6
Metamorphoses 1.31–4 190
1.149–50 129 n.92 1.35.2–3 190
3.563 148 n.131 3.17 113 n.46
8.447–8 201, 204 n.15 10.3.3 107 n.33
10.143 148 n.131 10.19.3–7 246 n.18
11.460 206 n.18 PORCIUS LICINIUS
13.461 208 n.19 fr.1 (Courtney) 239 n.2
15.173–5 208 n.19
PROPERTIUS
15.862–3 99 n.14
Elegiae
PLATO 1.3.5–6 200 n.6
Crito 4.3 175 n.43
50a–4d 145 n.128 4.3.45–6 170 n.33
Ion 4.4 225 n.67
533e–534a 16 n.44 SALLUST
Phaedrus Catilina
60a 165 n.22 2 239 n.2
Timaeus SENECA THE YOUNGER
52a–b 15–16 De Otio
PLAUTUS 4.1 5–6
Poenulus Epistulae Morales
112–13 92 n.1 28.4–5 5 n.11
PLINY THE YOUNGER Phoenissae
Epistulae 442–664 62 n.68
3.16 175 n.43 446–58 66 n.81
4.11 225 n.68 Troades
4.11.6–9 226 n.69 672–7 203 n.13
4.11.11 226 n.69 680 209 n.22
PLUTARCH SERVIUS
Caesar Ad Aeneida
32 149 n.135 1.171 145 n.126
Index Locorum 291
SILIUS ITALICUS
2.121 118
Punica
2.125–47 121
1.2 92
2.141 120 n.71
1.7–8 92
2.148 117, 120 n.71
1.14 92
2.150 121
1.38 128 n.89
2.153–9 121–2
1.70–139 97–100
2.166–7 124, 124 n.82
1.77–80 199 n.5
2.168 118, 128 n.89
1.78–80 98
2.170 124 n.82
1.81 99
2.176 118
1.104 99
2.188 118
1.108 99
2.189–91 123
1.111–12 99
2.197–204 122
1.137–9 98 n.13
2.202 118–20
1.144–81 92 n.1
2.203–7 126–7
1.189–238 118 n.65
2.228–32 127 n.87
1.218–19 92
2.239 126
1.273–90 114
2.240–1 127 n.87
1.377–9 115
2.244 121
1.384–5 115
2.264–9 127–8
1.389–90 115
2.311 102
1.444–7 115 n.54
2.422–5 134
1.507 115 n.56
2.433–6 181
1.665–9 116
2.475–680 140
2.1–55 116
2.475–525 129
2.3–6 106 n.31
2.475–92 122 n.77
2.66–7 119
2.506 129
2.68–72 118
2.529 180
2.77–81 124 n.82, 125–6
2.541 130
2.80 118 n.65
2.543–680 202 n.12
2.82–3 118 n.65
2.557 130
2.83–4 119
2.561 130
2.83 186 n.65
2.567 130
2.84 118
2.571–4 130
2.96–8 120
2.580–91 130
2.102–3 117, 120
2.599–608 130–1
2.114–18 121
2.613 134
2.114 118
2.614–21 132
2.116–24 129 n.90
2.632–5 132–3
292 Index Locorum
SILIUS ITALICUS (continued) 4.454–9 107
2.636–49 133–4 4.465 107
2.650 134 4.472–7 108
2.657 134 4.475 109 n.38
2.671–3 134 4.645 136
2.680 134 4.647–8 136
2.681–2 135 4.666 136
2.692 128 4.682–97 93 n.4
2.699–707 129 4.737–8 136
3.1 114 n.50 4.765–7 198
3.61–157 198–9 4.765 120 n.71, 201
3.64–5 199 n.5 4.767 208
3.77 199 n.5 4.771 198 n.4
3.97–107 209–10 4.774–7 200
3.109–27 210–11 4.775–8 204
3.109–10 175 n.43 4.775 204 n.15
3.112–15 175 n.43 4.779–829 199
3.128 166 n.24 4.779–802 206–9
3.133–5 211 n.25 4.798 203 n.13
3.152 151 n.136 4.814–18 212–13
3.154 152 4.818 213 n.26
3.155–7 151–2 5.7–23 137
3.162 128 n.89 5.160 186 n.65
3.178 115 5.526–7 153 n.139
3.204–13 98 n.13 6.5–6 172
3.222–441 93 n.3 6.6 191
3.323 118 n.65 6.58 172
3.463–76 136 6.62–551 157
3.518–56 136 6.65 157
3.557–629 216 n.37 6.69–70 193
3.588 241 n.7 6.70–1 172
3.607 241 n.7 6.89–95 172
3.627–8 241 6.94 157 n.2
3.700–12 98 n.13 6.98 172
3.713–14 199 n.5 6.100 157 n.2
4.62 115 n.56 6.101 157
4.99–100 189 n.71 6.118 157 n.2
4.122–30 98 n.13 6.130–1 173
4.135 98 n.13 6.137–9 193
Index Locorum 293
SILIUS ITALICUS (continued)
6.419–22 194 n.80
6.140–293 182
6.426 165
6.146–50 183
6.430 165
6.151 185
6.432–3 163
6.157–8 183
6.433 165–6
6.166–203 183
6.436 165
6.194 181 n.54
6.437–42 165–6
6.209 183, 191
6.438–9 170
6.211–40 183
6.442 170
6.234 188
6.447–9 165–6
6.247 183
6.447–8 171
6.253 188
6.451 166
6.255 186 n.65
6.459 166
6.257 187
6.467–89 162
6.263 183
6.497 175
6.267–9 183
6.500–3 174–5
6.268 188
6.506–11 174–5
6.273–8 183
6.511 178
6.283–93 184–5
6.514–20 176–8
6.286 186
6.514 180
6.288 186
6.517–18 179
6.299–345 159
6.520 179
6.299 157 n.2
6.537–8 193–4 n.80
6.317 188
6.539–44 181
6.326 189 n.69
6.544 182, 188
6.332–6 189
6.552–73 180 n.50
6.333 191
6.562–3 172
6.335 191
6.574–8 172–3
6.346–7 177
6.577–8 180
6.369 176 n.45
6.577 186 n.65
6.377–80 162
6.580–8 180
6.386 181 n.54
6.580 181 n.54
6.393–4 163
6.583 181, 188
6.396–8 163
6.585 188
6.403–5 163–4
6.609–18 137
6.407–9 163–4
6.627–40 106 n.31
6.411–14 163–4
6.658–9 192 n.77
6.412–13 164
7.34–68 106 n.31
6.413 176 n.45, 179
7.74–89 230 n.79
6.415 157
294 Index Locorum
SILIUS ITALICUS (continued) 10.476–502 106 n.31
7.409–93 187 n.67 10.492–501 224–5
7.515–16 148 n.133 10.657–8 143
7.536–66 148 n.133 11.4 112
7.560–1 176 n.45 11.123–9 111
8.25–143 140 11.185 110 n.40
8.25–43 137 11.179–84 110 n.40
8.30–1 138 11.196 110 n.40
8.39 141 11.262–6 100
8.41–3 138 11.288–97 100 n.18
8.41–2 143 11.303–68 109–12
8.44–5 140 n.119 11.304–6 109
8.46–7 138–9 11.306 109 n.38
8.50–225 137 11.311 109
8.55–70 141–2 11.332–6 109–10
8.81–2 142 11.356–8 109–10
8.95–7 178 n.48 11.361–6 110
8.143 222 n.57 11.377–84 111 n.40
8.144–224a 139 11.385–409 216 n.37
8.163–4 142 11.424–5 100
8.163 120 n.71 11.440–80 101 n.18
8.176–7 142 n.122 11.478–80 120 n.69
8.183 142 11.482 101 n.18
8.199 142 12.19 100
8.221 142 12.306–13 230 n.79
8.226–31 138 12.344–9 105–6
8.227 142 12.410 106
8.239–41 143 12.414 106
8.239 142 12.418 106
8.310–11 191 n.75 12.479–752 113
8.332–3 103 12.542–4 142 n.121
8.356–621 93 n.3 12.701 180
9.351–3 235 n.89 12.705 137 n.110
9.383–4 153 n.139 13.12–17 101
10.134–69 106 n.27 13.12–14 149 n.135
10.337 180 13.30–81 106 n.31
10.421–5 103 13.115–37 185 n.61
10.433–4 103 13.218 217 n.41
10.447 103 13.281–94 132 n.101
Index Locorum 295
15.618–20 150–1
13.296–8 132 n.101
15.672–91 121 n.74
13.374–80 132 n.101
16.1–2 153 n.140
13.392 217 n.41
16.19–20 106 n.28
13.466–87 127 n.88
16.38–114 213
13.514–15 108
16.115–69 214
13.548 186 n.65
16.124–34 215
13.613–14 216
12.127–8 219
13.621–5 218
16.132 219
13.623 219
16.140–53 219–20
13.628–33 233
16.168–274 227 n.73
13.629 216–7
16.600–700 230
13.634–6 217
17.1–47 227, 230
13.634 219
17.1 120 n.71
13.638–9 216
17.3–4 235
13.638 233
17.5–15 231
13.663–86 108
17.17 231–2
13.669–70 192
17.18–22 233–4
13.670–1 217 n.41
17.24 232
13.755 217 n.41
17.27–34 231
13.762–76 222
17.27 232
13.778–830 222
17.36–40 231–2
13.818–30 223–4
17.41–7 232
13.829 186 n.65
17.41 233
13.833–50a 225
17.69–75 227–8
13.880 213 n.28
17.84 228
14.462–76 120 n.71
17.112–13 228
15.268–71 246
17.113 228 n.75
15.353–60 104
17.114–15 227 n.73
15.376–80 104–5
17.197–8 102
15.522–63 144
17.213–17 151–2
15.523–4 145–6
17.219–20 153
15.526–7 145–6
17.262–3 153
15.529–35 145–6
17.331–6 102
15.538–41 145–6
17.334 213 n.28
15.546 146–7
17.604 180
15.549–51 146–7
17.613–15 154
15.556–63 146–7
17.643–4 154
15.596–7 148
17.651–4 239–40
15.600 148
296 Index Locorum
4.727 37–8
17.654 29
4.729 51
STATIUS 4.746–52 38–9
Achilleid 4.750–1 44
1.250 216 n.38 4.766–7 43
1.960 178 n.49 4.775 53
4.785–9 39
Siluae
4.785–6 41
1.1.36 225 n.68
4.786–7 52
3.5.35–6 89 n.137
4.788–9 54
4.7 247 n.23
4.789–92 51
5.3 89 n.136
4.793–7 41
Thebaid 5.8–9 43
1.1–3 35 5.23–7 44
1.16–17 35 5.28–32 45
1.135–6 35 n.12 5.29 53
1.243–5 36 5.53–4 48
1.312–13 54 5.81–4 48
1.571–95 54 n.55 5.92–4 50, 200 n.6
1.592–3 201 n.8 5.105 65 n.78
1.597–626 184 n.58 5.142 48
1.680 45 n.37 5.162–3 47
1.681 36 n.15 5.260 56
2.95–100 63 n.70 5.305–9 48
2.204 73 n.97 5.347–9 49
2.332–52 211 n.25 5.397 51, 65 n.78
2.361–2 82 5.454–7 51–2
3.133–68 62 n.67 5.461–5 51–2
3.682–5 174 n.42 5.494–5 53
3.696 174 n.42 5.499–500 53
3.718–19 44 n.34 5.588 53
4.38–344 36 5.591–2 47
4.88–92 82 5.608–10 54
4.378–82 204 n.15 5.615–18 55
4.610 45 n.37 5.659 56
4.646 37 5.681 45 n.37
4.649–51 37–8 5.720–4 56–7
4.652–715 37 5.723–8 52 n.50
4.676 45 n.37 5.727–30 57
Index Locorum 297
STATIUS (continued)
8.625–35 72–3
5.743–5 44–5
8.647–50 73–4
5.745 45 n.37
8.653–4 73
6.35–6 58
9.49–85 65
6.42 45 n.38
9.155 79
6.45–50 58
9.255 45 n.37
6.132–4 57–8
9.294 45 n.37
6.146–50 40
9.351–403 62 n.67
6.161–7 52–3
9.570–636 62 n.67
6.169–83 59–60
9.570–601 72 n.95
6.174–6 88
9.800 235 n.88
6.242–6 61
10.594 45 n.37
6.268–95 36 n.19
10.792–826 62 n.67
6.342–3 52 n.50, 58
11.142–3 82
6.464 58
11.193 58
6.466 58
11.318–20 62
6.476 58
11.318 65
6.509 53 n.53
11.321–3 65
6.515 45 n.37
11.338–42 66
7.243–5 69
11.352–3 66
7.247–50 69
11.354–7 67–8
7.281 74 n.103
11.361–4 67–8
7.452–69 63
11.372–8 67–8
7.470–563 174 n.42
11.633 76 n.106
7.474–7 62 n.70
11.639–40 74
7.477–81 62–3
11.642–7 75
7.479 71 n.93
11.643 206 n.18
7.483–4 64
12.33 76
7.493–8 63–5
12.45–8 76
7.503–4 63–5
12.47 84
7.514 64 n.74
12.58–9 77
7.519–21 63–5
12.77–9 77 n.107
7.527–9 63–5
12.105–72 77
7.534–6 63–5
12.141 83 n.122
7.816–17 42
12.177–9 80–1
8.297 42
12.178 65 n.78
8.303 42
12.185–91 80–1
8.317–22 42–3
12.198–202 80–1
8.600–5 70
12.256 80–1
8.607–13 71
298 Index Locorum
STATIUS (continued)
Historiae
12.259–61 80–1
3.25 108 n.36
12.325–8 82
12.349–50 83 TERTULLIAN
12.366–7 83 De Pallio
12.367 60 4 8 n.18
12.380 83
VALERIUS FLACCUS
12.382–3 83
Argonautica
12.385–91 83
1.207–26 120 n.70
12.429 83 n.122
2.77–427 38 n.25
12.444–6 84
2.136 166 n.24
12.457–62 84–5
2.237 166 n.24
12.481–518 77
2.255 166 n.24
12.523–39 78–9
2.408–17 61 n.65
12.635–8 79–80
6 3, 68 n.85
12.773 83 n.122
7.110 166 n.24
12.782–6 86–7 n.131
7.227–30 1–2
12.786–96 86–7
7.231 4
12.789 83 n.122
7.232 4
12.797–809 87–9
7.234 4
12.810–12 240
12.811–12 90 VALERIUS MAXIMUS
12.814 240 Facta et Dicta Memorabilia
12.816–17 240 1.8.ext.19 182 n.56
4.31.1 246 n.18
STESICHORUS 5.4.2 107 n.33
222(b) PMGF 62 n.68 9.3.ext.3 97 n.12
STOBAEUS VARRO
Florilegium Res Rusticae
3.7.12 247 n.21 1.1.5 144 n.126
SUETONIUS VIRGIL
Domitian Aeneid
8.4 225–6 1.37–49 145
1.95 107 n.35
TACITUS 1.153 99
Annales 1.223–96 99
14.20 225 n.68 1.490 118 n.65
15.22 225 n.68 1.493 118 n.65
Index Locorum 299
VIRGIL (continued)
7.813–17 124–5,
2.343 191 n.76
124 n.82
2.407 178 n.48
8.336–41 222 n.59
2.769 201 n.8
8.584 206 n.18
2.588 178 n.48
8.651 224 n.62
3.313 201 n.8
9.39 201 n.8
4.65 201
9.494 209 n.22
4.69 201
9.617 235 n.88
4.262 124 n.82
9.641 109 n.38
4.283 201
10.489 153 n.139
4.300–3 201
11.71 145 n.126
4.301–3 49–50 n.47
11.418 153 n.139
4.305 177
11.543 119
4.314 175 n.43
11.558 186
4.327–30 95 n.9
11.573–84 118 n.65
4.339 177 n.47
11.686–9 119
4.366 177
11.715–17 119
4.376 201 n.10
11.771 123 n.80
4.391–2 206 n.18
11.774 123 n.80
4.421 177
11.775–7 124 n.82
4.428 177
11.776 123 n.80
4.431–3 171 n.37
11.781–2 123
4.469 201–2
11.789 123 n.80
4.597 177
11.803–4 185
4.624 177 n.47
11.839–42 186
4.673 200
12.435 104
5.341 201 n.8
12.837 2–3
6.32–3 107 n.35
12.870–1 200
6.77–8 205 n.17
6.458 81 Eclogues
6.844 157 n.2 4.4 112
7.189–91 4 n.9 10.44 191 n.76
7.373–405 202
Georgics
7.377 200
4.515 200
7.415–18 63 n.70
7.461–2 191 ZONARAS
7.502 201 n.8 Epitome
7.550 191 n.76 8.21 113 n.46
7.803–17 118 n.65 9.12 219–20 n.49
General Index
This index is selective in references to centre, gender, motherhood, other-

ness, and periphery, since these terms are discussed with frequency and
passim throughout the book.
abject, see Asbyte; Hannibal; Kristeva Amphiaraus 44–5
Achilles 101 n.18, 178 n.49 death of 42–3
Addison, J. Amphion 101 n.18, 235 n.88
Cato: A Tragedy 156 Amyclas 157 n.3
Adrastus 36, 43, 54–5, 58 analepsis 98 n.13, 157–8, 172, 180
Adys 160 n.6 Anchises 214 n.32
Aegates islands 207 Andromache 164, 177 n.46,
Aeneas 38 n.24, 55 n.58, 64, 203 n.13, 209 n.22
88 n.117, 157 n.3 Anna Perenna 136–44, 200, 234
and Ascanius 104 and Aeneas 141–2
as Indiges 141 and autonomy 25
see also Anna Perenna; Regulus and Dido 137–40
Africa and Hannibal 25, 96–7,
as belligerent ground 92–3 137–44
Romanisation of 214 n.34 between two patriae 138–44
see also Petrarch Carthaginian identity of 141–4
Agamemnon 78 n.111 in Ovid 137 n.111
Agylle 137 Romanisation of 138, 141–4
Alcmena 217 n.40 Anticleia 215 n.36
Alcyone 206 n.18 Antigone 22, 60, 63, 66–8
Alexander 216–17 n.40, 222, and Argia 33–4, 83–5
246 n.18 and Ismene 68–75
Allecto 62–3, 134–5, 191, 200, 202 as Maenad 33
Alps gaze of 68–70
crossing by Hannibal 93 n.3, in Sophocles 71 n.93
98 n.13, 136, 146, 152 teichoscopia of 68–70
Althea 200–1 uirginitas of 68–70
Amata 134 n.105, 200–3 Aonia, see Thebes
Amazons 117 n.62, 242–52 Apollo 37, 44, 204–5, 209–12,
see also Asbyte; Camilla; 230 n.79
Hippolyte; Penthesilea; Apollonius of Rhodes, see
Regulus; Rome Chalciope; Valerius Flaccus
General Index 301
apostrophe 65 and n.76, Ascanius 214
83 n.122, 85, 104, 106 n.27, see also Aeneas
109, 138, 205–6, 235 n.89, Aspis 160 n.6
237 n.91, 240, 241 n.7, Astraea 129 n.93
248 Astyanax 203 n.13
apotheosis 217 n.40, 240–1 Asulanus, Fr. 139
Apulia 104 asymbolia,
Aquinus 183 see Asbyte; Bacchants; Hannibal;
Ara Pacis 242 Hypsipyle; Imilce; Kristeva;
Arachne 249 Lemnos; otherness
Archemorus, see Opheltes Atalanta 62 n.67, 72 n.95, 87–8
Ardea 114–16, 130 Athenians
Ares, see Mars gaze of 79–80
Argia 33, 174 n.42, 211 n.2 Atys 33
gaze of 81–2 and Parthenopaeus 70 n.90
marriage to Polynices 36 death of 33, 70–4
trip to Thebes 77, 80–5 gaze of 73–4
see also Antigone see also Ismene
Argonauts 101 n.18 Ausonia, see Italy
in Lemnos 51–3 autonomy, see Anna Perenna;
Argos Hypsipyle; Imilce; Kristeva;
alienum 33 Marcia; otherness
as periphery 34–7, 90–1 Avens 183
as doublet for Rome 36
reconciliation with Thebes 86–91 Bacchanalian affair 235
women of 31, 77, 86–91 Bacchants
Arion 101 n.18 and asymbolia 20–1
Asbyte 114, 117–29 in Lucan 203–5
and asymbolia 24, 95–6 in Silius 96, 129–36, 159, 196–7,
and Camilla 117–19, 123–6 201–5, 234–6
and Dido 119 in Statius 22–3, 34, 49–50, 62,
and Hannibal 126–9 87–91
and Theron 122–6 Bacchus 37, 201–2, 204–5, 209–13,
as abject 95 214 n.30
as transgressive other 114 and Hypsipyle 50
decapitation of 24, 95–6, 122–3, and the trieteris 51, 205
125–6, 128–9 conquest of India 86
femininity of 114, 123–5 Bagrada River 26, 157, 160, 182,
mantle of 124–5 and n.82 184, 188
masculinity of 125–6 Battus 141
virginity of 114 Belus 138, 142
302 General Index
Boccaccio 139 siege of 132 n.101
Bodostor 161 n.10 suicide at 113 n.46, 132 n.101
Boeotia 49 Capys 101 n.18
Bogus 98 n.13 Carmentis 222
Britomartis 118 Carneades 7 n.15
Bruttium 153 n.140 Carthage
Brutus 148 n.133 figurative ‘decapitation’ of 128
Buckingham, 1st Duke of, see Villiers foundation of 131
personified 101–2
Cacus 183 n.57 see also Capua
Cadmus 36, 184 n.58 Carthaginians
Caesar, C. Julius 149–50, 157 n.3, and child-sacrifice 198–9, 205–9,
209 n.22, 218 212–13
Caieta 187 n.67 effeminacy of 97, 154
Callimachus perfidia of 92 and n.1, 113, 177,
Victoria Berenices in Statius 209 n.21
37–8 n.22 struggle for world domination 92
Calpe 210 Castalius 210
Calybe 63 n.70 Castulo 210
Camilla catalogue
death of 185–7 epic 36, 93 n.3, 221–9
victims of 119, 123 Cato the Younger 148 n.133,
see also Asbyte 167–72, 184 n.58, 209 n.22
Camillus, M. Furius 148 n133, attachment to the Republic
176 n.45 171 n.35
Campus Martius 166 sexual abstinence 171
Cancelleria reliefs 242–5 and see also Addison; Marcia;
figs. 1–3, 249 Regulus
Cannae 94–5 and n.6, 103, 122 Cavafis, C. 238
n.78, 137, 142 n.123, 224 Chalciope
as Hannibal’s decline 143 in Apollonius 1–2, 4
Canusium 103 Chatti 242
Capaneus 88 n.134 child-sacrifice, see Carthaginians
Capitoline Triad 103 Chiron 101 n.18
Capua 109–12 Chloreus 123–4
and decadence 100 chôra, see Kristeva
as hybrid city 95 Cicero, see patria
as altera Carthago 100, 151 Cilnius 106 n.30
as altera Roma 100 Cinna 224
citizen rights 111–12 Circe 1–2, 4 and n.9
demand to consulship 111–12 Cirrha 210
General Index 303
civil war, see Lemnos; Saguntum; cunctatio, see Fabius
Thebes; Valerius Flaccus Curetes 50–1, 54
Claudia Quinta 28, 197, 226–7, Curia 166
229–37, 239, 245 Cybele 50–1, 54, 123, 230–7
crimen of 231–3 see also Magna Mater
Claudia, wife of Statius 89 n.137 Cyrene 142
Claudius Nero, C. 97, 144–51
Clausi 231 Daedalus
Clementia and Icarus 104–5, 107 n.35
altar of 77 see also Mopsus
Cloelia 106 n.31, 223–4, 226 Danaids 18–19
Cloelius 224 Dante 139
closure, see Statius Purgatorio 192–3
Coelius Antipater 113 n.46 Dardanus 101 n.18
Colchians Darius 246 n.18
as barbarians 2, 4 Daunus 115 n.54, 130
conclamatio 134 De Châtillon, G. 139
Constantius, J. 139 n.117 Decius 110–11 n.40
continuity Deidamia 178 n.49
generational 32, 54–5, 157–8, Delphi 247–8 n.23
164, 170, 173, 181 demagogues 96 n.10, 103 n.20
see also Marcia see also Flaminius; Varro
Cornelia, mother of the Gracchi Demeter 144 n.126
12 n.31 Diana 118, 120, 185 n.61
Cornelia, Vestal virgin 225–6, 245–6 Dictynna 118, 120, 123, 125
Cornelia, wife of Pompey 131 n.99, Dido 38 n.24, 81 n.117, 164, 200–3,
164, 173 n.40, 175 n.43 206 n.18, 222 n.57
Coroebus 178 n.48 as Carthaginian Urmutter 94–5,
cosmopolitanism 97–100, 198, 199 n.5, 201,
and universal citizenship 4–5, 7, 236 n.90
42 as Elissa 99 n.14, 139
in Cynic philosophy 6–7 as the chôra 95
in Stoicism 5–8, 42, 236–7 death of 137
negative 7 furor of 201–2
positive 7 see also Anna Perenna; Asbyte;
see Domitian; Kristeva; Hannibal; Marcia; Tiburna
Romanness; Seneca the digression
Younger error as 37–8
Creon 77–8, 87 Diogenes the Cynic 5 n.10
Crete 117 Dione 230 n.79
Crista 106 n.27 Dionysus, see Bacchus
304 General Index
Dirce 86 Euripides, see escape; Hypsipyle;
Domitian Jocasta
and cosmopolitanism 29 Euryalus
as Romulus 240 n.5 mother of 177 n.46, 209 n.22
correctio morum of 225–6, 249 Eurydice, mother of Opheltes
Domus Augustana of 249–52 62 n.67
and figs.4–5 and Hypsipyle 40–1, 57–60, 88
profectio of 242–5 Eurymedon 133–4
regime of 3, 240–52 Evadne 60, 87–8
see also Cancelleria reliefs; Silius Evander 157 n.3, 206 n.18, 222
Italicus; Statius exile, see Hannibal; Hypsipyle;
Drances 198 n.4 Scipio Africanus
Druids 106 n.28 extrema mundi 4, 251–2
Dulichium 115 and n.55
Fabius Maximus, Q. 95
Ecnomus 160 n.6 and his son 148 n.133
ekphrasis 98 n.13, 99 n.15, 105, 154 debate with Scipio 230
see also Hypsipyle embassy to Carthage 116
Ennius 106 trip to Saguntum 116
epic cycle policy of cunctatio 137
Aethiopis 248 see also Regulus
Thebais 35 fides 11
epic poetry personified 129–30, 132 n.101
and elegy 34 see also Regulus; Saguntum;
and the Œº Æ IH 9, 34, 43 Scipio Africanus
recitationes of 13 Flaminius 95, 96 n.10, 103 n.20,
Epigonoi 22, 33, 55 144
epilogue foreigners
in Silius 239–41 in Rome 13 nn.35–6
in Statius 239–41 Fortuna Redux
Erichtho 63 n.70, 170 Temple of 249 n.27
Erigone 75 Forum Transitorium 249
Erinys, see Furies fratricide
escape Eteocles and Polynices 36, 47, 58,
from reality in Euripides 2 and 66, 71, 82
n.3 Romulus and Remus 36 n.16
Eteocles, see fratricide; Jocasta Spartoi 36 n.16
ethnicity Fulvius, Q. Flaccus 185 n.61
and gender 8–9 funeral, see Opheltes
and geographics 9–19 Furies, see Allecto; Megaera;
Euneos, see Hypsipyle Tisiphone
General Index 305
furor genealogy of 97–9
in Statius 47–50, 47 n.54, 84–5 ira of 126–9
see also Dido; Hannibal; Marcia; pietas of 94
Scipio Africanus plan to kill 109–10
transition from semiotic to
Gaia 144 n.126 symbolic 98
Ganges 86 uirtus of 94
gaze, see Antigone; Argia; see also Alps; Anna Perenna;
Athenians; Atys; Ismene; Asbyte; Cannae; Hamilcar;
Polynices Hasdrubal; Imilce; Rome
genealogies Hannon, Carthaginian
in epic poetry 10 n.31 commander 213
see also Hannibal Hannon, Carthaginian senator 102,
genotext, see Hypsipyle; Kristeva 198 n.4
Gestar 181 n.54 Harpe 120–1
Greek name of 121
Haemon 71 n.93 Hasdrubal, brother of Hannibal 97,
Hamilcar, Carthaginian 123 n.78, 153–5
prisoner 161 n.10 Hasdrubal, son of Gisgo 213, 219
Hamilcar, father of Hannibal 97–100 n.49, 227–8
Hammon 98 n.13, 119 Hercules
Hampsagoras 105–6 in Silius 114–15, 121–3
Hannibal see also Regulus; Theron
and asymbolia 24, 95 Herodes Atticus
and sacrificial substitutes 199, villa of 250–1 and n.34
212–13 and n.26 Hersilia 222, 226
and the cancellation of Hiarbas 118–19
motherhood 99–100 Hippolyte 244–5, 249, 251 n.34
and Dido 24–5, 94–5, 97–100, in Statius 22, 34, 78–80
154 Hippolytus 249
and Romanness 24 Hippomedon 43 n.31, 79
and the patria 99–102, 151–4 Homer
as abject 95, 151–4 shade of 222
as misplaced foreigner 95, 151–4 Hortensius 168–9
as Pentheus 100 Hostus 105–6
attachment to Italian hybridity, see Capua; Imilce;
Tellus 151–4, 239 Saguntum
death of 135 Hydra 122
effeminisation of 99–100 Hypsipyle
exile of 135 and asymbolia 22, 31, 40, 56
furor of 98–100, 128–9, 141 and autonomy 31
306 General Index
Hypsipyle (continued) as Roman matrona 209
and her father, Thoas 32, 40, 53 as seruatrix pueri 203 n.13, 213
and Jason 51–3, 79 hybrid voice of 27, 196–7
and sons, Euneos and Thoas 52 name of 210 and n.24
and n.50, 53 n.53, 61 parting with Hannibal 198–9
and the Kristevan chôra 31–2, 39, rhetoric of 203
46, 48 suasoria of 196, 205–9
as dislodged mother 31, 39, 53 voice of freedom 196, 208
as ekphrasis 61 Inachus 43
as narrator 32, 40, 43, 46–7 Irigaray, L. 16 n.46
exile of 31–3 Ismene 33, 63, 90, 206 n.18
fraud of 50 and Atys 70–4
from phenotext to genotext 61 and the Kristevan chôra 70–4
in Lemnos 44–58 gaze of 72
in Euripides 43 n.33, 47, 50 n.47, uirginitas of 73
58 n.60, 60 n.63 Italy 4
in Ovid 45–7 Ithaca, see Dulichium
in Statius 21–2, 31–62
in Valerius Flaccus 38 n.25, James I 246 n.18
61 n.65, 166 n.24 Jason 1, 46, 57, 220 n.51, 252 n.35
lullaby for Opheltes 39–40 see also Argonauts; Hypsipyle
pietas of 50, 56 Jocasta 22, 62–8, 110, 174 n.42
see also Bacchus; Eurydice; and Eteocles 65–6
Opheltes; Polynices and male uirtus 33
and Polynices 63–5
Iarbas 118–19, 141 as Agave 62
Icarius 75 as Fury 62–3
Ide 62 n.67 as Maenad 33
identity, see Anna Perenna; Lemnos; efforts for reconciliation 62–6
Romanness; Virgil in Euripides 62 n.67, 67 n.82
Ilia 72 n.94 in Senecan tragedy 62 n.67
Ilus 101 n.18 in Stesichorus 62 n.67
Imilce, wife of Hannibal 27, 151–2, suicide of 33, 74–5
164 n.21, 175 n.43, 196–213 Juba 156
and asymbolia 27, 196–7 Juno
and autonomy 196–7 in Silius 25, 97, 98 n.13, 128–30,
and Roman philosophical 136–44, 230 n.79
ideas 208–9 in Virgil 2–3, 145
and the Kristevan chôra 212–13 Jupiter
as frenzied woman 199–205, 209 in Silius 216–17 and n.37
as prophetess 205, 209–12 in Statius 35–6, 42 n.30, 50–1
General Index 307
Jupiter (continued) Lacan, J.
in Virgil 2–3, 99 on subjectivity 8 n.19
see also Scipio Africanus Laelius 228
Juturna 200 Laius 63 n.70
lament
Kristeva, J. 14–29 as manifestation of otherness 31
and the genotext 15–16, 34 as return to the semiotic chôra 34
and the phenotext 16, 34 female in Silius 176
and the semiotic 14–15, 22–3 female in Statius 30, 34, 41,
and the subject-in-process 55–61, 74–91
17–20 male in Statius 64–5 and n.75
and the symbolic 14–15, 22–3 Langia 37, 40, 55
‘man’s time’ 18, 32 Lausus 104 n.23
‘mother’s species’ 18 Lavinia 142, 202, 214, 222
on abjection 19–20 Lemnos
on asymbolia 20, 96 asymbolia in 49
on autonomy 20, 96 identity in 49
on female marginalisation 16–18 in Statius 21–2, 42, 45–54
on foreign otherness 17–19 massacre as civil war in 48–9
on hysterics 29 women of 45–54, 62
on motherhood 17 see also Argonauts; Bacchants;
on phallic femininity 126 Hypsipyle; Thrace
on pregnancy 17, 31 Linus 201 n.8
on Stoic cosmopolitanism Liternum 135 n.108, 192 n.77
236–7 Livius, M. Salinator 148
on the chôra 15–17, 23, 28–9 Livy, see Masinissa
on the Law of the Father 15 Lucan, see Bacchants; Marcia;
on the rupture of signification matrona; patria; Silius Italicus
14–15, 73 Lucretia 223, 226
Powers of Horror 19 Lycormas 133–4
noń 17 n.47 Lycurgus 22, 54–5
Strangers to Ourselves 18–21, 30,
236–7 madness, see furor
Tales of Love 19 Maenads, see Antigone; Bacchants;
Women’s Time 17 Jocasta; Marcia
see also Bacchants; Dido; Magna Mater
Hypsipyle; lmilce; Ismene; importation in Rome 197, 230–7
lament; Marcia; otherness; priests of 235
Ovid; Tellus see also Claudia Quinta
Magnesia 3
Labdacids 35 Manners, K. 246 n.18
308 General Index
Marcellus, M. Claudius 95 decapitation by Perseus 122
and his son 104–5 Megaera 82
death of 104–5 Meleager 201
Marcia, wife of Cato the Melinno
Younger 156, 164 Hymn to Rome 246–9
in Lucan 167–72 Menoeceus 70, 76 n.107
remarriage to Cato 168–72 deuotio of 59 n.61
Marcia, wife of Regulus 26–7, 156–95 mother of 62 n.67
and autonomy 178 Mercury 98 n.13, 115
and the Kristevan chôra 159, 194–5 Messalina 245 n.17
as Dido 176–8 Metaurus 97, 145
as distraught woman 162–7 Metellus, L. Caecilius 103
conjugal fidelity of 165 Mezentius 104 n.23
furor of 180 Milichus 210 and n.24
Maenadic voice of 158, 178 Minerva 118 n.67, 143 n.124,
rhetoric of 165–7 230 n.79, 242, 245, 249
suspending generational Minucius 148 n.133
continuity 158, 178–82, 194–5 Minyans, see Argonauts
withdrawal from public life 172–3 moenia
marginalisation, see Kristeva as motif 113
Mars 230 n.79, 242, 248 molk, see child-sacrifice
Martial 8 n.20 Mopsus
Marus 26–7, 156–95 and his sons, Dorylas and
androcentric narrative of 158, Icarus 117, 120–1, 133–4
193 n.80, 194 as Daedalus 117
as Regulus’ faithful companion in Valerius Flaccus 120 n.70
157 morality
Masinissa female 11–12
alliance with Romans 213–21 motherhood
in Livy 219–20, 227–9 and male ideology 12–13,
mother of 28, 196–8, 213–21, 241–53
227, 245 and matronhood 12
Massada 113 n.46 andthemosmaiorum 12,2,241–53
Massylians 227 see also Hannibal; Kristeva; Statius
matrona mourning, see lament
anonymous in Lucan 201–5 Murrus 115, 130, 134
Medea Myrice 210
in Ovid’s Heroides 46
in Valerius Flaccus 1–5, 68 n.85, narrative
166 n.24, 252 n.35 ktistic 2
Medusa 118 n.65 Nasamones 128
General Index 309
nature foreign 3
in Silius 136, 182–7 see also Kristeva; lament;
see also Regulus Romanness; Statius
Nekyia, see Silius Italicus Ovid
Nemea the Kristevan chôra in the
as alterae Thebae 33 Heroides 16–17
as dangerous landscape 47, 55 see also Hypsipyle; Medea
Nox
personified 147, 150 Pacuvius 109–10
Numanus Remulus 235 n.88 Palladium 106 n.31
Numicius River 116, 137, Pallas, see Minerva
141–2 Pangaeus, Mt. 200, 203–4
Numidians 127–8 Paris 187 n.67
Parthenopaeus 40 n.27, 43 n.31,
Oculatae 225–6 87–8, 235 n.88
Odysseus 64, 203 n.13, 215 n.36, see also Atys
218 n.44 patria
Oedipus 35–6 in Silius 24, 92–155, 194–5
lament of 76 n.106 personified in Cicero 145 n.128
suicide attempt of 76 n.106 personified in Lucan 149–50
Opheltes 22 see also Anna Perenna; Hannibal;
as substitute for Hypsipyle’s Scipio Africanus
children 54–5, 57–8 patriarchy 16
death of 47, 54–5 Paulus, L. Aemilius 95, 103
funeral of 61, 88 Peloponnese 41, 55
funeral games 44 pelta 249–52
transition from semiotic to Penthesilea 118 n.65, 248, 250–1
symbolic 39 and n.34
see also Eurydice; Hypsipyle; Pentheus 202
Lycurgus; Nemea see also Hannibal
Opis 186 perfidia, see Carthaginians; Regulus
orientalism periphery
in Silius 154, 225 as an idiosyncratic body 93
Ornytus 83 n.122 see also Argos
Orpheus 101 n.18, 120 n.69, Perolla 109–10
148 n.131 Perseus, see Medusa
otherness Petrarch 139
and asymbolia 20–1 Africa 227, 229 n.76, 238
and autonomy 20–1 and Laura 229 n.76
and gender differentiation Pharsalus 172 n.38
30–1 phenotext see Hypsipyle; Kristeva
310 General Index
Phlegraean field 106 n.31 Second 102, 154, 158, 191, 194,
Phoebus, see Apollo 241 n.7
Phoenix 98 see also Carthaginians
Phorbas 68–9 Pyrene 93 n.3
pietas 11, 24 Pythagoras 208 n.19
see also Hannibal; Hypsipyle;
Scipio Africanus Quirinus 240–1
Plautus 92 n.1 see also Scipio Africanus
Amphitruo 217 n.40
Poggio Bracciolini 139 Regulus, M. Atilius 26–7, 156–95
Polynices 31, 58 and Cato 187
and Hypsipyle 54 and Hercules 161 n.12, 162 n.14,
gaze of 82 164 n.19, 187
lament for Tydeus 65 n.75 and Scipio 159, 161, 191–2, 194
see also Argia; fratricide; and the ius postliminii 161–3,
Jocasta 166–7, 179
Polyphemus 183 n.57 and the serpent 157, 182–7
Polyxena 208 n.19 as Aeneas 177
Polyxo 48–9, 200 n.6 as archetype for Fabius 161 n.12
Pompey 153, 209 n.22 as Stoic hero 158–62
death of 112 as Turnus 191–2
see also Cornelia constantia of 162
Pomponia, mother of Scipio death of 157, 181–2 and n.54
Africanus 28, 108, 245 fides of 158, 162, 177
as uniuira 233 impenetrability of 176–8, 181
meeting with Scipio 213–21, in an Amazonomachy 186
227 in pre-Silian tradition 160
Porticus Diuorum 249 n.27 ira of 188–92
proemium mission to Rome 157
in Silius 92 name of 287
in Statius 34–5 patientia of 162
prolepsis 33, 56, 98 n.13 perfidia of 177, 194
prophecy 98 n.13, 241 n.7 psychomachia of 161–2 n.14
anachronistic 111–12 speech to the Senate 157, 174
prosopopoeia 145 n.128, transgression against nature
149 182–7
Proteus 187 n.67 uirtus of 158
Psamathe 201 n.8 see also Marcia; Marus; Serranus
Psylli 184 n.58 Rhine 241 n.7
Punic wars 157, 195 Romaia 247–8 n.23
First 99, 157–8, 165, 191 Romain de Thèbes 70 n.90
General Index 311
Romanisation 10–11 Sardinia 105–6
and amalgamation 10 Sarmatians 244
see also Africa; Anna Perenna Sarranian, see Carthaginians
Romanness Satricus 108 n.36
and cosmopolitanism 8 Scipio Africanus, P. Cornelius 25,
and male identity 20, 97 28, 103
and non-Roman otherness 8, 28 and his father, Scipio the
as literary construct 11 Elder 106–9, 189, 192, 217 n.41
boundaries of 197 as Africanus 197
ciuis Romanus 8 as patriarch 239
construction of 9 as Quirinus 239–1
in Silius 94–7, 155 as son of Jupiter 29, 107, 215–17,
in the margins 96 239–40
Romanitas 8 n.18 continence of 229, 245–6
see also Hannibal; Saguntum; divine power of 197
Scipio Africanus; Tacitus; education of 216
Virgil exile of 108
Rome fides of 197
as Amazon 242–5 furor of 107
Hannibal’s attack of 113 in the Underworld 107, 215–26
personified 218 pietas of 197
see also Argos; Capua; foreigners; rashness of 136
Magna Mater; Melinno; rescue of his father 108
Regulus; Thebes rescue of his patria 108
Romulus 222, 240–1 Romanness of 218–19
see also fratricide; Quirinus suicide attempt of 107
Rubicon River 218 triumph of 154
Rutulians 96, 130 uirtus of 197
see also Fabius; Pomponia;
Sabines 222, 231 Regulus; Van Dyck
Saguntum 113–36 Scipio, P. Nasica 231
and Romanness 113, 129, 135–6 Scipio the Elder, father of Scipio
as hybrid city 24, 130–1, 135–6 Africanus
eradication of family ties 132–4 death of 221 n.52
fides at 113–14 see also Scipio Africanus
pyre at 130–1 Scyros 181 n.53
siege as civil war 132–4 and semiotic, see Hannibal; Kristeva;
n.102 lament; Opheltes
siege of 113 and n.46, 129 Seneca the Younger
suicide at 115, 132–6 on cosmopolitanism 5–8
women of 96, 129–36 see also Jocasta
312 General Index
Serranus, son of Regulus 26–7, foreign otherness in 21–3
157–95 motherhood in the Thebaid
name of 157 n.2 22–3
Servius Tullius 220–1 n.51 relationship with Virgil 30
Sibyl 205 n.17, 215–16, 218, 222–3, see also Bacchants; Callimachus;
230 Claudia; epilogue; furor;
Sicoris 116 Hippolyte; Hypsipyle; Jupiter;
Silius Italicus lament; Lemnos; proemium;
Aldine addition of book 8 of Tellus; Thrace
139–40 Stesichorus, see Jocasta
and Lucan 23 Stoic(ism), see cosmopolitanism;
and the Domitianic regime 240–1 Kristeva; Regulus
and Valerius Flaccus 129 n.94 Strabo
Codex Sangallensis of 139–40 Geography 10
composition of the Punica subject-in-process, see Kristeva
8–9 n.20 subjectivity, see Lacan
fathers and sons in 93–5, 97–112 symbolic, see Hannibal; Kristeva;
Nekyia in 215–26 Opheltes
poetics of defeat in 136 Syphax 227–9
women as symbols of chastity Syracuse
in 230–7 siege of 104
see also Bacchants; epilogue;
Hercules; Juno; Jupiter; Tacitus
lament; nature; orientalism; and Romanness 11
patria; proemium; Romanness; Tanaquil 214, 220–1 n.51, 223
Tellus; Venus Tantalus 36
Social War 111 and n.42 Tarpeia 225–6
Socrates 5 n.10, 165 n.22 Tarquinius Priscus 220–1 n.51,
Sophonisba 221 n.52, 227–9 223
Spartoi, see fratricide Teiresias 63 n.70
Spenser, E. Tellumo 145 n.126
The Faerie Queen 75–6 Tellurus 145 n.126
sphragis 30 Tellus
Statius and the chôra 97, 147–8
and the breakdown of authorial as creatrix 42 n.30
voice 34, 87–91 as mother-earth 42, 97, 144–55,
and the Domitianic regime 248
240–1 as unreliable proxy in Statius 31,
closure in the Thebaid 87–91 39–43, 54
composition of the Thebaid in Silius 24, 95, 97, 144–55
8–9 n.20 masculine traits of 147–8, 152
General Index 313
Tellus (continued) Tros 101 n.18
prayer to 42, 147, 150 Tubero, Q. Aelius 160
see also Hannibal Tuditanus, C. Sempronius 160
terra mater, see Tellus Tullia 225–6
Teumesos 49–50 Turnus 116, 200
Teuthras 100–1 n.18 Tydeus, see Polynices
Thebes 42, 44–5, 90–1 Tymbrenus 132–3
as Rome 34 and n.8, 90 Tyrrhenus 137
civil war in 33–4, 47, 54–5, 88
see also Argos; Nemea Ulysses, see Odysseus
Theron 121–8 Umbricius 10 n.23
death of 126–8 Underworld, see Scipio Africanus
Greek name of 123
reincarnation of Hercules 121–2 Valerius Antias 113 n.46
see also Asbyte Valerius Flaccus 1–5
Theseus 77–80, 87 and Apollonius 1–2
see also Hippolyte civil war in the Argonautica 3
Thessander 174 n.42 composition of the
Thetis 181 n.53 Argonautica 8 n.20
Thiodamas 42–3 see also Hypsipyle; Medea;
Thoas, see Hypsipyle Mopsus; Silius Italicus;
Thrace Venus
and Dionysus 49–50 Van Dyck, A.
and Lemnos in Statius 47–50 Continence of Scipio 246 n.18
Thrasymennus 136–7 Varro, C. Terentius 95, 102–3, 144,
Thyads, see Bacchants 191 n.75
Thyle 241 n.7 Varronilla 225–6
Tiburna 25, 96, 129–30, 134–6 Venus
as Dido 134–6 cult in Rome 230 n.82
Ticinus River 94 n.6, 137, 198 in Silius 216 n.37
Tisiphone 25, 58, 62–3, 66, 128–30, in Valerius Flaccus 1–2, 252
140–1, 202 n.12 n.35
Tmolus River 136–7 in Virgil 99
Trajan Verginia 223, 226
column of 221 n.53 Vespasian 241 n.7, 242–6
translatio imperii 126 aduentus of 242–5
Trasimene, Lake 94 n.6, 95, 136–7, Vestals 242–5
156, 198–9, 212 Vesulus 106 n.27
Trebia River 93 n.4, 94 n.6, 136–7, 198 Veturia 62 n.68
Tritonis, Lake 118 Villiers, G. 246 n.18
314 General Index
Virgil Whitman, W.
Roman identity in the Leaves of Grass 15 n.43
Aeneid 3 n.5
see also Juno; Jupiter; Statius; Venus Xanthippe 165 n.22
uirtus 12, 24 Xanthippus 159, 188–91
personified 244–5, 249
see also Hannibal; Jocasta;
Regulus; Scipio Africanus Zacynthians 96
Volsci 118 Zacynthus 114–15, 130
Volumnia 62 n.68 Zama 102, 145, 213, 230
Vulcan 53 n.53 Zeno
Vulteius 129 n.91 Republic 5 n.10

Augostakis, A. - Motherhood and The Other. Fashioning Female Power in Flavian Epic

Uploaded by

Document Information

Original Title

Copyright

Available Formats

Share this document

Share or Embed Document

Sharing Options

Did you find this document useful?

Is this content inappropriate?

Copyright:

Available Formats

Augostakis, A. - Motherhood and The Other. Fashioning Female Power in Flavian Epic

Uploaded by

Copyright:

Available Formats

OX F O R D S T U D I E S I N C L A S S I C A L

o magni mihi numinis instar, cara parens . . .

parentibus meis Cretensibus optimis

Introduction: Other and Same: Female Presence in

1 Mourning Endless: Female Otherness in Statius’ Thebaid 30

2 Deﬁning the Other: From altera patria to tellus mater in

4 Playing the Same: Roman and Non-Roman Mothers in

Epilogue: Virgins and (M)others: Appropriations of

1. Rome, Cancelleria Relief B, Vespasian’s Aduentus

Translations of major authors used throughout this book have been

(FE)MALE PERSPECTIVES ON COSMOPOLITANISM

omnibus hunc potius communem animantibus orbem

In the seventh book of the Argonautica, Valerius Flaccus expands on

Punica 15 around 94 CE or shortly thereafter, with the epic’s (hurried?) conclusion

MOTHERHOOD AND THE OTHER DEFINED: JULIA

My theoretical apparatus in reading women and motherhood in

Kristeva deﬁnes this space as ‘rupture and articulations (rhythm),

EPIC WITHIN EPIC: LEMNOS AND THEBAN CIVIL

In our examination of the two poems, one with a mythological and

PATRIO-TIC EPIC? SAME AND OTHER

Silius’ preference to compose an epic with a historical theme follows

Many critics have suggested that the ending of Statius’ Thebaid is

DEFINING THE PERIPHERY: THEBES AND LEMNOS

BETWEEN LEMNOS AND ARGOS: HYPSIPYLE’S

qualis commotis excita sacris

EUMENIDUM ANTIQUISSIMA : JOCASTA

As expected in a poem associated with the city of Thebes, imagery of

IN THE CHÔRA OF SISTERHOOD: ANTIGONE

What we see in the above passage is not Antigone’s ﬁrst encounter

LAMENT AND THE POET: B OUNDARIES

Her ioyous presence and sweet company

The Thebaid ends with lamentation for the dead, not

altrix bellorum bellatorumque uirorum

From the outset of the Punica, as expected in a poem on the Second

FATHERS, SONS, AND THE POETICS OF PATRIA

Let us begin by looking at the following pairs of fathers and sons as an

in the narrative (through exemplarity) that puts a stop to Hannibal’s threatening

CAPUA: ANOTHER ROME? A CITY

In book 11, Perolla (who remains anonymous in Silius), the son of

SAGUNTUM AS SAME AND OTHER: BREAKING

Carthage’s ultimate failure. On the decapitation of Hasdrubal, see also Augoustakis

GERMANA ELISSAE: A CARTHAGINIAN REB ORN

As has been noted in the introduction of this chapter, in the Punica,

THE RENEWAL OF TELLUS

As we have seen in the beginning of this chapter, Hannibal displays a

James Addison’s play Cato, inspired by the ancient sources, such as

REGULUS AND THE PUNICA: BRIDGING

Let us begin by examining the different traditions explored by Silius

The old man’s ﬂashback constitutes a great example of a suasoria, a

LITERARY CONVENTION OR SUBVERSIVE SPEECH?

The description of Marcia adheres to generic representations of

LUCAN’S MARCIA AND THE FOREB ODING

. . . ÆæŒÆ, KØ ØŒB ŒFÆ r ÆØ ªıÆEŒÆ,  æd q › ºª . . .

MARCIA’S DIDOESQUE FAREWELL—

Marcia’s third speech abounds in Virgilian echoes, in particular the

‘SECURING’ THE FUTURE

And yet, Silius’ conclusion of an otherwise generically expected fare-

As far as we can discern, Marcia’s behaviour has not signiﬁcantly

TRANSGRESSING AGAINST NATURE: THE SERPENT

A major part of Marus’ narration to Serranus is dedicated to the defeat

In addition, we learn that the serpent’s bodily sustenance consists of

Regulus’ deed is explicitly described as a violation against nature

FASHIONING A NEW GENERATION: MARCIA

. . . ÆæŒÆ, KØØŒB ŒFÆ r ÆØ ªıÆEŒÆ, æd q › ºª . . .

Œi KØæªÆ Ø, N c ¥ Ø e OæŁø KŒÆæÆåŁ ŒÆd ﬀ