Contexts of War: Manipulation of Genre in Virgilian Battle Narrative

20

CONTEXTS OF WAR

Thebes, the description of the Persian camp after the battle of Issus, and the downfall of Persepolis.8 In book 19-20, where the source is likely to be Duris of Samos, we have the detailed report of the capture of Syracuse by Agathodes and the fall of Segesta.9 In all these passages, the store of images that describes the fall of the city is virtually identical to the one employed by Phylarchus in his representation of the fall of Mantinea. In light of the widespread diffusion of this type-scene among Hellenistic historians, we may try to redefine, at least to some extent, the meaning of the Polybian passage. Polybius's criticism is not simply or solely a generic attack against Phylarchus's dramatic narrative, as is usually suggested; it becomes also a pointed criticism against a tendency common among some historians, namely, the exploitation of the topos of the urbs capta and of its various components. To be sure, this type-scene does not originate with Hellenistic historiogra­ phy; it has a longer history, already noted by ancient grammarians.10 In IlEQL [!dl06ou 6ELVmTJ
[And then at last his wife, the fair-girdled bride, supplicated Meleagrus, in tears, and rehearsed in their numbers before him all the sorrows that come to men when their city is taken: they kill the men, and the fire leaves the city in ashes, and strangers lead the children away and the deep-girdled women.]11 8. 9· 10. 11. pointed

Diod. 17.13, 35-36, 70. Diod. 19 .6-8, 20.71. On the history of the topos, see also Paul 1982. Cf. II. 22.60-71. There, however, Priam is anticipating the fall of Troy, and there are references to some of its most important episodes.

The

Fall

of Troy

21

Another genre as well, tragedy, exploited the topos to its fullest extent prior to Hellenistic historiography. Attesting to this are the Euripidean dramas of the Trojan War and its aftermath: the Trojan Women, Hecuba, and Andromache.12 But more importantly, Attic tragedy reveals the potential adaptability of the theme of the Iliupersis and transforms it into the topos of the urbs capta. Among other plays, Aeschylus's Seven against Thebes shows how the most important images of the topos may be universalized and successfully applied to the description of the fate of other cities. Consider also Phrynichus's Capture of Miletus, the famous tragedy that dealt with the annihilation by the Persians in 494 of Miletus, an Ionian Greek city with which Athens had both pragmatic and sentimental ties. As Herodotus tells us, the tragedy proved too successful in raising emotions, and the unfortu­ nate author was saddled with a heavy fine.'3 It is precisely in this capacity, as a topos that may move beyond the specific reference to the destiny of a single city, that oratory begins to employ the urbs capta theme regularly for its own purposes. In De falsa legatione (65.361), Demosthenes describes the fate of the city of Phocis and reproduces in his account the most typical elements of the device.' 4 The manner in which the poor Phocians have been destroyed can be seen not from the decrees alone, but from the acts that have been committed. The spectacle is horrible and pitiful, men of Athens. For when recently we were on our way to Delphi, we could not help seeing it all-houses razed to the ground, cities stripped of their walls, the land deprived of men of military age, only a few poor women and little children and some old men in misery left. Indeed, no words can describe the distress now prevailing there. Note how Demosthenes introduces his description of the captured city with two adjectives that betray its tragic connections: the spectacle is horrible and pitiful ({}Balta OELv6v, . . . xal, EAELv6v) . We may now turn briefly to Latin literature. Here, too, the topos seems to enjoy a considerable popularity. Apart from his tragedies on Trojan 12. On the unity of these Euripidean tragedies based on the Iliupersis theme, see Anderson 1997, 133-73- There were also at least three Sophoclean tragedies that dealt with episodes related to the sack of Troy. For an analysis of the extant fragments, see Anderson 1997, 174-76. 13. Hdt. 6.21.2. 14. Cf. Aeschines In Ctesiphontem 157. In addition, the topos is discussed in Greek rhetorical treatises. See, for example, Arist. Rh. I.7.1365a12; Ps.-Plut. Vit. Hom. 67.

22

C0NTEXTS 0F WAR

themes, Ennius employs it in the praetexta entitled Ambracia (after the city besieged by Fulvius Nobilior in the Aetolian war), and he shows effectively (as Phrynichus had done previously) how the topos functions as a crucial link between the two distinct genres of tragedy and historiography.' s In addition, the urbs capta theme shows up prominently in Latin rhetorical treatises; among them, Quintilian's Institutio aratoria provides us with the most detailed account of its major components. This, too, is how the pathos of a captured city can be enhanced. No doubt, simply to say, "the city was stormed, " is to embrace every­ thing implicit in such disaster, but this brief communique, as it were, fails to touch the emotions deeply. If you expand everything that was implicit in the one word, there will come into view flames racing through houses and temples, the crash of falling roofs, the single sound made up of many cries, the blind flight of some, others cling­ ing to their dear ones in a last embrace, shrieks of children and women, the old men whom an unkind fate has allowed to live to see this day; then will come the pillage of property (secular and sacred), the frenzied activity of plunderers carrying off their booty and going back for more, the prisoners driven in chains before their captors, the mother who tries to keep her child with her, and the victors fighting one another wherever the spoils are richer.16 It is Quintilian's final statement, however, that most dearly qualifies such a description as an ever readaptable topos with its own specific conventions: Consequemur autem ut manifesta sint si fuerint ueri similia, et licebit etiam 15. Apart from Ennius, Roman tragedy in the archaic period had an obvious predilection for the Trojan cycle. Both Livius Andronicus and Naevius wrote a play titled the Equos Troianus. 16. Sic < et> urbium captarum crescit miseratio. Sine dubio enim qui dicit expugnatam esse ciuitatem complectitur omnia quaecumque talis fortuna recipit, sed in adfectus minus penetrat breuis hie uelut nuntius. At si aperias haec, quae uerbo uno inclusa erant, apparebunt effusae per domus ac templa flammae et ruentium tectorum fragor et ex diuersis clamoribus unus quidam sonus, aliorum fuga incerta, alii extrema complexu suorum cohaerentes et infantium feminarumque ploratus et male usque in ilium diem seruati Jato senes: tum ilia profanorum sacrorumque direptio, efferentium praedas repetentiumque discursus, et acti ante suum quisque praedonem catenati, et conata retinere infantem suum mater, et sicubi maius lucrum est pugna inter uictores (I. O. 8.3.67-69 ) . Cf. Rhet. Her. 4-39-51, on which see Marx 1894, ad loc.; Calboli 1969, ad loc. The topos is clearly attested also in Latin historiography. See, for example, Sal!. Cat. 51.9: Quae belli saeuitia esset, quae uictis adciderent enumerauere: rapi uirgines pueros, diuelli liberos a parentum complexu, matres famil­ iarum pati quae uictoribus conlubuissent, fana atque domos spoliari, caedem, incendia fieri; postremo armis cadaueribus, cruore atque luctu omnia conpleri. I detail other examples later in this chapter.

The

Fall

of Troy

23

falso adfingere quidquid fieri so let [We shall succeed in making the facts evident, if they are plausible; it will even be legitimate to invent things of the kind that usually occurs ].17 By Virgil's time, then, the theme of the capture of a city was well estab­ lished in at least three different Greco-Roman literary traditions: tragedy, historiography, and oratory. Tragedy had employed it in its description of the fall of Troy, although, as we saw in the cases of Aeschylus's Seven against Thebes, Phrynichus's Capture of Miletus, and Ennius's Ambracia, the topos was easily applied and extended to the fate of other cities.Hellenistic histori­ ography, in turn, exploited it to its fullest effect and for obvious reasons: to increase the "tragic" effects in their accounts, historians (or at least some historians) adopted a topos that had close connections with the tragic tradi­ tion, thus blurring even further the boundary line between the two genres. Hence, Polybius's criticism of Phylarchus for not recognizing the difference between history and tragedy. Let us finally analyze the employment of this topos overall in epic and more precisely in Ennius and Virgil. As is well known, Servius establishes an important association between the fall of Troy and the fall of Alba Longa in his commentary on Aeneid 2.313 (exoritur clamorque uirum clangorque tubarum). In connection to this passage, he remarks, sicut Albam Tullus Hostilius iussit euerti [in the same way, Tullus Hostilius ordered Alba to be destroyed ]. As Pyrrhus is forcing his way into the palace of Priam (Aen. 2.486), Servius brings up, once more, the name of Alba Longa: de Albano excidio trans latus est locus [this passage is adapted from the sack of Alba ]. There can be little doubt, as Norden has shown, that Servius is here referring to the description of the sack of Alba in Ennius's Annales. ' 8 The relation between these two accounts nevertheless remains somewhat prob­ lematic. The loss of Ennius's representation of the fall of Alba makes it nearly impossible to establish to what degree and in what manner Virgil draws from this model, and such Servian remarks as translatus est locus should not be taken too literally, as is rightly pointed out by Wigodsky.' 9 Some speculation, though, may still be allowed. The similarities between Ennius's description of the fall of Alba and Virgil's sack of Troy could not have extended, for obvious reasons, to specific episodes. Rather, Servius's 17. I. 0. 8.po. 18. Norden 1915, 154-58. The same opinion is expressed by Kenney 1979, 112-14. See also Conington and Nettleship 1858-83, at 2.486; Austin 1964, at 2.313. Skutsch (1985, 279 ) offers some possible reasons for Servius' s failure to mention Ennius. 19. Wigodsky 1972, 68-69.

24

CONTEXTS OF WAR

remarks were meant to draw attention to the presence of analogous images in these two accounts. Livy's narrative of the capture of Alba further supports this hypothesis. Norden believed that Ennius and Livy worked independently, modeling their accounts on descriptions of captured cities found in Hellenistic histori­ ography and Roman annalists.2 0 But Skutsch has not ruled out a more direct influence of Ennius's version on Livy's account, and he rightly points out that the latter probably had known the Annales by heart from his school days.2 1 Whether we side with Norden or with Skutsch (remembering that the two positions should be seen not as mutually exclusive but rather as com­ plementary), a comparison between Ennius and Livy gives cause for atten­ tion. Such a comparison clearly reveals that Virgil's sack of Troy and Livy's fall of Alba (and other similar accounts in the Ab urbe condita) share mul­ tiple elements and themes, distinctive of the topos under discussion, that place Virgil's Iliupersis visibly at odds with earlier accounts of the event. The consequences are significant. This comparison does more than corroborate our speculations on the nature of the relation between Virgil's sack of Troy and Ennius's sack of Alba; it effectively suggests that the Virgilian fall of Troy has been visibly refashioned in light of the topos of the urbs capta as we see it attested already in tragedy, in historiography, and, presumably, in Ennius's Annales. Armed with this background information, let us now return to the Aeneid and reread the fall of Troy in its proper relation to the topos and with an eye to the implications of this narrative choice.

Flames

My God! What a scene! It was about four o'clock and the State House was one grand conflagration. Imagine night turned into noonday, only with a blazing, scorching glare that was horrible-a copper colored sky across which swept columns ofblack, rolling smoke glitter­ ing with sparks and flying embers, while all around us were falling thickly showers of burning flakes. Everywhere the palpitating blaze walling the streets with solid masses of flames as far as the eye could reach, filling the air with its horrible roar. On every side the crackling and devouring fire, while every instant came the crashing of timbers 20. Norden 1915, 154-58. 21. Skutsch 1985, 279n. 9· A similar opinion is voiced by Kenney (1979, 112-14, especially 113), who claims (without the support of clear evidence) that Ennius is here drawing from an account of the Iliupersis, probably Arctinus's.

The Fall of Troy

25

and thunder of falling buildings . . . . Such a scene as this with the drunken, fiendish soldiery in their dark uniforms, infuriated, cursing, screaming, exulting in their work, came nearer to realizing the mate­ rial ideal of hell than anything I ever expect to see again. -Emma LeConte, When the World Ended: The Diary of Emma LeConte

After Aeneas is finally awakened by Hector's ghost and learns from the Trojan hero of the doom impending upon the city, he climbs onto the roof of his house and views the grim spectacle that lies before his eyes. Simulta­ neously spectator and narrator, he reports the first dramatic images of the sack of Troy, which he witnesses from his high post. tum uero manifesta fides, Danaumque patescunt insidiae. iam Deiphobi dedit ampla ruinam Volcano superante domus, iam proximus ardet Vcalegon; Sigea igni freta lata relucent. exoritur clamorque uirum clangorque tubarum. (Virg. Aen. 2.309-13) [Now indeed the truth is plain, the guile of Greece made clear. The spacious palace of Deiphobus has fallen, victim of the towering Vulcan. And now Ucalegon's, his neighbor, burns; and wide Sigeum's harbor gleams with fire. The cries of men are high, the trumpets clang.] The presence of these images of fire, falling buildings, and rising shouts at the beginning of Aeneas's tale has programmatic importance, for it fore­ shadows recurrent themes in the following narration.2 2 As Heinze puts it, "In the whole course of the narrative from now on, it is striking how deliberately Virgil emphasizes the burning of the city." 23 Panthus speaks excitedly of Sinon scattering firebrands in the city after it was already set on fire (2.32730: incensa Danai dominantur in urbe. . . . Sinon incendia miscet I insultans) . 22. Austin (1964, at 2.310 ) rightly remarks that by mentioning the houses of Deiphobus and Ucalegon, Virgil particularizes instead of making a general statement. Deiphobus and Ucalegon are surely chosen as representative Trojans. No earlier tradition attests that their houses were attacked by Odysseus and Menelaus. 23. Heinze 1993, 17.

26

CONTEXTS OF WAR

Aeneas himself, moved finally to action, plunges into its flames (2.337: in flammas et in arma feror) ; the Greek Androgeos exhorts his false comrades to refrain from laziness and to indulge in the plunder of the burning Troy (2.373-75: festinate, uiri! nam quae tam sera moratur I segnities? alii rapiunt incensa feruntque I Pergama) .24 From the moment the Greeks have broken in until the moment the city is finally captured and falls to the ground, flames, collapsing buildings, and rising shouts function as an important narrative refrain; this landscape of desolation becomes the frame within which individ­ ual characters move and single episodes take place.2s Were these images, fairly obvious as they are, inherited from a previous tradition of the fall of Troy? This does not seem to be the case. On the contrary, this remapping of events openly contradicts all the earlier (and not only the earlier) accounts of the fall of Troy. Apollodorus clearly states in his Epitome that the city of Troy was set afire only at the division of spoils, after the city had been taken and the Trojans killed.26 Our most ancient epics on the fall of Troy attest to a similar charting of events. In his summary of the Iliupersis of Arctinus, Proclus connects the fire at Troy with the sacrifice of Polyxena on the grave of Achilles as the Greeks are about to leave the city (e:rtEL'ta E[t:itQ�oavtE£ 't�v n6A.Lv IIoA.v1;£vY)v mp ayui�ovmv £nt «'>v 'toil 'AXLA­ AEW£
The Fall of Troy

27

as Clytemnestra hears news of the Trojan defeat, she imagines the victorious Greeks resting their bodies in the comfort of the palace of Troy.3° Heinze at least addresses the issue. I do not know who was the first to paint this striking picture of the battle among the flames of Troy; . . . ; the earlier version is the more probable, since, if you think about it, the Greeks had no reason to start a fire which might be as disastrous to themselves as to their enemies, and which would consume not only houses and temples but also the booty.3' Heinze notices in Virgil's Iliupersis a drastic departure from the traditional accounts of the fall of Troy, invokes an unnamed Hellenistic source as Virgil's likely model, and eventually praises the ubiquitous presence of the imagery of fire as perfectly apt to heighten the dramatic momentum of the narrative: with its introduction, the Trojans have to fight not only against mortal enemies but also the power of the elements, against which all resis­ tance is in vainY Austin and Knox follow a similar interpretative path. The former reads the presence of fire imagery as a specifically Virgilian addition and points out that the emphasis laid on the flames stresses the uselessness of trying to serve Troy by remaining there. Hector's ghost, by making an explicit reference to the flames (2.289: heu fuge, nate dea, teque his-ait­ eripe flammis) , frees Aeneas from any obligation to save the city and makes it explicit that Aeneas's duty lies elsewhere.33 Knox, too, famously highlights in "The Serpent and the Flame" the Virgilian quality and the symbolic nature of such imagery.34 But are there ways to read this drastic departure from the traditional account of the sack of Troy other than by viewing it solely as a "Virgilian innovation"? Are there other models (aside from hypothetical Hellenistic sources) that might explain this remapping of the sack of Troy and qualify the nature of this "innovation"? The text itself seems to direct the reader toward a possible answer. As 30. Agam. 334-37. Similarly, Dionysius of Halicarnassus (Ant. Rom. 1.46-48) reports that Hellanicus, in his Troica, had Troy still completely intact at the point when Aeneas and the Trojan fugitives take hold of Mount Ida. 31. Heinze 1993, 17. 32. Heinze 1993, 18. 33· See Austin 1964, at 2.289. 34· Knox 1950.

28

CONTEXTS OF WAR

Aeneas is about to finish his account of the sack of Troy, he turns for a brief moment to his audience and asks Dido whether she cares to learn about the destiny that befell the king of Troy; thereafter, he begins his account of the death of old Priam, who, as he reminds the queen, had eventually been spurred to useless action by the sight of his fallen city: urbis uti captae casum . . . uidit.35 The expression by which Aeneas summarizes the destiny of Troy, urbs capta, is telling. Propertius makes use of it to equate, hyperbolically and in a mock epic tone, the confusion generated by Cynthia's unexpected entrance to Propertius's party and the brawl that ensued: "the scene was as terrible as the sack of a city" [spectaclum capta nee minus urbe fuit}.36 Significantly, Cynthia, in her capacity as the conquering enemy, is represented as flashing fire from her eyes (fulminat illa oculis).37 Likewise, in the Metamorphoses, Ovid uses the same lexical nexus as he compares the commotion in the battle between Centaurs and Lapiths to a captured city (captaeque erat urbis imago).38 In the context of such passages, the expression of Aeneid 2.507 (urbis uti captae casum . . . uidit) seems a manifest allusion to the topos and, therefore, to the specific imagery connected with it. To verify this reading of Aeneas's expression, let us examine what exactly is the nature of such imagery. Quintilian summarizes it well in the famous passage of the Insti­ tutio aratoria examined previously: "If you expand everything that was implicit in the one word, there will come into view flames racing through houses and temples, the crash of falling roofs, the single sound made up of many cries."39 Livy-in one of many examples from his text-describes with almost identical wording the capture of Rome by the Gauls (in capta urbe): "In whatever direction the shout of the enemy, the wailing of the women and boys, the roar of the flames, and the crash of houses falling drew their attention, there in fear they turned their eyes and minds as though set by Fortune before the spectacle of their country's fall . . ." 4° 35· Aen. 2.507. 36. Prop. 4.8.56. 37· Prop. 4.8.55. 38. Ov. Met. 12.225. For similar expressions in Latin poetry, see Bomer 1969-86, ad loc. Cf. also Cat. 62.24: quid faciunt hastes capta crudelius urbe?, imitated at Aen. 2.746 (quid in euersa uidi crudelius urbe?). 39· I. 0. 8.3.68. 40. Quocumque clamor hostium, mulierum puerorumque ploratus, sonitus flammae et fragor ruentium tectorum auertisset, pauentes ad omnia animas oraque et oculos flectebant, uelut ad spectaculum a fortuna positi occidentis patriae . . . (Livy 5.42.4) . The theme of fire (and falling buildings) is part of a rather fixed repertoire in the description of an urbs capta in the historio­ graphical tradition; cf., for example, Livy 28.20.1-8, 35.11.11. In tragedy, too, the destiny of

The Fall of Troy

29

These are precisely the store of images that Aeneas has used to describe the fall of Troy. 41 I showed previously how Heinze, Otis, and Knox have mainly explained the ever recurring images of fire in the Iliupersis as "Virgilian innovation" in respect to the previous tradition and have underscored, in turn, the images' symbolic value and/or their dramatic relevance. These are legitimate read­ ings of the text, but only so far as we limit our investigation to our extant accounts of the fall of Troy. If we broaden our field of inquiry and take into account the texts that we have just examined, we may redefine (and qualify) the meaning of the term innovation and suggest additional readings of this narrative choice. The ever recurring images of the burning city in the Iliupersis of the Aeneid should be understood not as an innovation in abso­ lute terms (an innovation either of Virgil or, as Heinze would have it, of an unnamed Hellenistic source) but, rather, as the result of an innovative conflation of specific literary traditions connected with the fall of Troy and the topos of the urbs capta. In a sophisticated way, Aeneas reshapes the traditional story of the Iliupersis through the lens of this topos; through the expression urbis uti captae casum . . . uidit, he submits to the reader the right code to read the story. In the Poetics, Aristotle envisions the difference between poetry and history in the following way: history must speak of events that have oc­ curred, while the poet's task is to speak instead of events that could occur and are possible by the standards of probability and necessity.42 For this reason, Aristotle concludes, poetry can be interpreted as approximating universals while history speaks more of particulars.43 In accordance with Aristotle's precepts, Aeneas's description of the fall of Troy breaks the boundaries of a specific event. Troy moves beyond its limited experience and becomes a universal paradigm. But Aeneas's tale of Troy not only approximates universals. In its capacity as a topos-a locus communis, a captured cities other than Troy is described in a similar manner. In Aeschylus's Seven against Thebes, the chorus of Theban maidens employs identical imagery: "for many and wretched are the miseries (alas, alas! ) when a city is taken [cO tE moAL£ 6a!J.ao-&ft ] . Man drags off man, or slays, or carries fire; the whole city is befouled with smoke" (338-42; cf. also 221-22 ) . 41. The conventional nature of the images evoked b y the expression urbs capta may have influenced also Servius Auctus's reading of the passage. On urbis uti captae casum (Aen. 2.507) , he states: "he [Virgil] summarizes aptly everything, taken, leveled to the ground, and burned" [bene omnia collegit, et captam et dirutam et incensam]. 42. Po. 9.1. 43. Po. 9.2: � !J.Ev yaQ JtOL'I'JOL£ !J.illov ta xa-MJ.ou, � 6' lm o Qla ta xa.a' f:xaotov AEyEL. On this passage and its controversial interpretation, see Gallavotti 1974, ad loc.; Halliwell 1987, ad loc.

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commonplace-the tale of its downfall calls attention to its inherited reus­ ability and thus to the potential for its endless repetition. Is Aeneas going to be the founder of an endless (and unique) empire, a historical scheme that puts an end (eventually) to such experiences as the fall of Troy? Are the death agonies of Troy just, as Knox puts it, the birth pangs of Rome, or is the tale of Troy, in its quality as a topos, the warning of the inescapable destiny of endless repetitiveness? 44 Urbs antiqua ruit

Standing in the center of the town, as far as the eye can reach, nothing is to be seen but heaps of rubbish, tall dreary chimneys and shattered brick walls, . . . where is all her beauty, so admired by strangers, so loved by her children. She can only excite the pity of the former and the tears of the latter. -Emma LeConte, When the World Ended: The Diary of Emma LeConte

After Aeneas, following his recollections, has recounted to Dido all the fatal incidents that led to the capture of Troy-Sinon's deceit, Laocoon's death, and the entering of the Trojan horse into the city amid a jubilant crowd­ his story reaches a new climax: he begins to recount the story of the final night of Troy. To give momentum to his narration, a new exordium intro­ duces his account of these events.45 quis cladem illius noctis, quis funera fando explicet aut possit lacrimis aequare labores? urbs antiqua ruit multos dominata per annos . . . (Virg. Aen. 2.361-63) [Who has the words to tell that night's disaster? And who to tell the deaths? What tears could equal our agony? An ancient city falls that ruled for many years; . . . ] Enclosing the entire tale of Troy's fatal night in a sort of thematic ring composition, the passage that brings closure to Aeneas's account reasserts a 44· See Knox 1950, 380 ( = 1999, 346 ) . On this topic, see also the following sections. More generally, on the function of repetition in the Aeneid and its relation to the idea of end and epic telos, see Quint 1993, 50-96; Mitchell-Boyask 1996. 45· Aeneas's new exordium recalls his first one at Aen. 2.6-8: quis talia fando I Myrmidonum Dolopumue aut duri miles Ulixi I temperet a lacrimis?

The Fall of Troy

31

similar idea. This time, however, the subject of the remark is not Troy but its leader, Priam. The headless trunk of this once proud ruler of the many lands and people of Asia is now lying (iacet) on the shore, a nameless body. Just like the city of Troy, the king, its symbol, has come to a ruinous end. haec finis Priami fatorum, hie exitus ilium sorte tulit Troiam incensam et prolapsa uidentem Pergama, tot quondam populis terrisque superbum regnatorem Asiae. iacet ingens litore truncus, auulsumque umeris caput et sine nomine corpus. 46 (Virg. Aen. 2.554-58) [This was the end of Priam's destinies, the close that fell to him by fate: to see his Troy in flames and Pergamum laid low­ who once was proud king over many nations and lands of Asia. Now he lies along the shore, a giant trunk, his head torn from his shoulders, as a corpse without a name. ] The thematic correspondences shared by the two passages have long been noticed by scholars and have been explained in various ways. Coning­ ton was the first to link them-in his commentary-as sharing a common theme: both passages compare the past glory of the city to its present nothingness. At 2.557, Conington states, "Here as elsewhere the extent of Priam's dominion is exaggerated." 47 For Conington, the two references to past glory and greatness are a hyperbole. Austin's remark at 2.363 is less concise and proposes an interesting parallel between the Virgilian passage and Livy's epitaph on Alba: "and a single hour gave over to destruction and desolation the work of the four hundred years during which Alba had stood" {unaque hora quadrigentorum annorum opus quibus Alba steterat excidio ac ruinis dedit} (Livy 1.29.6).48 The similarities are 46. Cf. Panthus's speech at Aen. 2.324-27: uenit summa dies et ineluctabile tempus I Dar­ daniae. fuimus Troes, fuit Ilium et ingens I gloria Teucrorum; ferus omnia Iuppiter Argos I transtulit; incensa Danai dominantur in urbe. 47. Conington and Nettleship 1858-83. 48. Cf. Austin's remarks (1964, at 2.554) that after Priam has been killed, Virgil supplies a coda that is much in the manner of historians, who regularly summarize the life of a dead man with a formula, such as hie exitus. Cf. also Heinze 1993, 59 n. 71. Heinze compares Virgil's closing

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noteworthy, and Servius's remarks connecting Virgil's description of the sack of Troy to the Ennian account might induce one to see Ennius's Annales as the "exemplary" model for both Virgil and Livy. This is plausible, but to fully grasp the significance of the concept underscored in the two Virgilian passages under consideration, I will extend the field of comparison to other texts and analyze the crucial role that concept plays in the topos of the urbs capta.49 Let us return, for a moment, to Polybius. In his criticism of Phylarchus, Polybius states that the former, wishing to impress deeply and to move to tears all the Greeks, described the terrible suffering to which the Mantineans had been exposed and added to his narration the following as a sort of epitaph: "such were the misfortunes that overtook this, the most ancient and greatest city in Arcadia ['t�V UQXaLO'tCl'tY)V xat [tEYLO'tY)V nOALV 'tWV xma 't�V 'Agxabiav ] ."so The two themes that I have just analyzed in Aeneid 2, antiq­ uity and greatness, are here linked explicitly. Just as Conington noted the hyperbole of Aeneas's statement at Aeneid 2 .557, Walbank similarly comments on Polybius's passage: "In any case the words to those of the paidagogus in Sophocles's Electra (757) and of the messengers in Andro­ mache (1161), Bacchae (1151), and Heracles (1013 ) , where the tone is that of a concluding narrative suited to the style of drama. In similar fashion, Servius Auctus comments on the dramatic tone of Aen. 2.363 when he states, sane hoc dolentis est, non narrantis. At 2.557, Servius explains the expression regnatorem Asiae as follows: quia imperauerat et Phrygiae et Mygdoniae. 49. A related motif that indirectly emphasizes the contrast between present and past may be briefly mentioned here. When the Achaeans' "gift" of a wooden horse is eventually brought into Troy by a jubilant crowd, night falls, and the warriors, hidden inside, are described as getting out while the now silent city and its inhabitants are deeply buried in sleep and wine (Aen. 2.265: inuadunt urbem somno uinoque sepultam). Earlier versions of the fall of Troy do not describe the city and its inhabitants in such a fashion. The image seems again to derive from the Annales of Ennius. Cf. Ann. 288 Skutsch (Nunc hastes uino domiti somnoque sepulti), 366-68 Skutsch (Omnes mortales uictores, cordibus uiuis I Laetantes, uino curatos somnus repente I In campo passim mollis­ simus perculit acris). Cf. also Skutsch 1985, ad loc. In the Aeneid, however, the theme is not purely descriptive. It serves a well-defined dramatic function: it highlights the striking contrast between the former state of foolish happiness and the catastrophic debacle soon to follow. The same theme, used for a similar purpose, appears in another famous passage of the Aeneid, introducing another night that begins full of reassuring hopes and ends in slaughter. In Aeneid 9, as Euryalus and Nisus are heading toward the camp of the victorious Rutulians, they witness a similar spectacle: Egressi superant fossas noctisque per umbram I castra inimica petunt, multis tamen ante futuri I exitio. passim somno uinoque per herbam I corpora fusa uident, arrectos litore currus, I inter lora rotasque uiros, simul arma iacere, I uina simul (314-19 ) . This image stands in stark contrast to Homer's Thracians whose sleep is the result of exhaustion, not inebriation. Like the Trojans, the Rutulians are represented as overcome with wine and sleep to highlight their state of foolish confidence before their death, an attitude that Nisus underscores at Aen. 9.188-90: cernis quae Rutulos habeat fiducia rerum: I lumina rara micant, somno uinoque soluti I procubuere, silent late loca. so. Polyb. 2.56.6.

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present passage is tendentious in Phylarchus and ironical in Polybius."5 ' This is surely true, but Phylarchus does not seem to be the only one inclined to such historical exaggerations. A cursory glimpse at historiographical texts reveals the extended use of this "epitaph of closure" in the descriptive topos of the urbs capta. In Diodorus (Clitarchus is the source), the long descrip­ tion of the downfall of Persepolis is rounded off in similar fashion. As Persepolis had exceeded all other cities in prosperity, so, in the moment of its downfall, it surpassed all others in miseryY In Livy, a reflective Mar­ cellus, like so many Herodotean characters, contemplates for the last time a great city (Syracuse) at the moment it is about to fall. In the space of one hour (momenta horae), this city of so ancient glory would be reduced to ashes (arsura omnia et ad cineres reditura).53 Was Polybius, then, only criticizing Phylarchus for having preferred a locus communis to historical accuracy? This is possible, but I have shown previously that in the preceding passage, Polybius is concerned mainly with one feature of Phylarchus's writing: the latter's alleged confusion of the boundaries between history and tragedy. Set within this larger interpretative frame, Polybius's remark may conceal a more serious criticism. Polybius's "ironical comment" stresses how Phylarchus is at fault for having applied to a historical narration a narrative pattern that, at least in the authoritative and influential judgment of Aristotle, is quintessentially tragic. The best tragic action, according to the Poetics, is the kind that describes a sudden transfor­ mation between poles of prosperity and adversity: "It is imperative that a fine plot structure . . . involve a change not from affliction to prosperity but, rather, the reverse, from prosperity to affliction. . . ."5 4 51. Walbank 1957-79, ad loc. 52. Diod. 17.70.6. In book 17, Diodorus describes the fate of the royal women after the disastrous debacle of the Persian army at Issus in similar fashion: "The lot of these captured women was pathetic in the extreme. They-who previously [al yi:J.Q JtQin:cQOV] , out of daintiness, had been conveyed in luxurious carriages, only with reluctance, and had exposed no part of their bodies unveiled-now [
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In Aristotle's opinion, Euripides is the most "tragic" of all poets, because of his ability to create this shift of a dramatic movement to its exact opposite: "Those who fault Euripides for following this, and for ending many of his plays with affliction, make the same mistake as mentioned above . . . . Euripi­ des, whatever other faults of organization he may have, at least makes the most tragic impression of all poets." s s Euripides's tragedies from the Trojan cycle are a clear example. In these, the fall of Troy is represented as the complete transformation of splendor and happiness into suffering and slav­ ery, and the characters of these plays almost obsessively envision their lives as framed precisely by this "tragic dialectic." s 6 The enslavement of the aged queen and her daughters is presented, in ever new antitheses, as a total reversal of their former happiness.5 7 In the lament of Hecuba in the Trojan Women, the fate of the city of Troy itself is framed by the same dialectic mode: "Troy once so proud among the barbarian peoples, soon you will be deprived of your famous name" [& [lEyaA.a biJ :n:m' i'x[!:n:v£oud £v paQPaQOL\; I TQoia, 1:0 XAELVOV ovo[l a

The Fall of Troy

35

so concrete an expression as 'lj!a<paga onoM£ (literally, "powdery ashes") brings out starkly the extremity of the change.6 0 As one last example, we may cite the Persians of Aeschylus, where the defeat of the Persian army prompts a similar reflection from the messenger: "0 cities of all the land of Asia, 0 realm of Persia and bounteous haven of wealth, how, in a single stroke, plenteous prosperity has been shattered and the flower of the Persians has fallen and perished." 6 ' From the preceding brief excursus, we can infer that Phylarchus's empha­ sis on the antiquity and vast dominion of the city of Mantinea is not a historical slip but, rather, the epitome of a key element of the topos. The epitaph of closure for the city of Mantinea, built on the stark temporal contrast between the splendor of the past and the dramatic downfall of the present, places the destiny of Mantinea within the same "tragic dialectic" seen in the previous examples-and with important implications. Viewed from this perspective, the epitaph moves beyond its function as an inert record of a topos and creates a tragic frame for the whole episode. Surely this tragic cast, rather than the neglect of historical accuracy, prompts Polybius's harsh censure. Let us return to the Virgilian passages. In light of the preceding discus­ sion, it appears likely that misinterpretation will accompany any attempt to link to a specific "source" model Aeneas's somber reflections on the [lE­ 'ta�oA� •fl£ Ttl)('YJ£ that befell the city of Troy. In any case, how are we to choose one model over others? Why should we prefer Livy's sack of Alba over the many passages from tragedy and historiography that I have cited so far? On the contrary, the conventional nature of these passages suggests that it is far more appropriate (and productive) to interpret them as moments of dynamic engagement with one of the main elements of the topos of the urbs capta. This engagement is not without significance. The vision of the desti­ nies of Troy and Priam as unfolding within a "tragic dialectic" of rise and fall bears heavily on our reading of the text. In the very opening of his work, Herodotus states the subject of his narrative: "I will go forward with my history and speak of small and great cities alike. For many states that were once great have now become small, and those that were great in my time were small formerly. Knowing, there­ fore, that human prosperity never stays in the same place, I shall mention 6o. Hutchinson 1985, ad lac. 61. d) yij� UJtCtOT]� 'Amabo� JtOALo!J.ata, I 6J IlEQOL� aLa %al JtOAU � 1tAOU't01J AL!J.�V, I w� EV !J.L\1 1tA1'JYfi %atE
36

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both alike." 6 2 In the Aeneid, the tragic dialectic that informs Aeneas's descrip­ tion of the fall of Troy becomes also a paradigmatic example of a historical vision that, like the Herodotean one, is fashioned on the notion of a constant cycle of rise and fall. Is there a larger function for this historical vision in the Aeneid? After all, Aeneas moves forward to be the founder of a new city, a new race, and a new empire, the last of which is described, in Jupiter's own words to Venus, as endless. The empire will have limits of neither space nor time: his ego nee metas rerum nee tempora pono: I imperium sine fine dedi (Aen. 1.278-79).63 No statement could more openly contradict the tragic dialectic that has framed Troy's downfall in Aeneas's account: everything must come to an end, and the higher the entity, the more calamitous its downfall-a fate precisely the opposite of ]upiter's prophecy for Rome's future. In the voices of Jupiter and Aeneas, two competing historical visions emerge and coexist contemporaneously in the poem. The former envisions the historical development of Rome along a teleological line that spreads from its beginning toward the termination of history and the foundation of a new (eternal) era-that of Rome's unlimited empire.Here, at the end of history, historical development ceases, to be replaced by the changelessness of the perfected Urbs aeterna. From Jupiter's perspective, the history of Rome is an end-directed narrative that finds its perfect narrative medium in the epic genre.6 4 Quint remarks tellingly on the topic. Epic draws an equation between power and narrative. It tells of a power able to end the indeterminacy of war and to emerge victori­ ous, showing that the struggle had all along been leading up to its 62. Hdt. 1.5.3-4. On this passage, see de Romilly 1977, 6. Cf. Polyb. 6.9.12-13: "And especially in the case of the Roman state, this method will enable us to arrive at a knowledge of its formation, growth, and greatest perfection and, likewise, of the change for the worse that is sure to follow some day. For, as I said, this state, more than any other, has been formed and has grown naturally and will undergo a natural decline and change to its contrary." 63. As Servius notes (ad loc. ) , metas refers to geographical extension, tempora to the tempo­ ral extension of Roman dominion. 64. See Kennedy 1997, 149. As Feeney notes (1991, 138 ) , in the Aeneid, Jupiter is always associated with the idea of telos (end, fulfillment) and, significantly, becomes the main inter­ preter of an end-directed narrative. Yet, as Feeney reminds us (155) , not even Jupiter's perspective is available to the reader as a neutral, dispassionate vantage point: "There is no Archimedean hypothetical point in space from which to regard the action of the poem and evaluate it. Every vantage-point the poem offers is inextricable, part of a competition of views." On this topic, see also Mitchell-Boyask 1996. For Jupiter's prophecy and, more generally, for the ambiguity of the prophecies in the Aeneid, see O'Hara 1990.

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37

victory and thus imposing upon it a narrative teleology-the teleol­ ogy that epic identifies with the very idea of narrative.65 Jupiter takes on the responsibility of the one who utters the epic word; he becomes a surrogate for the epic narrator. By contrast, Aeneas's vision is triggered by a tragic dialectic, in which the constant antithesis between rise and fall produces numberless beginnings and numberless ends. The tension between these two temporal/historical and generic visions, juxtaposed in their expectations and conceptualization of historical events, becomes key to the interpretation of the poem. This is especially true when these two visions appear simultaneously in the narration. Let us proceed to such a moment. As Anchises begins, in Aeneid 6, to reveal the future history of Rome to his son, he shows Aeneas his Alban descendants: Procas, Capys, Numitor, Silvius Aeneas. They will be the founders of new Alban cities: Nomentum, Gabii, Fidena, Collatia, Pometia, Castrum Inui, Bola, and Cora. hi tibi Nomentum et Gabios urbemque Fidenam, hi Collatinas imponent montibus arces, Pometios Castrumque Inui Bolamque Coramque; haec tum nomina erunt, nunc sunt sine nomine terrae. 6 6 (Virg. Aen. 6.773-76) [For you they will construct Nomentum, Gabii, Fidena's city, and with the ramparts of Collatia, Pometia and Castrum Inui, and Bola, Cora, they will crown the hills. These will be names that now are nameless lands. ] The preceding passage, in which Anchises enumerates the cities of the Alban kingdom as necessary steps in the building of the future empire of Rome, contains an inversion of the theme "then and now, " to which there is an allusion by contrast: cities "now" nameless will "then" (i.e., in the future) have a name (haec tum nomina erunt, nunc sunt sine nomine terrae). The allusion by contrast is further emphasized by an intertextual nexus with Priam's death. As Priam is now, in Aeneas's account, a sine nomine corpus, so 65. Quint 1993, 45· 66. Cf. Aen. 7.411-13: locus Ardea quondam I dictus auis, et nunc magnum manet Ardea nomen, I sed fortuna fuit.

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the cities of the Alban kingdom are now (nunc) sine nomine terrae. Priam's nameless state in his final stage is that of the Alban cities in their initial condition in Anchises's prehistory. But the inversion of the theme is only apparent. Denis Feeney has shown, in a discussion of Aeneid 6.776, that the very Alban towns that appear in the parade will fade and become ghost towns in the time of Virgil's reader. The tenses are intriguingly two-sided, depending on whether one's perspective in time is that of Aeneas, or of Vergil's audience. To Aeneas, the words say that these will be famous names after his time, whereas now, in his lifetime, they are areas of land without any title (or else, places that exist but have no fame). To the contemporary audience, the words are saying that the places will be what they are in fact - mere names; now, for "us" they are only pieces of land, without the reputation they once had.6 7 The nunc of Aeneid 6.776 therefore signals for Virgil's reader the same tempo­ ral limitations that applied to Aeneas's vision of Priam's rule. Like Troy and its leader, these Alban cities are subjected to a circular and inevitable process of rise and fall. What, then, is Rome's fate? Ovid seems to suggest an answer in the famous speech of Pythagoras at the end of the Metamorphoses, a passage highly evocative of the Virgilian one. sic magna fuit censuque uirisque, perque decem potuit tantum dare sanguinis annos, nunc humilis ueteres tantummodo Troia ruinas et pro diuitiis tumulos ostendit auorum. clara fuit Sparte, magnae uiguere Mycenae, nee non et Cecropis, nee non Amphionis arces. uile solum Sparte est, altae cecidere Mycenae, Oedipodioniae quid sunt, nisi nomina, Thebae? quid Pandioniae restant, nisi nomen, Athenae? nunc quoque Dardaniam fama est consurgere Romam, Appenninigenae quae proxima Thybridis undis 67. Feeney 1986, 7 ( = 1999, 228 ) . This idea was already anticipated by Ahl (1976, 218 ) , who also wondered whether Virgil's contemporaries, knowing that the cities of Latium were dead in their own time, would not have found something ironic in Anchises's commentary. Mack (1978, 69) points out how the names of these cities evoke Rome's early struggles in Italy.

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39

mole sub ingenti rerum fundamina ponit. haec igitur formam crescendo mutat et olim inmensi caput orbis erit! (Ov. Met. 15. 422-35) [So was Troy great in wealth and men and for ten years was able to give so freely of her blood; but now, humbled to earth, she has nothing to show but ancient ruins, no wealth but ancestral tombs. Sparta was at one time a famous city; great Mycenae and Cecrops' and Amphion's citadels flourished. Sparta is now a worthless country­ side; proud Mycenae has fallen; and what is the Thebes of Oedipus except a name? What is left of Pandion 's Athens but a name? And now fame has it that Dardanian Rome is rising and laying, beneath its great mass, foundations by the stream of Tiber sprung from the Apennines. She is therefore changing her form by growth and some­ day shall be the capital of the boundless world! ] This well-known passage works in a curious way. At the end of a long speech about endless change and transformation, the sage predicts the future great­ ness of the city. Partly echoing the prophecy of Jupiter in Aeneid 1, Pythagoras anticipates for Rome a future as head of a boundless world.6 8 But his prophecy looks suspicious at best. Rome's close connection with Troy, Sparta, Mycenae, Thebes, and Athens, which have completed their cycles of rise and fall and, in an overt allusion to the preceding passage in the Aeneid, have now sunk to be mere names (nomina), suggests something different. As Hardie notes, "In the mouth of Pythagoras in Metamorphoses 15.431-52 the place of Rome as the final empire in the succession becomes questionable; when change is king, what guarantee that Rome will be the exception that proves eternal? " 6 9 Virgil, typically, is not as straightforward. The narrator of the Aeneid seems to allow multiple/antithetical voices and generic visions to coexist 68. However, as Hardie notes (1992, 61), Pythagoras makes no allusion to the eternity of the city. The only concession to the uniqueness of Rome is Pythagoras's claim that Rome is greater than any city that is, has been, or will be. 69. Hardie 1993, 95. Anderson (1963, 27) similarly concludes, "Ovid . . . knew (and showed it) that there was no such thing as Roma aeterna: his juxtaposition of rising Rome to the fallen cities of the past, nothing but names (15.429 ff. ), indicates clearly what he foresaw for his city." Cf. Segal 1969, especially 288; Solodow 1988, 167- 68. On Met. 15.431-52, see also Bomer 19 69-86, ad loc. Apparently, a similar skepticism about Roma aeterna was voiced by Scipio Aemilianus. As Appian (Pun. 132) and Diodorus (32.24) report, when Scipio Aemilianus saw Carthage about to be destroyed by the flames, he mused on the fickleness of fortune and, citing a verse of Homer on the destruction of Troy (II. 6.448-49 ) , pondered the inevitable destiny that was awaiting Rome.

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without any attempt at reconciliation. But perhaps the Aeneid does suggest which of the two courses Rome will likely follow. Moles and Bowie, follow­ ing the lead of the famous Servian remark that Priam's death is modeled on Pompey's death (Pompei tangit historiam),7° argue convincingly that in the description of Priam's death, we see a sudden irruption of the historical Pompey into the mythical narrative.?I The notable shift in tense to the present (iacet) would accommodate such an intrusion and erase the tempo­ ral gap between narrated events and the audience of the story, which is simultaneously Aeneas's Carthaginian audience and the author's Roman audienceJ2 Were this the case, the headless trunk of Priam, the symbol of the fallen city, not only would represent Troy's downfall but would also have impor­ tant implications for Virgil's contemporary reader. From the perspective of Virgil's audience, Nomentum, Gabii, Fidena, Collatia, Pometia, Castrum Inui, Bola, and Cora are not the only cities to have completed their cycles of rise and fall. By conflating the death of Priam with that of Pompey, the narrator Virgil, who for a brief time seems to usurp the role of the narrator Aeneas, may be implicitly suggesting that Rome, too, has already completed an important cycle of rise and fall.73 Now a new cycle awaits Rome, one that carries with it all the uncertainties of new beginnings.

A "lament that beats against the golden stars"

A glimpse at the titles of extant Greek tragedies on the Trojan cycle-Trojan Women, Hecuba, Andromache-reveals a consistent set of characters cast in the leading role in the tale of the sack of Troy: the Trojan women. Virtually the sole survivors of Troy's downfall, the tale of their fate becomes the core around which these tragedies unfold. These women are not merely protago­ nists; they become the primary voice through which the experience of Troy's 70. Servius at Aen. 2.557. 71. Moles (1983) argues specifically that the Virgilian death of Prian1 is clearly influenced by the death of Pompey the Great as described in the Histories of Virgil's friend and former patron Asinius Pollio. Bowie (1990 ) analyzes other important connections as well between the representa­ tion of Priam in the Aeneid and the historical Pompey. On this topic, see also Hinds 1998, 8-9. 72. See Bowie 1990, 474 ( = 1999, 88). Bowie (473 = 1999, 88) notices that the intrusion is highlighted by a remarkable example of narrative dislocation: "At the main caesura of the line, Prian1 is dead by the altar in the centre of the palace; after it, he is lying headless on the shore, a removal in place and time of some distance." 73· In Lucan, too, Troy works as a model for the fall of the Roman republic. On this topic, see Ahl 1976, 215-16; Masters 1992, 158; Rossi 2001, 258.

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downfall is narrated. Women's voices resound in the stillness that follows the noise of battle, and these voices, feminine by nature, favor the experi­ ences of their own gender. Through this gendered perspective, they retell the events of the last night of Troy and its aftermath.7 4 This twofold role of women in Greek tragedies of the Trojan cycle may account for their conspicuous position in the topos of the urbs capta and may explain why their grievous fate in the description of a fallen city was seen as quintessentially "tragic." Recall that one of Polybius's criticisms against Phy­ larchus's "tragic style" addresses specifically this issue. He blames the histo­ rian for lavishly displaying female suffering, treating the reader to a picture of "women clinging to one another, their hair torn and breasts bared."1s He further adds that such a treatment of the subject not only is more suited for tragedy than history but also has a womanish character ( yuvmx&O££. )76 Polyb­ ius is not alone in connecting such descriptions to tragedy. In his account of the capture of Syracuse by Agathocles in the year 317, Diodorus claims that he will refrain from lingering on the pitiful description of the destiny of women, for he, unlike other historians, wants to keep his historical narrative free from unnecessary tragic overtones.77 Yet despite these criticisms, the dramatic fate and suffering of women continues to be one of the central markers of the topos of the urbs capta. Virgil himself confirms its crucial role via an important simile in Aeneid 4: as Dido, abandoned by Aeneas, falls on her lover's sword, the city is filled with women's laments echoing through the houses and up to the sky, not differ­ ently (non aliter quam), the narrator adds, than if an enemy army were entering the gates, with all of Carthage or ancient Tyre in ruins, and if angry fires were rolling across the homes of men and gods.78 In Aeneid 4, this theme belongs to the metaphorical sphere, but it is a reality in Aeneid 2. As Pyrrhus, in an attempt to force his way into Priam's palace, makes a breach in the gate, the readers, as if looking through a window, are allowed a glimpse of the inside. The inner part of the house 74· Cf. de Romilly 1995, 29-43; Segal 1993, 157-90. 75· Polyb. 2.56.7. 76. Polyb. 2.56.9. 77. Diod. 19 .8.3-6. 78. Aen. 4.667-71: lamentis gemituque et femineo ululatu I tecta fremunt, resonat magnis plangoribus aether, I non aliter quam si immissis ruat hostibus omnis I Karthago aut antiqua Tyros, flammaeque furentes I culmina perque hominum uoluantur perque deorum. A similar emphasis on the fire engulfing holy and profane alike is found in Livy at 6.33.4: Nee aliud tectum eius superfuit urbis, cum faces pariter sacris profanisque inicerent, quam Matris Matutae templum. . . . Cf. also Livy 24.47.16: extra portam late uagatus ignis sacra profanaque multa absumpsit.

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offers to the spectator a pitiful sight of women wailing in fear and clinging to the doorposts as they wander aimlessly in the halls of the palace. at domus interior gemitu miseroque tumultu miscetur, penitusque cauae plangoribus aedes femineis ululant; ferit aurea sidera clamor. tum pauidae tectis matres ingentibus errant amplexaeque tenent postis atque oscula figunt.79 (Virg. Aen. 2. 486-90) [But deep within, confusion takes the palace, anguish and sad commotion; and the vaulted walls echo with the wail and woe of women, lament that beats against the golden stars. Across the huge apartments in their terror the matrons wander, clutching at the doors, embracing them, imprinting kisses.] This image, although an integral element of the topos (as is well-attested in historiography and elsewhere), 8 0 gains further significance in light of the important "source" model that it apparently evokes. As I have previously shown, according to Servius, this passage has been adapted (translatus) from the description of the capture of Alba in Ennius's Annales. 8 ' Following this lead, Wigodsky suggests that the Virgilian allusion to the capture of the city of Alba hints at Rome's rise and thus was probably meant to lighten the gloom of Troy's fall.8 2 If this were the case, the narrator's choice seems odd at the very least. In Ab urbe condita 1, Livy, about to describe the war that ensued between Alba and Rome and that will eventually lead to the fall of 79. Cf. Aen. 2.488 with 11.877-78: et e speculis percussae pectora matres I femineum clamorem ad caeli sidera tollunt. So. For the presence of the theme in historiography, cf. Livy 2.33.8: Clamor inde oppida­ norum mixtus muliebri puerilique ploratu ad terrorem, ut solet, primum orto et Romanis auxit animum et turbauit Uolscos utpote capta urbe qui ad ferendam opem uenerant; 38.22.8: In multi­ tudinem compulsam in castra uis ingens missilium telorum coniciebatur, et uolnerari multos clamor permixtus mulierum atque puerorum ploratibus significabat. For other uses of this motif in the topos of the captured city, see, among others, Aeschines In Ctesiphontem 157; Dem. De fals. leg. 65.361; Quint. I. O. 8.3.68. See also Ov. Met. 12.225-26, where the expression captaeque erat urbis imago is immediately followed by femineo clamore sonat domus [the house resounded with women's shrieks] . 81. For the relation between the Virgilian and the Ennian passage, see n . 18 in the present chapter. 82. Wigodsky 1972, 70.

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the former, cannot refrain from noting that this war resembled very closely a civil war: "Both sides made extraordinary preparations for a war that very closely resembled a civil war between parents and children, for both were of Trojan descent, since Lavinium was an offshoot of Troy and Alba of Lavinium and [since ] the Romans were sprung from the stock of the kings of Alba." 83 In the Aeneid passage, hints of Rome's rise-as Wigodsky interprets the reference to Alba-would be a troubling reminder of civil wars. A healthy suspicion may lead us to question Wigodsky's interpretation of the Virgilian allusion to the Ennian text and to suggest different readings of it. In the Aeneid, the city of Alba is explicitly mentioned only a few times. In every instance (and manifestly in the prophecies of Jupiter, Anchises, and the river god Tiberinus), Alba is presented at the moment of its coming into existence and as part of the inescapable progression of city foundations that will eventu­ ally culminate and end in Rome.8 4 This idea is first expressed in the proem of the poem: "from this have come the Latin race, the lords of Alba, and the ramparts of high Rome" [genus unde Latinum I Albanique patres atque altae moenia Romaej. 8s Here, however (and nowhere else in the Aeneid) , Alba, through allusion to the Annales of Ennius, is presented at the moment of its fading away, of its disappearance and fall.8 6 A significant pattern begins to emerge in Aeneas's tale o f the fall o f Troy. In Aeneas's account, it is not only Troy that falls. Through marked allusions to other texts and historical events, other cities partake of a similar fate: both Rome (at least in part, as we have seen previously) and Alba fall. Aeneas's fall of Troy becomes, therefore, an important rewriting of Roman history, a rewriting that stands in stark contrast with Jupiter's end-directed narrative. Here, anticipations of foundation, growth, and progress are replaced with 83. Et bellum utrimque summa ope parabatur, ciuili simillimum bello, prope inter parentes natosque, Troianam utramque prolem, cum Lauinium ab Troia, ab Lauinio Alba, ab Albanorum stirpe regum oriundi Romani essent (Livy 1.23.1). 84. Aen. 1.267-71 (prophecy of Jupiter): at puer Ascanius . . . et Longam multa ui muniet Albam; 6.766 (prophecy of Anchises): unde genus Longa nostrum dominabitur Alba; 6.769-70 (prophecy of Anchises ) : Siluius Aeneas, pariter pietate uel armis I egregius, si umquam regnandam acceperit Albam; 8.48 (prophecy of Tiberinus, god of the river Tiber): Ascanius clari condet cognominis Albam. Cf. Aen. 5.596-98 (narrator's voice) : haec certamina primus I Ascanius, Longam muris cum cingeret Albam, I rettulit et priscos docuit celebrare Latinos . . . ; 9.386-88 (narrator's voice) : iamque imprudens euaserat hostis I atque locos qui post Albae de nomine dicti I Albani (tum rex stabula alta Latinus habebat) . . . . For a discussion of Alba in the prophecy of the Aeneid, see O'Hara 1990, 145-47. 85. Aen. 1.6-7. 86. Another reference to Alba, although not directly to its fall, occurs in the description of the famous punishment of Mettius on the shield of Aeneas. See Gurval 1995, 221-22.

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images of unfounding and decline, and (as the fates of Troy, Alba, and Rome show) the endlessness of empire gives way to a version of Roman history that bears witness only to the endless repetitiveness of the topos of the urbs capta. The Altar and the King

Aeneas's report now turns to a detailed chronicle of the destiny of the most important protagonists of the story: Priam and Hecuba. Closely fashioning the narrative structure of his account after the gfjmt; of a tragic messenger, Aeneas begins with a brief description of Priam's death: "I saw Hecuba together with her hundred nurus87 and among the altars I could see King Priam, polluting with his blood the fires he himself had hallowed" [uidi Hecubam centumque nurus Priamumque per aras I sanguine foedantem quos ipse sacrauerat ignis] (2.501-2 ) . Aeneas's ensuing rhetorical comment­ "perhaps you now will ask the end of Priam" 8 8-anticipates the expected query of the addressee of the gfjmt; and, in the fashion of tragic narrative, prompts Aeneas to relate in detail the last events of Priam's death.8 9 The opening scene of his account presents Hecuba and her daughters crouching around an ancient altar 9 ° and embracing the images of the gods as they are about to witness Priam's death. aedibus in mediis nudoque sub aetheris axe ingens ara fuit iuxtaque ueterrima laurus incumbens arae atque umbra complexa penatis. 87. On the term nurus, see Austin 1964, at 2.501. Austin understands it as referring to both Hecuba's daughters and her daughters-in-law. 88. forsitan et Priami fuerint quae fata requiras (Aen. 2.506). 89. For Aeneas's speech as modeled on the (?fjm,; of a tragic messenger, see Austin 1964, ad loc. Di Gregorio (19 67, 90) recognizes a standard narrative pattern in the (?fjm,; of a tragic messenger: a brief initial account is followed by a more detailed one, which is motivated by a precise question from the interlocutor (e.g., Al\�ov 1\io Jtw,; . . . ; afJ�tatVE, Jtw,; . . . ; Al\�ov, Jtw,; . . . ; Jtw,;; toilto �ta&'i:v �w. ) . Less convincingly, Heinze (1993, 24) interprets these narrative choices in terms of decorum. He observes that Virgil must have felt the strangeness of representing Aeneas as helplessly watching all these tragic happenings from the roof and therefore confined the eyewitness narrative to a few lines only, then, with this fresh beginning, told the full story in a way that would hardly appear as a personal narrative. 90. Tradition (both Greek and Latin) unanimously recognizes this to be the altar of Zeus Herceus: see Anderson 1997, 27-48. Virgil never explicitly mentions the name of the altar. Instead, he makes the altar the shrine of the Penates, emphasizing the associations of the cult title by which the god was worshiped as the protector of the house. On this topic, see Austin 1964, at 2.513; Heinze 1993, 58 n. 63.

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hie Hecuba et natae nequiquam altaria circum, praecipites atra ceu tempestate columbae, condensae et diuum amplexae simulacra sedebant. (Virg. Aen. 2.512-17) [Beneath the naked round of heaven, at the center of the palace, stood a giant shrine; at its side an ancient laurel leaned across the altar stone, and it embraced the household gods within its shadow.Here, around that useless altar, Hecuba together with her daughters-just like doves when driven headlong by a dark storm-huddled; and they held fast the statues of the gods.] Although pre- and post-Virgilian epics never seem to mention Hecuba in the context of Priam's death, her role as eyewitness to her husband's murder is widely attested in other literary and nonliterary traditions.9 ' In the Trojan Women of Euripides, the old queen indicates that she witnessed the slaugh­ ter of Priam on the altar of Zeus Herceus ('wt:ooe � doov O[t[WOLV I afn:� xammpay£vt' ecp' EQXELcp :ltllQ{i).9 2 In vase paintings as well, Hecuba is repeat­ edly represented as sitting at or in the vicinity of an altar, sometimes looking on the act of horror with her arms raised to her head or entreating Neoptolemus-with her arms extended-to spare the king.93 Priam is fre­ quently shown nearby, either already dead or extending his arm toward the chin of Neoptolemus in an act of supplication toward his butcherer-to-be.9 4 91. In Proclus's summary of the Iliupersis, Neoptolemus slays the Trojan king at the altar of Zeus Herceus. For a similar version, cf. Apollod. Epit. 5.21: "Neoptolemus slew Priam, who had taken refuge at the altar of Zeus of the Courtyard." A slightly different version of Priam's death was narrated in the Little Iliad. There, the murder has been relocated from the altar of Zeus to the doors of the palace (Paus. 10.27.2). Sitting (PW VII 2 [1912 ] , 2655, s.v. "Hekabe") believes that Hecuba witnessed Priam's slaughter in the Iliupersis of Arctinus. But her role, if she was indeed present (there is no way to know with certainty), must have been rather marginal, because Proclus does not mention her in this connection in his summary. Further, her presence is not attested in Quintus's description of the death of Priam (13.222-50 ) or in the account of Tryphiodorus ( 634-39 ) . On this topic, see also Heinze 1993, 25; Anderson 1997, 28-38. 92. Tr. 482-83. 93. Alternatively, Hecuba is represented delivering a lament over Priam. See Anderson 1997, 195 · 94. See Anderson 1997, 193-99. Conversely, in the Iliupersis of Polygnotus (Paus. 10.26.5 ) , there was a breastplate lying on the altar of Zeus, which, according t o Robert (1893, 64), had been

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The Tabula Iliaca in the Capitoline Museum suggests a similar charting of events, with Priam sitting in supplication at the altar of Zeus, under attack from Neoptolemus and with Hecuba by his side.9 s In Aeneas's account, however (by contrast with other versions of the episode handed down to us), Hecuba is not only present but surrounded by her one hundred nurus. Servius does not fail to notice the hyperbolic num­ ber.9 6 What motivates this novel image? Although the women are merely passive spectators of what is about to happen and therefore apparently "dramatically" ineffective, the image of this crowd of women crouching at the altar and holding fast to the statues of the gods contributes to an icon­ ography that places this scene in close relation with the topos under consid­ eration.9 7 In other words, this collectivity allows Hecuba and her daughters to transcend their individual destinies and become representative icons of their own gender. In Livy, as soon as the ominous news of Hannibal's approach reaches Rome, the panic-stricken women replicate the behavior of Virgil's Trojan women. Some are heard weeping and wailing in their houses, while others crowd the streets and, like Hecuba and her daughters, find refuge in the temples of the gods, sweeping the altars with their loosened hair, kneeling, holding up their palms to heaven and the gods, beseeching them to preserve the city of Rome from the hands of the enemy and to keep Roman mothers and little children unharmed.9 8 Likewise, in the Seven against Thebes, the chorus of Theban women rushes to the sanctuary of the gods on the Acropo­ lis as the news of the advancing army is brought to the city: "it was at the

brought to Priam by his daughter Laodice, but which he had no time to put on before being killed by Neoptolemus. It is not clear from Pausanias's discussion whether Hecuba was present. See Stansbury-O'Donnel1 1989, 211. 95. See Heinze 1993, 25. For the various traditions of Priam's death, see E. V. s.v. "Priamo." Cf. E. V. s.v. "Ecuba." 96. Servius at 2.501: aut finitus est numerus pro infinito UJt£Q�OALxw,;: aut certe ideo 'centum, ' quia barbarorum fuerat non singulas coniuges habere, sed plures. 97· See Servius Auctus's telling remark at 2.512: unde apparet, et ueram consuetudinem fuisse fugiendi [a] periclitantibus ad ararum praesidium. 98. Livy 26.9.7-8: Ploratus mulierum non ex priuatis solum domibus exaudiebatur, sed undique matronae in publicum effusae circa deum delubra discurrunt crinibus passis aras uerrentes, nixae genibus, supinas manus ad caelum ac deos tendentes, orantesque ut urbem Romanam e manibus hostium eriperent matresque Romanas et liberos paruos inuiolatos seruarent. Cf. Diod. 17.13.6 (capture of Thebes): "In the end, when night finally intervened, the houses had been plundered, and children and women and aged persons who had fled into the temples were tom from sanctuary and subjected to outrage without limit." Cf. also Diod. 13.57.3 (capture of Selinus), 13.108.6 (capture of Gela) .

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sound of strange and mingled din that in trembling fear I came here to the holy sanctuary on the citadel." 9 9 Yet another important subtext becomes vital to fully grasping the impli­ cations of the narrator's choice in the fashioning of such an innovative image. As Hecuba and her daughters crouch around the altar, Virgil, via a simile, compares them to fearful doves who flee from a storm: praecipites atra ceu tempestate columbae.100 As is noted by Austin, this simile has a specific antecedent in Aeschylus's Suppliants.101 As the chorus of the fifty Danaids in Aeschylus's play arrives from Egypt to the city of Argos to escape from a union at once incestuous and detested (a fate not very dissimilar from the one awaiting many of Hecuba's daughters), they too, like our Trojan women, find refuge at the altars of the gods and are compared to a flock of scared doves. Aa.

:TtCXvtWV 6' UVU'X:tWV 'tWVi'>E XOLVO�W[tLUV OE�w{l' . EV ayv0 6' EOflO\; W\; :ltEAEL
[DANA u s : Honor the mutual altar of all these protecting powers; and seat yourselves on holy ground like a flock of doves in dread of hawks of the same plumage-kindred, yet foes, who defile the race.] The imagery of the scene in the Aeneid connects it to the typical iconography of the topos; the intertext established via the simile with the Aeschylean chorus of suppliants grants the passage a more dynamic "dramatic" dimen­ sion. Occupying the holy space of the altar like scared Aeschylean doves, Hecuba and her daughters take up the role of a "tragic chorus, " ready to frame the final act of the tragedy about to unfold before their very eyes: the death of Priam. While they sit there, the old king pathetically takes on the armor and weapons that can no longer protect him. 99. Aesch. Sept. 239-41; cf. 258, 264-87. The chorus of Trojan women in Euripides's Hecuba (923-35) describes its last night at Troy in a similar fashion. In a somber song, they remember how, awakened in the middle of the night by the battle cry in the streets, they ran to the altar of Artemis. Cf. Hec. 287-90, where Hecuba begs Odysseus to spare the life of the women who had found refuge in the temples of the city. 100. Aen. 2.516. 101. Austin 1964, ad loc. The two other possible parallels cited by Austin, II. 21.493-95 and Eur. Andr. 1140-41, are considerably less compelling.

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arma diu senior desueta trementibus aeuo circumdat nequiquam umeris et inutile ferrum cingitur, ac densos fertur moriturus in hostis. (Virg. Aen. 2.509-11) [then in vain the old man throws his armor, long unused, across his shoulders, tottering with age; and he girds on his useless sword; about to die, he hurries toward the crowd of Greeks.] Arma uirumque cano begins the epic of the Aeneid. The reappearance of the key word arma at this point of the narration and in the initial position of the hexameter gives Priam's action a symbolic connotation. By wearing his arma, Priam attempts, futilely, to regain an epic dimension and to break away from tragic space. Momentarily delayed by a speech of Hecuba, the chorus leader (xogvcpai:a) who tries to confine him within the sacred space of the altar, Priam eventually forsakes his character as tragic suppliant and, at the sight of his son murdered at the hands of Pyrrhus, steps into the role of an epic warrior ready to challenge his enemy.10 2 Significantly, Priam's attempt to recast himself as an epic hero is under­ scored also by a narrative that, all of a sudden, becomes markedly epic. Priam's epic endeavor-the duel against Pyrrhus-falls conspicuously into the narrative pattern of the epic code. If we read Aeneid 2.535-53 in light of Fenik's analysis of the Homeric duels, we can clearly outline the following sequence, typical of this Homeric type-scene.103 1. Priam (A) addresses Pyrrhus (B). In typical Homeric fashion,

Priam reminds Neoptolemus of the superiority of Pyrrhus's fa­ ther, Achilles.10 4 102. See Aen. 2.519-34. On the speech of Hecuba and the convention of Greek tragedy whereby a messenger can report the words of the character, see Austin 1964, at 2.519. On this episode and the role of Hecuba as chorus leader, see E. V. s.v. "Ecuba." 103. See Fenik 1968, 11. For a similar structure in Homeric duels-A throws at B and misses (or fails to pierce B's armor) and is then killed by B-cf., for example, II. 5.274-96 (Pandarus and Diomedes), 17.33-60 (Euphorbus and Menelaus) . As Fenik notes (loc. cit. ), this pattern is signifi­ cantly never found in Homer when a Trojan is the victor. 104. Aen. 2.535-43. The content of Priam's speech is reminiscent of Homeric speeches. The son is accused of being unworthy of his father. Nevertheless, there is an important difference. In the Iliad, the son usually falls short in valor. In Priam's speech, Pyrrhus is inferior to Achilles in mercy. For Homeric examples, cf. II. 4-370-400, 5.633-46. See, further, Fenik 1968, 66.

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A then throws at B but fails to pierce B's armor.105 B, in turn, addresses A and predicts a swift death for his enemy.10 6

The shift to epic narrative is, however, short-lived, for Pyrrhus fails to do what is expected of a Homeric warrior, who is to immediately use his spear to kill his opponent.' 0 7 Rather, Pyrrhus drags Priam by the hair and carries him back to the altar, the tragic space where Priam's character belongs. Only in this "tragic" setting does Priam meet his final destiny: with his left hand, Pyrrhus clutches tight the hair of Priam, and with his right, he draws the glistening blade and buries it in the king's side (implicuitque comam laeua, dextraque coruscum I extulit ac lateri capulo tenus abdidit ensem).108 Priam's attempt to establish an epic role for himself and to become a maker of epic narrative is marked by failure. After all, he is no longer a uir, the subject of epic, but a senior. The image of a tragic chorus of suppliants-Hecuba and her daughters­ had opened the account of Priam's tale. The epitaph of closure uttered by Aeneas-the once famous king, ruling over a famous city, is now no more than a headless trunk-brings it to its end. The epic world that briefly emerges in between these two markers of tragic narrative soon collapses, and Priam and his arma are brought back into the narrative dimension where they belong. Aeneas, Odysseus, and the Art of Narrative

Throughout this chapter, I have shown how Virgil has intertwined in the tale of the final night of Troy themes of the topos of the urbs capta-themes that at times stand in stark contrast to earlier accounts of the sack of Troy. In light of this observation, I pose a final question: What does Aeneas stand for, or what type of narrator is he? 105. Aen. 2.544-46: telumque imbelle sine ictu I coniecit, rauco quod protinus aere repulsum, I et summa clipei nequiquam umbone pependit. 106. Aen. 2.547-50. For Homeric examples, cf. II. 5.287-88, 644-46. 107. The duel between Priam and Pyrrhus is the only scene in Aeneid 2 where epic battle conventions are even partially followed. Elsewhere, they are ignored or extensively altered. A comparison with Quintus's description of the last night of Troy shows satisfactorily Virgil's reluctance to use epic battle conventions in the Iliupersis. In Quintus (13-168-210 ), Diomedes's feats are represented by means of a rather long aristeia (he kills Coroebus, Eurydamas, and Ilioneus in quick succession) . The aristeia of Diomedes is followed, in Homeric fashion, by a <po�o,; (rout scene): Diomedes kills Eurycoon; Ajax, Amphimedon; Agamemnon, Damastor's son; Idomeneus, Mimas; Meges, Delopites (13.209-12). Following this scene is Pyrrhus's aristeia, which ends with the death of Priam (13-220-50) . 108. Aen. 2.552-53.

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The obvious answer would compare Aeneas to Odysseus as narrator of his own adventures to the queen of the Phaeacians. From the beginning of Aeneid 1, we have grown accustomed to viewing Aeneas's misfortunes and peregrinations as reenactments of those of Odysseus. Both heroes, about to reach their destination, are led astray by a new storm provoked by a hostile god. As they land in a foreign country, each is met by a goddess (Venus in the Aeneid and Athena in the Odyssey) who informs the hero about the country and its rulers. Finally welcomed into the palace, each is requested, following a banquet, to tell his own story.' 0 9 Aeneas's beginning seems to allude to Odysseus's opening words to the Phaeacian queen. sed si tantus amor casus cognoscere nostros et breuiter Troiae supremum audire laborem, quamquam animus meminisse horret luctuque refugit, incipiam. (Virg. Aen. 2.10-13) [But if you long so much to learn our suffering, to hear in brief the final calamity of Troy-although my mind, remembering, recoils in grief, and trembles, I shall try.] agyaJ...E ov, BaoiA.ELa, i'>LY)VEXEW£ ayogEilom x�b£ , £nei [tOL noAA.&. Moav &ot rn)gaviwVE£" wih;o bE 'tOL £g£w 8 [l avEigem �()£ [tE"taAA(i£·

(Hom. Od. 7.241-43) [It is a hard thing, 0 queen, to tell you without intermission, all my troubles, since the gods of the sky have given me many. But this now I will tell you in answer to the question you asked me.] As always, the differences are significant. As D'Ippolito points out, the Virgilian breviter (in brief ) contrasts sharply with the Homeric i'>LY)VEXEW£, 109. On the structural and lexical similarities between Aeneid 1 and Odyssey S-8, see Wil­ liams 1963, especially 270-74; Otis 1964, 215-312.

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which can be rightly translated, "from the beginning to the end."no While Aeneas's story looks back, at least in the first book, to the story of the traveler Odysseus, Aeneas as narrator distances himself from his Homeric predecessor. The clear allusion, by contrast (oppositio in imitando), to the opening statement of Odysseus clarifies Aeneas's rejection of a narrative that is i'>LYJVEXEW£, as Aeneas aims at Callimachean brevitas. In Homer's i'>LY)V£­ XEW£, Virgil would not miss the opportunity of exploiting the famous Callimachean rejection of £v aeLOfW i'>LYJVEXE£, "one continuous song, " in the prologue of the Aitia. 111 Virgil's replacement of the Homeric term i'>LYJVEXEW£ with breviter acquires its full significance only in the context of the allusion to Callimachus.112 Yet another important element of difference between the two accounts seems to distance Aeneas from Odysseus, as is noted by Heinze. The events of Odysseus' homeward journey nearly all involved Odys­ seus himself, and putting them into the first person instead of the third entailed few changes in the presentation. But for Virgil it was a matter of presenting the ebb and flow of the nocturnal battle through all the streets, palaces and shrines of Troy, and the deeds and sufferings of a whole series of people, as the experiences of one single man.113 110. D'Ippolito (1976, 26-28) views the opposition between the Virgilian breviter and the Homeric Oti']VEXEw,; as evidence of two juxtaposed narrative modes. Further, he notices that the opening lines of Tryphiodorus seem to recall the Virgilian passage (II. exc. 5: mxcln l.iloov a ou'lfl) . Before D'Ippolito, Cartault (1926, 1:211) had already commented on the importance of this poetic statement: "llt!']Vcx!\w,; est caracteristique de l'ampleur developpee de Ia narration homerique et s'oppose a breviter . . . caracteristique de celle bien plus concentree de Virgile." For an ancient comparison between the Homeric and the Virgilian passage, see Macrobius Sat. 5.5.2. Macrobius already viewed the Virgilian passage as an important programmatic statement. 111. On the Callimachean expression ilv a£LO!J.a Oti']VEXE,;, see Cameron 1995, 338-61. Cam­ eron believes that the Callimachean rejection of "one continuous song" is to be interpreted as a criticism not of epic but of a certain kind of elegy, exemplified especially by the Lyde of Antimachus. Fantuzzi and Hunter (2002, 90-91) convincingly argue that such a rejection should be interpreted as a criticism of a type of style and arrangement of material, rather than as an open attack against a specific literary genre. 112. The term Oti']VEXEW,; appears also three times in the Argonautica of Apollonius. Both the poet himself (1.648-49= hll.a ,;l !J.U-&ou,; I AtfuAil\cw XQELW !!£ OLI']VcXEW,; ayOQ£U£tV;) and his characters (2.390-91: ai.Ai:J. l:LI'] !!£ JtUALV XQELW UALl:EOfut I !J.UVWoUV[] ,;a l!xaom OLI']VcXE,; E�cVEJtovm; 3-401: ti XcV ta EXUOta OLI']VcXEW,; ayOQcUot,;;) criticize the telling of stories Otl']vex!\w,;. On this topic, see Hunter 1993, 195, with bibliography. 113. Heinze 1993, 3·

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Aeneas undertakes a kind of narration very different from that of Odysseus, which links him to another model informing his role as narrator and inspir­ ing his narrative choices: the messenger of tragedy. Many of the narrative affinities between Aeneas's speech and the (?fjmt; of an ayyEAOt; have been judiciously pointed out by scholars, particularly by Ussani and Austin.U 4 I will therefore confine myself here to a brief analysis of the exordium of Aeneas's speech and its points of connection with the messenger speeches of Aeschylus's Persians. Just as it is painful for Aeneas to remember his tale (quamquam animus meminisse horret luctuque refugit), so it is painful for the messenger of the Persians to recall the memory of the Athenians: "0 name of Salamis most odious to my ears! Alas, how I groan when I recall the memory of Athens" [ cb JtAELOLOV £x1tot; OVO[tU LUAU[tLVOt; XAVELV I cpEil , 'tWV 'AfuJv&v we OLEV(l) bLEbLYU[lEVoc] .ns Likewise, Aeneas's emphasis on his role as eyewitness (Aen. 2 . 5 : quaeque ipse miserrima uidi) owes much to the common opening state­ ment of messenger speeches.116 The messenger of the Persians declares in his opening remarks that he is not reporting mere hearsay but himself bears witness to the disaster: "and in truth, Persians, since I was present and did not hear the tale from report of others, I can clearly tell which crimes have been committed" [xat wnv JtUQWV YE XoU A6yout; aAAWV XAUWV, I II£gam, cp gaom[i av ol' EJtOQoVVihl xaxa] .117 Finally, the adverb breviter, which so clearly marks the contrast between the narratives of Aeneas and Odysseus, finds close correspondence in the Persian messenger's claim to brevity: "many being the misfortunes, I announce only a few" [:rtoU&v nag6VLwv of.. iy' anayy£Uw xaxa ] . ns Further evidence that Aeneas is modeling the exordium of his Iliupersis on that of a messenger of tragedy might come from Aeneid 1. As Aeneas lands on the shores of Carthage and meets his mother, Venus, disguised as a huntress, Venus begins her speech in a similar fashion. Dressed in red boots (purpureoque . . . coturno) 119 rather than the sandals proper to her disguise, 114. Ussani (1950) recognizes in the messenger of Aeschylus's Persians an important model for Aeneas. Like Aeneas, the messenger is a defeated soldier who brings news (here, to Queen Atossa) of a defeat in which he actively participated (here, that of the Persians) . For a similar view, see Austin 1964, at 2.5, 499, 506. 115. Pers. 284-85. 116. Cf. Soph. OT 1237-40; Aj. 748. 117. Pers. 266-67. 118. Pers. 330. 119. Aen. 1.337. Harrison (1972-73) compares Venus's speech to the prologue delivered by a god in a Euripidean tragedy. Note also the application of the theatrical term scaena (stage) to the

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she qualifies herself as a tragic actor; accordingly, the exordium of her account of the queen Aeneas is about to meet will recall that of the tragic messenger and, hence, of Aeneas. Although long is the tale of wrong and long its winding course, she will follow only the main paths of the story (sed summa sequar fastigia rerum).120 Not only does Virgil have Aeneas reject Homeric OLYJVEXEW£ in favor of a narrative that aims at brevitas; he has him simultaneously effecting a genre shift by creating an affinity with tragedy. Precisely the recognition of Ae­ neas's role as a messenger, as an ayyeAO£ of tragedy, best explains Aeneas's narrative choices. As a messenger of tragedy, as a narrator and focalizer who wishes to inspire in his narratee, Dido, pity and fear, he will exploit the most dramatic and universal components of the tragic theme of the fall of the city (as he has inherited them from tragedy and historiography), thereby creat­ ing a novel revision and rewriting of the Iliupersis, whose striking brevity is eclipsed only by its sophisticated manipulation of genre.12 1

Libyan landscape (Aen. 1.164-65: tum siluis scaena coruscis I desuper, horrentique atrum nemus imminet umbra). 120. Aen. 1.342. 121. For an in -depth discussion on focalization, see chap. 4.

Two

Aeneid 9 - 1 2 Reading the Fabula and the Story The Epic Plot

In a famous passage of the Poetics, Aristotle recognizes plot structure ( 6 [tiHtol;), defined as the organization of events, as the most important element of tragedy: drama is mimesis not of people as such but of actions and life; both happiness and unhappiness rest on action.' Since, in life, men have certain qualities by virtue of their character but achieve or fail to achieve happiness only by their actions, so, too, in drama, it is not the function of the agents' actions to allow the portrayal of their characters; rather, it is for the sake of their actions that characterization is included.2 Hence, for Aristotle, plot structure is not a vehicle or framework for something else; rather, it con­ stitutes the primary significance of poetic drama: "the events and the plot are the goal/end of tragedy, and the goal/end is what matters most of all" [·tc'x :n:gay[tma xat 6 [tiHlo\; 'tEAO\; 1:f]\; •gaycpbla\;, 1:0 b£ 'tEAO\; [tEytm:ov cmaVLmv] .3 The same concept surfaces later on in Poetics 23; there, however, Aristotle talks explicitly about epic. In this genre, plot structure is also seen as essential, and, 1. Po. 6.5-7: A.l;yw yaQ !!iHrov toihov ,;�v o1Jv&mv ,;wv JtQawcnwv . . . !J.EyLmov 6E t oinwv ilmlv � ,;&v JtQawcnwv a1Jmaov;. � yaQ 'tQay
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most importantly, it should follow dramatic coherence and a design of action typical of tragedy: epic plot must concern one single action that is whole and complete in itself (:rtEQL b£ 't�t; bLTJYTJfla'tLXllt; xat £v flELQqJ [lL[lTJ'tLXllt;, chL bEL wut; [!l!il-out; xaila:rtEQ £v 1:ai:t; 'tQaycpbimt; auvtmavm bQaflaLLxoilt; xat :rtEQL [J,Lav :rtQUSLV OATJV xat 'tEAElav) , with three distinct parts, a beginning, a mid­ dle, and an end (£xouoav UQX�V xal, flEOa xal, 'tEAot;) .4 In light of Aristotle's authoritative and influential assessment about what constitutes a "good" epic plot (Hunter suggests that Callimachus, too, partly endorsed Aristotle's theoretical principles), it seems appropriate to begin an analysis of Virgil's war in Latium narrated in Aeneid 9-12 by taking up this specific issue.s These books represent a recognizably distinct unit in the larger narrative structure of the poem. Poschl, for example, viewing the Aeneid as a trilogy, speaks of a change from dark (books 1- 4 ) to light (books 5-8) and, in the last four books of the poem (books 9-12), back to dark: "The last third of the poem (IX-XII) is swathed again in dark colors as its main concern is the tragedy of war." 6 Camps notices "an underlying division of the poem into three main portions, the episodes of Aeneas' story which have Dido and Turnus for secondary heroes standing one on either side of a large central section wherein the wider significance of the story is expounded." 7 Similarly, Duckworth divides the poem into three main sections: the tragedy of Dido (books 1- 4 ) , the tragedy of Turnus (books 9-12), and a middle section (books 5-8) that forms the distinctly Roman and Augustan center of the poem. In the middle section, four lengthy episodes-the games in book 5, the descent to 4. Po. 23.1. See Gallavotti 1974, ad loc.; Halliwell 1987, ad loc. Cf. Po. 18.1, where Aristotle seems to clarify what he intends by the "beginning," the "middle," and the "end" of a tragic plot: "by the 'complication' [� 6EOL£ ] , I mean everything from the beginning as far as the part that immediately precedes the transformation to prosperity or affliction; and by 'denouement' [� AllOL£] , I mean the section from the start of the transformation to the end." 5. On Callimachus and Aristotle, see Fantuzzi and Hunter 2002, 270, where the authors rightly notice that the plot structure of Callimachus's Hecale seems to follow Aristotelian direc­ tives on epic poetry. Cameron (1995, 346) arrives at similar conclusions. See, further, Hunter 1993, 190-95, where Hunter suggests that Callimachean criticism of EV UELO[ta 6L'I']VEXE£ cannot be interpreted as a rejection of Aristotle's formal poetic theory-as expressed, for example, in the Poetics-but should rather be seen as Callimachus twitting his critics with their devotion to theory and their misunderstanding of it: "If EV and 6L'I']VEXE£ represent opposed styles of composi­ tion, respectively an Aristotelian 'good' and an Aristotelian 'bad,' the criticism by the Telchines becomes incoherent; being 'ignorant and not born friends of the Muses' they do not understand that it is not possible, in Aristotelian terms, to write a poem which is both EV and 6L'I']VEXE£, both 'one' and 'continuous"' (193 ) . 6. Poschl 1962, 172. F o r Poschl's analysis o f the last four books of the Aeneid, s e e especially ibid., 139-737· Camps 1954, 215.

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the underworld in book 6, the catalog of combatants in book 7, and the description of Aeneas's shield in book 8-rework and transform Homeric themes for the glorification of Rome and its history.8 What, then, is the tale of Aeneid 9-12? The answer to this question is quite obvious, as long as, by the term tale, we simply mean what Bal and de Jong label the fabula, that is, the chronological series of events, logically related to one another, caused or experienced by characters in a fictional world.9 Viewed from this perspective, books 9-12 narrate the various phases and episodes of the actual conflict between the Latins and the Trojans, a conflict that will eventually lead to the fated death of Turnus at the hands of his archrival, the Trojan leader Aeneas. But this initial question calls immedi­ ately for an additional one. How is this fabula fashioned into a plot? I have shown that many Virgilian scholars have recognized Aeneid 9-12 as an independent whole but have based their conclusions almost exclusively on the grounds of thematic unity, avoiding thereby the question of plot.10 I propose to correct this imbalance by addressing this issue in particular. I examine the way in which the stream of events is manipulated and organized into a meaningful and cohesive whole, the Aristotelian [tih'to£, or, if again we want to follow the terminology proposed by Bal and de Jong, the "story."n My analysis begins from the "middle, " with a study of a narrative topos-peripeteia-that is placed at the very center of the war in Latium. The presence of this device, conspicuously foreign to epic battle narrative but commonly used by Hellenistic and Roman historians in a descriptio 8. Duckworth 1967, 136-40 ( = 1999, 310-13 ) . Mackail (1930, 298 ) points out that each of these sections ends with an effective cadence: books 1-4 with in uentos uita recessit; books 9-12 with uitaque . . . fugit indignata sub umbras; books 5-8 with the strangely suggestive rerumque ignarus imagine gaudet, words in which "it is not too fanciful to recognize . . . one of those subtle and profound touches in which Virgil . . . gives not only a criticism but an interpretation of human life." Otis (1964, 319 ) calls the last four books "the tragedy of Juno." For a recent discussion on this topic, see Hardie 1994, 6, with bibliography. 9· Bal 1985, 78-81; de Jong 1987, 31. 10. Attention has also been devoted to the formal and thematic organization of individual books. See, for example, Otis 1964, 345-82; Harrison 1980. More specifically, on book 9, see Hardie 1994, 3-6. On book 10, see Benario 1967; Barchiesi 1984, 55-73; Harrison 1991, xxvi-xxviii. On book 11, see Gransden 1991, 9-10; on book 12, Traina 1994. 11. By the term story, I mean the elements of the fabula as ordered, organized, and manipu­ lated by a focalizer. On this topic, see de Jong 1987, 31. Cf. Bal 1985, 78: "I have called those features that distinguish the structured story from the fabula the aspects. With this term I want to indicate that the story . . . does not consist of material different from that of the text or the fabula, but that this material is looked at from a certain, specific angle. If one regards the text primarily as the product of the use of a medium, and the fabula primarily as the product of imagination, the story could be regarded as the result of an ordering."

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pugnae, not only shows the multiplicity of generic models operating simulta­ neously in Virgil's description of the war in Latium. This topos also orga­ nizes the fabula of the final four books of the Aeneid into a meaningful plot. By adopting from historiography a quintessentially "tragic" topos (peri­ peteia) and by placing it in the "middle" of the war in Latium, the narrator assimilates the fabula of Aeneid 9-12 to the plot of a tragedy (at least, the plot of a tragedy according to Aristotle). As a result of this genre shift, the narrator is able to exploit the powerful tensions between epic fabula and tragic story, between epic expectations of accomplishment and tragic empha­ sis on the transitional moment that brings about such an accomplishment.' 2 The "Middle"

The episode from which I start is well known, but a quick summary of the narrative may still be useful to bring out its composite architecture. After the famous council of the gods that opens Aeneid 10 (lines 1-117) , the focus of the action switches from heaven and divine quarrels to the more earthly and human world. The Trojans, after a two-day siege, are still trapped in their camp, hopelessly defending themselves against the repeated assaults of Turnus and his troops. Interea Rutuli portis circum omnibus instant sternere caede uiros et moenia cingere flammis. at legio Aeneadum uallis obsessa tenetur nee spes ulla fugae. miseri stant turribus altis nequiquam et rara muros cinxere corona . . . (Virg. Aen. 10.118-22) [Meanwhile at all the gates the Latins strive to cut the Trojans down, to gird the walls with flame. The men Aeneas leads are still trapped inside their stockade, without escape. '3 12. On the function of peripeteia as the central phase in a complex tragic plot, cf. Arist. Po. 10.2-11.1: "A complex action is one whose transformation involves recognition or reversal [1tEQL1tE'tELa] or both . . . . Reversal is a change by which the action veers round to its opposite, as indicated; but this, as we insist, must conform to probability or necessity." Cf. also Po. 13.2, where Aristotle openly declares that the best tragic plot is the complex plot. On this passage, see Halliwell 1987, ad loc.; Lanza 1987, 5-96. On the telos of epic narrative, see Quint 1993, 45· See also chap . 1 in the present study. 13. Literally, "there is no hope of escape."

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Aimless and sad, they stand upon the towers and man the ramparts in a meager ring.] As the narration moves forward, the focus finally shifts from the Trojan camp to the leading character, Aeneas. Conspicuously absent from the poem for almost two books, Aeneas makes his comeback; he is described as finally returning to his camp, at night, with the fleet of his Etruscan allies (10.14 6255 ) . Dawn finally appears, and with it we have Aeneas's epiphany-like arrival on the shores of Latium; his men welcome him with joyful cries. Iamque in conspectu Teucros habet et sua castra stans celsa in puppi, clipeum cum deinde sinistra extulit ardentem. clamorem ad sidera tollunt Dardanidae e muris, spes addita suscitat iras, tela manu iaciunt, quales sub nubibus atris Strymoniae dant signa grues atque aethera tranant cum sonitu, fugiuntque Notos clamore secundo. at Rutulo regi ducibusque ea mira uideri Ausoniis, donee uersas ad litora puppis respiciunt totumque adlabi classibus aequor. (Virg. Aen. 10.260-69) [Now, standing on the high stern, he can see his Trojans and his camp. At once he lifts the glowing shield in his right hand. The Dardans raise high a starward shout up from the ramparts; new hope has kindled rage; they shower darts­ even as the Strymonian cranes will signal beneath dark clouds their coming; clamorous, they skim across the skies, fleeing before the south winds with glad cries. But this astounded the chieftains of Ausonia and the prince of the Rutulians, until they looked backward and saw the sterns turned toward the shore and all the waves alive with gliding ships.] With these passages in mind, let us analyze the rather complex structure of the episode. We can clearly identify three distinct narrative elements that mark the action, elements that I call respectively intensification, surprise, and reversal.

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1. Intensification: The Trojans, trapped in the camp, face a critical

and extreme situation underlined by the description of their state of hopelessness (10.121: nee spes ulla fugae)'4 and by the futility of their attempt to defend themselves (10.122: nequiquam).'s 2. Surprise: Aeneas, together with the Etruscan forces, arrives sud­ denly and unexpectedly at the camp. The surprise effect is marked by the reaction of the besieged Trojans, whose joyous cries and fresh courage in turn alert a bewildered Turnus and his men to Aeneas's arrival (10.267-69: at Rutulo regi ducibusque ea mira uideri I Ausoniis, donee uersas ad litora puppis I respiciunt totumque adlabi classibus aequor) . 3. Reversal: Thanks to the arrival of Aeneas, the situation undergoes a reversal. This turnaround is emphasized by the parallel use of the word spes, which frames the entire episode: the expression spes addita suscitat iras of line 263 corresponds to and finds its oppo­ site in nee spes ulla fugae of line 121. The two passages and phases of the action are thus linked to each other in a sort of ring composition: the regained hope of the Trojans, in juxtaposition to their formal lack of hope, vividly highlights the inverted emo­ tional state of the Trojans after Aeneas's arrival; this verbal inver­ sion underlines the reversal of events.16 Reversals of situations in battle accounts-the ebb and flow of the battle line-are a feature typical of the Iliad. Thanks to them, the epic narration develops its complex series of chain reactions and moves forward.However, a comparison between Homeric narrative practice and our Virgilian passage discloses important structural differences. In the battle narrative of the Iliad, inversions are most prominently represented via a specific type-scene: the countercharge. Its structure may be summarized as follows: an ally or a god perceives a situation of danger (notice, however, that the situation is never described as hopeless but, rather, is labeled dishonorable) and, by means of 14. Cf. Cymodoce's words to Aeneas at Aen. 10.236-37: at puer Ascanius muro fossisque tenetur I tela inter media atque horrentis Marte Latinos. 15. Enjambment emphatically isolates nequiquam from the rest of its clause. See Harrison 1991, at 10.122. 16. On the expression nee spes ulla fugae, cf. Servius ad loc.: fuga miserrimum et ultimum praesidium est, tamen etiam hoc carebant. The hopelessness of the Trojan situation is further emphasized by Tum us's words at Aen. 9.130-33: ergo maria inuia Teucris, I nee spes ulla fugae: rerum pars altera adempta est, I terra autem in nostris manibus, tot milia gentes I arma ferunt Italae. These lines anticipate almost verbatim Aen. 10.121.

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a rebuke/advice speech, spurs the leader of the army into action. At this point, the leader, put to shame, either enters directly into the fray or, alternatively, addresses his soldiers (again with a parainesis or a rebuke) and summons them to a countercharge, thereby marking a new phase of the battle.'? A simpler structure is also attested, according to which no god or adviser intervenes; the leader, himself aware of the enemy's military success, addresses his soldiers, stirs up their courage and morale, and eventually leads them in a countercharge.' 8 In both cases, the countercharge marks a turnaround, but the narrative structure of the passage in the Aeneid is conspicuously different from the Homeric type-scene. Instead of a simple, binary movement from negative to positive, we find a tripartite progression. The composite structure of the Aeneid passage, in which the peripeteia is achieved through the three distinct phases of hopelessness, surprise, and reversal, cannot claim a comparable Homeric model, for Homeric counter­ charges stress only inversion. Quasi-hopeless situations are part of the narratological repertoire of the Iliad, but these are always expressed by means of a clearly identifiable syntactical structure: the past contrafactual condition. A few examples will suffice as illustration. xai vil XEV ev{}' 0 YEQWV &.no &[tOV OAEOOEV ri:....uiJ ag' osil VOY)OE Bo�v aya11o£ ALO[t�OY)£ . . .

(Hom. Il. 8.90-91) [and now the old man would have lost his life there, had not Diomedes of the great war cry sharply perceived him.] 'Ev1ta xev injJinvA.ov TgoiYJv £A.ov v ie£ 'Axmwv · IIm-g6xA.ov uno xegoi, negtngo yag EYXE.L W ev 17. For a leader entering into the fray after a rebuke speech, cf., for example, II. 17·70-112: (1) Apollo sees Menelaus stripping the dead Euphorbus of his armor, (2) Apollo rebukes Hector, (3) Hector countercharges, and (4) Menelaus retreats; 575-96: (1) Menelaus kills Podes, (2) Apollo rebukes Hector, and (3) Hector returns to the battle field, at which point the situation, thanks also to Zeus's help, undergoes a reversal. See Fenik 1968, 49, 159-60. For a leader summoning his men to a countercharge after having been the subject of a rebuke, see, for example, II. 17.129-235: (1) Hector retreats in front of Ajax, (2) Glaucus rebukes Hector, (3) Hector rebukes his soldiers, and (4) Hector and his soldiers make a new charge against the enemy; 319-43: (1) The Trojans are retreating to Ilium, (2) Apollo speaks to Aeneas, (3) Aeneas addresses the Trojans, and (4) the Trojans charge against the Greeks. On this narrative pattern, see Fenik 1968, 159-60. 18. Cf., inter alia, II. 12.408-14: (1) Sarpedon rebukes the Lycians and (2) the Lycians countercharge; 20.366-74: (1) Hector rebukes his own men and (2) the Trojans countercharge.

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� 'An6M.wv oi:Bo£ £ii6�t�·wu btl. nugyov EO'tT], 'tip o'Aoa 'PQOVEWV, Tgwwm ()' ag� ywv. (Hom. Il. 16.698-701) [ There the sons of the Achaeans might have taken gate-towering Ilion under the hands of Patroclus, who raged with the spear far before them, had not Phoebus Apollo taken his stand on the strong-built tower, with thoughts of death for him, but help for the Trojans.] In Homer, the description of the almost fatal situation is described exclu­ sively by means of this fixed contrafactual pattern-"would have . . . had not . . ."-pronounced in the authoritative voice of the narrator. The dis­ tance between the narrative sequence of the Virgilian passage and the Ho­ meric construction emerges quite clearly.' 9 The Iliadic contrafactual condi­ tion eliminates any potential for hopelessness or surprise-we know even at the start of the condition that it is contrafactual and that the disaster does not take place. As a result of this construction, the Iliadic peripeteia takes place according to our expectations rather than against them. A closer "code" model for the Virgilian passage is found again in histori­ ography. E. Burck, in his seminal work on the style of Livy and his Hellenis­ tic models, outlines the three standardized phases in which and by which a peripeteia is marked in Hellenistic and Roman historiography. There are, above all, three phases on which the effectiveness of a peripety rests: (1) there must be a clear designation of the aim, to which the development, which the reader must follow with interest, 19- Cf. also II. 8.130-32, 8.217-19, 18.454-56, 21.544-46 (divine intervention); 6.73-76, 13.723-25 (human intervention). Cf. Fenik 1968, 175. This formulaic narrative pattern, ignored by Virgil in our passage, is closely reproduced in other parts of his poem. Cf. Aen. 10.324-28: tu quoque, flauentem prima lanugine malas I dum sequeris Clytium infeli.x, noua gaudia, Cydon, I Dardania stratus dextra, securus amorum I qui iuuenum tibi semper erant, miserande iaceres, I ni fratrum stipata cohors foret obuia . . . Cf. also Aen. 9.756-59: Diffugiunt uersi trepida formidine Troes, I et si continuo uictorem ea cura subisset, I rumpere claustra manu sociosque immittere portis, I ultimus ille dies bello gentique fuisset. In this passage, contrary to the Homeric practice, no external intervention causes the failure of the attempt. Turnus himself is solely responsible, a fact highlighted by the alteration of the typical Homeric pattern. See Hardie 1994, at 9-757- This narrative pattern is highly operative in Hellenistic and Roman historiography. Burck (1934, 215) compares similar techniques of ekplexis in Clitarchus, Duris, and Livy. For the "ni (nisi) de rupture" in Roman historiography, see Chausserie-Lapree 1969, 597-617. On its usage in Livy, see Walsh 1961, 201-2.

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should lead; this would lead to the increase of the tension, often in the form of an intensification; (2) the reversal must follow in a way that surprises; (3) the newly arising position must stand in complete opposition to the previous one.2 0 Note how Burck's analysis of historiographical peripeteia-concluding that the three important elements necessary to the "building" of a nonlinear devel­ opment of the action are intensification, surprise, and reversal-perfectly describes the composite design of the Virgilian episode under discussion; in light of the prominent role played by this narrative topos in Hellenistic and Roman historiography, its presence in Aeneid 10 does not seem to be alto­ gether fortuitous. In his famous letter to Lucceius, Cicero tries to convince the then fashion­ able historian to write a monograph covering Cicero's political career from his consulship to his return from exile, arguing precisely that there is nothing more apt to delight the reader of history than manifold changes of circum­ stance and vicissitudes of fortune (Pam. 5.12. 4: Nihil est enim aptius ad delecta­ tionem lectoris quam temporum uarietates fortunaeque uicissitudines) . 2 1 In his famous criticism of Phylarchus's "tragic style, " Polybius, too, implicitly testi­ fies to the widespread use of this device among historians.He remarks disap­ provingly: "Phylarchus narrates most of such peripeties and does not even suggest their causes or the nature of these causes, without which it is impos­ sible, in any case, to feel either legitimate pity or proper anger." 2 2 20. Burck 1934, 216. 21. On the interpretation of this Ciceronian passage, see Reitzenstein 1906, 85; Ullman 1942, especially so; McDonald 1957, especially 163. Cf. Hor. Carm. 2.1.1-3; motum ex Metello consule ciuicum I bellique causas et uitia et modos I ludumque fortunae . . . ; Sail. Jug. 5.1: Bellum scripturus sum quod populus Romanus cum Iugurtha rege Numidarum gessit, primum quia magnum et atrox uariaque uictoria fuit . . . ; Livy 21.1.1-2: In parte operis mei licet mihi praefari, quod in principia summae totius professi plerique sunt rerum scriptores, bellum maxime omnium memorabile quae unquam gesta sint me scripturum, quod Hannibale duce Carthaginienses cum populo Romano gessere. . . . , et adeo uaria fortuna belli ancepsque Mars fuit ut propius periculum fuerint qui uicerunt; Tac. Ann. 4-33-3: Nam situs gentium, uarietates proeliorum, clari ducum exitus retinent ac redintegrant legentium animum. On Horace's passage, see Ullman 1942, 50. On Tacitus, cf. Martin and Woodman 1989, ad loc. On the importance of peripeteia in Hellenistic and Roman historiog­ raphy, see Burck 1934, 216; Ullman 1942, 26; Walbank, 1955, especially 4; Walsh 1961, 202; Pauw 1991. 22. Polyb. 2.56.13. Although he appears critical of Phylarchus for his use of peripeteia, Polyb­ ius himself does not refrain from using this narrative device. Cf. Walbank's telling remarks (195779, 1:14): "But it [i.e., peripeteia] was so deeply rooted a feature of historical writing in the Hellenistic period that Polybius allows it to influence his own presentation to a greater degree than his professions would suggest; indeed, the principle of adducing the JtEQIJtE"tELm, which have

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Carrying further our analysis of Aeneid 10, we may notice that the paral­ lels between our passage in Aeneid 10 and historiographical peripeteia are not limited to the narrative structure outlined by Burck. The links extend to a shared common terminology. Historiography developed a "codified" vo­ cabulary to mark the presence of a peripeteia in battle accounts, and this vocabulary is likewise apparent in the Virgilian narrative. The surprise effect that Burck had rightly viewed as the central phase of a peripeteia is signaled in Hellenistic historiography by the conspicuous presence of the word avEA:rtim;mt; (and its equivalents), a term that empha­ sizes the "unexpected." A case in point occurs in Diodorus's narration in book 19 (Duris is the alleged source) of an episode of the war between Agathocles and the Carthaginians. Agathocles is successfully besieging the camp of the Carthaginians, until the situation undergoes a sudden reversal due to the unexpected arrival of Carthaginian reinforcements. But Agathocles's army continued to attack at other points, and when the camp was already being taken by storm unexpected reinforce­ ments to the Carthaginians arrived from Libya by water. Thus, again gaining heart, those from the camp fought against the Greeks in front, and the reinforcements surrounded them on all sides. Since the Greeks were now receiving wounds from an unexpected quarter, the battle quickly reversed itself. (Diod. 19.109.3-4) The three phases outlined by Burck are clearly recognizable. 1. Intensification: "and when the camp was already being taken by

storm" [ xal, ()� 'tf]t; :rtUQE!tBoA.f]t; fiQn xma XQCl'tOt; UAUJXO[tEV't']t;] . 2. Surprise: "unexpected reinforcements to the Carthaginians arrived from Libya by water" [xme:rtAE'UOE wit; KagxYJi'>ovimt; bilva[tLt; ex ALBUYJt; avEA:rtLO'tOC ] . 3. Reversal: "the battle quickly reversed itself" [� [lEV [tUXYJ •axil :rtaALV'tQO:rtOC £y£vE'tO ] . Notice how the surprise factor is underlined by the lexical code word aveA:rtLO'tOt;. In Roman historiography, the word spes and its cognates likewise mark befallen others in order to encourage the reader to endure the vicissitudes of fortune, WX'I'J� !!Eta�o/.a�, was in itself an invitation to dwell on such events."

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peripeteia. In many cases, however, the unexpectedness of the inversion is expressed not so much by the intrusion of the authoritative voice of the narrator (cf. Diodorus's "unexpected reinforcements to the Carthaginians arrived from Libya by water") but, rather (as in our Virgilian passage), by emphasizing the emotional status of the participants of the event-more precisely, their lack of spes. The hopeless despair of the characters of the story not only functions as a dramatic "intensifier"; more significantly, it predisposes the reader and the characters of the story to view a possible turnaround as completely unexpected (the reader, however, thanks to his or her "literary" consciousness, knows precisely that a peripeteia is about to take place). Livy's famous account of the siege of Rome by the Gauls is a good case study. Long besieged in the Capitol, the Romans are finally ready-after a heroic, but altogether vain, resistance-to yield to their besiegers: "the army on the Capitol, . . . day after day looked out to see if help from Camillus was near; but at last, when hope as well as food began to fail . . . , they insisted that they must either surrender or buy the enemy off on whatever conditions they could make" {Capito linus exercitus, . . . diem de die prospectans ecquod auxilium ab dictatore appareret, postremo spe quoque iam non solum cibo deficiente . . . , uel dedi uel redimi se quacumque pactione possent iussit]. 23 The unexpected arrival of Camillus, which takes the Gauls by surprise (Galli noua re trepidi) just when they felt safe in their victory, signals the inversion of the situation: "Luck had turned at last; the power of the gods and human skills were fighting on the side of Rome" {lam uerterat fortuna, iam deorum opes humanaque consilia rem Romanam adiuuabant].24 A further example comes from Livy's description of Hannibal's ambush of Minucius at the beginning of the Second Punic War. Driven into a trap, the Romans led by Minucius are completely surrounded by the Carthaginian troops, who, coming out from their hiding places, charge against them from all directions. The Romans find themselves in an untenable position, and their situation becomes so hopeless that not one of them had any courage left for fighting or any hope in flight (neque animus ad pugnam neque ad fugam spes).2s The sudden appearance of Fabius Cunctator, who arrives as if sent from heaven to their rescue (Fabiana se acies repente uelut caelo demissa ad auxilium ostendit), saves the Romans and, in a twist of events, grants 23. Livy 5.48.6-7. 24. Livy 5·49·5· 25. Livy 22.28.14.

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them the victory for the day.26 The beaten Hannibal sounds the retreat and openly declares that he had defeated Minucius but that Fabius had beaten him (palam ferente Hannibale ab se Minucium, se ab Fabio uictum).27 Returning to the passage in Aeneid 10, we may now more easily perceive how the narrator reproduces a topos that is foreign to epic but whose structure and lexical code are manifestly inherited from a different genre. The narrative structure of the passage-comprising three distinct elements (intensification, surprise, and reversal)-and the presence of the word spes (line 121: nee spes ulla fugae; line 263: spes addita suscitat ira) are the markers of a peripeteia that Virgil imports from the historiographical tradition.28 Genre in Perspective

Why did Virgil introduce a peripeteia, a manifestly un-Homeric narrative feature, in the middle of Aeneid 9-12? Although each episode in the final four books of the Aeneid is fully self-contained and can therefore be read separately from its surroundings (consider, e.g., the episode of Nisus and Euryalus, the epyllion of Camilla, and the duels between Pallas and Turnus or Aeneas and Mezentius), the narrative of the war in Latium follows a story line that finds no significant counterpart in the Iliad. 2 9 2 6 . Livy 22.29·3· 27. Livy 22.29 .6. For similar examples, cf. Caes. BG 2.24.4-25.1-3: cum multitudine hostium castra compleri nostra legiones premi et paene circumuentas teneri, calones, equites, funditores, Numidas diversos dissipatosque in omnis partisfugere uidissent, desperatis nostris rebus domum con­ tenderunt; . . . , et rem esse in angusto vidit [Caesar] , neque ullum esse subsidium quod summitti posset, scuta ab novissimis uni militi detracto, quod ipse eo sine scuta uenerat, in primam aciem processit . . . Cuius adventu spe inlata militibus ac redintegrato animo . . . , paulum hostium impetus tardatus est. See, further, Livy 1.25.6-13 (duel between the Horatii and Curatii) : Ad quorum casum cum conclamasset gaudio Albanus exercitus, Romanas legiones iam spes tota, nondum tamen cura deseruerat, exanimes uice unius quem tres Curiatii circumsteterant. . . . Tunc clamore qualis ex in­ sperato fauentium solet Romani adiuuant militem suum; et ille defungi proelio festinat. . . . Romani

ouantes ac gratulantes Horatium accipiunt, eo maiore cum gaudio, quo prope metum res fuerat.

28. Harrison (1991, at 10.263) sees a possible echo of II. 5.510 ( 1l'uf-10V ryEiQm) but does not fail to notice that the motivation of hope in battle is a topos of the historians. For EA1tL£ and I!I.Jtw and their different usage in Homer, see Cunliffe 1963, s.v. EA1tL£ and EAJtW. Cf. E. V. s.v. spes. 29. The narrative of the Iliad does not present this kind of structure, in which an identifiable "middle" brings about a sudden turn of events in the war. In very schematic terms, we could divide the poem's development into four major phases, which correspond roughly to days of fighting. In books 3-7, which describe the first full day of battle, the Greeks seem to gain the upper hand; as a result, Hecuba, spurred by Hector, offers Athena the famous peplum for the safety of the city. In book 8, which describes the second day of war, and in books 11-16, which cover part of the third day of battle, the Trojans have achieved some considerable successes, and

66

C0NTEXTS 0F WA R

The narrative develops thus: In the first two days of battle, we meet the Trojans in complete disarray, besieged by Turnus and his Italian allies (Aen. 9 ) . Only with the arrival of Aeneas back into the action does their situation improve, and it improves dramatically: the arrival of Aeneas is the turning point. From this moment on, the Trojans turn from besieged to besiegers, from ill-fated defenders to lucky and successful attackers. As a result, the major Latin leaders-Lausus, Mezentius, and Camilla-die one by one. The city of King Latinus is put under siege, and the once fortunate Turnus himself meets his fate as the poem arrives at its abrupt close.3° From being besiegers, the Latins have become besieged; from winners, they have turned into the defeated. This sudden and unexpected change becomes even more manifest and dramatic when analyzed from another perspective. For the first two days of battle, Turnus and his men have not only been successful in their actions; in addition-and this may be the main reason for their success-they have come to play the roles (at least from their perspective) of the victorious "Greeks" besieging the reborn Troy.3' When Aeneas reappears in book 10, it is not only the tide of the battle that turns; the Trojans and the Latins also experience a sudden reversal of roles. When, in Aeneid n and 12, the site of the fighting shifts from the Trojan camp to the walls of the city of King Latinus, the Latins' own city becomes the new "Troy, " besieged by the Trojan invaders, who, hence, now play the part of the victorious "Greeks." as they break through into the Greek camp, a fierce battle ensues around the Greek ships. At 16.257, however, Patroclus enters into the fray, and the Trojans experience another drastic setback. Patroclus' s untimely death evens up the situation once more, and the third day of battle ends at 18.242 with no clear winners or losers. Eventually, in book 20, Achilles returns to the field, and in the fourth (and last) day of battle, he forces the enemy to retreat to the city and strikes a major blow to the Trojans by killing Hector in a duel. 30. On the abrupt ending of the Aeneid, see Farran 1982; Hardie 1997a. Hardie (143-44) points out that the ending of the Aeneid remains unusual in its abruptness and fails to meet the typical generic expectations of a proper ending: the Iliad ends with ritual after death, the funeral of Hector; the Odyssey (in its canonical form) ends with ritual designed to prevent further killing and with the oaths administered to Odysseus and the families of the suitors by a disguised Athena. The Annales of Ennius, too, ended with events that have a strong closural effect. As Hardie notes (143), book 15 of the Annales (originally the last book) probably ended with the triumph of M. Fulvius Nobilior and the founding of the temple Herculis Musarum to house statues of the Muses brought from Greece by the triumphing general. For closure and the end of the Aeneid, see, further, Theodorakopoulos 1997; Putnam 1999; Thomas 2001, 278-84. For more in general on the concept of closure, see Fowler 2000, 239-308. 31. See, for example, Aen. 9.138-39 (speech of Turnus) and 598-99 (speech of Numanus Remulus), in which Turnus and Numanus clearly cast themselves in the role of the Greeks fighting against the Trojans. For my detailed analysis of this topic, see chap . 8.

Aeneid 9 -12

67

As a result, Turnus and the Latins change from besiegers to besieged and are recast in the role of the defeated Trojans. Quint nicely synthesizes this shift of roles: "The initial uncertainty about who is playing what role in the new Iliad . . . is gradually dispelled by the playing out of the Italian war. . . . Aeneas and his Trojans go from being besieged to being besiegers, Trojans to 'Greeks,' losers to winners."32 The abrupt reversal of situation in book 10 brings about the unexpected termination of success for the Latins, but even more dramatically, it determines the sudden change in their identity, a change that eventually marks their fate. The catastrophe of the Latins is complete. The arrival of Aeneas in book 10, placed significantly at the beginning of the third day of battle-that is, precisely at the center of the war (there are five days of battle in the Aeneid)-marks, therefore, a peripeteia proper in the Aristotelian sense: "Reversal is a change by which the action veers round to its opposite" [£aLL b£ :rtEQL:rtE'tELa [lEV � dt; 1:0 £vavtiov 'tlDV :rtQUTIOflEVmv flE'ta�oA.� ] .33 Aeneas's arrival is not one episode among many but, instead, represents the acme, the turning point of the war, or, to use Aristotle's terminology once again, the "middle" of the dramatic action. By adopting a narrative topos found in historiography-but which was also viewed by Aristotle as key for the development of the tragic plot34-and by placing it in the middle of the war in Latium, Virgil is able to create an important genre shift from epic as history to epic as tragedy. In the last four books of the Aeneid, he creates a tragic plot in miniature and assimilates his own epic to yet another genre: tragedy. I am now ready to draw some final conclusions. From one perspective, the fabula of the last books of the Aeneid is epic. These last books describe the horrida bella between two peoples, the Latins and the Trojans, and are modeled on the epic poem par excellence, the Iliad. From this epic perspec­ tive (and here again I follow Quint), Aeneas's war in Latium, which ends with the defeat of the enemy, achieves the fulfillment (at least for now) of the Trojan mission and hence the telos of the epic narrative.35 Accordingly, the deaths of so many Latin leaders, although emotionally charged, wear an aura of necessity, for the nature of epic narrative leads the reader to focus his 32. Quint 1993, 68. 33. Po. 11.1. For a detailed discussion on the meaning of peripeteia in the Poetics, see Halliwel1 1987, ad loc. 34. For the importance of peripeteia in Aristotle's theory of tragedy, see n. 12 in the present chapter. 35. See Quint 1993, 45-46. See also chap. 1 in the present study.

68

CONTEXTS OF WAR

or her attention on the final result: the establishment of a new order as expressed in the prophecy of Jupiter in Aeneid 12.36 However, the tragic plot in which this stream of events is organized opens up the possibility for an opposite reading of the events. Recall the Aristotelian view that it is imperative for a fine tragic plot to involve a change of situation and that this change must describe a transformation not from affliction to prosperity but, rather, the reverse, from prosperity to affliction.37 Hence, the tragic plot, an important narrative subtext to the last four books of the Aeneid, allows for a possible shift of focus; it opens up the legitimate possibility that the protagonists of the story are not so much (or, at least, not only) the Trojans, in their advance toward success. On the contrary, the protagonists are (or include) the Latins and Turnus, in their process of decline. From this tragic perspective, the "protagonist" of the story is not the victorious epic hero Aeneas and his Trojan companions but the "tragically" defeated Turnus and his Latin allies (I use the term tragic in its most neutral capacity-Turnus is a tragic character because he is the protagonist of a tragic plot).38 Our "tragic" story ends with defeat, not victory. We should notice, however, that this decline and defeat of Turnus and his allies cannot be interpreted solely as the expression of a private experience of loss and grief. According to the school of Vernant, Attic tragedy at its core may be best interpreted as a reflection of the fifth century's struggle to come to terms with dramatic changes in its own society, as older values embodied by the tragic hero clash and collide with the new legal and political system.39 Tragedy does not reflect on the accomplishment of such a transition but calls it into question, turns it into a problem. As Vernant rightly puts it, in Attic tragedy, the past is "still close enough for the clash of values still to be a painful one and for this clash still to be currently taking place." 4o 36. Aen. 12.838-40: hinc genus Ausonio mixtum quod sanguine surget, I supra homines, supra ire deos pietate uidebis, I nee gens ulla tuos aeque celebrabit honores. 37. Po. 13.4: ava)'%1'] CiQa tov 1talcwc; rxovta f!iHlov cmlcoilv cl:vm . . . 1tal 11£ta�alclc£LV aU% de; rutuzlav E% buotuzlac;, aAlciJ. toUvavtlov E� rutuzlac; de; buotuzlav . . . 38. Frequent observations on the tragic nature of many Virgilian characters may be found in Piischl 1962, 91-138. Posch! explicitly calls Turnus a tragic figure who (like Dido) has fallen into tragic guilt through divine interference. On tragic elements in the representation of Turn us, see Duckworth 1967; von Albrecht 1970; Schenk 1984; Putnam 1988, 151-201; von Albrecht 1999, 120 22; Hardie 1998, 63, with bibliography; Nelis 2001, 365-81. For a detailed survey on the ways in which Virgilian scholars have related the Aeneid and its characters to tragedy and "the tragic," see Hardie 1997b. 39. Vernant 1988a; 1988b. 40. Vernant 1988b, 33. For an application of Vernant' s theory of tragedy to the end of the Aeneid, see Hardie 1997b. Cf. Hardie 1991.

Aeneid 9 -12

69

The tragic plot that governs the tale of the Latins' rise and fall offers, therefore, the proper generic frame to explore (and exploit) those issues that are foregrounded in tragic discourse. The tragic plot incites the readers away from looking forward toward the accomplishment of a new order (Aeneas's settlement in Latium and all that follows, up to the walls of high Rome) and invites them to focus instead on the struggle to achieve it. It compels them to reflect on the process of transition and, hence, on the moment of crisis in which the older system of values clashes, collides, and gives way to a new political system.41 In the last four books of the Aeneid, antithetical generic perspectives offer (once again) antithetical interpretative frameworks and create expectations that remain irreconcilable to the very end of the poem. On the one hand, the epic fabula invites the reader to look beyond the end of the narration to foresee the moment of resolution of the conflict, when the mission is accom­ plished and a new order is restored. On the other hand, the tragic story allows the reader simultaneously to focus on and to problematize the transitional moment necessary to achieve such a resolution. As the curtains fall, do the stage lights illuminate the triumphant epic march of the Trojans toward victory and Aeneas's killing ofTurn us, or, rather, do they focus on the defeat of the Latins and on the death of Turnus?42

41. On this topic, see Hardie 1997b. Hardie (315-17) notices that although the abrupt end of the Aeneid is formally quite untragic, it nevertheless reflects structures of Attic tragedy, conceived both as personal tragedy and as the problematization of social and political systems. Cf. Hardie 1991. On different grounds and less convincingly, Heinze (1993, 348-49 ) had already assimilated the end of the Aeneid to the end of tragedy, noting that like a dramatist, Virgil's aim was to reach the denouement and to indicate the result. 42. On the end of the Aeneid and the final duel between Aeneas and Turnus, see, further, chap . 7-

PART T W O

Three

Epic Lands capes of War

Categories of Characters

Among the many characters that crowd the martial landscape of the Aeneid are two distinct and recognizable categories of people.' The first is repre­ sented by a restricted number of so-called primary characters, namely, Ae­ neas, Turnus, Mezentius, Camilla, Pallas, and, to some extent, Lausus. Their presence is essential to the story and its advancement; their personal identity is fully developed by a series of qualifying actions, including aristeiae, duels, acts of military leadership, and speeches, as well as by an ongoing and dynamic assimilation to Homeric heroes.2 The main aspect that distin­ guishes "Virgilian heroes" from their Homeric counterparts is longevity. The majority of Homeric heroes outlive the poem and hence have a literary destiny that awaits them in the aftermath of the Iliad; the sole exceptions are Hector, on the Trojan side, and Patroclus, on the Greek. Conversely, the majority of heroes in the Aeneid are amQOL, "untimely ones, " youths who perish prematurely.3 As if to preclude the possibility of an epic sequel-an 1. See Heinze 1993, 156. Cf. Willcock 1983; Horsfall 1987; Harrison 1991, xxxii; Horsfall 1995, 180. 2. Knauer's 1964 study, with its extensive list of parallel passages between the two poems, is still very useful in this regard. 3· On this topic, see Conte 1986, 185-95; Fowler 1987; Traina 1994. Hardie (1997b, 320-21) suggests that beyond the strong emotional impact of these stories might lie a reference to the

73

74

CONTEXTS OF WAR

Aeneadic cycle-their life is brief, and they fall victim to an untimely death (mars immatura). The exceptions in the Aeneid are the survivors, that is, Aeneas and Ascanius.4 The second category is represented by what we may term somewhat loosely "secondary characters." s Even though they have a specific identity defined by a proper name and short biography, these characters appear in the poem only for the brief space of the action that involves them, action that usually includes their deaths at the hands of a major hero. The narrator, following Homeric practice, describes the way in which each of these charac­ ters is killed and attaches an obituary-intensely pathetic at times-as a narrative coda. In it, we are told something special about the character, something of his life before the war: the social position and wealth of himself and his father, his birth, his place of origin, and his spouse. In a number of cases, victims are also distinguished for some outstanding skill, which, none­ theless, does not prevent them from meeting their destiny. Thereafter, they disappear from the narrative, never to be mentioned again.6 Further down this hierarchy of characterization, we may add a third category: characters designated only at the level of the group and marked by such collective denominations as Teucri, Latini, or the less ethnographically defined globus.7 These collective names introduce the communal action of a group in contrast to the deed of an individual, and like the previous two categories of people, they are already conspicuously present in Homer. In the Iliad, the conflict between Trojans and Greeks is not simply played out as a sequence of individual encounters between the leading heroes of the two Greek institution of the ephebeia, the practices and roles associated with the passage from childhood to adulthood, which played a central role in Attic tragedy. 4. On Aeneas's future after the end of the poem, cf. O'Hara 1990, 151; Dyson 2001, 50-94. On Ascanius as fulfilling the epic model of the successful ephebe as represented by Odysseus's son, Telemachus, see Hardie 1997b, especially 320-21. 5. Save for Nisus, Euryalus, and, to some extent, Ascanius, Virgil has almost entirely elimi­ nated "secondary characters," comparable to Homer's Meriones, Helenus, Deiphobus, or Aeneas. Modern scholars have explained their absence in terms of either lack of space or lack of interest. They argue that a more extensive narration of the battle scenes was likely to prove tedious even to an appreciative Roman readership . See Horsfall 1987, 54; Harrison 1991, xxxi ; Horsfall 1995, 180. Conversely, for Heinze (1993, 361), Virgil avoids them in order not to encumber the unity of the composition by the presence of multiple subplots. On the stark contrast between the relatively few developed characters in Virgil's battle scenes and the long list of names in the catalogs of books 7 and 10, see Horsfall 1987, 50. 6. For the structure of Homeric androctasiae, see Beye 1964; Griffin 1980, 103-43. For similar type-scenes in the Aeneid, see Harrison 1991, xxxii; Mazzocchini 1992; Mazzocchini 2000. 7· For an interesting analysis of the contrast between group and individual in Aeneid 9, see Saylor 1990.

Epic Landscapes

of War

75

armies. As we are reminded throughout the poem, the Trojan War is the war of two great armies-Greek and Trojan (and all their allies)-and Homeric epic already offered a rich repertoire of "group scenes." 8 The constant alterna­ tion between close-ups of individual feats and wide-angle views of the armies at large (collective actions) forms the main narrative skeleton of Iliadic battle scenes.9 More importantly, these "group scenes" represent the martial land­ scape in which the epic hero moves and fully realizes his potential as the aristos of the group. The epic hero is separate from the collectivity, for he is superior to it, yet he is inseparable from it, for his heroic status is defined by the superior role he enjoys among the rest of the group. Homeric Conventions

In the Iliad, four conspicuous type-scenes describe the collective activity of the army in a pitched battle. For lack of a better terminology and for the sake of clarity, I label them, rather prosaically, "advance of the army, " "collective fight, " "charge and countercharge, " and "rout." I have discussed "charge and countercharge" in the preceding chapter; in what follows, I briefly describe the remaining three type-scenes and outline the narrative patterns/features that qualify each. Although schematic, this analysis be­ comes an important preliminary work, a necessary introduction to my study of the landscapes (narratives) of war in the Aeneid, for it will allow us to grasp fully the import (and eventually the significance) of Virgil's redefini­ tion of the epic imagery of war and of the ideology reflected in it. Advance of the Army The first day of battle in the Iliad begins with the image of the armed ranks of Greeks and Trojans relentlessly rushing into the fray, their leaders in the front line. Now when the men of both sides were set in order by their leaders, the Trojans came on with clamour and shouting, like wildfowl,

8. On this topic, see especially Kirk 1968; Latacz 1977. On Homeric warfare, see Pritchett 1985, 7-33; van Wees 1997, with bibliography. 9· Van Wees (1997, 673-74) identifies the cinematic quality of Homeric battle scenes in their constant alternation between close-ups and wide-angle views.

76

C0NTEXTS 0F WAR

But the Achaean men went silently, breathing valour, stubbornly minded each in his heart to stand by the others.10 This type-scene, the "advance, " introduces the opening of every new day of battle, four in total." If we imagine two lines of battle, one drawn up with its back to the ships, the other with its back to the city, each new day of battle begins by positioning the two armies in the central "field" of action where the pitched battle takes place. Just as the position of this type-scene within the narrative is fixed, so does the scene itself reveal a standardized narrative structure. The following outline of this structure shows that the description of the advance of the first army is regularly followed by the description of the opposing army and a final statement of their mutual action.12 First Day of Battle

3-2 (Trojans)

TQWE£ [tEV . . . 'Loav . . .

[the Trojans came on . . . ] 3.8 (Achaeans)

OL

8

aq' '(oav

0

0

0

[But the Achaean men went . . . ] 3.13-15 (Achaeans

and Trojans)

W£ i'iga 'tWV u:rto :rtOOOL 'XOVLOaAO£ ogvm;' UEAA�£ EQXOUEVWV. uaAa 8 &xa ('n£:rr:qnooov :rtEbLOLO. O t ()' che biJ oxebov Uoav be aAAiJAOLOLV LOV'tEC 0

0

0

[so beneath their feet the dust drove up in a stormcloud of men marching, who made their way through the plain in great speed. Now as these in their advance had come close together . . . ] 10. II. 3.1-9. 11. For the first day, see 3.1-7.380 (the first day of combat begins at 2.48, but the two armies do not meet nntil 3.15 and do not engage in a pitched battle nntil 4.422) ; for the second, 8; for the third, 11.1-18.242; for the fourth, 19.1-22.515 (the two armies do not meet until book 20). For a synopsis of the events in the four days of battle in the Iliad, see Latacz 1996, 108-19. 12. See also Kirk 1990, 21. Cf. Latacz 1977, 52; van Wees 1997, 676-80.

Epic Landscapes

of War

Second Day of Battle

8.53-54 (Achaeans)

o t b' &.oa bet:nvov EAOV'to XUQY) xo[illwvtE£ 'Ax mot QLfl<pa xm:a xA.taia£, &.no b' a1noiJ {}wqiJaaovw.

[Now the flowing-haired Achaeans had taken their dinner lightly among their shelters, and they put on their armour thereafter. . . . ] 8.55 (Trojans)

Tq&ec b' a� {}' 1h£qw&v ava :it'tOALV O:itALt.OV'tO . . .

[and on the other side, in the city, the Trojans took up their armour . . . ] 8.60 (Achaeans

and Trojans)

ot b' che biJ 0' EC XWQOV eva S'lJVtOV'tEC

LXOV'tO . . .

[Now as these advancing came to one place and encountered . . . ] Third Day of Battle

11.49 -50 (Achaeans)

ai'nol, b£ ngvAEE£ aiJv 'tElJ'X,EaL {}wgY)X,{}EV'tE£ qmov-t . . .

[ they themselves, dismounted and armed in their war gear, swept onward . . . ] 11.56 (Trojans)

Tq&ec b' a� {}' 1h£qw&v £nl, {}gwaf!cp :rtEbLOLO . . .

[ On the other side at the break of the plain the Trojans [were coming] . . . ] 11.67-71 (Achaeans

and Trojans)

ot b' , w£ ,; &.1111•flge£ £vavtim &.A.A.�A.mmv OYflOV £A.ailvwmv avbgo£ flUXaQO£ xa-t &.govgav nvg&v � xg t{}&v· •a bE bgay11am mg

77

78

C0NTEXTS 0F WAR

we; To&ec; xal, 'Axmol, e:ri aM.iJA.mm

{}oq6vtec; 6iJouv . . .

[And the men, like two lines of reapers who, facing each other, drive their course all down the field of wheat or of barley for a man blessed in substance, and the cut swathes drop showering, so Trojans and Achaeans driving in against one another cut men down . . . ] Fourth Day of Battle

20.1 (Achaeans)

"Qc; o'l u£v naga VYJuot xogwvim {}wqiJooovto . . .

[So these now, the Achaeans, beside the curved ships were arming . . . ] 20.3 (Trojans)

Tq&ec: 6' a� {}' 1h£qw&v £nl, {}gwo�t

[while on the other side at the break of the plain the Trojans [armed] . . . ] The two armies are not identical in every respect. Already in these brief type-scenes, Trojans and Greeks alike undergo a process of ethnic character­ ization that clearly marks their behavioral differences and foreshadows, as Griffin suggests, their ultimate destiny.'3 The more undisciplined Trojans, who are fated to lose the war, are compared to wildfowl and cranes (3.2-7) or to bleating sheep (4.433-36), as they rush in disorder against the enemy. The Greeks, on the other hand, proceed in a more composed and grim silence, showing superior solidarity and cooperative obedience (3.8-9, 4.429-30 ) . But despite their distinctive features, the Trojans and the Greeks are evenly matched and eagerly subscribe to the rules of engagement. As dawn appears each morning on the plain of Troy, they march in earnest out of their camp (or city) to meet their contenders, and the actions of party A are mirrored faithfully by the actions of party B. Such a "mirror effect," which 13. Griffin 1980, s. Griffin sees Paris as the archetypal Trojan.

Epic Landscapes of War

79

emphasizes the evenly matched nature of the event, is established by the employment of identical verbs to describe their movements (e.g., 3.2: TQ&Et; [lEV 'taav; 3.8: OL 6' a.Q' 'taav) or, more simply, by the significant absence of a verb describing the action of party B: what party A does on one side, party B matches precisely on the other side (E'tEQCD&v).14 0

0

0

Collective Fight As the two armies actively engage in combat, what follows is usually the description of their dashing. To represent such collision, the Iliad characteris­ tically reverts to a specific type-scene, the melee, which is a system of alternate killings. A Trojan kills a Greek, then a Greek kills a Trojan, then a Trojan kills a Greek, and so on.' s In addition to the melee, the Iliad has at its disposal another narrative convention. Contrary to the melee, this type-scene, which I have called "collective fight," describes the "broader" action on the field.16 No individual is ever mentioned; the two armies dashing against each other are instead represented in their group aspect. This type-scene may vary in length, from a single verse to a more complex and longer structure, but some typical topoi characterize it: fatigue and sweat, ' 7 shouting, ' 8 the presence of dust, ' 9 the description of the earth covered with blood,> 0 and the dashing of weapons.2 1 The only feature that is conspicuously absent from such scenes and that, for 14. Scenes representing the advance of an army are not limited to the opening of a new day of war. They are also employed to introduce a new phase of the battle. In such cases, the narrative structure of the scene may vary depending on its function. It can follow the "mirror structure" just described in text. Cf., for example, 4.422-45 (advance of the two armies after Pandarus breaks the truce) ; 14.378-91 (the battle resumes with the intervention of Poseidon) . But in a few cases, because of the intrinsically different nature of the narrative development, these type-scenes have a different narrative structure. For example, in the Trojan advance against the Greek camp in Iliad 12, the scene focuses entirely on the Trojans, with only brief mention of the defending Greeks (the Trojan advance is described at lines 80-107 and 195-254; the Greeks are finally mentioned at 254-55) . Cf. also Iliad 16: corresponding to the detailed description ofPatroclus and the Myrmidons entering into battle (16.210-20, 257-77) is a brief mention of the Trojans (278-83) before the fight proper begins. 15. See Fenik 1968, 10; Willcock 1983, 88. 16. See II. 4.446-56, 470-72; 5.84, 627; 6.1-4; 8.60-65; 11.214-16, 336-37; 12.154-61, 277-89, 337-41, 417-35; 13.169, 330-44> 540, 673; 14.24-26, 389-401; 15-312-19, 405-14, 696-715; 16.563-68, 763-76; 17.360-76, 384-401, 424-25. See also Fenik 1968, 178-79. 17. See II. 17.385. See also 11.810-11, 17.745. 18. See II. 4.449, 16.566. 19- See II. 11.151-52, 16.775. 20. See II. 8.65, 15.715, 17.360-61. 21. See II. 4.447-49, 8.61. Two other motifs are worth mentioning for their recurrence: the motif of the imaginary spectator (13.343-44, 15.697-98, 17.366-69) and the description of the thought of the army (15.699 -703 ) .

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its very absence, marks them even further as species of a type is the total absence of representation of deaths. Lastly, the description is frequently rounded off by a simile, in which the warriors and the harshness of their struggle are usually compared with an element of nature, such as wind, fire, or a river.2 2 Rout In the Iliad, the treatment of rout scenes mirrors that of the collective fight. Corresponding to the melee is the <popo\; (flight), comprising a catalog of continuous killings as each of the leaders of the victorious side in turn kills a named opponent.23 The Iliad develops another narrative convention to com­ plement the <popo\;. In this type-scene, no one from the retreating army is ever mentioned by name; instead, a set of characteristic topoi qualifies the scene and conveys the impression of a more generalized rout.2 4 For example: the pursuer successfully kills the hindmost men of the fleeing enemy; 2s the attacker always strikes where the ranks of the retreating army are thickest; 2 6 the horses long for their now dead masters and pull empty chariots back­ ward; 27 the slaughtered men are now dearer to the vultures than to their wives; 2 8 dust and cries are raised in the flighP 9 As in the "collective fight, " a simile may round off the description of the rout by comparing the violence of the attacking party to a natural catastrophe.3° At times, the simile may instead refer to the fleeing party, emphasizing their panic and terror.3' These two type-scenes, "collective fight" and "rout, " help the audience gain a clearer sense of the development of the action. The former describes the even match. By contrast, the latter shows the victorious army moving for22. See the simile of wind at II. 13.334-36 and 16.765-69; the simile of fire at 17.366; the simile of snow at 12.278-86; the simile of a river at 4.452-55. 23. See Fenik 1968, 10; Willcock 1983, 88. 24. For "rout scenes," see II. 5.84-94; 8.335-42; 11.148-62, 171-80; 16.367-93, 588-92, 656-62; 17.319-21, 755-61; 18.148-54; 21.540-43, 606-11. See also Fenik 1968, 198. 25. See II. 8.342, 11.178. 26. See II. 11.148, 16.377-78. 27. See II. 11.159-61, 16.370-71. See also 11.179-80. 28. See II. 11.162. See also 11.395, 452-55. 29. See II. 11.151-52, 16.373, 21.540-41. 30. See II. 5.87-92 (Diomedes compared to a river), 11.155-57 (Agamemnon compared to fire) , 18.154 (Hector compared to fire ) . 31. See, for example, II. 11.171-76 (the Trojan army compared t o a herd o f cows pursued b y a lion), 17.755-57 (the Achaeans compared to a cloud of jackdaws) .

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ward to its point of conquest, represented either by the Achaean ships (for the Trojans) or by the city of Troy (for the Greeks). Virgilian Conventions

Given the prominence and complexity of Virgilian "primary characters, " it is not surprising that studies of the battle scenes of the Aeneid have focused primarily on their military feats-that is, aristeiae and duels-and have paid only marginal attention to what I have labeled "group scenes." Heinze's remarks are revealing. In his chapter dedicated to Virgilian battle scenes, he dismisses the topic rapidly with a few, important remarks. If we classify the types of battle scenes under various headings, we see at once that the agtmda, the account of an extended sequence of heroic deeds performed by one man, is by far the largest category. . . . all that is left is a few not very extensive passages which serve to give an impression of the general fighting by naming the victors and the vanquished: and we may observe that Virgil inflicts such a "butcher's list" on his readers only once in each bookY Willcock follows Heinze and gives a similar, rather negative assessment of the representation of war in the Aeneid. In general, then, we do not find the Homeric battle conventions in Virgil's battles. Indeed one rarely gets the impression in his descrip­ tion of organised fighting at all, of two lines of battle facing each other. The general action of the armies, the ebb and flow of the battle, are disregarded much more than in the Iliad. What we are normally given is the fighting of individuals, without any clear at­ tempt at localisation. . . . However, Virgil does follow Homer's ex­ ample in having aristeiae.33 32. Heinze 1993, 156-57. 33. Willcock 1983, 90. Going even further than Heinze, Willcock not only argues that Virgilian battle scenes completely ignore the Homeric devices of melee and <po�o� but suggests (98 n. 10) that their conspicuous absence from the narrative may be attributed to the author's ignorance of these Homeric conventions. Both assertions need closer scrutiny. At Aeneid 10, the rather long description of the aristeia of Mezentius reaches a close at line 746 with the death of Orodes. Hereafter, the companions of Mezentius, stirred up by the feats of their leader (1 0 . 738: conclamant socii) , successfully assail the enemy. What follows is a catalog of killings (10.747-52):

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Many other scholars subscribe to these conclusions, including Raabe, whose monograph Plurima Mortis Imago is devoted partly to this topic.34 S.J. Harrison, in the introductory pages of his 1991 commentary on Aeneid 10, draws a similar picture of the Aeneid's scenario of war: "Vergil's basic tactic in his battle-scenes, taking up the Homeric technique of the agLm£ia, was to follow the fortunes of a particular major warrior. . . . Allied to this presenta­ tion of major heroes is the continuous sense of the poet's interest in the minor figures who usually constitute their victims."3s Thus, Virgilian scholars virtually unanimously describe the battle scenes of the Aeneid as a continuum of major aristeiae and duels that lack the clarity and complexity that Napoleon had admired in the Homeric counter­ part: "Quand on lit 1' Iliade, on sent a chaque instant qu' Homere a fait la guerre. . . . Le journal d'Agamemnon ne serait pas plus exact pour les dis­ tances et les temps, et pour la vraisemblance des operations militaires, que Caedicus kills Alchatoiis; Sacrator, Hydaspes; Rapo, Parthenius and Orses; Messapus, Clonius and Lycaon's son Ericetes; Valerus, the Lycian Agis. Admittedly, Willcock recognizes the winning faction as Italian and the defeated and killed as Trojan: "And if we bear in mind that this passage comes immediately after Mezentius' aristeia, it is not surprising that the Italians are winning, and Aeneas' men losing" (96 -97) . Yet he remains somewhat puzzled by what follows, for now a certain Thronius is slain by Salius, who is in turn slaughtered by Nealces (10.753: at Thronium Salius Saliumque Nealces). So Willcock is ready to draw his final conclusions and to see this scene as a sort of imperfect <po�o,;: "it may turn out that 10.747-54 . . . is another example of continuous killing by one side . . . . It cannot be wholly true, however, because of line 753, where Salius the victor is immediately the victim" (96, and 98 n. 8 ) . The presence of the adversative at at line 753, though, seems to point in a different direction. By using the emphatic adversative at in initial position to introduce the alternate killing-Salius's killing of Thronius and Nealces's of Salius­ the narrator alerts the reader to the sudden juxtaposition of two different situations, or, put in terms of narrative structure, to a sudden change of type-scene. The <po�o,;, the continuous kill­ ing by one side, is interrupted and has turned into a different type- scene, a melee. Precisely by the abrupt juxtaposition of these two Homeric battle conventions, the narrator is able to convey the idea of a development in the battle scenario from an uneven struggle to an even one. Now, as the narrator points out in the following lines, the two sides have become a fair match for each other: "And now the heavy hand of Mars gave grief and death to both alike; the armies were, both conquerors and conquered, each in turn killing and being killed" [Iam grauis aequabat luctus et mutua Mauors Ifunera; caedebant pariter pariterque ruebant I uictores uictique] (10.755-57). Vir­ gil could not have shown more clearly his perfect awareness of the structures and narrative functions of melee and <po�o,;. On this passage, see also Harrison 1991, at 10.753. Virgil uses these Homeric narrative conventions elsewhere, although admittedly in a limited way. For another melee, see Aen. 9. 569-73, when the Latins are attacking the Trojan camp in the absence of Aeneas, before Pandarus and Bitias decide to open the gate. Cf. Aen. 12.289-310. For <po�o,; apart from Aen. 10.747-52, cf. 12.458- 61, where Aeneas, having been miraculously cured with the help of his mother Venus, gathers up his own troops and leads a charge against the Rutulians. For the catalogs of the slain, see, further, Mazzocchini 2000. 34- Raabe 1974, 192. 35. Harrison 1991, xx:x:ii .

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ne l'est son poeme."36 But is this analysis really accurate? Or has the scholars' judgment been biased by the virtually exclusive attention devoted to Virgil­ ian duels and aristeiae? In the next four chapters, I demonstrate that what I have called "group scenes" are not simply "narrative fillers" inserted between major episodes (duels and aristeiae) to "give an impression of the general fighting, " as Heinze has it. On the contrary, these group scenes are key to a definition of the imagery and ideology of war represented in the Aeneid as opposed to the Iliad. More specifically, I analyze how the introduction of topoi that belong to historiography disrupts the epic code of signification and thereby calls into question the store of collective values that the code represents (chap. 4) . Further, I study how these topoi create a significant temporal dissonance within the primary narrative and function as vectors that bridge the gap between different temporal dimensions, namely, the Bakhtinian absolute past and the readers' emerging present (chap. s). I conclude part 2 by discussing how the presence of these multiple temporal and cultural systems of reality in the primary narrative affects the Aeneid in its capacity as an epic poem and, eventually, redefines the role of the audience (chaps. 6-7 ).

3 6 . Quoted i n Willcock 1983, 98 n. 11.

Four

Epic C ontest and the Ideology of War A declaration of war should be a kind of popular festival with entrance-tickets and bands, like a bull fight. Then in the arena, the ministers and generals of the two countries, dressed in bathing­ drawers and armed with clubs, can have it out among themselves. Whoever survives, his country wins. That would be much simpler and more just than this arrangement, where the wrong people do the fighting. -Erich Maria Remarque, All Quiet on the Western Front

The Meeting of the Armies

And now Rutulian armies make their way across the open plain, with many horses, embroidered robes, and gold. Messapus marshals the vanguard; Tyrrhus' sons take up the rear; and at the center of the line is Turnus, their captain-even as the silent Ganges that rises high with seven tranquil streams, or Nile when his rich flood ebbs from the fields and he at last sinks back into his channel. (Virg. Aen. 9.25-32)

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Spreading like the silent (taciturn) Ganges, with its calm and inexorable flow, or like the Nile when its rich floods ebb from the field, the Rutulian army marches in full array against the Trojan camp decked in embroidered fabrics and golden trappings. With this grand description of Turnus's army at the opening of Aeneid 9 begin the full-scale operations and the horrida bella of the Aeneid, foretold by the Sibyl in her prophecy in book 6 and in the proem of book 7·' Through Virgil's narrative, however, the reader is immediately offered an alternative and more disquieting revisualization of the same event. From the Trojans' perspective, the majestic advance of the Rutulians becomes a sudden cloudbank that gathers with black dust and darkness that rises from the plains (hie subitam nigro glomerari puluere nubem I prospiciunt Teucri ac tenebras insurgere campis).2 This image, a recurrent topos in Homeric imagery, is widely employed in the Iliad to describe the movements of an army, and Knauer appropriately cites a series of Homeric "parallels."3 In Iliad 3, as the Greeks and Trojans are about to face each other on the first day of combat (exactly the situation in the Aeneid) , a similar scenario is described: "As on the peaks of a mountain the south wind scatters the thick mist, no friend to the shepherd, but better than night for the robber, and a man can see before him only so far as a stone cast, so beneath their feet the dust drove up in a stormcloud of men marching, who made their way through the plain in great speed." 4 Yet the passage in the Aeneid establishes a profound tension between the sense of the original and the sense its evocation carries into the new text. In the Aeneid, the Homeric theme is no longer part of the descriptive frame presented by the external primary narrator-focalizer.s Here, the exter­ nal narrator temporarily hands over the narration to the characters of the story, who comprise the internal secondary focalizer.6 The simple narrator-text 1. On the river simile, see Hardie 1994, ad loc.; Saylor 1990, 93· 2. Aen. 9-33-34· 3· Knauer 1964, ad loc. For the use of the topos in the Iliad, see 13.334-38, 23.364-67. 4· II. 3.10-14. 5. The term focalization was first coined by Genette (1980, 161-211). Criticizing traditional accounts of point of view that conflated the aspect of "who speaks" and that of "who sees," Genette applied to the first phenomenon the term voice, to the second, the term mood. The mood, in turn, can be regulated by different kinds of focalization: nonfocalization, internal focalization, and external focalization. On this topic, see Bal 1985, 144-60; Genette 1988, 65-77. For a good bibliography-of special interest for the classicist-on this issue, see Fowler 1990. Fowler coins the term deviant focalization for all the instances of implicit embedded focalization in a text where focalizer and narrator do not coincide. See also Bonfanti 1985; Conte 1986, 141-84; de Jong 1987. 6. In my terminology, I follow de J ong' s scheme, which is in turn closely modeled on Bal' s. De Jong (1987, 101) defines a narrative situation of complex narrator-text or embedded focalization as

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gives way to a complex narrator-text in which the external narrator-focalizer embeds in his/her narrator-text the focalization of one of the characters. In this instance, the shift to an embedded focalization is triggered by the verb "to see" (prospiciunt), which here connotes both the Trojans' geometric and their semantic perspectives.? The topos reused within this explicit embedded focal­ ization thereby creates a stark contrast of narrative perspectives. The massive and ordered movement of the Latin army in their shining armor, described by the external narrator-focalizer, is revisualized by the Trojans (prospiciunt) as "a sudden cloudbank" of black dust and darkness (nigro puluere, tenebras). 8 I n the eyes o f the Trojans, the bright colors that mark the advance of the Rutulians (9.26: diues equum, diues pictai uestis et auri) become darkness and a premonition of a sudden death.9 one where the primary narrator-focalizer (NF1) temporarily hands over focalization (but not narration) to one of his or her characters, who thereby takes a share in the presentation of the story. De Jong (102) also draws an important distinction between explicit embedded focalization and implicit embedded focalization. In the former, the transition from simple narrator-text to complex narrator-text is explicitly marked; in the latter, it is not. Explicit embedded focalization can be roughly divided into three kinds of passages: (1) those describing the content of perceptions; (2) those describing the content of thoughts, emotions, and feelings; (3) indirect speech. In tum, these three kinds of passages are introduced by verbs of (1) seeing or hearing (see, look at, look with wonder, appear, hear, etc. ) ; (2) thinking or remembering (know, recognize, think, deem, ponder, consider, feel sorrow, want, aspire, be eager, etc. ) ; (3) speaking (ask, bid, refuse, assent, pray, order, exhort, etc. ) . By contrast, implicit embedded focalization includes final clauses, some causal clauses, and deliberative questions. The reason for qualifying such constructions as embedded focalization is based on their semantic value: final clauses express the intention of characters, while indirect questions and some causal clauses express their questions and motives. Embedded focalization may be futher expressed by (4) similes and (5) affective and "emotionally colored" words. On these last two categories, see de Jong 1987, 123-46. 7· On verbs of seeing as important triggers for embedded focalization, see Bonfanti 1985, 26. In regard to verbs of seeing, Bonfanti (32) draws a distinction between what she calls "geometric perspective," which is triggered by verbs of seeing and limits the external focus of the scene as it is viewed by the character, and "semantic perspective," which is an internal visualization of the scene by the character. A similar distinction was anticipated by Rosati (1979, 559-60 ) . 8. Aen. 9-33-34· Cf. the speech o f Caicus that follows this description (Aen. 9.36 ) : quis globus, o ciues, caligine uoluitur atra? For a similar expression, see Aen. 11.876-78: uoluitur ad muros caligine turbidus atra I puluis, et e speculis percussae pectora matres I femineum clamorem ad caeli sidera tollunt. 9. On darkness and its close connections with the imagery of death, see Amberg 1961, especially 466-69. For the funereal/mortuary associations of tenebrae in Latin poetry, cf., among others, Cat. 3.13; Ov. Met. 15.154; Prop. 2.20.17; Virg. Aen. 6.545. See especially Aen. 11.824 (death of Camilla) : et tenebris nigrescunt omnia circum. For the use of puluis to mean ashes, see Hor. Carm. 4.7.16; Prop. 2.13.35. For the relation of the adjective niger to the imagery of death, see Tib. 1.3.4, 3.5.5; Prop. 2.24.34. For a different opinion, see Hardie 1994, at 9 .36; reporting Warde Fowler's opinion (1919, 93 n. 2), Hardie sees nigra . . . puluere (Aen. 9-33) as "Virgil's description" and caligine . . . atra at line 36 as the excited expansion of Caicus, who is trying to make an impression on his hearers.

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In the Virgilian passage, the reaction/response of the Trojans captures the moment in which the attacked party first forms a picture of its surround­ ings and gains consciousness of the events that are taking place. Pouillon (although not discussing this passage) has described this focalization tech­ nique well. [The character is seen ] not in his innerness, for then we would have to emerge from the innerness whereas instead we are absorbed into it, but in the image he develops of others and, to some extent, through that image. In sum, we apprehend him as we apprehend ourselves in our immediate awareness of things, our attitudes with respect to what surrounds us-what surrounds us and is not within us.10 This technique of focalization works in concert with a distinctive narra­ tive structure. Rejecting the "mirror structure" that characterizes the Ho­ meric "advance of the army" (discussed in chap. 3 ), Virgil adopts for this type-scene a narrative structure built on antithesis of action. The Virgilian type-scene of the "advance of the army, " which also marks the beginning of every new day of battle in the Aeneid, never presents the action of party B as simultaneous or identical to the action of party A, as was Homeric praxis." Rather, as in the present case-the Rutulians' march against the Trojan camp-party B's action is always a reaction triggered by the prior action (usually an unexpected assault) of party A, as shown by the following outline: First Day of Battle

(Aen. 9.25-158)

Turnus and the Rutulians' march against the Trojan camp Reaction of the Trojans Second Day of Battle

9-459-67

(Aen. 9.459-818) 12

Turnus and the Rutulians' march against the Trojan camp Reaction of the Trojans

10. Pouillon 1946, 79· 11. For Homeric praxis, see chap. 3· 12. It is difficult to determine whether the events at Aen. 10.118-45 still describe the second day of battle prolonged well into the night, as lines 146-47 seem to suggest (Illi inter sese duri

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Third Day of Battle

(Aen. 10.260-908 )

10.257-62

Arrival of Aeneas at the Trojan camp

10.262-66

Reaction of the Trojans

10.267-69

Reaction of the Latins

Fourtll Day of Battle

(Aen. 11.445-915 )

11.446

Aeneas's march against the city of Latinus

11.447-85

Reaction of the Latins

Fifth Day of Battle

(Aen. 12.266-952)'3

12.574-82

Aeneas's march against the city of Latinus

12.583-92

Reaction of the Latins

This composite structure, built on the antithesis of action and reaction, aptly underscores the antithesis in focalization, the other feature that conspicu­ ously distances the Virgilian type-scene from its Homeric model. Simple narrator-text, widely employed to portray the actions of group A, is immedi­ ately followed by an explicit (or implicit) embedded focalization (complex narrator-text), which describes group B's reaction in terms of "internal" revisualization of the actions of party A. The reader is thus allowed to see the same event simultaneously from two different perspectives. A brief survey of the remaining days of war and their opening scenes will drive home the point. After the dramatic and unsuccessful sortie of Nisus and Euryalus the previous night, the second day of battle finds the Latins marching yet again against the Trojan camp: "Turnus, himself in arms, calls up his men to war; each Latin captain spurs his bronze-dad company to battle, each one stirs certamina belli I contulerant: media Aeneas freta nocte secabat) , or refer to a different day. The problem is intrinsically connected to the chronology of the council of the gods at the beginning of the book, since the events at lines 118-45 are expressly said to be taking place contemporaneously (n8: Interea) . For a detailed analysis of the problem, see Harrison 1991, xxx:iii; Harrison reason­ ably suggests that the events at lines 118-45 are still part of the second day of battle. See also Heinze 1993, 266, 305-6. 13. On the fifth day, no "formal" advance is described at the beginning of the day, since the battle breaks out as the result of the violated truce. Nevertheless, as Aeneas recovers from his wound, he moves with his army against the city of Latinus and stresses the vital importance of this attack: hoc caput, o ciues, haec belli summa nefandi (Aen. 12.572).

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their anger with a different tale of horror." ' 4 With ringing shouts, they parade the heads of Nisus and Euryalus before the Trojans (quin ipsa arrectis (uisu miserabile) in hastis I praefigunt capita et multo clamore sequuntur I Euryali et Nisi) .'s In what follows, their march is revisualized from the Trojan perspective. This time, verbs of perception (verba sentiendi) and affective vocabulary trigger embedded focalization. The Trojans, staring sadly at the spectacle (9.471: maesti; 9-472: miseris) , are moved as they ob­ serve the heads of Euryalus and Nisus (9.471: ora . . . movebant) . From their perspective, the impersonal capita become the ora (faces) of men known much too well (9.471-72: simul ora uirum praefixa mouebant I nota nimis miseris atroque fluentia tabo ) .' 6 Maestitia appears here in relation to death. Indeed, this term seems to link together in a string of sorrow all the major deaths in the Aeneid: the deaths of Hector (2.270: ante oculos maestissimus Hector) , Polydorus (3.63-64: arae I caeruleis maestae uittis atraque cupresso ), Anchises (5.48: maestasque sacrauimus aras), Palinurus (6.340: hunc ubi uix multa maestum cognovit in umbra), Lausus (10.840: maestique . . . mandata parentis), and Pallas (11.26: maestamque Euandri . . . ad urbem; 11.147: mae­ stam incendunt clamoribus urbem) .'7 In book 11, after the twelve-day truce, Aeneas's attack renews hostilities between the two armies and triggers a similar reaction by the Latins (11.44758 ) . 18 The matter-of-fact statement of Aeneas's arrival by the narrator's voice-"Aeneas marched his troops from camp into the field" ' 9-is magni­ fied by the messenger's report. In his words (reported via oratio obliqua) , the troops of Troy and Tuscany are descending from the Tiber's bank and cover the plains of LatiUlll in their entirety (11.449-50: instructos acie Tiberino a flumine Teucros I Tyrrhenamque manum totis descendere campis) . Expressions 14. Turn us in arma uiros armis circumdatus ipse I suscitat: aeratasque acies in proelia cogunt I quisque suos, uariisque acuunt rumoribus iras (Aen. 9.462-64). 15. Aen. 9.465-67. 16. Hardie (1994, ad loc. ) observes that the parading of the heads of Nisus and Euryalus and the grief of Euryalus's mother are based, in general and in many details, on the dragging of Hector's body before the walls of Troy and the reactions of Hector's father, mother, and wife (II. 22.405-515 ) . Yet in the Homeric epic, there is no parallel term for maestitia to indicate a com­ posed "internalized" state of sorrow. 17. See E. V: s.v. maereo: "cio che connota nell'uso virgiliano maestus rispetto a tristis e a miser e proprio il suo essere disponibile pressoche esclusivamente per situazioni pili o meno stret­ tamente connesse alia sfera del lutto." 18. On the arrival of Aeneas in Aeneid 10, see my discussion in chap. 2. In this case as well, the effect of his arrival on both Trojans and Latins is described through verbs of perception (10.260-67) . 19. castra Aeneas aciemque mouebat (Aen. 11.446) .

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of terror (magnisque terroribus) and the presence of affective vocabulary (trepidi, maesti)20 internalize the response of the besieged and their sudden reaction of panic at the unexpected news (extemplo turbati) .2' Comparison with the Homeric "source" model for these lines best shows the Virgilian innovations.2 2 At Iliad 2.786-810, as the Trojans are sitting in assembly, Iris, disguised as Priam's son Polites, is sent by Zeus to the Tro­ jans, and in her capacity as a:yye"Aor;, (the nuntius of the Virgilian scene), she breaks the news of the massive advance of the Achaean army against the city. Here, too, the emphasis of the narration lingers on the vastness of the Greek army, and Iris begins her report with the bold announcement that she has never seen an army so numerous (bXJ.: oil nw wt.Ovbe 'too6vbe 't£ "Aaov onwna).23 In hyperbolic fashion, she even goes so far as to compare the Greeks to countless grains of sand or leaves. Yet contrary to the passage in the Aeneid, her report seems to tie in perfectly with the lengthy catalog of ships in the earlier part of the same book and, more importantly, with the narrator's famous introduction to the catalog: "I could not tell over the multitude of them nor name them, not if I had ten tongues and ten mouths, not if I had a voice never to be broken and a heart of bronze within me, not unless the Muses of Olympia, daughters of Zeus of the aegis, remembered all those who came beneath Ilion." 2 4 Moreover, contrary to Virgil's narrative, the reaction of the city assembly is well organized and is narrated through simple narrator-text. At Hector's command, the assembly is adjourned, and the Trojan army eagerly exits the gates to meet the enemy in a pitched battle: "She spoke, nor did Hector fail to mark the word of the goddess. Instantly he broke up the assembly; they ran to their weapons. All the gates were 20. Aen. 11.447-54: nuntius . . . ecce ruit magnisque urbem terroribus implet: . . . extemplo turbati animi concussaque uulgi I pectora et arrectae stimulis haud mollibus irae. I arma manu tre­ pidi poscunt, fremit arm a iuventus, I flent maesti mussantque patres. The construction implere terroribus is probably an allusion to complere . . . torroribus at Ennius Ann. 558 Skutsch, where the word torroribus occupies the same position in the hexameter. On the various uses of terror in Virgil, see E. V: s.v. terreo. A good definition of the meaning of the term is given by Servius (at Aen. 11.357): terror est proprie qui aliis infertur . . . metus autem est quem habent timentes. For a more general discussion on the "vocabulary of fear" in the Aeneid and in Latin epic, see MacKay 1961; MacKay rightly notices that Aeneid 2 and 9, the books devoted most extensively to the description of sieges, contain the poem's highest concentration of words denoting fear. 21. For emphasis on the suddenness of events, cf. Aen. 2.465-67: ea lapsa repente ruinam I cum sonitu trahit et Danaum super agmina late I incidit; 12.576: scalae improuiso subitusque apparuit ignis. 22. On this passage and its Homeric source, see Knauer 1964, ad loc.; Gransden 1991, ad loc. Knauer does not give any parallel passage for Aen. 11.448. 23. II. 2.799. 24. II. 2.488-92.

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opened and the people swept through them on foot, and with horses, and a clamour of shouting rose up."2s At the end of the Italian campaign, in Aeneid 12, Aeneas, fully recovered from his wound, once again marches unexpectedly against the Latin camp: "In no time, ladders, sudden fires appear" {scalae improuiso subitusque apparuit ignis}.26 In this instance, too, a reaction of panic arises in the city of Latinus, and a state of trepidatio, in both frame and simile, characterizes the confused and disorganized defense.27 exoritur trepidos inter discordia ciuis: urbem alii reserare iubent et pandere portas Dardanidis ipsumque trahunt in moenia regem; arma ferunt alii et pergunt defendere muros, inclusas ut cum latebroso in pumice pastor uestigauit apes fumoque impleuit amaro; illae intus trepidae rerum per cerea castra discurrunt magnisque acuunt stridoribus iras; uoluitur ater odor tectis, tum murmure caeco intus saxa sonant, uacuas it fumus ad auras. (Virg. Aen. 12.583-92) [Dissension takes the panicked citizens: some say the city is to be unlocked, the gates thrown open to the Dardans; they would drag the king himself up to the ramparts; while others carry arms, rush to defend: as when some shepherd tracks a swarm of bees that shelter in a porous cliff, and fills their hive with bitter smoke; they rush about their waxen camp in panic; buzzing loud, they whet their wrath; across their cells the black 25. II. 2.807-10. 26. Aen. 12.576. 27. The bee simile at the end of Aeneid 12 is the last one in a long series. On this topic, see Briggs 1980, 68-81. For this passage, Briggs notices important models in Virg. G. 4.228-38 and Apollonius 2.130-36, where the Argonauts routing the Bebrycians are compared to beekeepers smoking out a huge swarm of bees. To Briggs's analysis, we may add a passage from Livy. In A UC 4, during the campaign against Fidenae, Aemilius addresses his own soldiers with the following words: Fumone uicti, inquit, uelut examen apum, loco uestro exacti inermi cedetis hosti? (4-33-4) . On the relation between similes and embedded focalization, see de Jong 1987, 123-36. On Virgilian similes specifically see West 1969; Perutelli 1972.

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stench rolls; rocks echo with the stifled murmurs; smoke trickles up into the empty air.] Scholars as far back as Servius have acknowledged the type of focaliza­ tion we see in use in these passages of the Aeneid. 28 Heinze refers to it as Empfindung and views it as the most visible feature of Virgil's narrative technique. The most characteristic thing about Virgil's narrative is that it is soaked through and through with feeling. . . .Homer's narrative gen­ erally leaves it to the reader to guess what emotions accompanied the narrated events, with the sole aid of conversations and mono­ logues; . . . (Virgil) has put himself into the heart of his characters and speaks from inside them.29 Otis, refining Heinze's concept, uses the more familiar term empathy and also views the technique as an essential feature of Virgil's epic style: "Virgil's essential narrative is psychological and empathetic."3o Recently, spurred by new theoretical approaches, scholars have focused again on the empathetic nature of Virgil's narrative style. Virgil's empathy stands at the core of Conte's interpretative essay on the Aeneid and is the subject of Marzia Bonfanti's large-scale study of 1985.3' The conclusions at 28. Rosati (1979 ) has shown that Virgil's ancient commentators (Servius and Servius Auctus) were already aware of Virgil's technique of internal focalization. 29. Heinze 1993, 290. Heinze was reworking some of the conclusions reached by Sellar (1877, especially 408-18) . 3 0 . Otis 1964, 9 5 . With empathy, whereby the narrator thinks through and for his charac­ ters, Otis juxtaposes sympathy, whereby the poet, with a sort of editorial intrusion, intervenes in the narrative in his own person to comment on the events. These two narrative features, peculiar to Virgil's style, which Otis labels "subjective style," create a sharp contrast with the objective, Homeric epic style. The employment of such an innovative narrative technique results, according to Otis's controversial theory, in a style that, although more pathetic, loses dramatic effect: Otis (50-51) maintains that Virgilian characters, as opposed to Homeric ones, lack dramatic or objective characterization. These conclusions have been sharply criticized by La Penna (1967) , according to whom it is precisely the empathetic technique used by Virgil that allows Virgilian characters to become fully developed dramatic characters. In La Penna's opinion, the subjective style of Virgil is confined to the sympathetic aspect of his poetry, which La Penna calls "com­ mento lirico." A similar view is shared by Rosati (1979 ) , who stresses that the intervention of Virgil into the interior of his characters is not authorial violence on the psychology of his poetic creation but, rather, the best way to register the character's own state of mind. 31. Conte 1986, 141-84; Bonfanti 1985. See also Lyne 1987, 227-38; Fowler 1990; Fowler 1997, 266-67.

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which these two scholars arrive are similar. For Conte (as for Bonfanti) the works of Homer and Ennius embodied a single point of view (I here use the term point of view to remain more faithful to Conte's wording). Virgil, by contrast, introduces a multiplicity of points of view; hence, the text becomes polycentric and shatters the pretense of the epic norm to natural authority and truth. In Homer there is basically a single point of view. . . . The text un­ folds on a single plane, which goes unnoticed just because it is invariable, leaving no room for contrasts born of comparisons. Its one and only point of view is a relation of objective truth toward the world it displays. The unambiguousness of the textual relationships in Homer, and the fact that they spread out radially from a single center, yields an image of the truth as something absolute and immu­ table. The secret of epic objectivity lies hidden hereY Thus, for Conte, empatheia is not simply a stylistic factor that underscores Virgil's dramatic narrative technique (Heinze and La Penna) and/or Virgil's sense of constant empathy with human suffering (humanitas), as proposed by Otis.33 On the contrary, this narrative technique affects the text's signify­ ing system. Empatheia undermines the objective foundation of epic narra­ tion and relativizes the epic norm. Though perhaps overstating his conclu­ sions in light of de Jong's recent study on Homer's narrative technique,34 Conte believes that empatheia allows Virgil to "invent a recognizably new kind of epic"35-one that sets itself conspicuously apart from the epic of Homer (and Ennius). While scholarly conclusions regarding the function of empatheia appear 32. Conte 1986, 152. For similar conclusions, see Bonfanti 1985, 18. However, Conte (177) seems to set a limit to the multiplicity of points of view in the Aeneid and sees Virgil's usage of "sympathy" as a way of welding the fragments back together and thus saving the epic genre. 33· See Heinze 1993, 370-71; La Penna 1967, 228-29; Otis 1964, 392-94. 34. De Jong (1987, 122) shows that Homer uses embedded focalization already but in a more limited way. According to de J ong' s conclusions, though, the secondarily focalized passages of the Iliad are short and far less frequent than direct speech: character-text (i.e., speeches) is clearly the preferred mode of presentation of words and thereby of the thoughts/ emotions of characters. 35. Conte 1986, 141. Conte has been accused of making Homer and Ennius too monologic, but as Fowler notes (1990, 56), the issue is one of reception. What matters here is how the epic tradition was received at Rome and the ways in which the neoterics and the elegists used opposition to Ennius and Homer in their politicization of Callimacheanism. Feeney (1989) has pointed out the practice whereby poets retrospectively make their predecessors more monolithic to enable their own rebellion.

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at times antithetic to one another, they share a common methodological approach: as discussed in my introduction, Homeric epic (and rarely Apollo­ nius or Ennius) is used as the sole point of comparison with the Virgilian text. Hence, apart from the scholarly disagreements I have already outlined, empatheia has been generally recognized as the conspicuously "Virgilian" narrative feature that best accounts for the notable differences (stylistic, ge­ neric, and ideological) between the Iliad and the Odyssey, on the one hand, and the Aeneid, on the other. Viewed as quintessentially Virgilian, this narra­ tive phenomenon has been studied and discussed as an all-encompassing quality of Virgilian epic, virtually without any attempt at distinguishing the narrative instances in which it appears and, therefore, without any attempt at differentiating the effects/results it produces. Analyses of the leading charac­ ters (especially Dido, Turnus, and Mezentius), their different points of view, and their different visions of the world and of the reality that surrounds them have dominated critical discussion.36 I take a different approach. I do not deal with empatheia tout court-the topic, as I have shown, has been sufficiently analyzed and with important results. Rather, I study the phenomenon as it applies to the specific type-scene analyzed in this chapter, and I show how, with the introduction of a narrative system that belongs to a different genre, the narrator modifies the Homeric narrative code with important implica­ tions for the imagery of war in the Aeneid. In his seminal 1957 article on the style of Livy, A. H. McDonald viewed the alternation of action and the parallel syntactic placement of rival sub­ jects as a landmark feature of Livy's periodic composition)? Walsh's 1961 book-length study on Livy's historical aims and methods further confirms and develops McDonald's analysis. Livy's narrative plays up the role of visual perspectives and unfolds as a careful articulation of opposite points of view. Summing up Livy's narrative of how the sacred geese saved the Capitol (5.47.1-6), Walsh concludes, "Conspicuous here is the balance achieved by describing the action successively from the viewpoint of attackers and de­ fenders."38 More to the point for the present discussion are Walsh's condu36. Cf. Conte 1986, 157: "A painful gap keeps them apart, preventing substantial contact and excluding mutual penetration. . . . The coexistence of the worlds of Aeneas, Dido, Turnus, Mezentius, and Juturna springs from the fact that Virgil allows each of them an autonomous, personal raison d'Hre which the historico-epic norm had always denied." 37· McDonald 1957, 165. Cf. Burck 1934, 209. 38. Walsh 1961, 251. As Walsh notes, Livy' s narrative focuses first on the side of the attackers and their attempt to seize the Capitol. Livy reports how they found a path, sent forward a man to reconnoiter, avoided the clashing of arms, helped each other up, and arrived unnoticed. The focus then switches from attackers to defenders, as the reaction of the latter appropriately

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sions in a 1954 article in which he analyzes Livy's descriptions of sieges in their capacity as type-scenes: "By adopting the standpoint of the besieged, he exploited his facility for psychological observation, especially in the descrip­ tion of the fall of a town. The attacking party is usually mentioned briefly, followed by an extended account of the defenders, and especially their state of mind."39 More recently, Feldherr, with his usual insight, has again framed this Livian narrative feature within a broader ideological context. He connects the device to Livy's grand design to represent his Ab urbe condita as a monumentum in which the readers may come to share (in a sort of mise en abyme) the perspectives of the internal audience who experiences the events of the narrative directly. The readers are correspondingly subjected to "the kinds of political influences that could be conveyed by the medium of vision." 4o I will return to this important aspect of focalization (and its relevance for reading the Aeneid) in a later chapter. For now, I will analyze Livy's use of focalization within the specific type-scene analyzed in this chapter. In the Ab urbe condita, numerous military engagements initiated by one party taking the offensive are represented via alternation of action and focalization. One or two examples may suffice. In book 2, the matter-of-fact report of Porsenna's march against Rome-"(Porsenna) moved against Rome with an army in military array" [Romam infesto exercitu uenit] is immediately revisualized by the Romans as the most dire threat to the city of Rome: "Never had such a great terror invaded the Roman Senate-so powerful was the city of Clusium and so great the fame of Porsenna" [Non unquam alias ante tantus terror senatum inuasit; adeo ualida res tum Clusina erat magnumque Porsennae nomen]."' counterbalances the long sentence describing the Gallic activity. Moreover, as in the Virgilian passages I have just examined, the emotional and internal reaction of the defenders, who, except for Manlius, are overwhelmed by fear (trepidant), is juxtaposed with the factual representation of the attack. 39. Walsh 1954, 97-98. On this topic, cf. Kraus 1994a, especially at 6.22.8, 6.32.3 ff. 40. Feldherr 1998, 223; see also 132-45, 160-63. See also Jaeger 1997, 24-27. For a similar narrative device in Polybius, see Davidson 1991. Davidson notes (13 ) : "Polybius, then, can be seen writing through the eyes of others. He gives us sometimes several different viewpoints of the same event. . . . They can be seen as little narratives, fragmentary versions of what was going on, overlaying one another and competing with each other." 41. Livy 2.9 .4-5. Cf. 33.15.3-7, where Nicostratus moves against the camp of Androsthenes. The organization of his march is narrated with exactitude of detail. He positions the cavalry before the standards, and he and his army follow, split into two columns, the light infantry marching in one and the shield wearers in the other. As the attackers close around the camp, the narrative focus suddenly shifts to the attacked party, to describe the consternation that suddenly struck the enemy camp (cum repens terror castris infertur. Trepidare dux).

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Thanks only to the intervention of one man, Codes, Rome was able to save the day. In Ab urbe condita 3, Livy describes a similar scene and uses an analogous narrative technique. As the Aequi invade Roman territory with a rapid and violent incursion (tanto cum tumultu inuasere fines Romanos),42 Rome's reaction is one of terror, fear, and trepidatio.43 But even more significant is what follows. As the Aequi approach, the farmers rush to the city gates in search of safety; struck by fear (pavidi), these improvised messengers transform-Livy makes that explicit-the aggression of a maniple of men into an army of legions that is already pressing at the very gates of Rome, an exaggeration not unlike the overblown report of the messenger in Aeneid n : "the panic-stricken country people, pouring in at the gates and exaggerating everything in their wild alarm, exclaimed that they were not mere raids or small bodies of plunderers but that entire armies of the enemy were near, preparing to swoop down on the City in force. Those who were nearest carried what they heard to others, and the vague rumors became therefore still more unreliable." 44 The city was in a state of confusion almost as if it had already been captured-so Livy rounds out his account.45 Not surprisingly, Burck, in his seminal study on Livy, had labeled this Livian feature Empfindung, echoing the term that Heinze had famously applied to Virgil.46 The lexicon used by Livy in these scenes is of some relevance. As Virgil did in the passages in the Aeneid, so, in these type-scenes, Livy overuses 42. Livy 3.3.1. 43. Livy may even innovate in respect to his original source in an attempt to emphasize the "fear complex," as Walsh calls it (1954, 114). In Livy 31.34.5, we read of Philip's panic after a skirmish with the Romans. The account of Diodorus (28.8), whose source is Polybius, shows, on the contrary, that Philip reassured his troops with complete indifference to danger. In Livy, a state of fear (trepidatio) and indecision characterizes Philip before the final battle of Cynoscepha­ lae (trepidauit), a detail that finds no counterpart in Polybius (Livy 33.7.9; Polyb. 18.22.1) . On the two Livian passages, see Briscoe 1973, ad loc. For similar "additions" in Livy, see Briscoe 1973, at 31.34·5· 44· agrestesque pauidi incidentes portis non populationem nee praedonum paruas manus, sed omnia uano augentes timore exercitus et legiones adesse hostium et infesto agmine ruere ad urbem clamabant. Ab his proximi audita incerta eoque uaniora ferre ad alios (Livy 3·3·3-4) . 45. Livy 3.3.4: Cursus clamorque uocantium ad arma haud multum a pauore captae urbis abesse. For a similar structure, cf. 29.3.8-9: "and excited messengers [nuntiique trepidi] filled Carthage with great alarm [Carthaginem terrore ingenti conpleuere], reporting that the Roman fleet with Scipio as commander in chief had arrived. In fact, it had been previously rumored that he [i.e., Scipio] had already crossed over to Sicily. Also, lacking exact information about how many ships the messengers had seen and how large a force was laying waste the country, they exaggerated every report under the stimulus of fear [omnia in maius metu augente accipiebant]." 46. Burck 1934, 202. Cf. McDonald 1957, 163; Pauw 1991.

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"emotionally coloured" vocabulary, with such words as maestitia, spes, ter­ ror, and trepidatio. In addition, Livy is keen, as was Virgil in the Aeneid (cf. 9 .33: subitam . . . nubem; 11.451: extemplo turbati; 12.576: scalae improuiso subitusque apparuit ignis), to emphasize the element of surprise in the attack and, as a result, the sudden onset of madness and desperation among the defenders.47 This composite structure with parallel placing of antithetic focal­ izations and affective vocabulary is not limited to Livy; it is common among other historians as well. Of particular interest is Sallust, who makes extensive use of the so-called vocabulary of fear in similar narratives. He is especially fond of the verb trepido and its corresponding adjective trepidus, rare in Latin poetry before Virgil. This adjective is found twice in Lucretius (DRN 3.834, 5-40) and once in Tibullus (2.3.21 ) , but never to define a psychological state, as it does in Sallust and Virgil.48 When we take all this into consideration, the terms un-Homeric or Virgil­ ian (especially when the latter is used as a synonym of the former) begin to show their intrinsic limits. They can convey only an abridged version of the compositional program of the Aeneid, as they lead us back and forth along a diachronic line that connects exclusively Homer and Virgil, the Iliad (and the Odyssey) and the Aeneid. The term Virgilian, as it stands, needs further qualification. Virgilian narrative, at least in this instance, qualifies itself as un­ Homeric for its conspicuous assimilation of other preexisting literary genres within an epic context. The narrative structure based on alternation of action and reaction, the constant shifting in focalization (usually simple narrator­ text to describe the attackers and complex narrator-text to describe the defenders), and the presence of "vocabulary of fear" to describe the internal response of the defenders not only call attention to the un-Homeric quality of the Virgilian type-scene of the "advance of the army" but also attest to its 47· On Livy's use of the vocabulary of fear, see Walsh 1954, 114; 1961, 178. On Livy's use of spes, see my discussion in chap. 2 in the present study. On Livy's emphasis on the element of surprise, at times even departing from his original sources, see Walsh 1961, 193. 48. Prior to Virgil, the verb trepido seems to have been particularly prevalent in historiogra­ phy; it occurs especially in Sallust but is already attested in Ennius. Cf. Ennius Ann. 560-61 Skutsch: At Romanus homo, tamenetsi res bene gesta est, I Corde suo trepidat. Like Virgil, Sallust uses the verb mainly to describe the fear of a besieged camp . Cf. Jug. 38.4-5: quae postquam ex sententia instruit, intempesta nocte de inprouiso multitudine Numidarum Auli castra circumuenit. Milites Romani, perculsi tumultu insolito, arma capere alii, alii se abdere, pars territos confirmare, trepidare omnibus locis; 67.1: Romani milites, improuiso metu incerti ignarique quid potissumum facerent, trepidare. For the adjective trepidus, cf. Jug. 40.4: trepida etiam tum ciuitate . . . ; 55.2: Itaque senatus ob ea feliciter acta dis immortalibus supplicia decernere, ciuitas, trepida antea et sollicita de belli euentu, laeta agere, de Metello fama praeclara esse; 97.5: qui omnes trepidi inprouiso metu . . . On this topic, see E. V. s.v. trepido.

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close connections with the one found in Roman historiography. But now how do we read such a disruption of the Homeric code? The "intentions" of the poet are difficult to assess, and modern literary criticism has warned us about the risks entailed by such an assessment. It is far more productive to analyze the implications that a narrative choice of this sort bears on the text itself. If we imagine the code to be "a system of conscious, deliberate rules that the author identifies as indicators of ways in which the text must be interpreted, " 49 the alteration of the Homeric code (which is fixed by the bias of the norm) introduces problems of interpretabil­ ity for the new text.so Assimilation to other codes of signification disrupts the narrative grammar proper to the genre and hence calls into question the store of collective cultural experiences and values that the epic code commu­ nicates and represents. By disrupting the code, by conspicuously swerving away from that system of signification within which he has set out to work (in this case, epic), the narrator not only subverts the ideological and cul­ tural values represented by these specific expressive structures; he once again establishes a dynamic tension between two generic systems of signification, epic and historiography. Let us see how this tension affects the specific type­ scene under discussion. Battle games

dolus an uirtus, quis in hoste requirat? -Virg. Aeneid If that be guile or valor-who would ask in war?

In Iliad 22, Achilles and Hector finally confront each other on the field of battle; a simile establishes an important connection between the ongoing duel and another sphere of activity, the agonic contest. As Achilles is chasing after the fleeing Hector around the walls of Troy, he is compared to a team of horses who are competing for a prize: "As when about the turnposts racing single-foot horses run at full speed, when a great prize [(i£-3-A.ov] is laid up for their winning, a tripod or a woman, in games for a man's funeral, so these two swept whirling about the city of Priam in the speed of their feet, while all the gods were looking upon them." s ' Via this important simile, the 49. purpose so. 51.

Conte 1986, 31; cf. 143: "the epic code is the preliminary level of that elaboration whose is the literary organization, in narrative form, of collective cultural values." On the relation between code and norm, see Conte 1986, 146-51. II. 22.162-6.

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final duel between Hector and Achilles becomes simultaneously an alterna­ tive form of contest. It is equated to an athletic contest, aE{}A.ot; (fought for a prize, aE{}Aov) , precisely like the one that will take place shortly after at the funeral games for Patrodus in Iliad 23.s 2 But in the Iliad, the duel is not the only form of combat assimilated to an aE{}A.ot;. War, too, is conceived in athletic terms and shares in the ideology of the contest system. In book 3 of the Iliad, Iris, disguised as Laodice, the wife of Helicaon, appears to Helen to announce the impending duel between Helen's former husband, Menelaus, and Paris. Iris finds Helen at home weaving a great web, a red folding robe representing the many "combats" of the horse-taming Trojans and the bronze-dad Achaeans, which they suffered for her at the hands of the war god.s3 The term used here to describe the conflict between the two armies is significant. The overall struggle between Greeks and Tro­ jans is labeled aE{}A.ot;.S4 Again, the language of war is metaphorically con­ nected to the language of competition. But in this case, the relation between a contest (for a prize) and war is even more striking.Here, the term aE{}A.ot; connotes not just a contest in war but, significantly, the contest of war per se. This is not the only instance. In three passages of the Odyssey, the same word qualifies the labors of Odysseus and his comrades in the war at Troy.s s As Scanlon has aptly noted, the interchangeable use of the term to indicate both games and war in Homer exploits the common aspects shared by the two and highlights the agonic and ritual character of war envisioned primar­ ily as a contest.s 6 52. The usual term employed in the funeral games to indicate the prize for the victor of the athletic contest is aE-&Aov. The term aE-&Ao>; is used to indicate the contest itself (see II. 23.646 ) . On the etymology of the term, s e e Scanlon 1983, especially 158; Scanlon aptly notices that the term aE-&Ao>; signifies action and is therefore complementary to &.ywv, a term that originally indicated the place where a contest took place. On the employment of the term in the Iliad, see Pritchett 1985, 29. On the relation between funeral games and the imagery of war, see Griffin 1980, 193. Cf. Scanlon 1988, especially 237; Scanlon points out that the funeral games for Patroclus are, in turn, a metaphor for the proper conduct of war. 53. II. 3.125-28. 54. Here, as Kirk has pointed out (1985, ad loc. ), the word cannot mean "formal combats" of pairs of warriors disposed along the edges of the cloth; the addition of lines 127-28 shows that something more elaborate was meant. 55. Od. 3.262; 4.170, 241. On these passages, see Scanlon 1983, 157. For a similar use of the term, see Hdt. 8.142.2, where the term &.ydJv refers to the entire conflict between Persia and Greece. 56. Scanlon 1983, 158-59. See also Scanlon 1988, for other aspects that associate war and athletics in the Iliad. Apart from Homer, connections between war and athletic contests are exploited in the elegies of Tyrtaeus; see Scanlon 1988, 241. For Pin dar and his use of Homeric and elegiac war vocabulary to praise successful athletes, see Cairns 1989, 222; Perysinakis 1990.

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Terminology is not the only indicator of the dynamic connection be­ tween such diverse (at least for us) spheres of human action. Far from being simply inert, codified rules, Homeric narrative conventions likewise become a manifest reflection of this underlying ideology of war. I showed earlier that each new day of battle in the Iliad opens with a recurrent type-scene repre­ senting a mass march of Greek and Trojan troops-each army a mirror image of the other-eager to clash with each other in the open field. I cite, once again, the simile that describes the meeting of the two armies in Iliad n: "And the men, like two lines of reapers who, facing each other, drive their course all down the field of wheat or of barley for a man blessed in sub­ stance, and the cut swathes drop showering, so Trojans and Achaeans driving in against one another cut men down, nor did either side think of disastrous panic."5 7 Precisely this type-scene allows the reader to envision Homeric warfare almost exclusively as a pitched battle. There is nothing new here. In a monograph dedicated to the subject, Latacz concluded that the Homeric picture of war is one of two armies, drawn up in a series of ranks, which approach within throwing range of each other and start a series of missile bombardments; eventually, closing ranks, the two sides thrust forward and fight in a mass until one of the fronts breaks.5 8 Pritchett and, more recently, van Wees picture a similar scenario.5 9 But we may move beyond their conclusions-their studies, after all, aimed at reconstructing from the text of Homer the practice of warfare in the Dark Ages. From an ideological perspective, the pitched battle and the intro­ ductory type-scene in which party A's actions are reflected as a mirror image by those of party B is, above all, the tangible expression of a cultural attitude that views war as inherently analogous to the agonic contest-combat like contest, war like game. Like the agonic contest, the pitched battle has its limiting rules, its ritual to which each participant willingly subscribes. The idea still lingers in the English expression "pitched battle, " meaning a battle that is conducted and controlled by formalized rules.60 The term pitch still defines in English a "playing field, " as, for example, a cricket pitch. In an influential essay, Huizinga singled out the surprise attack and the ambush as 57· II. 11. 67-71. 58. Latacz 1977. See also Lang 1910, 51-59; Kirk 1968, especially 110 . 59. Pritchett (1985, 33) : "The fundamental fact remains that the pitched battle was the decisive element, and this interpretation of the Homeric battle is confirmed throughout the entire literature, down to Eustathios. The general impression created by the poem is one of hoplites fighting in mass-formation"; van Wees 1997. 60. See Huizinga 1949, 99·

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nonagomstiC forms of combat.6 ' Not surprisingly, these forms find no or little place in the Iliad. When they do, they are viewed as acts of cowardice. Note Edwards's telling remarks in relation to ambushes in the Iliad. However, it is possible to extract from the Iliad a specific interpreta­ tion of the ambush. It is viewed as a stratagem of cowardice and treachery. . . . This view is rooted in the preoccupations and ideology of the Iliad as a poem about the :ltQOflOt; avf]g, infantry combat, the hero's death, and Achilles. Yet the Iliad's perspective on the A.Oxot; is not idiosyncratic or exceptional. It reproduces a view of this strata­ gem well attested in Greek myth, and which no doubt represents one facet of a historical ideology of warfare.6 2 War in the Iliad lacks such features not because of its primitive nature, as is often claimed, but because of its agonic character. Like the duel, the pitched battle is controlled by formal rules; both will be played out more or less in conformity with the agonic ideal. As the Homeric scholia at 7. 241 has it, in the Iliad, "war is the dance and the sport of brave men" [ OQXYJOLt; yag xal, :n:mi'>La yevvaiwv 6 :n:6A.Ef!Ot;] . 63 In a famous passage in which he discusses the treacherous policy of Philip, father of Perseus, Polybius highlights the distance between ancient Greek warfare and the military praxis of his own days, aptly (and some­ what nostalgically) noticing how the ancient contest system has given way 61. See Huizinga 1949, 90. See also Alexander 1945. 62. Edwards 1985, 26-27. 63. For a comparison between war and dance in the Iliad, see Griffin 1980, 194. A similar practice, betraying a similar ideology of war, has a rather long tradition in Greek culture. Our locus classicus is Hdt. 7.9, where the Persian Mardonius marvels at Greek military behavior: "And yet, I am told that it is customary among the Greeks to wage wars against one another in the most foolish way, through sheer perversity and doltishness. For no sooner is war proclaimed than they search out the smoothest and fairest plain that is to be found in all the land, and there they assemble and fight, whence it comes to pass that even the conquerors depart with great loss." As Vernant notes (1980, 19-44), in classical Greece, war was still an &.ywv. It took the form of an organized competition and was related to the great Panhellenic games in which rivalries were played out peacefully in a framework of rules that were in many ways similar to those of war. Until the Hellenistic age, when war took place in a world that was quite transformed, games and warfare were the two opposite sides of one and the same phenomenon. For the agonic nature of archaic warfare in ancient Greece, see Brelich 1961. Pritchett (1974, 156-89) notes that hoplite battles from the late eighth century to the mid- fifth century B . c .E . were usually conducted on an open space and by public challenge. Pritchett notes (187) , "In sum we may conclude that, as we have seen in the chapter on the challenge to battle, warfare seems sometimes a game in which all that is involved is a fair fight with equal weapons on a plain."

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to a conceptualization of war that is no longer limited by specific rules of engagement. The ancients were far removed from such malpractices, for so far were they from plotting mischief against their friends with the pur­ pose of aggrandizing their own power that they would not even consent to get the better of their enemies by fraud, regarding no success as brilliant or secure unless they crushed the spirits of their adversaries in open battle. For this reason, they entered into a conven­ tion among themselves to use against each other neither secret mis­ siles nor those discharged from a distance, and they considered that only a hand-to-hand battle at dose quarters was truly decisive. Hence, they preceded war by a declaration, and when they intended to do battle, they gave notice of the fact and of the spot to which they would proceed and array their army. But at the present, they say it is a sign of poor generalship to do anything openly in war. (Polyb. 13·3·2-6) 6 4 By adopting historiographical narrative topoi (Hellenistic and Roman), the Aeneid not only markedly alters the imagery of war as it operates in the Iliad; it also subverts the epic ideology of war insofar as it conspicuously reflects the experience of more recent days, when, as somberly noted by Polybius, war has been deprived of its contestlike quality. In the Aeneid, war is no longer exclusively envisioned as the deadly but fair challenge between two armies with codified rules by which all partici­ pants abide. Contrary to Homeric practice, the Virgilian type-scene dearly underscores that every new day of conflict in the Aeneid is the result of the decision of one of the two armies to surprise the enemy and take advantage of its own initial "superiority." 65 The first two days of battle comprise Tur­ nus's turn; Turnus and his army march in full confidence against the demor64. On this passage, see Walbank 1957-79, ad loc.; Pritchett 1974, 179. Cf. Livy 42.47.5· As Q. Marcius tricks Perseus into a truce until the next campaigning season, Livy has the old senators complain that this behavior was against the ancient Roman customs of war: "Their ancestors had not conducted war by lurking in ambush [per insidias] and making attacks at night or by feigning flight and then turning back upon the enemy when he was off his guard. They did not pride themselves on cunning [astu] more than on true courage [uirtute}; it was their custom to declare war before commencing it, sometimes even to give the enemy notice of the time and place where they would fight." 65. On the element of surprise, see Heinze 1993, 256. Heinze discusses at some length Aeneas's march against the city of King Latinus.

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alized Trojan camp, momentarily bereft of its leader. Aeneas attempts a similar enterprise on the fourth and fifth days of battle, once the Latins have suffered severe setbacks.6 6 By turns, the Latin and the Trojan leaders, as expert generals, take full advantage of their temporary superiority and lead their troops against the enemy and its city, the reluctant and unevenly equipped opponent in the struggle. Characteristically, in the Aeneid (as often in history and historiography), the outset of each day of battle wit­ nesses the sudden and unexpected attack of the opponent, while women and children, quintessentially unepic contenders, become participants in the struggle, as I will show in chapter s . This new ideological framework best explains the Virgilian use of empatheia in this type-scene. The complex intersection between different and opposed types of focalization, a feature that this Virgilian type-scene shares with historiography, is perfectly suited to call attention to the nature of a war engagement that resists and subverts the rules of the "fair and even match" and is thus deprived of its contestlike quality. So represented, the meeting of the two armies not only increases the dramatic tension of the narrative; it becomes a key indicator of an altogether new conceptualization of war. As Alexander puts it, war in the Aeneid becomes the story of a great campaign, complex in military character as well as in political demarches. Here, war is no longer equated with the pitched battle; the pitched battle becomes only one of the possible types of engagement.6 7 No longer per­ ceived solely as a contest of prowess, ennobled by its limiting regulations, war is eventually deprived of its agonic quality and hence of one of its most explicitly epic qualities.6 8 66. O n the third day, the battle is taking place around the Trojan camp. Only Aeneas's unexpected arrival puts an end to the siege of the Latins. On this topic, see my discussion in chap . 2. 67. See Alexander 1945. More specifically, Alexander points out the conspicuous presence of surprise attacks (Aen. 9.33, 12.576; cf. 10.267-69, 11.451) and the employment of such military tactics as (1) the attempt to prevent the junction of two enemy forces (10.238-40 ), (2) a flanking movement coupled with surprise (11.511-19 ) , and (3) ambush (11.522-31; cf. 2.390, where Coroe­ bus seems to endorse the idea that everything is fair in war: dolus an uirtus, quis in haste requirat? On this passage, see Austin 1964, ad loc.; Austin somberly notes that "the Virgilian problem is still with us and still unresolved" ) . 6 8 . I have shown that i n the Iliad, the language o f war i s metaphorically connected t o the language of competition by the term aE-&Ao,. In the Aeneid, the term certamen comes very close to performing a similar function. It seems to be used interchangeably to indicate an agonic contest proper-notably, the ones that take place in Aeneid 5 (lines 66, 144, 197, 286, 493, etc. )-and a contest of war. By contrast with the Iliad, however, in the Aeneid, the term is applied to specific contests of war: duels (Aen. 11.155, 221, 434; 12.39, 61, 73, 116, 467, 790 ), pitched battles (7.523; 9.726; 11.780 [cavalry battle] ; 12.553, 598), and close range fights (9.662, 10.146) . The term is also em­ ployed to describe the battle of Actium (8.700 ) . See my discussion of Aen. 11.891 in chap . 5.

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In a famous article with the telling title "Aeneas Imperator: Roman Gener­ alship in an Epic Context, " Nisbet points out how Aeneas constantly adopts Roman military praxis. The aim of the article is clear. Nisbet wants to present Aeneas as a proto-Augustus, "carrying the destiny of his nation on his shoulders." 6 9 Within an epic martial environment, a new kind of leader emerges in the character of Aeneas, who becomes the prototype of Roman or Augustan leadership. In the Aeneid, however, Aeneas is not the only one who takes up simultaneously the different cultural roles of epic hero and Augustan prototype. The epic martial landscape of the Aeneid undergoes a comparable process of redefinition, for it, too, partakes of different systems of cultural values and, in its own way, begins to bridge the distance between epic past and the narrator's own present.

69. Nisbet 1978-So, so ( = 1999, 254).

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Near these ridiculous "poseuses" stood the real thing-a British offi­ cer in mufti. He had lost his left arm and right leg . . . . If these women had a spark of shame left they should have blushed to be seen wearing a parody of the uniform which this officer and thousands like him have made a symbol of honour and glory by their deeds. I do not know the corps to which these ladies belong, but if they cannot become nurses or ward maids in hospital, let them put on sunbonnets and print frocks and go and make hay or pick fruit or make jam. -Letter to the editor from "A Woman," Morning Post, July 16, 1915

Temporal Deviations

In his influential study on narratology, Genette pointed out that the Western literary tradition was inaugurated by a characteristic effect of anachrony brought about by the discordance between the two temporal orders of story and narrative. The opening of the Iliad offers him an appropriate example. After having stated that the quarrel between Achilles and Agamemnon is the starting point of the narrative ( £s o� b� 1:a ngona),' the narrator immediately swirls back in time (about ten days) to reveal the causes of the famous quarrel: 1. II. 1.6. 105

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the affront to Chryses, Apollo's anger, and the ensuing plague. This beginning in medias res, followed by an expository return to an earlier period, becomes one of the formal topoi of epic; novelistic narration follows, in this respect, the style of "its remote ancestor, " according to Genette.2 Yet despite these com­ plex temporal manipulations to which the narrative is subjected, Genette considers the reconstitution of a temporal narrative order in light of the primary narrative not only possible but almost necessary; that is, each tempo­ ral deviation becomes an identifiable narrative segment subordinate to the primary narrative, by which it is defined in terms of flashback or anticipation and to which it is ultimately going to be reconciled.3 For Genette, in classical narrative, temporal reference is never deliberately sabotaged, and the reader is always put in the position of deciphering each anachrony with respect to the primary narrative into which it is inserted. It is just as obvious that in the classical narrative, on the other hand, reconstitution is most often not only possible, because in those texts narrative discourse never inverts the order of events without saying so, but also necessary, and precisely for the same reason: when a narrative segment begins with an indication like "Three months ear­ lier, . . ." we must take into account both that this scene comes after in the narrative, and that it is supposed to have come before in the story: each of these, or rather the relationship between them (of contrast or of dissonance), is basic to the narrative text, and suppress­ ing this relationship by eliminating one of its members is not only not sticking to the text, but is quite simply killing it.4 Applications of Genette's study to the Aeneid have driven home his point. Fowler has shown that the Aeneid displays notable ruptures of narrative order, in terms of both analepses and prolepses-actually, a comparison with 2. Genette 1980, 36. Genette (1988, 30) revisits the topic and changes somewhat his position, for he sees the topos of metadiegetic analepsis as characteristic of both the Odyssey and, by imitation, the Aeneid but not of the Iliad, which on the whole is highly chronological. On anachronies, see, further, Bal 1985, 84-97; however, Bal calls analepsis "retroversion." 3. With the expression "primary narrative," I mean the temporal level of narrative with respect to which anachrony is defined. On the term, see Genette 1988, 28-29. The two main types of anachrony are analepses (flashbacks) and prolepses (anticipations) . On this topic, see Genette 1980, 48-85. Genette ( 1980, 67) further argues that anticipation, or temporal prolepsis, is clearly much less frequent in the Western narrative tradition than is the inverse figure, for the western concern with narrative suspense does not easily come to terms with such a practice. The Homeric poems and the Aeneid are the exceptions rather than the norm. 4· Genette 1980, 35.

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the Iliad and the Odyssey reveals that in the Aeneid, such temporal manipula­ tions are carried to an unprecedented extreme.S Just as Genette has suggested, all these major analepses and prolepses are easily identifiable, for their tempo­ ral relation with the primary narrative is visibly marked. The major analepsis, Aeneas's account of his previous misfortunes, is framed by an evident first­ person speech-boundary that separates it from the rest of the narrative. The major prolepses are confined to prophetic utterances or, as in the case of the ecphrasis of the shield of Aeneas, are kept isolated from the narrative by the obvious "frame" of an artistic object. They are not allowed to spill into the narrative and disrupt the temporal setting of the primary narrative. Such prolepses have an important function. They conspicuously bridge the gap between the legendary past of the primary narrative (the story of Aeneas) and the present (Roman history and Augustan time). By virtue of this narrative structure, the temporal architectonics of the poem become complex and its temporal outreach enormous, extending from a mythological or legendary past represented by the primary temporal frame to Virgil's own day and even somewhat beyond. So argue Fowler and Kennedy.6 But these conclusions rest on a basic assumption already implicit in Genette's study: that the primary narrative is representative of only one temporal dimension. What happens if this basic assumption is put to the test and the primary narrative, far from representing just one single temporal system, is shown to encompass simulta­ neously a multiplicity of such systems? In the preceding chapter, I showed how the simultaneous presence of two different generic codes, epic and historiography, refashioned the martial land­ scape of the poem to encode the simultaneous presence of multiple cultural strata. Virgil's reworking of another Homeric type-scene, the rout scene, furthers the process of epic destabilization and begins to affect manifestly the temporal system of the poem. In other words, the superimposition of differ­ ent generic models (and I will be concerned again with historiography) not 5· Fowler 1997, 263- 66. 6. Fowler 1997, 259; Kennedy 1997, 149 : "The supernatural machinery of the poem offers a prospective account of Rome's history to the 'time in which the singer lives,' so that the impression left by the poem is that 'history' repeats the narrative of the Aeneid, thus giving 'history' the sense of being the fulfillment of what has been pre-ordained and destined. " Cf. Mack 1978, 56: "There are two futures at issue in the poem and two sorts of prophecy to express them. First, and most commonly predicted, is the immediate future . . . . The other future in the poem is the distant future centering on Rome from its founding to Augustan times. This is revealed by three major prophecies . . . . These deal little or not at all with Aeneas' personal future and so the present they represent for the most part comes to pass outside the framework of the poem." Cf. also Feeney 1986, 4-6 ( = 1999, 225-27).

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only opens conspicuous cracks in the epic cultural system in which the poem is operating; it also threatens the stability of the temporal frame in which the primary narrative takes place and, hence, problematizes the relation between the primary narrative and the temporal deviations embedded in it. Miserrima caedes

In book n , Camilla, after a series of military exploits-a long aristeia included-meets her doom at the hands of a certain Arruns (who will shortly pay with his own life for this bold action). In the best Homeric tradition, the death of the leader creates a state of sudden consternation and panic among the troops, who, pursued by the Trojan army, rush back in disorder to the city of King Latinus.? Prima fugit domina amissa leuis ala Camillae, turbati fugiunt Rutuli, fugit acer Atinas, disiectique duces desolatique manipli tuta petunt et equis auersi ad moenia tendunt. nee quisquam instantis Teucros letumque ferentis sustentare ualet telis aut sistere contra, sed laxos referunt umeris languentibus arcus, quadripedumque putrem cursu quatit ungula campum. uoluitur ad muros caligine turbidus atra puluis, et e speculis percussae pectora matres femineum clamorem ad caeli sidera tollunt. qui cursu portas primi inrupere patentis, hos inimica super mixto premit agmine turba, nee miseram effugiunt mortem, sed limine in ipso, moenibus in patriis atque inter tuta domorum confixi exspirant animas. pars claudere portas, nee sociis aperire uiam nee moenibus audent accipere orantis, oriturque miserrima caedes defendentum armis aditus inque arma ruentum. exclusi ante oculos lacrimantumque ora parentum pars in praecipitis fossas urgente ruina uoluitur, immissis pars caeca et concita frenis arietat in portas et duros obice postis. 7. For Homeric parallels, see II. 11.743-45, 16.290-93, 17.316-19.

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ipsae de muris summo certamine matres (monstrat amor uerus patriae, ut uidere Camillam) tela manu trepidae iaciunt ac robore duro stipitibus ferrum sudibusque imitantur obustis praecipites, primaeque mori pro moenibus ardent. (Virg. Aen. 11.868-95) [The first to fly-their mistress lost-Camilla's own light-armed horse; the Latins, routed, run; daring Atinas flees. Their captains scattered, forsaken companies seek safety; turning, they gallop to the walls. No one is able to stay with spears or stand against the press of Trojans bringing death. And now the Latins haul off slack bows on their exhausted shoulders; four-footed hoofbeats shake the crumbling plain. The dust that whirls in cloud and darkness rolls back to the city; as they beat their breasts, the mothers on the watchtowers raise laments, the cries of women, high as heaven's stars. The first to gallop through the open gates full speed still find the enemy entangled within their ranks; the fugitives cannot escape sad death; the Trojan shafts still thrust; within their native walls, upon their threshold, within the very shelter of their houses the Latins gasp their last. Some shut the gates; they do not dare to open them for their own comrades and are deaf to any prayers. And then, a wretched butchery: some guard the gates with swords; their own companions charge against them. Some, shut out, are rolled headlong into the trenches, driven by the rout, before the eyes, the very presence of their weeping parents; some, with loosened reins, blind, spur ahead and batter at the gates, the tough and bolted doors. Even the mothers along the walls, remembering Camilla, s 8. Literally, "as they saw Camilla." On this expression, see n. 46 in the present chapter.

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are rivals in their eagerness to cast their shafts with anxious hands; true love of homeland points out the way; they rush to imitate steel with their sturdy oak clubs and charred stakes; each burns to die first for her city's sake.] This image of a routed army seeking refuge within the walls of its own city finds close correspondence in Iliad 21.9 After a long period of self­ inflicted isolation, Achilles reappears at last on the battleground in Iliad 20; in a state of maddened sorrow for the death of his companion Patroclus, he rages across the battlefield. The helpless Trojans have no alternative but to stream in flight (Il. 21.1-16 ) . As the river Scamander engages Achilles in a mighty combat, the Trojans seek refuge within Troy's walls (Il. 21.537-43 ) ; eventually, while Achilles is once again tricked and delayed in his pursuit of the enemy by Apollo, the Trojans are able to enter the city safely through the gates that have been deliberately opened to receive them (Il. 21.606-11 ) . 10 The development of the action in both poems makes the parallelism even more compelling. By the end of book 21, what remains to be told in the Iliad is the final duel between Hector and Achilles. Similarly, by the end of book 11 of the Aeneid, the stage is ready for the final confrontation between Aeneas and Turnus. The narrative structure of the Virgilian scene, however, recalls another important episode of the Iliad, the description of the death of Hector and the famous 'tELX,oaxo:n:ia of Iliad 22." Compare the following outlines. Aeneid 1 1 868-77

Retreat of the Latins

877-78

Reaction of the Latin mothers

879-86

First slaughter of the Latins

887

Reaction of the Latin parents

888-90

The slaughter continues

891-9 5

Reaction of the Latin mothers

9· Cf. Knauer 1964, ad loc. 10. Cf. also II. 12.120-23, where it is said that the gates of the Achaean camp are left open to allow the soldiers to find refuge. 11. Aside from its employment in the Iliad, tELXOO%oJtla is widely attested in historiography. On this topic, see Paul 1984, at 60.3.

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Iliad 2 2 5 -32

Action outside the city walls

33-37

Reaction of Priam

38-78

Speech of Priam

79-81

Reaction of Hecuba

82-91

Speech of Hecuba

92- 404

Fight between Hector and Achilles12 and death of Hector

405-15

Reaction of Hecuba and Priam

416-28

Speech of Priam

431-36

Speech of Hecuba

437-end

Reaction and speech of Andromache

The constant narrative shift in the Aeneid between the events taking place outside the city wall and the response of the Latin parents, who endure the increasingly dramatic spectacle culminating in the slaughter of their own sons, has a clear antecedent in Iliad 22. There, the events outside the city wail-in this case, the various phases of the fight between Hector and Achilles that eventually lead to the pitiful death of the former-are commented on and framed by the corresponding reactions of grief and sorrow on the part of Hecuba and Priam, the quintessential parents of the epic world. Thus, Aeneid 11.868-95 conflates two important episodes of the Iliad. The rout scene at the end of Iliad 21 may be recognized as the most relevant "exemplary" model for the Virgilian scene; its composite narrative structure, on the other hand, echoes the structure of Iliad 22. In sum, the episode seems to be exquisitely Homeric-that is, epic-in both theme and structure. I now turn to a closer analysis of the imagery of the Virgilian passage. The Latin rout unfolds in distinct phases. After the death of Camilla, the Latin army hastens back into the city, mingling with the Trojans (11.880: mixto . . . agmine) . A sequence of deaths marks out the spatial progression of the retreating forces into the city: some die on the threshold of the city, then some within its walls, and eventually some within the walls of their homes, 12. The narration of the final duel between Hector and Achilles is interrupted by a divine dialogue between Zeus and Athena (II. 22.168-85) and by Jupiter's weighing of their fates on his scales (II. 22.208-13 ) . Both scenes, ignored here, are important models in the final duel between Aeneas and Turnus.

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to which they had run in search of safety (11.881-83: sed limine in ipso, I moenibus in patriis atque inter tuta domorum I confixi exspirant animas) . Thus ends the first part of the description. At this point, a sudden and dramatic change alters the situation. The citizens shut the city gates in front of their own imploring citizens. The result is a miserrima caedes:'3 the re­ treating army, deprived of the only refuge it could have, falls headlong into the fossa or crashes at the gates as a hostile battering ram. The fossa and the gates, once built to secure the safety of the citizens, turn against part of the citizen body. Manifestly, the episode in the Aeneid has retained none of the topoi conspicuously present in its "exemplary" model in Iliad 21 that, recurrent in many other Homeric rout scenes, best qualify the passage in its capacity as a type-scene: the Trojans flee Achilles's mighty force like locusts escaping fire (Il. 21.12-14); covered by the dust of the plain and with their throats parched with thirst, they rush to the city, while Achilles presses on (Il. 21.540-42); in disorderly fashion, they stream safely into Troy (Priam has ordered the gates to be opened); they are no longer curious to find out which one had gotten away and who had died in the battle (Il. 21.6o6-n) .'4 These epic topoi have been carved out, so to speak, from the scene in the Aeneid and replaced with imagery alien to the Iliad. The opening verses of the Aeneid episode offer readers a clear cue of the different narrative register employed here. The participle turbati (Aen. 11.869: turbati fugiunt) , which aptly conveys the idea of "disorder and confusion" (at once concrete and psychological) ' s is used by Livy to mark the initial stage of the type-scene, which Witte labelled signifi­ cantly "den Ausbruch der Flucht" [the outbreak of the flight ] .'6 The follow­ ing examples will clarify Livy's technique. Livy 6.32.8: Sed eques immissus ordines turbauit; turbatis signa pedi­ tum inlata, quantumque Romana se inuexit acies, tantum hostes gradu demoti . . . '7 13. For a similar episode, cf. Aen. 9.722-26: Pandarus . . . portam ui multa conuerso cardine torquet I obnixus latis umeris, multosque suorum I moenibus exclusos duro in certamine linquit . . . For the expression miserrima caedes, cf. Aen. 2.410-12: hie primum ex alto delubri culmine telis I nostrorum obruimur oriturque miserrima caedes I armorum facie et Graiarum errore iubarum. 14. For similar images in the rout scenes of the Iliad, see chap. 3 in the present study. 15. Cf. E. V. s.v. turbo: "Tuttavia nella maggioranza dei casi turbare e il verbo del disordine pro­ vocato non solo sul piano concreto e materiale, rna anche nella sfera psichica. Cosi spesso dipinge insieme il movimento disordinato e l'agitazione, il timore, l'inquietudine nell'atto della fuga." 16. Witte 1910, 395. 17. "But a cavalry charge disordered their ranks; the infantry then made an attack on the disordered ranks; the further the Romans pressed forward, the more decided the retreat of the enemy became . . . "

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7.15.3: Hie primo impetus prope uecors turbauit hostes; eques deinde emissus turbatos auertit. 18 33.18.18: turbati extemplo tumultum primo inter se fecerunt, terga deinde vertunt, postremo abiectis armis in praecipitem fugam effunduntur.19

Turbati thus functions as a powerful lexical indicator, which prompts read­ ers to decodify the imagery of the scene according to a different generic register. The passage reflects conventional imagery indeed, but this conven­ tional imagery does not belong to the Iliad or to epic generally. These topoi belong to historiography, as the following examples show. Mixto Agmine

Livy 1.14.9-11: Ita multiplici terrore perculsi Fidenates prius paene, quam Romulus quique cum eo uisi erant, circumagerent frenis equos, terga uertunt; multoque effusius, quippe uera fuga, qui simulantes paulo ante secuti erant oppidum repetebant. Non tamen eripuere se hosti: haerens in tergo Romanus, priusquam fares portarum obicerentur, uelut agmine uno inrumpit. 20 4.33.12-4.34.1: Alterum agmen fertur per castra in urbem. Eadem et Romanos sequentes impetus rapit, Quinctium maxime et cum eo de­ gressos modo de montibus, recentissimum ad laborem militem, quia ultimo proelio aduenerat. Hi postquam mixti hostibus portam intra­ uere, in muros euadunt, suisque capti oppidi signum ex muro tollunt.2 1 42.54.5: quae cum irae magis inconsultae quam uerae fiduciae uirium esset, pauci et fessi ab integris pulsi terga <dederunt>fugientesque per patentem portam hastes acceperunt. 22 18. "First they charged like madmen and disordered the enemy's lines; the cavalry attack that followed caused the disordered ranks to flee. " 19. "the disordered ranks at once fell foul of one another, then they turn and, at last, flinging away their arms, break into headlong flight." 20. "Terrified by these combined threats, the Fidenates turn and flee almost before Romulus and his men could wheel around to the attack. They made for their town much more quickly than they had just before pursued those who pretended to flee, for their flight was genuine. They could not, however, shake off the pursuit; the Romans were on their heels and, before the gates could be closed against them, they burst into the city together with the Fidenates. " 21. "The other body makes its way through the camp to their city with the Romans in close pursuit, especially Quinctius and his men, who had just come down from the hills and, having arrived toward the close of the struggle, were fresher for the work. After they entered the gates to­ gether with the enemy, they mount the walls and signal to their friends that the city has been taken." 22. "this was due more to impetuosity and rage than to any well-grounded confidence in their strength, and since they were few in number and exhausted, they were repulsed by the

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The Closing of the Gates

Livy 5.13.13: Et Veientium refugientes in urbem multi ante portas caesi, dum prae metu, ne simul Romanus inrumperet, obiectis foribus extremos suorum exclusere. 23 25.15.14-16: Romani, quamquam circumuentos hinc pedes, hinc eques urgebat, tamen aliquamdiu pugnam traxere; postremo et ipsi terga uertunt atque ad urbem fugiunt. Ibi proditores conglobati cum popularium agmen patentibus portis accepissent, ubi Romanos fusos ad urbem ferri uiderunt, conclamant instare Poenum permixtosque et hastes urbem inuasuros ni propere portas claudant. Ita exclusos Ro­ manos praebuere hosti ad caedem . . . 24 44.28.13: Sed propius urbem lemhi accessuque commodiore cum exposuissent armatos, partim in uia fugientes Gallos adepti Mace­ clones ceciderunt, partim ante portam exclusos. Clauserant enim Chii portas ignari, qui fugerent aut sequerentur. 25 Death in the Fossa

Livy 25.11.6: plurimi in fossam praecipitauere occisique sunt plures in fuga quam in pugna.26 44.12.3: inconpositos atque inordinatos fugant persecunturque ad fossam, in quam conpulsos ruina cumulant. Sescenti ferme ibi inter­ fecti, omnesque prope, qui inter murum fossamque deprensi erant, uolnerantur.27 enemy, who was fresh and vigorous. They turned and in their flight through the open gate, they let in the enemy. " 23. "Of the Veientines also, many who were fleeing to the city were killed in front of the gates, which were closed for fear the Romans would break in, and so the hindmost of the fugitives were shut out. '' 24. "Romans kept up the fight for some time despite their being attacked on one side by the infantry and on the other by the cavalry, but at last they, too, turn and flee to the city. There, a body of the traitors admitted the stream of their fellow townsmen through the open gate, but when they saw the Romans routed and running toward the city, they shout that the Carthaginians are at their heels and that the enemy will enter the city together with the Romans unless they instantly close the gates. The Romans accordingly were shut out for slaughter by the enemy . . . " 25. "But as the scout ships put troops ashore nearer the city and at a more convenient landing place, the Macedonians overtook the Galatians and cut them down, partly as they fled along the road, partly when they were shut out of the city gates. The Chians had closed their gates, not knowing who were fleeing and who were pursuing." 26. "a great many flung themselves headlong into the ditch, and more were killed in the flight than in the fighting." 27. "as they are unable to present a firm front or proper line, the enemy routs and pursues them as far as the ditch. Driven there headlong, they lie in heaps. Nearly six hundred were killed there, and almost all who were caught between the wall and the ditch are wounded."

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The relative complexity of Virgilian narration emerges again. On the one hand, the new war of Troy unfolds in front of our eyes; readers of the narration are meant to perceive its Iliadic reference point (or points, as in this instance) and are thus brought in contact with that epic past. On the other hand, the toposlike quality of the imagery assimilates the epic tale to a different generic system and, consequently, projects the primary narrative forward into what is also a different temporal system of reality. In the multilayered generic structure of this passage, genres (and the topoi con­ nected with them) function as vectors moving the narrative toward opposite temporal directions, which effectively begin to crack the temporal frame of the primary narrative by creating powerful dissonances within it. This phe­ nomenon is even more visible in the last phase of the rout scene.

Summum Certamen: Women in Arms

As the unrelenting slaughter of the men is taking place in front of the gates, a final and highly dramatic event brings the episode to its closure. Inspired by the sight of Camilla, the Latin mothers, up to this point passive spectators, take up a more dynamic role: throwing improvised weapons from the city walls, they become active, if desperate, participants in the fray (tela manu trepidae iaciunt ac robore duro I stipitibus ferrum sudibusque imitantur obustis I praecipites, primaeque mori pro moenibus ardent).28 This passage has been the object of heated debates, and its many enigmatic expressions have been a puzzlement for scholars since antiquity. I will discuss them shortly. For now, I will analyze another peculiar aspect of this scene, namely, the altogether un­ Homeric quality of this representation in which women are shown taking up arms to defend their city.29 After a highly emotional encounter with his wife and son, Hector bids farewell to Andromache, inviting her to go back home and attend to her womanly labors at the loom and distaff: "Go therefore back to our house, and take up your own work, the loom and the distaff, and see to it that your handmaidens ply their work also; but the men must see to the fighting, all men who are the people of Ilion, but I beyond others."3o Hector reminds

28. Aen. 11.893-95. 29. Not surprisingly, Knauer (1964, ad loc. ) does not cite any Homeric parallel for this Virgilian scene. 30. II. 6.490-93. For a similar division of roles between men and women, see Od. 1.356-59, 21.350-53·

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Andromache that war belongs exclusively to men (n6A£[tO£ � avogwm [t£A�oet) ;3' women's work is at home with the loom. Significantly, both Helen and Andromache are thus occupied when the former is summoned by Iris and the latter is reached by the news of Hector's death.32 The same idea and the same dichotomy between male and female spheres of competence (war and weaving, city and house) is underscored later in the poem. In Iliad 8, as Hector is making preparations for the night (the Trojans are camping near the Achaean camp), he sends orders to the city: "for the boys who are in their first youth and the grey-browed elders to take stations on the god­ founded bastions that circle the city; and as for the women, have our wives, each one in her own house, kindle a great fire."33 Women witness war only from a distance and in the capacity of inert spectators.Helen watches the Greek army advancing on the plain of Troy in Iliad 3; more dramatically, Hecuba and Andromache witness from the high walls of the city the death of Hector-son and husband, respectively-and the dragging of his body in front of the city. Not surprisingly, the only women warriors in the Iliad are the Amazons, who are mentioned only twice in the Iliad and are granted the significant epithet av-navetgm, "a match for men."34 The matriarchal Amazons, who live in the spatial margins of the world and are put down by prestigious heroes, are a fantastical community. Connoting both maidenhood and martial valor, they are representative of "otherness"; they are the antiparadigm of proper women's behavior.3s In the Iliad, weaving and warfare are represented as irreconcilable alternatives; no crossing between the two spheres of activity is allowed. Amazons and women can share no common ground. The Latin mothers represent a radically different conception of feminin­ ity and seem to share a special bond with Camilla, the bellatrix.36 At the end of Aeneid 7, when Camilla's grand-finale appearance draws to a close the catalog of the Italian warriors, the Latin mothers gaze at Camilla with wonder, and she becomes their undisputed object of admiration. illam omnis tectis agrisque effusa iuuentus turbaque miratur matrum et prospectat euntem, 31. II. 6.492. Cf. 20.137. 32. II. 3.125, 22.440. 33. II. 8.518-21. 34· II. 3.189, 6.186. 35· Hall 1989, 54· 36. For more on the figure of Camilla and its archetypes, see Arrigoni 1982; Horsfall 1988; La Penna 1988; Anderson 1999, 203-9.

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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. (Virg. Aen. 7.812-17) [And as Camilla passes, all the young pour out from field and house: the matrons crowd and marvel, staring, 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, her shepherd's pike of myrtle tipped with steel.] The Latin matres reappear in Camilla's final hour and, inspired by her, engage in a desperate fight. The matres in the Aeneid frame the story of Camilla. They greet her entrance in the story and mark her departure from it. Camilla and the Latin women draw close to each other, and their spheres of activity blur in a way that was denied to the women of the Iliad. The quest for alternative models for this passage of the Aeneid has not proved unfruitful. In her detailed study on the character of Camilla, Arrigoni points out that the special relationship between the Latin matres and Camilla is not a Virgilian novelty but has a very close parallel in the Posthomerica of QuintusY Since the account of Arctinus's Aethiopis presents the Trojan women as playing no active role in the defense of the city (at least from what we can evince from the summary of Proclus), Arrigoni goes on to cite as the plausible model behind both Quintus and Virgil a certain Tellis or Telles-probably a Hellenistic author, he is mentioned by Eustathius as the author of an Amazonomachy38-or, alternatively, a Hellenistic tragedy whose few fragments are preserved in Oslo Papyrus 1413, in which the Phrygian women are represented as dropping their knives at the appearance of Achilles's ghost.39 However, Arrigoni's conjecture rests on purely hypo­ thetical grounds; because little is known of the work of Tellis/Telles (Eusta­ thius's summary is not very helpful in this regard) and because the frag­ ments of Oslo Papyrus 1413 are few, we cannot draw any final conclusion on 37. 38. 39. between

For more on the relation between Quintus and Virgil, see chap . 1, n. 2. Eustathius at Od. 11.358, 1696, 51 ff. Arrigoni 1982, 45, 123. On Arctinus's Aethiopis, see Davies 1989, 53-61. On the relation Virgil's account and Oslo Papyrus 1413, see Kakridis 1964.

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the most likely model for our two authors. Relevant here is Quintus, whose text calls for a comparison with the Virgilian scene. As Arrigoni notices, the most visible point of contact between the Trojan women in Quintus and the Latin mothers of the Aeneid is the special bond that they seem to share with the heroines of the poems: Penthesilea in Quintus, Camilla in Virgil. This special relationship is manifest in their desire to identify with the heroines via emulation-stirred by the sight of their heroine, the Trojan women, too, are eager to engage actively in the fray.4° But differences between the two texts are significant. In Quintus, Penthesilea makes her appearance at the opening of the poem and is ac­ claimed by the Trojan throng. Like a lioness thirsty for blood, she becomes the unstoppable protagonist of the battle and spurs the Trojans to combat with her military valor. Under her leadership, the Greeks are described as falling like leaves in autumn or like drops of rain (-wt 6£ ,Booi:t; qruAA-mmv £mxmEt; � 'ljJExa6wm I :n:'Lmov £:n:aomn:Egm).4' Only at this point are Quin­ tus's Trojan women taken by the desire to emulate Penthesilea's heroic feats. Marveling from afar at her martial exploits (TQ(OLU6Et; f) a:n:aVE'lJfu::V UQ�La £gya yvvmxot; I 1tm)[ta�ov)42 and ignited by Hippodameia's speech, they hasten to go to battle for the sake of their town and their people. "Qt; ag' Eqnj' :n:aaum 6' EQWt; at'lJYEQO LO fill1tmo E[t:ltWEv. £oavu£vwc 6E :n:qo •Eixwc &malvwxov BhuEvm £v 'tEvxwmv aqnyeuEvm uwav 'Lm aatE"L xat Aaoi:mv · OQLVE'tO 6E O(J?LOL &uOc. a:Jt6:n:qo11L ff dqta 1tEV'tO xat 'taAaqovc, aAEYELva ff bi EV'tEa XE LQac 'LaAA-ov. (Quintus Posthom. 1.436-46)

[So cried she, and love for stern war seized all those women; with eager speed 40. If a common model may be invoked for Quintus and Virgil, the framing of Camilla's story by the presence of the Latin mothers appears to be exquisitely Virgilian. Contrary to the passage in Aeneid 7, the wonder that Penthesilea arouses by her arrival at Troy is shared by the entire population, and no special relation between her and the Trojan women is singled out at this point of the narration (Posthom. 1.53-57: "The Trojans, hurrying from all sides, greatly marveled when they saw the child of the tireless war god, wearing high greaves; she was similar to the blessed gods, for in her face glowed beauty glorious and terrible" ) . 41. Posthom. 1.345-46. 42. Posthom. 1.403-4.

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they hastened to march outside the walls in arms, afire to battle for their town and people: all their spirit was aflame. Far away they flung the weaving wool and the distaff and stretched their hands to grim weapons By throwing away the distaff and the weaving wool and by replacing them with weapons, the Trojan women symbolically renounce the role proper to their gender. They, too, want a share in the UQ� La EQya, the sphere of activity that Hector had notoriously denied them. Yet they cannot follow through. They cannot turn themselves into Amazons; they are not able to bridge the irreconcilable gap between weaving and warfare. No sooner is their mind set than Theano convinces them to reconsider the hazardous plan: "You rush on without thinking; our strength can never be as that of Danaan men, men trained in daily battle. . . . Therefore stay away from the tumult of the battle and go back to the loom inside the house; war shall be the business of our men [avOQUOL � �[tE'tEQOLOL :rtEQL :lt'tOAE[tOLO [tEA�OEL] ."43 For the Trojan women, participation in the UQ�La EQya remains a fantasy, a craving; persuaded by the Hector-like speech of Theano, they are immedi­ ately reabsorbed into their female universe. The closing of the scene points to the irreconcilable separateness of the two worlds. The scene had opened with the Trojan women marvelling from afar at the martial exploits of Penthesilea. In a sort of ring composition, it ends with the same image: the Trojan women return to gaze from afar at a world that does not belong to them (UO[J,LVT]V � anavm&v EOE0Qaxov) .44 The situation is different in Virgil. Like the Trojan women, the Latin mothers are stirred to action by the sight of Camilla (Aen. 11.892: ut uidere Camillam), but unlike Penthesilea, Camilla cannot be viewed in her capacity as a uictrix, for she is now dead. She has become an exemplum for a different sort of heroism.45 Camilla and her death inspire the Latin mothers to put their own lives at stake in a last, desperate attempt to defend the city. The enigmatic line 892, monstrat amor uerus patriae, ut uidere Camillam, should 43· Posthom. 1.454-69. 44· Posthom. 1.476. 45. For a different interpretation, see Arrigoni 1982, 121. Arrigoni claims that the Roman mothers are eager to emulate Camilla in her capacity as a bellatrix: "Personally I believe that what is meant here is an imitation of Camilla as warrior, of her aristeia, of her behavior as an Amazon."

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be interpreted in this sense.46 The true love the Latin mothers have for their country is expressed in their willingness to die for it. There is no need to view amor uerus patriae as a hypallage in the sense of amor uerae patriae as opposed to the am or patriae alienae of Camilla. 47 As Camilla dies, the Latin mothers are now willing to emulate her example; after the fashion of Tyrtaeus, they are eager to be the first ones to immolate their lives for their country, as is revealed in the verse that marks the end of the episode: primaeque mori pro moenibus ardent (n.895) .<1S Initially, the Trojan women may appear to be better imitators of the Amazons.49 Indeed, as Arrigoni notes, they are clad in martial attire ( £v 'tevxwmv) , and they carry proper weapons (a"AeyeLva 6' br: EVLW xe'iga£ 'La"A"Aov) .so But their dressing up as men turns out to be a short-lived game of pretending that is eventually marked by complete failure. By contrast, the Latin mothers are able to bridge the gap between female and male spheres of activity and engage in a role that, with the exception of the Amazons, was denied to the epic women of the Iliad and of Quintus. Their spirit of emulation turns immediately into action. They are eager to cast their shafts from the high walls and to imitate steel with their oak clubs and charred stakes.5 ' The implications are rather important. The Latin mothers not only 46. The expression ut uidere Camillam has puzzled commentators from antiquity. Servius Auctus gives various explanations: uidere Camillam-scilicet quae pro aliena patria cecidisse uidebatur. Sane 'ut uidere' non relatam ex pugna, sed ut exemplum uirtutis eius uiderunt. Et quidam 'ut uidere' quasi quemadmodum uidere; 'ut' enim coniunctio modo, non aduerbium temporis est, aut 'ut videre' quemadmodum illam dimicare [uiderunt; non enim earn] uiderant quando interiit. Forbiger (1872-75, ad loc. ) interprets ut uidere as referring to the death of Camilla: scil. fortiter morientem. Sabbadini (1930, ad loc. ) suggests moving lines 891-95 after line 835, that is, immedi­ ately after the death of Camilla, where ut uidere would then refer once again to the death of Camilla. Heyne and Wagner (1830-41, ad loc. ) solve the problem by viewing ut uidere Camillam as an interpolation. For other possible emendations, see Geymonat 1973, ad loc. For an analysis of this passage, see Gransden 1991, ad loc. 47. Arrigoni (1982, 120 ) proposes this solution (i.e., hypallage) in light of Hippodameia's speech in Quintus (Posthom. 1.409-35 ) . The love of the Latin women for their city is in this sense a legitimate love in contrast to the love of Camilla, who, like Penthesilea (as noted by Hippo­ dameia), fights for a country that is not her own. This interpretation is followed by Gransden (1991, ad loc. ) . Servius Auctus (at 11.892) explains monstrat amor verus more accurately: qui apparet in aduersis. 48. Cf. Tyrt. 10.1-2 West. Cf. also Hor. Carm. 3.2.13: dulce et decorum est pro patria mori . . . 49. Arrigoni (1982, 123 ) concludes, "There is no doubt that the Trojan women of the Greek writers are bolder imitators of Camilla, for surely they show some professionalism in their choice of weapons." so. Posthom. 1.438, 446; Arrigoni 1982, 123. 51. Aen. 11.893-95.

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prove to be better imitators than the Trojan women; by their action, they also openly leave behind the Trojan women and their epic universe. But into what universe do they step? On this, Arrigoni has some interest­ ing remarks worth citing: "It just goes without saying that the idealized Camilla . . . and the anxious Latin women, who emulate Camilla and their Trojan ancestresses, are placed by Virgil in a distant and legendary past. . . . At the time of Virgil naturally [my emphasis ] things were quite different." s 2 Is this really so? Is the war fought by the Italian mothers nothing more than a rural skirmish (Arrigoni labels it a "scaramuccia campestre")s3 located in a legendary world very different from the Virgilian reality? The text seems to identify the struggle otherwise. The episode under consideration has the aura of a summum certamen, as the narrator himself informs us (ipsae de muris summa certamine matres).54 The Latin women, as already announced earlier in the book, are called to share in the last attempt, the labor ultimus, to save the city (tum muros uaria cinxere corona I matronae puerique, uocat labor ultimus omnis).ss The two passages thus establish a powerful nexus between the finality of the struggle and female intervention, a nexus that bears the characteristics of a topos that can be found elsewhere in ancient tradition. In the year 409, the Selinuntians found themselves besieged by the Car­ thaginians, their former allies.s 6 The situation was critical, and Diodorus reports that everybody in the city took part in its defense according to their capacity: "Indeed, all the men in the prime of life were armed and battled desperately, . . . and women and girls supplied the food and missiles to the defenders of the fatherland, no longer holding dear the modesty and the sense of shame that they cherished in time of peace. Such consternation prevailed that the magnitude of the emergency called for even the aid of their women [waairtT] xma:rtAT];L\; xa&La"t�'XEL Wa"tE "tO [lEyEil-o\; "tTJ\; :rtEQLG"tUGEW\; i'>E'i:a1tm xal "tTJ\; :n:aga ,;&v yuvmx&v B oTJ &la\; ]." s7 The situation, though, 52. Arrigoni 1982, 124. 53· Arrigoni 1982, 118. 54. Aen. 11.891. Servius rightly understands summa certamine as in extrema discrimine. Cf. also de Ia Cerda 1617, ad loc. : Non defuit feminis, cum uiris deesset, animus. Itaque cum summum illud et extremum putarent esse certamen, e muris tela deuoluere, pugnare acriter, festinare omnia, mori pro patria. For a different interpretation, cf. Arrigoni 1982, 118; Arrigoni interprets ilie expression summum certamen to mean "l'impegno agonistico." 55· Aen. 11.475-76. Servius (ad loc. ) explains matronae puerique, uocat labor ultimus omnis as omnes ad laborem ultima necessitas conuocat. 56. Diod. 13.55-57. 57· Diod. 13.55.4-5·

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soon takes a turn for the worse: the wall collapses, and the Carthaginian commander launches assaults from every side. At this point, women and children, who up to now had been merely aids in the defense, become direct participants in the desperate struggle and throw on the enemy improvised missiles, stones, and tiles ('ta :rtA.�fu] 1:&v yuvmx&v xal naiowv . . . xal 'tOV£ 'tE A.iitov£ xal 'tU£ XEQU[tLOa£ £ � aU ov £nl 'tOV£ :rtOAE[tLO'll £) .58 Similarly, the last day of the city of Veii (ultimum illum diem),59 destined to fall at the hands of the Romans after a ten-year-long siege, witnesses women throwing stones and tiles in a last attempt to ward off the Romans' attempt to set the city on fire (pars cum ex tectis saxa tegulaeque a mulieribus ac seruitiis iacerentur, inferunt ignes). 6 0 The siege of the Spanish city of Iluturgi offers an even more appropriate example. In the eyes of the besieged, Scipio's siege of the city, brought on by the city's treacherous behavior during the Second Punic War, gains the quality of a summum certamen. "Not only freedom was at stake, which whets the courage of brave men alone, " Livy tells us in an editorial comment, "but all had before their eyes extreme penalties and a hideous death" [Non libertas solum agebatur, quae uirorum fortium tan tum pectora acuit, sed ultima omnibus supplicia et foeda mors ob oculos erat}. 6' In this final hour, women and children, with a strength superior to their soul and body (feminae puerique super animi corporisque uires adsunt), join the men in the desperate, if useless, attempt to save the city.6 2 In the passages now examined, as in the Aeneid, women's participation is characterized not by heroic and martial ardor or professionality but by desperation. Their weapons, stones and tiles (again as in Virgil), are improvised weapons, a detail that stresses the des­ peration of the attempt rather than its amateurism.63 Far from being located as Arrigoni believes, in a legendary past, the intervention of the Latin mothers and the dialectical nexus between final struggle and female intervention reflects a topos that belongs conspicuously to historiography. It is properly in a historical context, not in a mythological 58. Diod. 13.56.7. 59· Livy 5.21.6. 6o. Livy 5.21.10. 61. Livy 28.19.14. 62. Livy 28.19 .13. Cf. Sal!. Jug 67.1: ad hoc mulieres puerique pro tectis aedificiorum saxa et alia quae locus praebebat, certatim mittere. 63. Cf. Aen. 9.509-10 (telorum effundere contra I omne genus Teucri); 2.446-49 (his se, quando ultima cernunt, I extrema iam in morte parant defendere telis, I auratasque trabes, ueterum decora alta parentum, I deuoluunt). In these passages, too, the desperate response of the besieged is emphasized by the use of nonprofessional weapons.

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one, that women, in the moment of greatest danger for their city, the summum certamen, are consistently represented as taking part in the final struggle for survival.6 4 If, following Arrigoni, we believe in a common model for Virgil and Quintus, one that explored the close bonds between the Amazon Penthesilea and the Trojan women, we must also conclude that Virgil has refashioned it quite extensively. In Quintus, the bond between the Trojan mothers and Penthesilea is employed to reestablish a contrast between women and Ama­ zons that is typical of the code of behavior of the Iliad. In Virgil, the relation between Camilla and the Latin mothers subverts this antithesis and propels the women outside the epic universe. The Latin mothers, who behaved like true epic women and stared pitifully at the events unfolding before their eyes at the beginning of the Aeneid episode, have undergone a process of evolu­ tion in the space of this brief scene. At the end of the episode, their epic world is shattered, and as if progressing in time, the Latin mothers have stepped out from the mythological past and entered the realm of history.6 s When and where does the story of the Aeneid take place? The answer to this question-an answer that seemed rather obvious at the beginning of this chapter-has suddenly become more problematic. Consequently, in the 64. I do not think that any particular historical event can be traced as a "model" for the Virgilian narration, though other commentators have suggested a reference to specific events of Roman history. For example, de Ia Cerda (1617, ad loc. ) explains the expression sed limine ipso as an allusion to the battle at the gates of Capua. 65. A passage from Pausanias' s Messenia is relevant in this regard. Pausanias ( 4.6.2) seems to imply that his account of the Second Messenian War follows an account that Rhianus, a Helle­ nistic poet who wrote an epic entitled Messeniaca, centered on the famous capture of Eira after the disaster of the Great Trench. The last desperate battle to ward off the Lacedaemonians from the citadel of Eira (the siege had lasted n years) is labelled by Pausanias um;ato� &.ywv ( cf. the Virgilian summum certamen) and is again characterized by the women's intervention in the fight. Here, too, the women's attempt to participate in the struggle is marked, at the beginning, by their willingness to use improvised weapons: "Realizing that the supreme and most desperate crisis had come upon them [yv6vtE� oiiv tOV um;atov Of-lOU %al &.vay%atOtatoV O
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Aeneid, the reconstitution of a temporal narrative order in light of a primary narrative, a reconstitution that Genette viewed as not only possible but necessary, has become indissolubly connected to the problem of textual interpretation. In his influential study on Virgil's Aeneid, Conte has identi­ fied the point of rupture between the Aeneid and the previous epic tradition to be Virgil's introduction of multiple points of view.6 6 By introducing multiple points of view, the text becomes polycentric and thus shatters the pretense of an epic norm; every point of view is a center of independent perception. Conte explains, "Overall reality appears in the Aeneid as if reflected in a cracked mirror. It exists as many times over as there are active points of view." 6 7 The preceding analysis of the scene in Aeneid n has shown that the landscape of war in the primary narrative of the Aeneid is conspicu­ ously affected also by polychrony. It reflects multiple systems of realities, none of which nullifies another. On the contrary, they coexist with each other and constantly bridge the gap between the Bakhtinian absolute past, the realm of epic, and the proximity, the inlminent threshold, of the reader's own experience, in a way that at times appears to be antithetic to that of the famous prolepses of the poem (see chap. 7) . In chapter 6, I attend to precisely this threshold where past and present collide, with the goal that we might fully understand the implications of Virgil's narrative choice.

66. Conte 1986, 141-84. 67. Conte 1986, 161-62.

Six

Witnes s in g the Pas t

. . . going off to war, men have always sought to demonstrate their ability not only to "make" history, but also to write it . . . . When listeners marveled at the precision with which Bernal Diaz evoked battle scenes of fifty years before (he had been a soldier under Cortes in the Conquest of Mexico), he explained that the Spaniards used to gather together every evening to recount the day's combats . . . . This virtually simultaneous translation [allowed] the conquistadors . . . to be able to read History for themselves, im-mediately, in order to grasp its meaning and to foresee its probable evolutions. -Nancy Huston, "Tales of War and Tears of Women"

haec et apud seras gentes populosque nepotum, siue sua tantum uenient in saecula fama, siue aliquid magnis nostri quoque cura laboris nominibus prodesse potest, cum bella legentur, spesque metusque simul perituraque uota mouebunt, attonitique omnes ueluti uenientia fata, non transmissa, legent et adhuc tibi, Magne, fauebunt. -Lucan BC [Even among later races and the people of posterity, these events­ whether they come down to future ages by their own fame alone 125

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or whether my devotion also and my toil can do anything for mighty names-will stir both hopes and fears together and useless prayers when the battle is read; all will be stunned as they read the destinies, as if to come, not past, and Magnus, still they will side with you. ]

Mise-en-Scene

Descriptions of collective fights are by no means a distinctive trait of the epic genre. Not surprisingly, by Virgil's time, they had become a familiar topos of historiography as well. The Isocratean school had set schemata according to which battles were to be presented; previously, I mentioned how Hermoge­ nes, a rhetorical theorist in the second century c.E. , lists in detail the various elements of a descriptio pugnae.' Other sources, too, are available to shed light on the narrative system adopted by historians to describe such events. Although the few extant fragments of Pollio's Histories make it very difficult to analyze the distinctive features of his project as a whole, Horace's famous praise of his literary achievement in Odes 2.1 offers a valuable testimony to his technique. Odes 2.1 has a complex narrative structure. In the first two stanzas of the poem, Horace states the theme of Pollio's Histories and casts it within the frame of conventional historiographical theory and praxis: as recognized long ago by Ullman, Horace here reechoes-almost verbatim-key ideas of Cicero's letter to Lucceius.2 After praising his addressee's other merits, namely, his achievements as writer of tragedies and as a military man (Pollio was probably awarded a triumph for his victory over the Parthini in Illyria in 39 B . C .E. ) , Horace finally returns, in the fifth stanza, to the main theme of the poem-Pollio's Histories-and anticipates the thrill of Pollio's descrip­ tion of a battle in language that seems to recall the prophetic language of a seer.3 iam nunc minaci murmure cornuum perstringis auris, iam litui strepunt, iam fulgor armorum fugacis terret equos equitumque uoltus;

------

1. See my introduction, n. 31. 2. Ullman 1942, 50. See also Nisbet and Hubbard 1978, ad loc. 3. It is possible that Horace is here describing the battle of Pharsalus. On this topic, see Nisbet and Hubbard 1978, at line 19.

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audire (uidere) magnos iam uideor duces non indecoro puluere sordidos et cuncta terrarum subacta praeter atrocem animum Catonis. (Hor. Carm. 2.1.17-24) [Even now with threatening blare of horns you strike our ears; even now the war trumpets sound; even now the gleam of weapons strikes terror into timid horses and into the horsemen's faces. Already I seem to hear [to see ] the mighty captains begrimed with no inglorious dust and all the world subdued, except stern Cato's soul.] Concerning the preceding passage, Nisbet and Hubbard make the impor­ tant suggestion that Horace is not so much foreseeing an actual battle; rather, the passage should be read as a praise of "Pollio's vivid recon­ struction of past events." 4Horace's prophetic tone and language is therefore functional at another level. With it, Horace attempts to reproduce an impor­ tant element of Pollio's narrative style: vividness, enargeia.s Horace almost seems (uideor) to hear (or to see, as Nisbet and Hubbard propose) the battle unfolding before his very eyes as a spectacle.6 Pollio must not have been alone in his effort to achieve this sort of narrative effect. Designated enargeia in Greek and demonstratio, illustratio, euidentia, and sub oculos subiectio in Latin, this term, usually translated as "vividness," was indeed commended by rhetorical theorists, particularly 4. Nisbet and Hubbard 1978, at line 17. Cf. Quinn 1980, at lines 17-24: "Stanzas 5-6 are probably intended to represent H's imaginative reaction to a reading by Pollio from his History at a recitatio. Jam nunc followed by 18 iam, 19 iam, and 21 iam, makes it sound as though it were all taking place before H's eyes." For the view that the ecstatic visions of prophecy and the narrative procedure that aims at enargeia are closely related categories in ancient thought, see Leigh 1997, 10. 5. For a definition of enargeia by ancient grammarians, see Quint. I. O. 6.2.32. Quintilian states that enargeia aims at showing rather than telling (Insequetur enargeia, quae a Cicerone inlustratio et euidentia nominatur, quae non tam dicere uidetur quam ostendere) and allows the audience to experience emotions as if it were directly participating in the events described (et adfectus non aliter quam si rebus ipsis intersimus sequentur). See also I. O. 8.3.61-72, 9.2.40-44. 6. See Nisbet and Hubbard 1978, at line 21. For the implications of the emendation, see n. 30 in the present chapter.

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(although not only) in historians.? Lucian, in his treatise Quomodo historia conscribenda sit, the only handbook surviving from antiquity that is devoted entirely to this genre, aptly summarizes the features of enargeia and its relevance to historiography.8 The task of the historian is similar: to give a fine arrangement to events and illuminate them as vividly as possible. And when a man who has heard him thinks thereafter that he sees what is being described and then praises him, then it is that the work of our Phidias of history is perfect and has received its proper praise. (Lu­ cian Hist. conscr. 51) Thus, in Lucian, the task of a historian is compared to that of a sculptor. The historian must arrange the material well and illuminate it as vividly as possible ( £vagy£m:m-a £:rw"lei:1;m at'rta) . Most importantly, the historian's task will be successful only "when a man who has heard him thinks thereaf­ ter that he sees what is being described" [ omv "tLt; U'XQOW[lEVOt; o'LT]"taL [lE"ta ,;aiha ogav ,;a A.eyo[lEVa ] . Only then may the historian be crowned as a new Phidias of history.9 A similar association between enargeia and historiography and a similar metaphor occur in Polybius's famous criticism of Timaeus.10 Timaeus, 7. On enargeia-the origin of the term and its function-see Zanker 1981; Meijering 1987, 36-54; Vasaly 1993, 90 n. 4; Webb 1997; Manieri 1998, 97-179 . More specifically on enargeia and historiography, see Scheller 1911, 57-61, 65-71; Burck 1934, 197-209; Strasburger 19 66, 78; Schepens 1975; Davidson 1991; Walker 1993; Feldherr 1998, especially 4-19; Manieri 1998, 155-64. 8. For a detailed analysis of Lucian's work, see Avenarius 1965; Montanari 1987. 9. For the importance of enargeia in historiography, cf. also the praise that Dionysius of Halicamassus (Pomp. 3.17) gives to both Herodotus and Thucydides for their ability to narrate vividly: "Next in order comes vividness as the first of the ancillary qualities: in this, both are decidedly successful." 10. Polyb. 12.25h.3. Cf. Walbank 1957-79, at 12.25h.2: "This comparison shows that Polybius does not object to EVUQYELa in itself, provided it is based on a:t'noJta-fiELa." On enargeia and its function in Polybius, see, further, Schepens 1975; Gentili and Cerri 1983, 44; Davidson 1991; Walker 1993, especially 370-71, Feldherr 1998, 8; Manieri 1998, 158-59. See, further, n. 38 in my introduction to the present study. For a similar comparison between historiography and painting, see Plut. De glor. Ath. 347a. Thucydides is here the object of Plutarch's praise: "The most effective historian is he who, by a vivid representation of emotions and characters, makes his narration like a painting [ woJtEQ yQa; . . . JtQO£ taUti']V Cx[tlAAdtm t�v EVUQYELav ] . " Plutarch notices that a dramatic shift in the role of the audience results from this narrative technique. As the historiographical work is compared to and almost becomes a painting, the reader (or better, the listener), 6 &xQoa�,;, is in turn transformed into a spectator, 6 .fiEa�,;, who is able to experience the amazement and consternation of the original spectators of the event (i.e., the spectators of the battle in the Syracusan harbor) . On this

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whose knowledge of events derives solely from books, is compared to those painters who make their sketches from stuffed bags and who therefore "fail to convey that vividness and animation of real figures that the graphic art is especially capable of rendering" [,;o b£ ,;fj\; Efl

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characterizes other narrative genres: to name but a few, oratory, Hellenistic poetry, and, as Andrew Ford has convincingly argued, Homeric epic (the Homeric scholia already praised Homer for his vivid narrative).16 Moreover, the use of enargeia in historiography is not limited to battle descriptions. The purpose of the present study, however, proposes to analyze a specific type-scene, namely, the "collective fight, " for which the descriptio pugnae in historiography offers a relevant comparandum. I hope to show that in such type-scenes, Virgil manifestly distances himself from Homeric practice (and epic practice altogether, with the significant exception of Ennius) and draws heavily on the conventions used by historians. More specifically, I wish to demonstrate that what connects Virgil's representation of these type-scenes to the historiographical tradition is the presence of specific un-Homeric narrative devices that, according to ancient scholars, were used to achieve enargeia. As Ford has rightly argued, Homer's narrative is likewise defined by vividness, but the effect of the pretended immediacy thus achieved is, at the same time, conjoined with an attempt to preserve and even to stress the duality and distance between the representation and its referent (hence the conspicuous absence of certain narrative devices). Virgilian enargeia (as the study of this type-scene illustrates) distances the Aeneid from Homeric narrative praxis and hence from the ideology reflected in it, for it seeks precisely the opposite effect. Just like in historiography, Virgilian enargeia attempts to forge a continuum, even an identity, between the past retold and the present perceived. It aims at collapsing the duality that is inherent in referentiality, and it seeks to create a complete identity between the narrated events and the "experience" of the now. With this in mind, let us return to Livy. In Ab urbe condita 4.37, reports of the Volscians gathering up an army of unusual size reach Rome, and the newly appointed and overconfident consul C. Sempronius is sent to meet the enemy in the open field. A detailed account of the battle that ensued between the two armies follows. Primo proelio, quod ab Sempronio incaute inconsulteque commis­ sum est, non subsidiis firmata acie, non equite apte locato concursum est. Clamor indicium primum fuit qua res inclinatura esset, excitatior crebriorque ab hoste sublatus: ab Romanis dissonus, impar, segnius saepe iteratus [incerto clamore ] prodidit pauorem animorum. Eo 16. For Hellenistic poetry, see Zanker 1981, 1987. For Roman oratory, see Vasaly 1993. For Homeric epic, see Ford 1992, especially 49-56; Bakker 1993. For Homeric scholia praising Ho· meric vividness, see Meijering 1987, 39-53.

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ferocior inlatus hostis urgere scutis, micare gladiis. Altera ex parte nutant circumspectantibus galeae, et incerti trepidant applicantque se turbae; signa nunc resistentia deseruntur ab antesignanis, nunc inter suos manipulos recipiuntur. Nondum fuga certa, nondum uictoria erat. . . . (Livy 4·37.8-n) [In the first battle, which Sempronius entered without caution or deliberation, his line was not strengthened with reserves, nor was his cavalry skillfully posted when the fighting began. The battle cries were the first intimation how the affair was likely to go, for the enemy's was louder and fuller; that of the Romans, dissonant and uneven and dragging more with each repetition, betrayed the faint­ ness of their hearts. This caused the enemy to charge more boldly, thrusting with their shields and flashing their swords. On the Roman side, helmets nod, as their wearers look this way and that for help, and irresolute soldiers waver and make falteringly for the nearest group; now the standards, while resisting, are left behind by the retreat of the front-rankers; now they retreat back among their proper maniples. It was not yet a definitive flight or yet a victory . . . . ] This battle description by Livy-and one could pick any number of them­ demonstrates well his characteristic use of tenses. The opening phase of the battle-the positioning of the two armies and their initial encounter-is related exclusively in past tenses (commissum est, concursum est, fuit, prodidit, etc.) Afterward, as the battle reaches its peak, the tense system changes abruptly, and the narrative plays out exclusively in the historical present tense (and historic infinitive). Combined with the use of the deictic nunc in anaphora, this sudden shift of tense to the present attests to a technique de rupture that aptly confers on the central passage a sense of pretended imme­ diacy achieved by a process of "actualization": ' ? as the enemy advances, the 17. On pretended immediacy, see Chafe 1994, 195-201. Chafe suggests that as far as speaking and language are concerned, there can be two modes of speaker consciousness, namely, "immedi­ ate" and "displaced." In the first case, a consciousness receives its input from its immediate environment, mostly by way of perception. In the displaced mode, the consciousness that per­ ceives and evaluates is in the past; it provides the input for a consciousness in the present that verbalizes what it remembers. A first consequence of this distinction for the discussion of tense is that "immediacy" has an affinity with the present tense. "Displacement" and the presentation of events as "not now" is linked with a nonpresent tense. Taking Chafe's theory as a point of departure, Bakker (1997a, 14) defines enargeia as pretended immediacy and views the historical present as intrinsically conjoined with it: "One may, and one frequently does, use present tense in such a story ('historical present'), pretending that the consciousness perceiving or experiencing

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Roman soldiers, in fear, seek safety in numbers; the standards, while resisting, are abandoned by the shock troops falling back, and they retreat back among the maniples (incerti trepidant applicantque se turbae; signa nunc resistentia deseruntur ab antesignanis, nunc inter suos manipulos recipiuntur). l8 In Livy, therefore, the combination of the historical present (or historic infinitive) with the use of the temporal deictic nunc, which gives the gram­ matical present the specific rhetorical sense of describing the temporal pres­ ent of the speaker, functions as a significant lexical marker that distances what is primary in the narrative from what is secondary.' 9 It unambiguously frames the core of the episode, the foreground, and allows it to stand out as a sort of narrative tableau and relief, separate from its surroundings, the background. The narrator recedes in favor of a remote observer on the spot. He adopts the stance of the eyewitness reporter, who verbalizes what he sees and therefore allows the reader to become a spectator perceiving and wit­ nessing the event as it happens. In other words, the historical present trig­ gers a descriptive visualization. Hence, as ancient literary theorists them­ selves note and explain, this narrative phenomenon of tense shift to the present is connected to "vividness." The Homeric scholia offer a pertinent example. In Iliad 1, Achilles, maddened by Agamemnon's arrogant claims over Briseis, turns against him in a powerful speech that shows a combinathe past event is actually perceiving in the present. This strategy to achieve the pseudoimmediacy that we call 'vividness' is especially frequent in the case of the reporting of speech events, . . . since it is this event, which coincides with what the verbalizing consciousness is doing in the present, that is best suited for drawing the remembered world into the here and now of the present." On the historical present as a strategy of descriptive visualization that effects the participation and involvement of the audience, see Fleischman 1990, 273-74· 18. This is the typical verbal structure of a Livian episode. Cf. Walsh 1961, 195-96: "The shorter narrations form typical examples of the 'episodes' mentioned in the previous chapter. For example, the fall of Sutrium twice in one day, first to the Etruscans and then to Camillus, begins with the pluperfect introduction ( . . . aliam in partem terror ingens ingruerat). The central description-Camillus' dramatic arrival and recapture of the town-is described with a wealth of short clauses, historic presents, historic infinitives, . . . and the conclusion duly rounds off the episode." Cf. also ibid., 181. For similar conclusions, see Chausserie-Lapree 1969, 408-9. Another example occurs at Livy 7.34.7-11: nee prius ab haste est uisus quam loco quem petebat appropinquauit. Inde admiratione pauentibus cunctis, cum omnium in se uertisset oculos, et spatium consuli dedit ad subducendum agmen in aequiorem locum et ipse in summa constitit uertice. Samnites dum hue illuc signa uertunt utriusque rei amissa occasione neque insequi consulem nisi per eandem uallem, in qua paulo ante subiectum eum telis suis habuerant, possunt, nee erigere agmen in cap tum super se ab Decio tumulum; sed cum ira in has magis, qui fortunam gerendae rei eripuerant, tum propinquitas loci atque ipsa paucitas incitat; et nunc circumdare undique collem armatis uolunt, ut a consule Decium inter­ cludant, nunc uiam patefacere, ut degressos in uallem adoriantur. Incertos quid agerent nox oppressit. For other examples of tense variatio in Livy's battle scenes, see Chausserie-Lapree 19 69, 395 n. 1. 19. On temporal deixis, see Leigh 1997, 311-24, with full bibliography.

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tion of rhetoric and intense feeling.He bitterly reminds Agamemnon of the purpose of the Trojan War and laments over Agamemnon's continual unde­ serving appropriation of the largest part of the booty: "Never, when the Achaeans sack some well-founded citadel of the Trojans, " Achilles scorn­ fully reminds Agamemnon, "do I have a prize that is equal to your prize [o1J [lEV ooi :rtO'tE loov £xw y£ga£ ]" (Il. 1.163-64). The Homeric scholia have some interesting remarks about this verse. Scholia A 163 informs us that according to Aristarchus, the present £xw here stands for the imperfect £oxov. Scholia bT 163b goes further and explains in detail the consequence of the verb's presence in the passage: "to report things that have happened as if they are happening [renders ] the report more vivid" [ £vagym) £ . . . anayye"Aia£ 'ta yeyovo'ta W£ YLVO[tEVa anayy£"-AELV ]. Vividness is here conspicuously con­ nected with the notable shift in tense to the present, a shift that Quintilian labels tralatio temp arum in his Institutio aratoria. 2 0 A passage more relevant to the present study occurs in Pseudo-Longinus's On the Sublime, which describes as one of the so-called figures of speech (tropoi) the use of the present tense for relating past events. Pseudo-Longinus states clearly that by introducing past events as if they were coming to be and present (w£ YLVO[tEVa xal, nag6VLa) , an author turns the passage from mere narrative, bL�yr] O L£, into a thing of immediate urgency, a thing involved in the struggle ( £vaymvLov ngiiy[ta).2' As Russell has noted, Pseudo-Longinus here reasserts the Aristotelian distinction between b L�yr] O L£ and aymv, the "telling" and the "showing, " thereby making it clear that for him, the historical present annihilates time and creates an effect of "pseudoimmediacy" (modern lin­ guists share his opinion).2 2 After this theoretical explanation, Pseudo-Longi­ nus moves on and provides an example from Xenophon's Cyropaedia to support his claim: "A man has fallen under Cyrus's horse and, being trampled on, strikes [nai a ] the horse in the belly with his sword. The horse, rearing, throws Cyrus off [anooeie<m] and he falls [ni:rt'tEL ]." 23 Thucydides, he con­ cludes, uses this technique quite commonly (<moil'tO£ £v LOL£ :rtAELO'tOL£ 6 GovxvbibYJ£) .24 Livy's employment of tralatio temporum thus had quite a long 20. I. O. 9 .2.41: Sed haec quidem tralatio temporum, quae proprie flctam:am,; dicitur in diatyposi [i.e., vivid description] uerecundior apud priores fuit . . . See also Aristides's discussion of this topic (2.552 Spengel). 21. De sub/imitate 25. On the adjective rvaycimo,;, see Meijering 1987, 205. 22. On Pseudo-Longinus's passage, see Russell 1964, ad loc. For modern interpretations of the function of historical present, see n. 17 in this chapter. 23. Xen. Cyr. 7·1.37-38. Xenophon's text has ava�aAAEL instead of JtLJttEL. 24. On the use of the historical present in Greek historiography, see von Fritz 1949. Sicking and Stork (1997) draw especially important conclusions.

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tradition in the genre, a tradition that is evident throughout Roman historiog­ raphy-this narrative phenomenon is attested as early as Quadrigarius.2s Above all, the toposlike quality of this device may be shown by the famous battle description delivered by Sosia in Plautus's Amphitruo. Amphit­ ryon's servant Sosia has been sent in advance to the house of his master to announce the latter's triumphant return after his victory over the Teleboans in a pitched battle. Before entering into the house, the servant stops to rehearse his account, pondering on the selection and arrangement of words he ought to use (sed quo modo et uerbis quibus me deceat fabularier, I prius ipse mecum etiam uolo hie meditari. sic hoc proloquar).26 He begins to envi­ sion the battle he is about to describe to his mistress. He narrates its inception-the disposition of the two armies on the battlefield-in perfect tenses.He then abruptly switches to the present tense to describe the trum­ pet giving the signal and the two armies finally joining in combat. postquam utrimque exitum est maxuma copia, dispertiti uiri, dispertiti ordines, nos nostras more nostro et modo instruximus legiones, . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . pro se quisque id quod quisq' potest et ualet edit, ferro ferit; tela frangunt, boat caelum fremitu uirum; ex spiritu atque anhelitu nebula constat; cadunt tuolnerum ui uirit. (Pl. Am. 219-34)27 [After they had gone forth on either side in full array, the soldiers were marshaled, the ranks formed. After our manner and usage, we drew up our legions; . . . Each man according to his ability does that which each one can and has the strength to do; he wounds with his sword; the weapons crash; the sky bellows with the uproar of the men; of breaths and pantings a cloud is formed; men fall beneath the weight of wounds ] In Sosia's case, this tralatio verborum has a doubly comic effect. By mimick­ ing the pattern of tenses typical of a historiographical descriptio pugnae, the 25. Cf. Quad. 10b Peter: scutum percutit atque . . . hominem . . . deiecit: . . . torquem detraxit eamque . . . in collum inponit. On tbis topic, see Chausserie-Lapree 19 69, 384, 386. 26. Pl. Am. 201-2. 27. On this battle description and its possible models, see Sedgwick 19 60, at 203.

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seruus callidus shows his ability as a rhetorical trickster, as he temporarily takes up the role of historian. In addition, by using a narrative device that aims at enargeia (and therefore autopsy), the liar Sosia claims credibility as spectator to a battle that he pretends to have seen (uerum quasi adfuerim tamen simulabo atque audita eloquar)28 but that he has never actually witnessed. The more the others were fighting, he admits, the faster he was running away (nam, quam pugnabant maxume, ego tum fugiebam maxume).29 A pattern begins to emerge. Nisbet and Hubbard (in their commentary) have viewed Horace's description of Pollio's battle account in Odes 2.1 as immortalizing Pollio's vivid reconstruction of past events. A comparison with Livy (and other historiographical texts) corroborates their suggestion. Hor­ ace's use of temporal deixis (iam nunc . . . iam . . . iam . . . ) and of the present tense (perstringis . . . strepunt . . . terret) in describing the battle scene aims at reproducing some of Pollio's narrative techniques, particularly EVUQYELa, a feature that, as I have shown, seems to have enjoyed a close association with historiography, for important reasons.3° Vividness in historiography is not simply a stylistic device. On the contrary, enargeia and the language of visual representation associated with it define one of the distinctive qualities of the genre. Through enargeia-that is, visual narrative-the historian brings the audience closer to the experience of real events. Through visual representa­ tion achieved (in the instances examined so far) by the shift of tenses and the presence of temporal deixis (nunc or iam) , the historian swings from the diegetic mode to the mimetic mode, from "telling" to "showing, " and thus creates an effect of pseudo-immediacy. As Bakker has suggested, this effect is one of the distinctive objectives of historiography. 28. Pl. Am. 200. 29. Pl. Am. 199. 30. If this is the case, we should briefly reconsider the emendation of uidere for Horace Odes 2.1.21, first proposed by Beroaldus and Bentley and later supported by Nisbet and Hubbard ( 1978, ad loc. ) and Shackleton Bailey (1982, 113-14) . Bentley points out in his commentary on Odes 2.1 that audire at line 21 is inconsistent with the narrative of the following verse. Supported by a string of apt parallels for uidere uideor, he then emends audire to uidere: !ego enim uidere magnos iam uideor duces. This emendation has been contested by many modern editors of Horace. Their grounds for rejection are based on arguments similar to those brought forth by Porphyrio, which are dismissed by Bentley: (1) audire can be interpreted as referring to Pollio's reading his own Histories, or (2) it can be explained as if referring to Horace's hearing the generals haranguing their troops. We find further support for the emendation proposed by Bentley if we look at the passage from another perspective. If, in this passage, Horace is indeed reproducing Pollio's vivid narrative style (as Nisbet and Hubbard suggest), by using the verb uidere (instead of audire) he is skillfully alluding to the theoretical definition of enargeia and thereby praising Pollio for his achievement. Thus, Horace himself has become the imaginary spectator of the events: uidere . . . iam uideor.

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In order to live up to this potential, the historian's discourse must not only be "exact"; it must also be convincing, not only focused on the relation between the historian and his material, but also on the impact of that material on a reader. If the historian's discourse is to carry conviction in the judgment of future readers, it is the historical events, not the historian, that have to speak. And they speak better when one has the illusion of seeing them. Accordingly, knowledge, of which the historian has almost always a limited quantity, may at times recede, in favor of a different modality: the illusion that events are observed on the spot.3' Bakker has shown that to achieve this effect of pretended immediacy, Greek historians-Thucydides is the focus of Bakker's attention-had al­ ready resorted to the employment of a system of tenses that bears close correspondence to Livy's: in Thucydides, too, the representation of events in the mimetic mode is achieved by the constant shift between tensesY On the one hand, there is the "telling, " where the action represents information that is known and is expressed by the aorist. On the other hand, the "showing, " expressed by the imperfect (with its quality of noncompletion), effects a sort of displaced immediacy in which the consciousness from which the narra­ tive derives merges with the perception of the characters of the story, with the intention that this unmediated experience will communicate itself to the readers of the present and of the future. Thucydides's mimetic mode can be compared to a movie or, rather, to a series of pictures passing before the readers' eyes. To this flow of visual information, the narrator adds a commen­ tary that functions as background explanation or as regulatory or argumenta­ tive information. The result, noted by Bakker "is a mixture of 'showing' and 'telling' . . . [in which ] the aorist serves as background to a descriptive, visual­ izing foreground carried by imperfect verbs."33 Interestingly, Bakker notices that this type of imperfect does not occur in Homer, for obvious reasons: "This would seem understandable, in view of the fact that oral epic narrative is more a matter of 'remembering' in a firmly established speaker-now than of pretended observation in the past."34 31. Bakker 1997b, 3732. Bakker (1997b, 7-52) recognizes in Thucydides two distinct narrative modes, namely, the diegetic and the mimetic modes; the former mode is meant to capture a method of historical presentation in which the narrative is overtly mediated, with the historian in the role of annalist or evaluator, while in the latter, events are presented mimetically, as if seen on the spot. 33· Bakker 1997b, 43· 34· Bakker 1997b, 37-

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By contrast, the reader of historiography is constantly invited to experi­ ence the past as present. Historiography aims precisely at bridging the gap between the narrated events and the audience's perception of them. The reader is encouraged to establish powerful connections between these two juxtaposed temporal aspects of reality, for the former does not exist indepen­ dently from the latter. The past, the "there and then, " is drawn (literally) into the "here and now" of the present and comes alive in the readers' presence. This idea is already implicit in a passage of Plutarch's Life of Artaxerxes, in which the historian praises, for exactly this reason, the vigor of Xenophon's description of the battle of Cunaxa: "Xenophon brings it all but before our eyes [3evocp &Vto£ 6£ [tOVovovxt bw�vvovto£ o'lj!EL] and by the vigor of his description [ b u'l 't�V £vagyeLav] makes his listener always a participant in the emotions and perils of the struggle, as though it belonged not to the past but to the present [m£ oo yeyEVTJ[tEVOL£ b.A:A.a YLVO[tEVm£] ."3s From this perspective, enargeia (the devices to achieve which are telling) forms a crucial part of history's claim to transcend the status of a second­ hand reflection of a distant, separate, and fully realized reality. Moreover, it allows the reader to share in the experience of the historian.36 The historian no longer (or rather, only sometimes) functions as the mediator between narrated events and audience. Thanks to enargeia, the reader, too, is able to witness the occurring events through autopsy, precisely like the historian does. Indeed, as Miles has noted, the very term that came to identify this type of narrative of past events, historia, is derived from the Indo-European root *weid, "to see."37 This experience of seeing, which qualifies history as a genre, is not limited to the writer but must be shared by the writer's audi­ ence as well. Armed with this background, let us go back to the Aeneid and examine one of the many "collective fight" descriptions in the poem. Again, as for Livy, a caveat is in order. The narrative structure (and the system of tenses 35. Art. 8.1. Dionysius of Halicarnassus (Ant. Rom. 11.1.3) also calls attention to the pleasures that the reader of history experiences in visualizing the events: "For the mind of each man takes delight in being conducted through words to deeds and not only in hearing what is related but also in beholding what is done [xat rt� !Jl)vov &xooauoa t&v l.cyo [!EV OJ V &1.1.0. xat ta JtQatt6!1£va 6Qwoa ] . " Walker (1993, 365) aptly notices that the present tense of the participle in this passage (1tQUttO[tEVa) may again speak to the illusion that the historical events described are not past but transpiring before the readers' eyes. 36. On this topic, see Walker 1993, especially 374-75. 37. Miles 1995, 10. As Miles rightly notes, although the primary sense of historia is related to the juridical concept of arbitration, the root idea of seeing lies behind the predilection for firsthand knowledge, personal confrontation, and direct examination of material evidence, all three of which are essential to the juridical concepts of inquiry and arbitration. ,

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here employed) is not peculiar to this type-scene alone; its analysis in this context is nevertheless important to the complete picture of the Aeneid's landscape of war. I take up the narration in book 10. Aeneas has just landed on the shore of Latium, and as the trumpets blare to announce his arrival, the Rutulians swirl away from the Trojan camp to face the Trojan leader and his newly arrived allies. The battle that ensues, described mainly through close-up descriptions of individual feats (Aeneas's first aristeia occupies center stage), is rounded off in Homeric fashion by a more general description of the struggle. expellere tendunt hi, nunc illi: certatur limine in ipso Ausoniae. magno discordes aethere uenti proelia ceu tollunt animis et uiribus aequis; non ipsi inter se, non nubila, non mare cedit; anceps pugna diu, stant obnixa omnia contra: haud aliter Troianae acies aciesque Latinae concurrunt, haeret pede pes, densusque uiro uir. (Virg. Aen. 10.354-61) nunc

[They strain to thrust the landing parties back, fighting along Ausonia' s very border.38 As in high air the striving winds do battle with equal force and spirit; and no wind gives way to wind, no cloud to cloud, no wave to wave; the fight is long, uncertain; each against the other, obstinate: just so the troops of Troy and Latium now clash; foot presses against foot; man crowds on man.] The structure of the scene is typical, that is, highly Homeric: a simile in which the two armies are compared to an element of nature rounds off the description of the conflict.39 More specifically, the present passage is clearly modeled on Iliad 16.765-76, where, similarly, the fight between Trojans and Greeks around the body of Cebriones is compared to the destructive power 38. Literally, "They strain to drive each other from the field, they fight along Ausonia's very border." 39. See II. 9.4-7, 11.305-9.

now

one side,

now

the other:

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of the East and South Winds.4° A related simile appears in the Annales of Ennius. Concurrunt ueluti uenti, quom spiritus Austri Imbricitor Aquiloque suo cum flamine contra Indu mari magno fluctus extollere certant. (Ennius Ann. 432-34 Skutsch) [ They rush together like winds when the breath of the showery wind of the South and the wind of the North, with his counterblast, strive to upheave billows on the mighty sea.] Aside from the shared theme of the simile, the Ennian passage offers some striking verbal parallels with the Virgilian one. Note, in both passages, the position of the term contra at the end of the line and its use &.no xmvoiJ to qualify the action of both subjects. The position of concurrunt at the begin­ ning of the line in both passages and the Ennian color of Virgil's haeret pede pes (cf. Ann. 584 Skutsch: premitur pede pes atque armis arma teruntur) likewise demonstrate how Virgil has here conflated two major models.41 My interest in Virgil's scene, however, lies in the brief description of the conflict that precedes the simile. To create an effect of pseudo-immediacy, the narrative runs in a mimetic mode and aims at establishing a pretended temporal coincidence between the events narrated and the report of their happening, by means of the conspicuous employment of the same narrative devices we have seen operative in Livy and other historians: the temporal 40. Virgil seems fond of this kind of structure; cf. Aen. 9.664-71: it clamor totis per propugnacula muris, I intendunt acris arcus amentaque torquent. I sternitur omne solum telis, tum scuta cauaeque I dant sonitum flictu galeae, pugna aspera surgit: I quantus ab occasu ueniens pluuialibus Haedis I uerberat imber humum, quam multa grandine nimbi I in uada praecipitant, cum Iuppiter horridus Austris I torquet aquosam hiemem et caelo caua nubila rumpit. This passage has a specific model in II. 12.154-61, in which a simile comparing the falling of rocks to snow rounds out the scene. One feature of the Virgilian passage deserves notice. The image of the falling javelins compared to imber is not Homeric but recalls an Ennian expression. Cf. Ennius Ann. 266 Skutsch: Hastati spargunt hastas. fit ferreus imber; 391-94 Skutsch: Undique conueniunt uelut imber tela tribuna: I Configunt parmam, tinnit hastilibus umbo, I Aerato sonitu galeae, sed nee pate quisquam I Undique nitendo corpus discerpere ferro. Cf. also the Virgilian dant sonitum flictu galeae (Aen. 9.667), which recalls Ennius's aerato sonitu galeae. On this topic, see Hardie 1994, ad loc. Virgil uses a similar expression at Aen. 12.284 (tempestas telorum ac ferreus ingruit imber), and in this passage, too, the echo with the Ennian ferreus imber is evident. 41. The use of a double polyptoton to describe a close encounter is first found in the Iliad (13.131 = 16.215 ) , but the closest model for Virgil is Ennius Ann. 584 Skutsch, which, in tum, recalls Tyrtaeus 11.31 West: xat rt66a JtUQ no6t iret,; xat iln' &onl6o,; &onl8 EQEloa,;. For further examples, see Harrison 1991, at 10.361; Skutsch 1985, at line 584.

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deictic nunc (which, in the Aeneid, is also regularly used to introduce the narrator's own time) and the historical present.42 In her book titled, signifi­ cantly, The Patterns of Time in Vergil, Sara Mack acknowledges this narrative phenomenon as typically Virgilian, that is, within the Roman epic tradition: "A striking fact about the tense structure of the Aeneid is the predominance of the present tense." 43 Her judgment is supported by her detailed analysis on the system of tenses in the Aeneid. She concludes that Virgil's narrative units are like little scenes, in which the imperfects usually set the stage in a general way and give background information, the perfects motivate the action, and the presents designate it; the pluperfect (which is rare) provides abrupt changes of focus and scene. Mack notes that this pattern of tenses sets the Aeneid conspicuously apart from other Latin epic poems; statisti­ cally speaking, post-Virgilian poets, such as Lucan and Ovid, are only very distant seconds in the employment of the present tense, and their patterning of tenses in general does not resemble the praxis observed in the Aeneid. 44 Mack's conclusions can point in two directions. She began her study with Virgil and moved forward to analyze the narrative praxis of Virgil's epic successors. It is no less instructive, however, to move backward and study Virgil's praxis in relation to his epic models. From this perspective, his narrative choice bears heavy implications, for it manifests itself as a drastic point of departure, a point de rupture from the "code" of the genre. As I stated earlier, Homeric scholia (and modern scholars) have often pointed out that enargeia is a distinct feature of Homeric discourse; yet we notice a striking difference in the patterning of tenses between the Iliad (and the Odyssey) , on the one hand, and the Aeneid, on the other. In neither of the Homeric poems is there any attempt to achieve an effect of pseudo­ immediacy by playing out the narrative in the present (recall Bakker's obser­ vation that Thucydides's use of the imperfect to effect displaced immediacy does not occur in Homer). Use of the present tense is strictly confined to direct speeches. The use of a narrative present, as Bakker notes, simply does not belong to the Homeric narrator's arsenal of linguistic means to create 42. For the employment of a similar technique in battle narrative, see, for example, Aen. n.650-51: et nunc lenta manu spargens hastilia denset, I nunc ualidam dextra rapit indefessa bipennem . . . ; 12.526-28: Aeneas Turnusque ruunt per proelia; nunc, nunc I fluctuat ira intus, rumpuntur nescia uinci I pectora, nunc totis in uulnera uiribus itur. But cf. Aen. 5-156-58: et nunc Pristis habet, nunc uictam praeterit ingens I Centaurus, nunc una ambae iunctisque feruntur I frontibus et Zanga sulcant uada salsa carina. 43· Mack 1978, 34· On this topic, see also Otis 1964, 59; Heinze 1993, 297. 44· Mack 1978, 48-49.

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vividness. 45 I will examine the reasons for this shortly; for now, note that it is precisely its conspicuous absence from the Homeric poems that marks this narrative feature as alien and foreign to the epic tradition, at least to the epic tradition that elected Homer as its indisputable generic model. A case in point is the Argonautica of Apollonius; the only extant pre-Virgilian Greek epic except for Homer and other fragments, it strictly abides by this Ho­ meric rule. In an age that widely recognizes the tralatio temporum and its function, Apollonius abides by the Homeric convention and, in so doing, singles out the implicit narrative and ideological differences between epic, the poetry of the past, and other literary genres. Even centuries later, Quin­ tus of Smyrna, writing an epic work known significantly as the Posthomerica, did not alter this epic praxis or challenge the Homeric narrative grammar. There is, however, one important exception: Ennius, the "Homer reincar­ nate" who had invoked the muses of the Homeric Olympus and consciously abandoned the Saturnian of his Latin predecessors for Homeric hexameter, flouts this narrative rule.Hainsworth hailed Ennius's innovation as the Latin contribution to poetic narrative style.46 Yet this "innovation" constitutes more than a point of departure in narrative style. At a deeper level, this narrative choice reflects a conceptualization of epic that moves beyond Homer and draws epic and its ideology closer to a different genre, historiog­ raphy. Not surprisingly, this change in the narrative grammar is conspicu­ ously present in the Annales, a work-often too simplistically labeled histori­ cal epic-that divests the epic genre of one of its primary connotative features: its fully realized and distant quality. Precisely like Livy's Ab urbe condita two centuries later, the Annales aim, through a gallery of exempla, at celebrating the history of Rome as an uninterrupted process and progression "from its origins to the present time." Thus, by following the path of his Latin predecessor, Virgil not only accepts Ennius's narrative choice but implicitly redefines his own, "Homeric­ mythological" epic in "Ennian-historical" terms. (Following Barchiesi, I un­ derstand the terms myth and history in epic context as representing a past that is distant, remote, and separate and a past that is nearer and conjoined to the present of the narrator and the intended audience.) 47 What motivated Virgil's choice? More importantly, how does this choice affect the reader's position with respect to the poem? I will suggest an answer shortly. First, though, I will 45· Bakker 1997a. 46. Hainsworth 1991, 82. On this topic, see also Dominik 1993, 55· 47. On this topic, see Barchiesi 1989, 133.

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identify other Virgilian narrative techniques, to complete my "picture" of these type-scenes. Per partis

In Aeneid 12, the augur Tolumnius pierces one of the nine brothers born to the Arcadian Gylippus and his Tuscan wife and thus breaks the already somewhat precarious truce between the Trojans and the Latins. Inflamed by the death of their sibling, the surviving brothers are spurred to action, and as a result, the combat between the two armies fiercely resumes. at fratres, animosa phalanx accensaque luctu, pars gladios stringunt manibus, pars missile ferrum corripiunt caecique ruunt. quos agmina contra procurrunt Laurentum, hinc densi rursus inundant Troes Agyllinique et pictis Arcades armis: sic omnis amor unus habet decernere ferro. diripuere aras, it toto turbida caelo tempestas telorum ac ferreus ingruit imber, craterasque focosque ferunt. fugit ipse Latinus pulsatos referens infecto foedere diuos. infrenant alii currus aut corpora saltu subiciunt in equos et strictis ensibus adsunt. (Virg. Aen. 12.277-88) [But of his brothers-a courageous band, inflamed by grief-part draw their swords, part seize their shafts of flying steel and rush ahead blindly. And the Laurentians charge against them; but here again the compact ranks of Trojans pour out together with Agyllines and Arcadians with ornamented armor. They all have just one passion: for the sword to settle this dispute. They strip the altars 48 for firebrands; across the skies a dense tempest of shafts, a rain of iron falls. Within that storm some of the Latins carry libation cups and braziers toward the city. -

48. Literally, "They stripped the altars. "

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bearing back his beaten gods and the broken treaty, now retreats. The others draw their chariot reins or mount their horses, riding up with naked swords.]

And King Latinus,

Apart from the employment of the present tense, the effect of mise-en-scene is achieved here by a subdivision of the scene into smaller narrative units (pars or alii followed by their predicates) intended to show the diverse but simultaneous actions of different groups of people.49 It should come as no surprise that ancient literary theorists place this narrative device under the heading enargeia. At Institutio aratoria 9.2.40, Quintilian lingers once again on vividness and the visual nature of this device: the writer, he explains, achieves a sub oculos subiectio (i.e., enargeia) when instead of just mentioning that something was done, the writer pro­ ceeds to show how it was done. To achieve this effect, Quintilian adds, it is important for events to be shown not on broad, general lines but in detail­ nee universa sed per partis. This concept, briefly hinted at in this passage by Quintilian, finds fuller explanation in another section of the Institutio. At 8.3.69, as he describes the topological elements of the theme of the urbs capta, Quintilian concludes that for the description to be effective, the writer should not tell the whole news at once: "The expression 'sack of the city' does, as I said, comprise all these things, but to state the whole is less than to state all the parts" [Licet enim haec omnia, ut dixi, complectatur "euersio, " minus est tamen totum dicere quam omnia}. The writer, in other words, ought to create in the description brief sketches aimed at representing the variety of events and actions that take place simultaneously when a city is captured. Quintilian was doubtless describing a narrative device that he found employed in many oratorical works; examples from Cicero are often cited, so but this modus narrandi appears constantly in historiography as well. Labeled by Walsh the "division of crowds, " this narrative device is common in Livy: "Very often the picto­ rial effect is assisted by an account of an assembly, a town under assault, or an army in action depicted not in general terms but by the description of the 49. For a similar narrative technique, cf., for example, Aen. 10.130: hi iaculis, illi certant defendere saxis . . . 11.888-90: pars in praecipitis fossas urgente ruina I uoluitur, immissis pars caeca et concita frenis I arietat in portas et duros obice postis. so. I. O. 8.3.66: "Sometimes, the picture we wish to present is made up of a number of details, as again by Cicero . . . in his description of a luxurious banquet, 'I seemed to see some [alios] going in, some [alios] going out, some [quosdam] reeling with drink, some [quosdam] dozing after yesterday's potations."'

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reactions of individuals or small groups. . . . This technique of 'division' of a crowd is especially frequent in scenes of disorder and confusion." s ' This should come as no surprise. Considering the frequency with which historical narrative was connected to a work of visual art (sculpture or painting) in ancient criticism, it is only natural that historians would adopt a narrative technique that aids in this assimilation.Historians narrate per partis and use the sequence of a complex experience of images to give their narration a specific spatial arrangement. The narrative is thus virtually assimilated to an ecphrasis on which the eyes of the audience may gaze. Narrative unfolds its story exactly as a visual artifact, by the sum of its different scenes. Like a slow-motion camera, it freezes the action and breaks it down into its compo­ nent parts. Philippe Hamon's work on the theory of description views this narrative phenomenon as the distinctive feature of the descriptive mode. As opposed to the "telling," which is a "dialectics of correlated classes (inversions and transformations of elements of content)," the quality of the "descriptive system" is the metonymic expansion of a theme, usually a noun or pronoun, into a series of subthemes and their predicates, semiotic sequences ordered according to such relationships as inclusion, resemblance, or contiguity. The "descriptive system" thus inevitably consists of an enumeration and accord­ ingly arouses lexical and stylistic expectations in the reader, who tries to predict a lexical paradigm that is already known to him or her but that is, in principle, open-ended (i.e., the list could go on indefinitely)Y Hamon explains that the elements of a "descriptive system" are organized globally as a permanent equivalence between a lexical expansion and a lexical condensa­ tion into a term: "Thus, as we read a succession of botanical terms, of flower names, this sequence should be perceived as equivalent, for the duration of 51. Walsh 1961, 185-86. On the importance of this narrative device in Livy, see also Burck 1934, 201. For examples in historiography, cf. Diod. 17.25 .4: "There could be seen some men [taU� !J.EV] encountering frontal wounds or being carried unconscious out of the battle, others [taU� bE] standing over the fallen bodies of their companions and struggling mightily to recover them, while others [ aM.ou� bE] who were on the point of yielding to terror were again put in heart by the appeals of their officers and were renewed in spirit"; Diod. 17.34.8: "For men lay piled up in confusion, some [ol !J.EV] without armor, others [ol bE] in full battle panoply. Some [tLVE� bE] with their swords still drawn killed those who spitted themselves upon them"; Sal!. Jug. 58.2: At nostri repentino metu perculsi sibi quisque pro moribus consulunt; alii fugere, alii arma capere, magna pars volnerati aut occisi; Livy 5.21.10: et pars auersos in muris inuadunt hastes, pars claustra portarum reuellunt, pars cum ex tectis saxa tegulaeque a mulieribus ac seruitiis iacerentur, inferunt ignes. For other examples in Livy, see 4.27.7-8, 5.41.5-6, 9.14.9, 37.29.4. 52. See Hamon 1982, especially 158-59.

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the reading, to the word 'garden."' s3 Hamon's theory of the equivalence between lexical expansion and condensation comes very close to Quintilian's formulation: "the expression 'sack of the city' [euersio] does . . . comprise all these things, but to state the whole is less than to state all the parts." s 4 Epic Ideas

I now return to my earlier question.How does the presence of these narra­ tive systems, alien to the Homeric model and likely inherited from Ennius (but certainly shared with historiography), affect the Aeneid in its capacity as an epic poem? In the introduction to this book, I examined Bakhtin's view of epic as a genre that describes an "absolute past, " completely distant and fully realized. This idea has lately been taken up by Homerists and profitably expanded. In his recent book Homer: The Poetry of the Past, Ford elaborates on this concept as he analyzes "what basis, purposes, and methods this art claimed for itself in its time and place." s s For Ford, epic (i.e., Homeric epic) must be interpreted as "poetry of the past, " an interpretation that is intended to summarize one of the central claims that this poetry made for itself and by which it established its special place and function. The nature of this past, as Ford acknowledges, may be compared to an "absolute past" as theorized by Bakhtin, for what defines this "heroic" poetry is essentially time. The epic poet is not a poet of heroes or gods in particular. The epic poet is essentially a poet who sings the klea, the fames, of men and women of a time gone by. These mortals are not only earlier than contemporary men and women but also closer to the powerful origins of the world.s 6 Furthermore, in Ford's opinion, this past is more than just prior and 53· Hamon 1982, 159. 54. Notably, the narrative device that Walsh labeled the "division of crowds" is much less apparent in the "group scenes" of Homeric battle narrative. In the type- scenes of the "advance of the army," the "rout scene," and the "collective fight," the action (or the fate) of the army tends to be represented as collective and unified; as a result, there is less emphasis on spatial arrange­ ment. Homer uses a comparable ecphrastic technique only once, in the description of a battle scene that is altogether sui generis, namely, the battle engraved on the shield of Achilles. In the vignette of the "city at war," as the two armies stand their ground and fight a battle by the banks of the river, Death is described, in successive fragments of action, as holding a live man with a new wound, holding another one unhurt, and dragging a dead man by the feet through the carnage (II. 18.536-37: &Uov �wi:rv rx ouoa vEOirtatov, &AM>v i'iomov, I &AM>v t£1lvrjii'n:a xata [16-&ov I;A.xc no6o 'i:Lv ) . 5 5 · Ford 1992, 5· 56. Ford 1992, 46; see also 46 n. 86, 47.

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distant, an invisible time evoked by the mnemonic power of the Muses; the narrator calls attention also to its total separateness from the present world. The men who fight at Troy are not, after all, just men of old. They are identified as an altogether separate race; they are "half gods, " a race between gods and present men that, as Homer reminds the reader at the beginning of Iliad 12, will be washed away, together with the great defensive wall erected by the Greeks after the fall of Troy, by the power of the flooding rivers.5 7 Between the present and the past, there is no continuity. Of the Greek tradition, Scodel has noted: "the Trojan War becomes a catastrophe which serves as a boundary between the heroes and the later, weaker generations, or between mythical and historical times. The very word ��ti&o£, though often no more than a synonym for �QW£, divides the heroes, with their divine parentage, from later mortals." ss Ford views vividness as one of the main objectives of the poems of Homer. But Homeric "vividness" aims, in Ford's analysis, at turning "its listeners away from present cares to contemplate events of long ago." Ford continues: "the happiness of the gods and the woe of other human beings are what turns us away from our own sorrows. . . . the audience is inter­ ested in epic song not because it happened but because it happened to others." s 9 Homeric "vividness" brings about contact between the audience and the narrated events; Homeric vividness grants an actual vision of the past, but it also simultaneously transports the reader to an au dela, to an elsewhere. Epic poetry moves the audience not only back in time but also 57· II. 12.15-23: "when in the tenth year the city of Priam was taken and the Argives gone in their ships to the beloved land of their fathers, then at last Poseidon and Apollo took counsel to wreck the wall, letting loose the strength of rivers upon it, all the rivers that run to the sea from the mountains of Ida, Rhesus . . . , and Simo!s, where much ox-hide armour and helmets were tumbled in the river mud, and many of the race of the half-god mortals [�!J.L-81\wv yl;vo� &vbQOiv] ." Ford (1992, 149) notices that the singer of the Iliad here steps outside the narrator's ethos to speak from his own age, an age that views the race of the demigods as vanished and separate. On the same passage, cf. Nagy 1979, 159- 61; Scodel 1982. The term demigods also occurs in Hesiod's Works and Days. In his history of the races, Hesiod similarly views the generation who fought at Thebes and Troy as separate from his own; at line 160, those who belong to it are explicitly called "half gods [�!!l&OL] , an earlier generation on the boundless earth." As the Hesiodic text makes clear, this race of half gods no longer exists, but while some are truly dead, others live happily ever after in the Isles of the Blest. On this passage, see West 1978, ad loc. Scodel (1982) collects and analyzes various ancient sources in which the Trojan War functions as a myth of destruction, in which Zeus brings about the catastrophe in order to remove the demigods from the world and separate men from gods. 58. Scodel 1982, 35-36. 59. Ford 1992, 53.

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to a place that is not only distant but also markedly separate from the audience's present.6o Homeric poetry therefore aims at showing the past as something near and re-created in the context of the performance; at the same time, however, it is concerned with duality and distance. Precisely this feature informs the patterning of tenses in Homeric epic. In an in-depth study of the tense system of the Iliad (and the Odyssey) that aims at connecting the absence of the historical present to the basis and purpose that the Homeric epic claimed for itself, Bakker arrives at the following seminal conclusions. Other narratives that are not related to performance may freely use the historical present, but this device does not belong to the arsenal of linguistic means of the Homeric narrator to create vividness. Why? In search of an answer to this question, we shall have occasion to observe that the Greek epic tradition aims at something other than mere vividness or pretended immediacy. . . . What is recreated in the Homeric performance may be a very vivid affair, but the Homeric representation does not pretend to be a replica of the original event. In fact, as I will argue, the implicit poetics of the Homeric tradition reveal that the "true" poetic version of the epic events is better than the real thing: besides the urge to create the presence and nearness of the epic events, Homeric epic, I will suggest, is also concerned with duality and distance. In terms of time, it means that not only is the past turned into the present . . . but also is the present turned into a future, a future from which the epic event is perceived with the knowledge and understanding of the present.61 In both Homeric epic and historiography, enargeia achieves an effect of pretended pseudo-immediacy, but the generic differences in function and purpose are quite striking. In Homeric epic, the effect is associated with an attempt to preserve (and actually stress) the duality and distance between the referent and the referring sign; by contrast, historiography aims at col­ lapsing this duality. Virgil's use of enargeia seems to point to a direction analogous to that of 60. See Ford 1992, 49-56, for a fuller discussion of this topic and for a comprehensive bibliography. 61. Bakker 1997a, 16-17.

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historiography. The very fact that Virgil adopts narrative devices that are conspicuously present in historiography and in Ennius's Annales testifies to this. In the previous chapters, I analyzed how the Aeneid constantly disrupts the Homeric martial landscape precisely in its capacity as "distant" and "separate." I concluded that the constant intrusion of different temporal aspects of reality creates important anachronies within the primary narra­ tive. These anachronies, in turn, bridge the gap between the tale of long ago and the Roman readers' collective experience and forge a continuum be­ tween the past retold and the present perceived. In light of these earlier findings, the function and relevance of Virgilian enargeia becomes apparent. The effect of "actualization" achieved via enargeia aims at further eliding the distance between these two separate temporal systems, past and present (i.e., narrator's present), for in this way, the past is played out-in the truest meaning of that expression-in the present.6 2 By contrast with the Iliad, this process of actualization and visualization does not transport the reader to a place that is present but at the same time separate from the audience's world. In this regard, the Aeneid distances itself from the ideology that stands in the foreground of Homeric epic. As in the Annales of Ennius and in historiography generally, Virgilian enargeia aims at precisely the opposite effect: it strives to create an identity between the narrated events and the ex­ perience of the "now" and to fashion powerful connections between the Roman past and the Roman present. This different conceptualization of epic has important implications for the role of the audience. In Homeric poetry, vivid representation transports the audience away from the reality of the present to an au dela, to an elsewhere, which the audience is allowed to experience, but only from the perspective and understanding of its own present. The readers of the Aeneid are cast in an altogether different role. They are compelled not only to participate in the story of old but to identify entirely with it. Epic is no longer "poetry that turns its listeners away from present cares to contem­ plate events of long ago, " as Ford, following the Hesiodic dictum, describes it.63 The Roman reader of the Aeneid becomes witness to a past that col62. For a similar device in medieval epic, see Fleischman 1990, 262-310. 63. Ford (1992, 53) here paraphrases a famous Hesiodic passage in the Theogony (96-103) : "Happy i s h e whom the Muses love; sweet flows the voice from his mouth. For i f someone has pain and fresh grief in his soul and his heart is withered by anguish, when the poet, the servant of the Muses, chants the fames of men of former times and the blessed gods who hold Olympus, then straightaway he forgets his sad thoughts and thinks not of his grief, but the gifts of the gods quickly turn him away from these."

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lapses into its own present and that therefore establishes itself as a key to interpreting the reality of the "now." How should I read-or better, how should I watch? This becomes a vital and rather dramatic question posed to Virgil's Roman readers as they bear witness to and are called to pass judg­ ment on the war of Latium unfolding before their very eyes.

Seven

S p ectators and Spectacle

The Duel between Turnus and Aeneas War is a contest where the participants arrange themselves into two sides and engage in an activity that will eventually make it possible to designate one side the winner and one side the loser . . . . In consenting to enter into war, the participants enter into a structure that is a self­ cancelling duality . . . a formal duality, that, by the very force of its relentless insistence on doubleness, provides the means for eliminat­ ing and replacing itself by the condition of singularity. A first major attribute here is the transition, at the moment of entry into war, from the condition of multiplicity to the condition of the binary; a second attribute is the transition, at the moment of ending the war, from the condition of the binary to the condition of the unitary. (Elaine Scarry, The Body in Pain: The Making and Unmaking of the World)

The Arena of Combat

The final duel between Aeneas and Turnus that marks the end of the Aeneid is one of the most intensely studied scenes of the poem. For readers, the end conveys meaning to the whole; it has therefore become the center of the interpretative debate over the poem. The complexity of the passage-its symbolic imagery, its problematic relation to the Homeric models (both the Iliad and the Odyssey) , its inconclusive closural effect, the presence of mul15 0

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tiple autonomous foci present in the narrative (and I could go on virtually ad infinitum)-does indeed call for attention.' Above all, the intense political and ideological nature of the scene, its often oversimplified "Augustan" and "anti-Augustan" dimension, has cre­ ated a somewhat polarized reading of this episode; not unexpectedly, schol­ ars tend to position themselves at opposite and irreconcilable ends of the interpretative spectrum on this issue. In the introduction to a collection of essays on the Aeneid, Stahl sums up the nature of the question. At the center of the debate has been the epic's final scene, in which Aeneas kills Turnus, who is both the Julian ancestor's political adver­ sary on Italian soil and the brutal slayer of Aeneas' young ally, Pallas. Does . . . the poet himself criticize his pius Aeneas (and, implicitly, Augustus) for betraying the ideals of clemency and humanity, or does Augustan Vergil (as those would argue who view the poet's political commitment in accordance with his work's great prophe­ cies) endorse the just punishment of both a malicious killer and an impious rebel against divine ordinances? It seems that, by referring to the Aeneid's text alone, scholars no longer find common ground.2 The two positions have been standing unreconciled up to this day. This situation is hardly surprising. How is the reader to choose one perspective over the other when the Virgilian episode apparently grants each one of them a sense of legitimacy? We may push the issue further and problematize it with some additional questions. Does the text really urge the reader to make an interpretative choice of this sort, or does the open-ended nature of the episode invite exactly the opposite response, by calling attention to the impossibility of choosing? Moreover, is it even legitimate (and, most importantly, produc­ tive) to attempt an interpretation of this final scene solely within the narrow Augustan/anti-Augustan scheme? What do these terms really imply, and 1. On the passage's symbolic imagery, see, for example, Piischl 1962, 91-138; Putnam 1988, 151-201. On its Homeric models, see, for example, West 1974; Barchiesi 1984, 91-122; Quint 1993, 65-83. On its inconclusive closural effect, see, in the present study, chap . 2, n. 30. On the presence of multiple foci, see Barchiesi 1978; Feeney 1984; Feeney 1991, 151-55, 178-87; Barchiesi 1994, 112-13 ( 1999, 327-28 ) . 2. Stahl 1998, xxi . F o r a detailed bibliography o n this topic, s e e Galinsky 1981. S e e also Stahl 1990; Galinsky 1994. For a good survey and bibliography about recent and opposite trends in the interpretation of the last book of the Aeneid, see Stahl 1998 (in the same volume, see especially Thomas 1998; West 199 8 ) . On this topic, see also Hardie 1997b, especially 314-19. =

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how can they be meaningfully applied to the last episode of the poem without the risk of transplanting into the text and superimposing on it political and ideological notions that, in the way they are formulated by modern scholars, may be either alien or simply not applicable to it? In this chapter, I propose to address these important questions raised by the final duel between Turnus and Aeneas from a somewhat different perspec­ tive, what might be called the perspective of the eyewitnesses. In other words, I will focus on one essential aspect of the duel, the duel as a spectacle staged simultaneously in front of different, yet similar, sets of spectators: on the one hand, the internal spectators, the Trojan and Latin armies, respectively; on the other hand, the external spectators, namely, the readers of the text. One for All

All of Aeneid 12 revolves around the duel between Aeneas and Turnus. Anticipated at the opening of the book and deferred for nearly seven hun­ dred lines,3 the encounter between these two champions presents itself from its very outset not only as a duel but also as a spectacle. As Turnus becomes eager, amid the desperation of his countrymen at the opening of book 12, to take on his shoulders the burden of a decisive duel against Aeneas, the Latins are called on to be spectators to the event: "either I send down this Dardan, Asia's renegade, to hell with my right hand-while Latins sit and watch [sedeant spectentque Latini]-and by my single sword blot out the slur that stains us all; or we are beaten and held by him, he takes Lavinia." 4 At the end of the duel, Turnus, wounded and on his knee, again recalls the role of the Latins as witnesses of his defeat: "For you have won, " he admits to Aeneas, "and the Ausonians have seen me, beaten, stretch my hands" [uicisti et uictum tendere palmas I Ausonii uidere].s We do not need to look too far for comparable models in epic. In Iliad 3, the spectacular quality of the duel between Paris and Menelaus is empha­ sized in a similar fashion. After an initial reaction of panic at the idea of confronting Menelaus in a duel, Paris himself invites Achaeans and Trojans alike to sit in a circle while he and Menelaus fight it out in the center (3.69: £v flEamp) .6 The situation is comparable to that of Aeneid 12 in another 3· On delay as an important generator of the epic plot, see Hardie 1997a, 145. 4· Aen. 12.14-17. 5· Aen. 12.936-37. 6. II. 3.59-75. The duel between Hector and Ajax in Iliad 7 has the characteristics of a formal duel performed in front of the two armies, but unlike the one between Menelaus and Paris, it

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detail as well: Helen and Lavinia are each part of what is at stake between the two contenders; this episode has rightly been viewed as one of the models that informs Virgil's narrative.? Yet the nature of the two contests is mark­ edly different. The duel between Paris and Menelaus, although meant to be a decisive test designed to put an end to the war, does not extend beyond a personal conflict between the two contenders. As we learn from Paris's pronounce­ ment, echoed by Hector's, the stakes here are exclusively the possession of Helen and personal honor: "That one of us who wins and is proved stronger, let him take the possessions fairly and the woman, and lead her homeward" [ o:rt:rtO'tEQO£ b£ xe VLX�OTI xgeioowv 'tE yevY)'tm, I X�[taiY £/..(JJV E� m:Xvm yuvai:xa 'tE o'Lxab' ay£o{)w ].8 Paris explicitly states that the outcome of the duel will in no way alter the status quo of the two nations. After the duel is over, no matter what the result, the rest of the two armies will disband having renewed their friendship. The Trojans will continue to live in rich­ soiled Troy. The Achaeans may return to horse-pasturing Argos and Achaia, the land of fair women.9 The same idea is reiterated by Hector's speech and Agamemnon's oath.10 The reaction of the two armies to the proposed duel is symptomatic in this regard. The news of what is expected to be a decisive test is greeted with enthusiasm by both parties alike: "The Trojans and Achaeans were joyful" [ot b' EX,UQY)Oav 'Axmoi 'tE Tg&££ 't£ ].11 Moreover, the two armies soon join together in a plea, praying in a stunningly unpartisan fashion for those responsible for the war to pay the ultimate price: "Father Zeus, watching over us from Ida, most high, most honoured, whichever man has made what has happened happen to both sides, grant that he be killed and go down to the house of Hades. Let the friendship and the sworn faith be true for the rest of us." 12 The Aeneid proposes a quite different scenario. The duel between Turnus lacks the quality of a decisive test capable of putting an end to the war between the Trojans and the Greeks. For an analysis of formal duels in the Iliad, see Kirk 1978. 7· See Knauer 1964, 289-93. See also Heinze 1993, 176-77. 8. II. 3-71-72 (speech of Paris) 92-93 (speech of Hector) . 9. II. 3.73-75: ot & aMOL

=

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and Aeneas effectively bridges private and public interest. At stake here is nothing less than imperium, and the outcome of the duel will bear perma­ nent consequences for the groups the two champions embody. This notion is powerfully expressed in Turnus's speech at the opening of Aeneid 12; here, Turnus does not fail to recognize that his defeat will not simply result in his personal loss of both Lavinia and honor. He reminds Latinus that if he is defeated (uictus), so, too, will be the nation he embodies (habeat uictos).'3 Aeneas's solemn oath at the outset of the duel reflects the same transitive relationship between himself and the group he represents: "For if by chance the victory should fall to Turnus the Ausonian [cesserit Ausonio si fors uictoria Turno}, then we, defeated [uictos}, must leave for Evander's city; and Hilus shall give up these fields; Aeneas' sons never are to carry arms against you or menace Latin kingdoms with the sword." ' 4 Should Aeneas be victori­ ous, a new settlement will permanently alter the geopolitical landscape of the region.' s The spectators of the duel, Trojans and Latins alike, are all too aware of these consequences. After a series of delays and postponements, the two champions finally come face-to-face in what is to be the decisive encounter. The duel conforms to Homeric praxis: it starts with their throwing javelins from a distance and proceeds to a confrontation "at close quarters" in which the two challenge each other with unsheathed swords. Their strength and ardor is underlined, again in Homeric fashion, by an effective simile: Aeneas and Turnus are compared to two bulls from Silas or Taburnus who are confronting each other under the scared gaze of the shepherds and the herds. This simile has its obvious literary precedent in Virgil's famous description of the battle of rival bulls afflicted by sexual passion in the Georgics, where the bull charmed by the sight of a cow wastes away and is driven to confront his rival in battle.' 6 But there, the narrative focus centers exclusively on the two bulls. By contrast, in the simile of the Aeneid, shepherds and herds are added to the picture and are an integral part of the scenario. They become the silent and fear-stricken spectators who cannot fail to wonder-indeed, in very military terminology-who is going to rule (imperitet) the forest and whom the entire herd will follow (pauidi cessere magistri, I stat pecus omne metu 13. Aen. 12.17. 14. Aen. 12.183-86. 15. Aen. 12.187-94. 16. G. 3.209 -41. On the relation between the two passages, see Briggs 1980, 49-50. Putnam's analysis (1988, 182-86) emphasizes the erotic connotations of this passage of the Aeneid. See also Thomas 1988, ad loc.; 1998, 281-82.

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mutum, mussantque iuuencae I quis nemon imperitet, quem tota armenta sequantur).'7 The emphasis on the spectators in the Aeneid simile is significant and serves an important narrative function. Through a technique of unilateral correspondence characteristic of Virgilian similes, the presence and the activ­ ity of the spectators of the simile (shepherds and herds) supplies information left untold in the main narrative: thus, the dilemma of the spectators of the simile becomes the dilemma of the spectators of the narrative proper.' 8 The numbed silence with which the heifers look at the contest is an indication of the drastic consequences that the real duel between Aeneas and Turnus will have for the collectivity as a whole. The quest for imperium cannot be fought without altering the life of the group, both in the world of the simile and in the world of the narrative. In this critical capacity, this duel distances itself from its Homeric counter­ part and draws closer to the ideology reflected in some of the duels described in Livy's Ab urbe condita (and this will not be the only point of contact). Turnus and Aeneas become the surrogates for their own people. The unus (individual) fights pro omnibus (for the group), precisely as the Horatii and Curatii do in Livy. As Mettius Fufetius suggests, the duel between the two sets of triplets becomes the means of deciding which people will rule the other without a great slaughter of either (Livy. 1. 23 . 9 : ineamus aliquam uiam qua utri utris imperent, sine magna clade, sine multo sanguine utriusque populi decerni possit) .'9 Their victory is the victory of the collectivity; their loss is the loss of the collectivity they embody. All for One

The motto unus pro omnibus is a crucial descriptor of the nature of the duel between Aeneas and Turnus, yet it only illuminates one aspect of the complex bond that exists between individual and collectivity. There is another vital side to this relationship. If the individual becomes the surrogate that stands for the group, the group, in turn, must identify with the individual. The 17. Aen. 12.717-19. Servius does not fail to notice the military language used in this passage. At 12.717, he comments: proprie magistri sunt militum, pastores pecorum. 18. On this aspect of Virgilian similes, see especially West 1969. 19. Livy presents the duel of Torquatus and the Gaul in a similar fashion. By comparison with his source, Quadrigarius, Livy alters the earlier account of the duel by introducing the idea that the two champions act as representatives of their entire people. This is shown by the opening speech of the Gaul, who claims that the duel with the man whom Rome considers the bravest will decide "which nation is superior in war" (Livy 7.9.8). On this topic, see Feldherr 1998, 102.

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Aeneid emphasizes this transitive relation and powerfully dramatizes how the group shares in and actively reproduces the actions of the individual-all for one. The outset of the duel is indicative. As Turnus finally accepts Aeneas's challenge and the two champions stride toward each other, the Rutulians, Trojans, and Italians stop their fighting, let their weapons drop from their shoulders, and eagerly turn (convertere) their gaze toward the contenders in an almost competitive fashion-certatim is the adverb used here by Virgil to indicate the quality of the movement of the observing soldiers (iam uero et Rutuli certatim et Troes et omnes I conuertere oculos Itali, . . . armaque depo­ suere umeris).20 Instead of active participants in war, they have now become its passive spectators. Yet as they make this transition, their action reveals the powerful relationship that connects them to the two champions. The turning of their gazes anticipates and mirrors the activity of the contenders, Aeneas and Turnus, who, like two bulls, turn their butting brows, ready to charge against each other in battle (cum duo conuersis inimica in proelia tauri I frontibus incurrunt).2' More importantly, the certamen of the specta­ tors' gazes becomes a reflection of the real certamen, the martial contest, they are about to witness.2 2 What follows further intensifies this identification. After the initial phase of the duel (12.710-27), the narrative once again focuses on the spectators. As the tension increases with the progression of the duel­ Turnus and Aeneas are now clashing shields-the initial fear can no longer be held in check or kept silent. Both groups give voice to their emotions, and as Turnus attempts to strike Aeneas with his sword, Trojans and Latins alike follow the event with a surge of cries: "The Trojans and the anxious Latins shout: the tension takes both ranks" [exclamant Troes, tre­ pidique Latini, I arrectaeque amborum acies].23 The Latins manifest signs of even deeper distress. They are trepidi, anxious and fearful, and their tre­ pidatio mirrors a key emotional attribute of their own leader. Precisely at this point in the narrative, as Turnus is about to strike against Aeneas the blow that eventually leaves him with a splintered weapon, the reader learns that because of his trepidatio (dum trepidat), Turnus has mistakenly 20. 21. 22. Cf. Aen. 23.

Aen. 12.704-7. Aen. 12.716-17. Significantly, the duel between Aeneas and Turnus is repeatedly qualified as a certamen. 12.39, 61, 73, 116, 467, 790. Cf. also line 765, where the verb certo is used to define the duel. Aen. 12.730-31.

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carried into the fray the wrong weapon: not his own sword, but his charioteer's.2 4 The duel continues, and another simile follows.2 s No longer is Turnus an even match for Aeneas, and the new simile exposes the changed situation. As the Trojans press against him from every side, in a dense ring (12.744: undique enim densa Teucri inclusere corona), he becomes a hunted animal, a stag hemmed in (inclusum) beside a stream or paralyzed with fear before the netting's crimson feathers, chased by a hunting dog who presses near, bark­ ing. The Trojans and the doglike Aeneas have isolated the staglike Turnus. Thus trapped, Turnus's state of mind changes dramatically. Metaphorically terrified (territus) by the snares and by the river's high bank, he wheels back and forth a thousand times, while the dog hangs close with gaping mouth.26 Here, the action of the Trojans does not solely mirror the action of their champion. Rather, in a communal and organized effort that emphasizes, once again, the reciprocal bond between group and individual, the Trojans work together with Aeneas to neutralize the enemy. By contrast, Achilles, during his final duel with Hector, openly rejects such an aid, for fear some­ one else might win glory.27 This rejection underscores unequivocally the lack of identification between individual and collectivity, personal glory and public interest, that defines the relationship between heroes and collectivity in the Homeric world. But let us return to our passage in the Aeneid: the now almost leaderless Rutulians endure a fate similar to that of their leader. As with Turnus, so, too, for his own people, the trepidatio that had character­ ized their reaction in the earlier phase of the duel now gives way to terror, for now Aeneas terrorizes the already shuddering Rutulians (terretque trementis) and threatens to tear down their city.28 Eventually, as the duel draws to a dose and Turnus turns his gaze, for the last time, toward his city and the Rutulians, Aeneas hits him with his 24. Aen. 12.735-37: fama est praecipitem, cum prima in proelia iunctos I conscendebat equos, patrio mucrone relicto, I dum trepidat, ferrum aurigae rapuisse Metisci . . . 25. On this simile and its Homeric model, see Di Benedetto 1996. See also Perutelli 1972, especially 42-44. 26. Aen. 12.749-55: inclusum ueluti si quando flumine nactus I ceruum aut puniceae saeptum formidine pennae I uenator cursu canis et latratibus instat; I ille autem insidiis et ripa territus alta I mille fugit refugitque uias, at uiuidus Vmber I haeret hians, iam iamque tenet similisque tenenti I increpuit malis morsuque elusus inani est . . . 27. II. 22.205-7: "But brilliant Achilles kept shaking his head at his own people and would not let them throw their bitter projectiles at Hector for fear the thrower might win the glory [%'ill\o�] , and himself come second [ 6 1\e 1\eiJteQo� e/.-&m ] . " 2 8 . Aen. 12.761-62: terretque trementis I excisurum urbem minitans e t saucius instat.

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javelin and seals his enemy's doom. While Turnus falls to the ground, the Rutulians react: they leap up with a moan, a gemitus that makes all the mountain slopes around resound. consurgunt gemitu Rutuli totusque remugit mons circum et uocem late nemora alta remittunt. (Virg. Aen. 12.928-29 ) [All the Rutulians leap up with a groan and all the mountain slopes around reecho; tall forests, far and near, return that voice.] Nothing more is heard from the spectators of the duel in the Aeneid. Their departure from the text parallels that of Juturna, who, moaning at the sight of the ominous Dira, disappears forever into the river's depths (multa gemens et se fluuio dea condidit alto). 29 But even more tellingly, their exit anticipates the way Turnus's soul takes leave of life and the text. ast illi soluuntur frigore membra uitaque cum gemitu fugit indignata sub umbras. (Virg. Aen. 12.951-52) [His limbs fell slack with chill; and with a moan his life, resentful, fled to the Shades below.] Mise en Abyme

In its capacity as a contest fought for the sake of and in the name of the collective body of citizens, the duel between Aeneas and Turnus recalls, as I mentioned previously, the duel between the Horatii and Curatii. The points of contact between the two extend, however, beyond the ideology that informs the narration describing each occurrence. The transitive relation­ ship operative in the Aeneid, by which the group in turn identifies with the champion, qualifies Livy's representation of the duel of the Horatii and Curatii as well (and not only this duel). Feldherr has devoted some attention to analysis of the scene. The exchange between the spectator armies and the individual com­ batants . . . impacts equally upon watcher and watched. At the sim29. Aen. 12.886.

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plest level, the armies inspire their champions by shouting encourage­ ment, and conversely the successes or failures of the individuals inspire or distress the larger groups. But Livy's vivid description lends these effects an air of physicality that suggests a more radical sympathy between crowd and individual: the responses of the specta­ tor armies mimic the very combat that the duel was designed to prevent. . . . each of the spectators must individually experience the physical effects suffered by the bodies that represent them.3° In both cases-Aeneas versus Turnus and Horatii versus Curatii-the spectacle of the duel, rather than creating a divide between watcher and watched, further cements the sense of identification between the two. It forms a bridge between them; this bridge, notably, does not stop within the limits of the text but extends well beyond, to the external spectators of the duel, that is, the readers of the text. By creating a scene (the duel) within a scene (the spectators sitting in a circle)-a mise en abyme-the act of watching performed by the Latins and Trojans (the internal spectators) becomes a replica of the activity of the real (external, as it were) spectators of the poem.3' Thus, the response of the internal spectators of the duel aptly channels the desired response of the readers of the text. The arena of combat 30. Feldherr 1998, 129-30. On the practice of single combat in Rome and on the cultural associations that the institution possessed there, see Fries 1985; Feldherr 1998, 93-99, with bibliography. 31. The term mise en abyme originates in the criticism of the French novel. The standard study of the topic, with a typology applied to le nouveau roman, is Diillenbach 1989. Winkler (1982) has studied this technique in the Greek novel. For a study of this technique in Polybius, with specific attention to Polybius's simile of the boxing match (1.57) and to the duel between the two Celtic prisoners in Hannibal's camp (3.63), see Davidson 1991. Davidson notes (16 ) : "The didactic arenas of !.57 and III.63 are located securely within the greater arena which is the Histories, within which all spectators are carefully seated, all gazes carefully structured and gently directed. And because of this mediation, the text is porous: there is no great break between the participants and the readers; they are all implicated in their observing. The arena spills over into the auditorium, and the auditorium into our own present, as we view througll the eyes of the Polybian reader, the spectators in the text." Walker (1993) analyzes the use of this technique in Thucydides (the description of the battle in the Syracusan harbor) and Dionysius of Halicarnas­ sus (the description of the duel between the Horatii and Curatii) . He points out that in these historians, visual effects are achieved by creating scenes that themselves contain scenes. This mise en abyme has a twofold function. The spectators' response mirrors the readers' reception of the larger textual whole. Moreover, the mise en abyme calls attention to the problems that attend the process of representation, as the internal spectators and their ability to see become an emblem of the historian at work. For an analysis of the spectacle-like quality of duels in Livy, see Feldherr 1998, 82-111, 123-31.

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spills over into the auditorium in the text, and this auditorium becomes a surrogate for the auditorium of the textY Again, a comparison between the Aeneid and the Iliad is quite revealing, for it enables us to grasp fully the implications of Virgil's narrative choice in exploiting the transitive relationship between champion and collectivity, watcher and watched. I called attention previously to the fact that the duel between Paris and Menelaus is likewise presented as a formal spectacle performed in front of a set of spectators, that is, the Greek and Trojan armies. But how do these Homeric spectators watch? What is their response to the duel? These factors must be examined in closer detail. When oaths have finally been taken and the rest of the army is seated in a circle, the two heroes, armed at last, stride into the center space between the Achaeans and Trojans and gaze fiercely at one another (betvov b£QxO[t£VOL) .33 What follows in the narrative are the reactions of the armies at the sight of the two armed heroes, and this reaction is all we hear of the armies for the rest of the duel. As they sit in a circle, Greeks and Trojans alike can only gaze at Menelaus and Paris, struck by 1ta[t�O£, a sort of amazement or awe: "and amazement seized the beholders, Trojans, breakers of horses, and strong­ greaved Achaeans" [ 1ta[t�O£ b' £xev doog6wvta£ I Tg&a£ iY 'ln noba[tO'll £ xal, £iixv�[ttba£ 'Axmou£] .34 This complex interweaving of gazes between the inner circle of the contenders and the outer circle of the spectators starkly juxtaposes the response of the former to that of the latter. It builds between them a divide that underlines the lack of empathy and the distance that separates the group from the hero, a distance that in turn mirrors that of the audience of the poem. Through a process of self-identification with the inter­ nal spectators of the duel, the audience is indeed invited to visualize the events taking place before its eyes (vividness again). In the Iliad, however, the narra­ tive calls attention also to the limits of the position of the internal spectator and therefore of the audience of the text. Like the spectators of the duel, the external spectator of the Iliad is left to marvel at the sight of the heroes of old but is prevented from identifying with them; this is no wonder-the contend­ ers are, after all, the demigods of an earlier generation. 32. Feldherr (1998, n) reaches similar conclusions. He observes how spectacles in Livy unite the experiences of readers and spectators. 33· II. 3.342. 34. II. 3.342-43. Significantly, ilUfl�O<; characterizes tile reaction of tile Trojans and Achaeans at tile appearance of the goddess Athena on tile battlefield in II. 4-79· A similar expression recurs also in the mock duel between Telamonian Ajax and Diomedes during the funeral games for Patroclus (II. 23.815 ) . Cf. also Od. 3-371-72, where amazement seizes all tile Achaeans as Athena disappears in tile likeness of a vulture.

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In the Aeneid, as in Livy, the internal spectator is cast in an altogether different position. Here, the act of watching becomes a communal exercise, the response of an entire nation as one (not the response of a series of multiple individuals-a point to which I will return). It creates a sense of identity between the collectivity and the individual, which, in turn, has the power to effect the same transformation among the external spectators, Virgil's own Roman readers.35 Now even more urgently than before, the readers of the Aeneid are invited to evaluate what they are called not only to witness but also to experience as if firsthand, in their own person. The ultimate question for the audience-how to watch and how to respond­ remains, if possible, even more urgent than before.

The Final Spectacle

A moan echoed by mountain slopes and tall forests, far and near, marks the exit of the spectators of the Aeneid.36 After this, we hear nothing more from the Latins or the Rutulians. Likewise, the poem remains stunningly silent about the Trojans' response to Aeneas's feat and conclusive victory. As the narrative of the duel reaches its climax, the reader of the poem, who up to this point could rely on the response of its internal surrogate for guidance, is left suddenly alone to make sense of the sequence of events that brings the poem to its rather abrupt close.37 The peculiarity of Virgil's narrative strategy becomes even more striking when compared to Livy's description of the duel between the Horatii and Curatii. Surprisingly similar up to this point, the two duels diverge quite significantly in their ending. In Livy's narrative, the duel between the two sets of triplets reaches its climax when, in a dramatic turn of events, the only Roman survivor manages to overcome all three of his opponents. The new champion is greeted by the jubilant Roman crowd with ovations and applause (Romani ouantes ac gratulantes Horatium accipiunt).38 Both nations then at­ tend to the burial of their dead, but with opposite feelings-the Romans elated by their newly obtained supremacy and increased imperium, the Al­ bans saddened by their newly acquired servitude (Ad sepulturam inde suorum nequaquam paribus animis uertuntur, quippe imperio alteri aucti, alteri dicionis 35. 36. 37. 38.

On this topic, see Feldherr 1998, n6, 132. Aen. 12.928-29. On the abruptness of the end of the Aeneid, see chap. 2, n. 30. Livy 1.25.13.

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alienae facti).39 The famous duel between Torquatus and the Gaul in Ab urbe condita 7 ends on a sinlilar note. After Torquatus stabs the Gaul in the belly and groin, knocking his enormous enemy prostrate, the Gauls who are watch­ ing remain motionless, struck by fear and astonishment, while the jubilant Romans run to greet and congratulate their comrade for a victory that, Livy reminds us, proved to be decisive for the general outcome of the war. 4° In both passages from Livy, as each Livian champion served as surrogate for his own people throughout the duel, so, too, his loss or victory is mirrored by the final response of the collectivity, which ends the account of the duel and lends it formal closure. This closure is inlportant for interpreting the event as a whole. The Romans' communal and positive response at the end of the duel is the logical finale that brings to a clinlax the existing relation between the individual (and his achievements) and the state. Moreover, it grants to the event a final resolution that allows the readers of the text to decodify the significance of the episode and to respond to it correctly.4' The duel between Turnus and Aeneas lacks this closural effect.42 True, the final reconciliation of the divine spectators, Juno and Jupiter, grants the 39· Livy 1.25.13. 40. Livy J.10.12-J.ll.l: Defixerat pauor cum admiratione Gallas: Romani alacres ab statione obuiam militi suo progressi, gratulantes laudantesque ad dictatorem perducunt. . . . Et hercule tanti ea ad uniuersi belli euentum momenti dimicatio fuit, ut Gallorum exercitus proxima nocte relictis trepide castris in Tiburtem agrum atque inde societate belli facta commeatuque benigne ab Tiburtibus adiutus max in Campaniam transierit. Cf. Also Corvus's duel, in which the motif of resemblance between the chan1pion and the Roman spectators is explicitly emphasized by t!Ie consul who, at the end of the duel, invites t!Ie army to imitate t!Ie behavior of Corvus (Livy 7.26.7: ostentansque insignem spoliis tribunum, 'hunc imitare, miles' aiebat) . On t!Iis topic, see Feldherr 1998, 103-5. On t!Ie duel of Corvus and the Gaul and on its connections with t!Ie duel between Turnus and Aeneas, see Hardie 1986, 150-51. Hardie suggests t!Iat the episode of t!Ie Fury who inspires Turn us wit!I panic by turning into an owl and flitting in his face bears close resemblance to the crow who repeatedly flies in t!Ie face of the Gaul. For the duel of t!Ie younger Torquatus and its different meaning, see Feldherr 1998, 105-11. 41. See Feldherr 1998, 131. 42. The end of t!Ie duel between Paris and Menelaus is of no help in explaining Virgil's choice. This duel is interrupted and aborted, and as Kirk notes ( 1978, 23 ) , its ultimate effect is inconsequential. The duel between Ajax and Hector in Iliad 7, although performed as a public spectacle, is a private contest, a trial of prowess t!Iat has no bearing on the final outcome of t!Ie war. It, too, ends in an inconclusive manner, which offers a convenient transition to t!Ie gat!Iering of the dead and t!Ie building of t!Ie wall and trench. Similarly, t!Ie duel between Hector and Achilles, alt!Iough an important subtext for t!Ie duel between Aeneas and Turnus, is a private confrontation between the two major heroes of the poem and is not fashioned as a public spectacle to be performed in front of t!Ie Trojans and Greeks. Moreover, unlike t!Ie Aeneid, t!Ie Iliad does not end wit!I this violent action. The lan1entations of Hector's fan1ily, t!Ie funeral of Patroclus, Priam's visit to Achilles, and, finally, Hector's funeral bring a sense of closure to t!Ie narrative. See, further, chap. 2, n. 30, in the present study.

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duel a sense of closure. But this resolution takes place at a "divine" level, before the end of the duel and from a vantage point at a moment in time that is beyond the temporal frame of the primary narrative. At the human level, the narrative brings about no resolution.43 Of course, the sense of nostalgic empathy for the defeated, a pervasive trait of Virgilian poetry, may be invoked here to explain Virgil's ending on a more somber note. The Rutulians' final mourning and despair would exem­ plify what Parry has famously labeled the "private voice of regret." 44 As with the earlier lament of Juturna, the laments of the Rutulians would open a space for critical reflections of this sort.4s From this perspective, the end of the poem witnesses once more a resurgence of the "private voice, " which invites the audience to identify with it and reflect on the losses that come with every accomplishment and progress. But there may be an alternative explanation. In separate studies, Hardie and Thomas (seconding other scholars) have rightly pointed to one aspect of this duel that sets it apart from others in the poem: Aeneas and Turnus are presented as doublets of each other.46 Within the limits of the final book of the Aeneid, this process of assimilation begins well before the duel proper and most obviously in the double aristeia of Turnus and Aeneas. As Thomas has pointed out, one of its most visible results is to approximate the two warriors to each other. This passage is composed with great artistry: the narrative of the exploits of the two (505-20 ) alternates its focus-4 lines for Aeneas, 4 for Turnus, 3 for ille (Aeneas), 5 for hie (Turnus); in all, each kills 5 warriors. And we are now ready for the simile that brings them even closer together, as they are both compared to the same phenomena, to twin forest fires, and to raging rivers (12.521-5) . The adaptation is from the Iliad, . . . but the doubling and the conflation effected by that doubling is Vergilian, the result the dose binding of Aeneas and 43. On the position of the final encounter between Juno and Jupiter within the narrative of the last book of the Aeneid, see Farran 1982, 140; Hardie 1993, 26; Barchiesi 1994, 112-13 ( 1999, 327-28); Traina 1994, 35-36. On the nature and character of the reconciliation between Jupiter and Juno, see Feeney 1984; O'Hara 1990, 83-84, 142-44. See, further, chap . 8 in the present study. 44· Parry 1963. See also Clausen 1964. 45· Barchiesi (1994, 113 [ 1999, 328] ) has interpreted the famous "lament of Juturna" (12.869-86) in a similar way: "The lament of Juturna is an anticipatory comment on the end of the poem, seen by eyes that are sympathetic towards the defeated." On the lament of Juturna, see, further, Perkel1 1997· 46. Hardie 1993, 19 -34; Thomas 1998. =

=

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Turnus. . . . Through narrative and simile, in fewer than fifty lines, Vergil has blended Aeneas and Turnus so that they have become doublets of each other, a process unprecedented even in the Achilles/ Hector duality.47 This assimilation intensifies in the duel proper. At its outset, the simile of the two bulls erases almost completely the possibility of distinguishing between the combatants-even more so because the scene describing the heifers watching fearfully to see "who will rule" [quis . . . imperitet] (Aen. 12.719) alludes to Ennius's account of the spectators waiting for the outcome of the auspices of Romulus and Remus, the twin brothers par excellence of Roman history.48 The wounding of Turnus and his subsequent killing mark the climax of this process; at this point, the narrator makes Aeneas fight his own double. Both Turnus and Aeneas are acting out roles; both are wearing disguises. On the one hand, there is Aeneas, who speaks and acts as an agent of Pallas: "It is Pallas who strikes, who sacrifices you, who takes this payment from your shameless blood" [Pallas te hoc uulnere, Pallas I immolat et poenam scelerato ex sanguine sumit].49 On the other hand, we have the young warrior Turnus, who, by dressing in the sword belt of Pallas, has become Pallas and therefore has consigned himself to the same premature death as his victim. As Hardie puts it, we might see here "two versions of Pallas opposing each other." so Victor and victim become indistinguishable. They partake of the same body, and this has dire implications for the perpetrator of the victim's murder: with the death of Turnus, Aeneas, too, partially dies. Aeneas, as well as the collective body he represents, emerges from this duel dimidiatus. The duel between the Horatii and the Curatii ends with Livy's final 47· Thomas 1998, 277. The double aristeia had been analyzed previously by Willcock (1983, 93-95) , who noticed also how Virgil confuses Turnus and Aeneas with the alteration of hie and ille. 48. Ennius Ann. 78 Skutsch. On this topic, see Hardie 1993, 23. Hardie also points out that the image of the two bulls will be used in Statius's Thebaid (4.396-402) to describe the war that ensued between the two brothers Polynices and Eteocles. 49· Aen. 12.948-49. so. Hardie 1993, 34· On this topic, see also Bandera 1981; Quint 1993, 65-83. Quint's analysis in connection with the Homeric subtext of the duel between Aeneas and Turn us shows compel­ lingly that in this final duel, Aeneas is made to fight against a mirror image of his former self, namely, the Aeneas of the Iliad: "For the repetition and reversal of Aeneas' Iliadic career in the final duel with Turn us not only constitutes the hero's personal revenge upon his own past, but it also makes the Turnus whom Aeneas defeats and kills a mirror image of Aeneas himself, the Aeneas who barely escaped Diomedes and Achilles at Troy" (79 ) .

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assessment of the Romans' increased imperium (imperio . . . aucti)Y After the duel, the Roman spectators celebrate a Roma aucta; through the deed of their champion, the collectivity has gained imperium, and its strength has been increased.5 2 The duel between Turnus and Aeneas works in the oppo­ site direction. By presenting two champions who attempt to kill their own mirror images, the duel draws close to the image of a bellum internum, whose final result is the splitting in two of the collective body of a nation. The abrupt end of the duel between Aeneas and Turnus and its lack of a formal closure after the fashion of Livy calls attention to its intrinsically different nature. At the end of the Aeneid, the spectators of the duel have been called to witness their being torn apart. But they are not only witnesses. They themselves directly experience this event. Since the two champions are presented throughout the duel as surrogates of the collective bodies they represent (I have already exaniined the various ways in which the narrator develops an identity between individual and group), the "internal conflict" between Aeneas and Turnus becomes, in turn, the surrogate replica of the "internal conflict" experienced by the entire collectivity. It comes as no surprise that the departure of the spectators from the text is marked not by celebration but by despair. In view of the preceding analysis, their groan of desperation can no longer be viewed solely as qualifying the reaction of the defeated Rutulians. Just as the identities of the two champions merge into one, so, too, the difference between the two groups becomes at the end of the duel only virtual. Latins, Trojans, and Rutulians are ultimately part of the same whole. They are members of the same body, and the Rutulians' groan of desperation, the last we hear from the internal spectators, becomes emblematic of the response of the entire body at its self-destruction and dismemberment. Their despair, therefore, can no longer be labeled as purely elegiac, as a private voice of regret. The response of the Rutulians becomes the response of the entire collectivity of the citizen body to the communal experience of the bellum internum and to its being torn apart. The "prob­ lem" of the end of the Aeneid is not Aeneas's "moral justification" in killing Turnus, nor is it the Augustan or anti-Augustan dimension of this ending. The problem is the very nature of the duel that marks the dose of the poem. 51. Livy 1.25.13. 52. The sense of loss of the Albans, though, will be only momentary, for they, too, at the end of Livy' s account, will be reunited with the kindred race of the Romans, and the two consolidated nations will further Rome's process of growth. This topic is fully discussed in chap. 8 of the present study. On the events following this important duel, especially Horatia's death, Mettius' s execution, and the reunification of the Albans and Romans, see also Feldherr 1998, 132-64.

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In chapter 2, I analyzed how the tragic plot structure of the last four books of the Aeneid invites the audience to read the end of the poem not so much as the fulfillment of Aeneas's mission (the killing of Turnus) but, rather, as the moment of crisis necessary to fulfill such a mission (the death of Turnus). My analysis of the duel characterizes the nature of this crisis clearly in terms of civil strife. The poem ends by emphasizing this moment of crisis; the communal response of despair that marks the exit of the spectators from the poem shows their unwillingness to move beyond this moment of struggle and their inability to look forward to a time when a process of reunification will mark the true end of the conflict. I now return to the external spectator. Earlier on, I showed how Fowler (and others) conferred on ecphrasis and prophecy in the Aeneid the vital function of bridging the gap between the legendary past of the primary temporal setting and the present.53 Thanks to these narrative devices, the temporal outreach of the poem becomes enormous, extending from a mytho­ logical or legendary past represented by the primary temporal frame to Vir­ gil's own day and even somewhat beyond. But the narrative and temporal structure of the Aeneid has even more layers of complexity. Throughout these last chapters, I have followed closely how the primary temporal frame, far from merely representing the legendary past, encompasses various temporal spans simultaneously, bridging, in its own terms, the gap between the past and the present. This diachronic itinerary from a remote/epic past into an emergent present reaches its climax at the end of the poem. By shaping the final duel between Turnus and Aeneas as a bellum internum, the narrator induces the external spectators to witness the most recent part of their own history. Here, the story of the past merges completely with the story of the present, and thanks to their surrogates in the texts, the spectators/readers are invited to reexperience this traumatic segment of Rome's recent history. As the mise en abyme suggests, they are compelled to do so not on a personal level but as a collectivity that joins together in a communal and civic response of grief at its dismemberment. Thus, the Aeneid qualifies itself as Rome's national poem not only because it retells the story of the nation of Rome but also because it solicits a response from its audience as members of the Roman collective body. What will happen next? To be sure, the many prophecies and ecphrases in the poem allow the audience to reach beyond this critical point in their 53. See chap. s.

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history and to look to a period in time that will witness the resolution of Rome's internal conflict and open on a new, brighter era, when the political body shall be reunited in a newly restored internal peace. In Aeneid 1, Jupi­ ter's famous prophecy to Venus foresees a time in Roman history when, after the return of a Caesar from the East, the gruesome gates of war shall be shut with tightly welded iron plates and when unholy Madness, sitting on his ferocious weapons and bound behind his back by a hundred knots of brass, shall roar horribly with bloody mouth.s 4 In Anchises's prophecy, Caesar is presented as the restorer of the golden age of peace and as the leader under whose aegis not only Rome but the entire world will become one. hie uir, hie est, tibi quem promitti saepius audis, Augustus Caesar, diui genus, aurea condet saecula qui rursus Latio regnata per arua Saturno quondam, super et Garamantas et Indos proferet imperium: iacet extra sidera tellus, extra anni solisque uias, ubi caelifer Atlas axem umero torquet stellis ardentibus aptum. (Virg. Aen. 6.791-97) [This, this is the man you heard so often promised­ Augustus Caesar, son of a god, who will renew a golden age in Latium, in fields where Saturn once was king, and stretch his rule beyond the Garamantes and the Indians-a land beyond the paths of year and sun, beyond the constellations, where on his shoulders heaven-holding Atlas revolves the axis set with blazing stars.] Again, in the central scene of the shield of Aeneas, Augustus Caesar, after his glorious victory at Actium, enters the walls of Rome in triple triumph, dedicating his immortal gift to the Italian gods. Streets reecho with gladness, games, and applause, and bands of matrons crowd the temples, while Caesar 54. Aen. 1.293-96: dirae ferro et compagibus artis I claudentur Belli portae; Furor impius intus I saeua sedens super arma et centum uinctus ai!nis I post tergum nodis fremet horridus ore cruento. On the ambiguity of Caesar at line 286, there is an extensive bibliography: see O'Hara 1990, 155-60; Kraggerud 1992; O'Hara 1994.

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himself, seated at the porch of bright Phoebus, reviews the spoils of nations and fastens them on the high doorposts (ipse sedens niueo candentis limine Phoebi I dona recognoscit populorum aptatque superbis I postibus).ss As Hardie has aptly noted, the allusion to the sun god Apollo and to the catalog of people points to the common Roman topos of universal empire as compris­ ing all the lands that the sun beholds in its daily passage from East to West.S 6 However, the real end of the poem (i.e., the end of the primary narra­ tive) comes on a more somber note. It leads readers to the same temporal frame as that of the prophecies, but it does not allow them to move beyond the time of internal conflict. Unlike the prophecies, the primary narrative falls visibly short of any final resolution. I have noted that for the Latins and Trojans, the process of reunification remains a prophecy uttered by Jupiter, one that lies beyond the primary narrative. The narrator seems to suggest that the same is true for Virgil's own Roman reader. For Virgil's Roman audience-as for its surrogates in the text, the Latins and Trojans-the prophecies of reunification do not seem to be fulfilled in the present and are not allowed to spill into the primary narrative. For Virgil's Roman reader, who, in fifty years of civil wars, will have too often seen promises of pax and restoration turned into blood and war, the prophecies of Aeneid 1, 6, and 8 that I have now examined are not accomplished reality but remain exactly what they are-prophecies about a future yet to come.

55· Aen. 8.720-22. On this passage, see especially Barchiesi 1997, 276. Barchiesi argues that Augustus is both the central figure on the shield and the ideal spectator of the shield; as Augustus watches the bringing of spoils and the triumphal procession, he trespasses over several layers of representation and becomes the privileged observer of the divine shield and of the Virgilian narrative itself. 56. Hardie 1986, 356.

PART T HRE E

Eight

City Identity in the Aeneid

The Tale of Troy

In the previous chapters, I have analyzed how the text of the Aeneid is orga­ nized in a multilayered narrative system that assimilates several generic mod­ els. I have further shown that precisely this composite formal construct lends to the Virgilian epic a high degree of complexity, for it allows the poem to be continually reframed (and thus continually reinterpreted) in light of these diverse temporal/generic systems. In this chapter, I analyze how the Aeneid allows defined spaces to undergo a similar process of redefinition by con­ stantly recasting their identity through different generic and temporal frames (again, historiography will be central to my discussion). As a result of this process, spaces-and here I am particularly interested in cities-become not simply a place of action. Space is "thematized": it becomes an object of presentation itself, for its own sake. In this capacity, the city may be viewed as an "acting place" rather than a place of action. It influences in a dynamic way the fabula, which becomes subordinate and dependent on its presentation, for spaces further the process of epic destabilization operative in the last books of the poem.' 1. On the relation between fabula and space, see Bal 1985, 132-42. On the representation of space in ancient Roman writers, see Leach 1988. For space as an organizing device in Livy's A UC, see Kraus 1994b, 267-87; Jaeger 1997. For space in Roman oratory, see Vasaly 1993, with bibliogra­ phy on the topic. 171

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Cities are a constant and essential presence in the Aeneid; from the very start, the epic announces its "ktistic" quality.2 Aeneas's tale of wanderings is presented in the proem as a journey from the East to the West (Asia to Italy), which becomes, at the same time, a journey from capitulation to foundation (dum conderet urbem I inferretque deos Latio; genus unde Lati­ num I Albanique patres atque altae moenia Romae).3 Among the many cities encountered by Aeneas on this journey, three seem to share a special bond emphasized via a net of literary allusions: the city of Troy, whose final hours are described in book 2; the Trojan camp built by Aeneas; and the city of King Latinus. These three cities represent three distinct places, each with a geographi­ cal and topographical identity and a tale of its own.4 On the night of the sack of Troy, we meet a small group of survivors who gather together around their new leader, Aeneas. The old Troy is no more, and hence, as the city crashes down, devoured by its own flames, this maniple of new exiles sails away from Asia to a distant land and to an uncertain future. The story that follows is all too familiar. After multiple trials and endless wanderings, the Trojans find a land to settle in Latium, and there, near the shores of the Tiber River, they build a new city. Met with much hostility by the people of the region, they consequently engage in a war with King Latinus and his Italian allies, a war that ends notoriously with the siege of Latinus's city and Aeneas's killing of Turnus. In this linear sequence of events narrated in the poem, the three cities appear clearly distinct from one another. Each of them has a different story, and following the tale of their destiny, the reader is led comfortably forward, looking toward an end, a telos, in the story. Yet a complex net of intertextual correspondences between the three cities allows a more elaborate narrative structure to emerge. Following key narrative threads, clearly marked by the narrator, we observe how each of the cities is also constantly assimilated to Troy. Every new city embodies a 2. On the Aeneid as a foundation poem, see Horsfall 1989; Hardie 1994, 11. On the tradition of ktisis poetry in Greek literature, see Horsfall 1989. More specifically, for the Hellenistic period, see Cameron 1995, 26, 51, 215; Fantuzzi and Hunter 2002, 122. 3· Aen. 1.5-7. 4· On the problematic localization of the Trojan camp and of the city of Latinus, see Della Corte 1972, 121-263. See also Tilly 1947, especially 84, Della Corte 1971. As with their location, Virgil seems to have been purposely vague about the names of the cities. The name of the city of King Latinus is never stated clearly. In Aen. 8.1 and 8.38, the city is referred to respectively as arx Laurens and solum Laurens. Cf. also 8.371; 12.137, 280. At other times, the city is referred to as urbs Latini (11.213, 12.137), as urbs Latina (9.367, 11.100), or, more simply as urbs (7.149; 12.567, 608, 610) or moenia (7.153, 12.745 ) . The problems related to the name of the Trojan camp are discussed later in this chapter.

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new Troy and relives the tale of Troy. The net of correspondences is even more complex in the case of the Trojan camp. There, the two enemy cities of the Trojan War, the Achaean camp and the city of Troy, are combined into one and come to coexist. By this process of approximating one city to the other, the text thwarts the illusion of a real development in the action. Its progression becomes, in fact, a turning backward, a circular movement that repeatedly brings the reader to the point of departure: the tale of Troy. The fact that the camp founded by Aeneas and the Trojans at the beginning of Aeneid 7 is related to ancient Troy is marked explicitly by the narrator. Many passages in the poem (and many of its characters) point to this identification. More than once, the new Trojan camp is labeled a Troia nascens, a newborn Troy. In the famous council of the gods at the opening of Aeneid 10, Venus and Juno refer to it thus in their respective speeches.s Its very destiny confirms the idea that this newborn Troy functions as the double and surrogate of the original one. The Italian siege of the Trojan camp in Aeneid 9 is seen by part of the attackers as a repetition, a reenact­ ment of the Greek expedition against the city of Troy. Numanus Remulus, in his famous speech in Aeneid 9, voices just such an interpretation; for him, the Latins' siege of the Trojan camp is nothing short of a "second" siege of Troy: " Twice-conquered Phrygians, are you not ashamed to be hemmed in again by siege and ramparts, to set up walls between yourselves and death? " 6 In the same book, Turnus builds an even stronger equivalence between his role and that of the Greek leaders who organized the expedition against Troy. On the one hand, he asserts for himself the rights of a new Menelaus who is waging a just war against the Trojans, who, for their part, have yet again robbed a man of his lawful coniunx.7 On the other hand, he boastfully 5· Aen. 10.26-27 (speech of Venus) : muris iterum imminet hostis I nascentis Troiae . . . ; 10.74-75 (speech of Juno) : indignum est Italos Troiam circum dare flammis I nascentem . . . . Cf. Aen. 7.233 (speech of Ilioneus) : nee Troiam Ausonios gremio excepisse pigebit; 10.213-14 (narrator's voice) : Tot lecti proceres ter denis nauibus ibant I subsidio Troiae et campos salis aere secabant. 6. non pudet obsidione iterum ualloque teneri, I bis capti Phryges, et morti praetendere muros? (Aen. 9.598-99 ) . The expressions iterum and bis capti have caused interpretative problems since antiquity, and their meaning is perhaps left openly ambiguous. The two possible interpretations are already given by Servius and Servius Auctus, ad loc.: bis capti Phryges semel ab Hercule, post a Graecis (Servius), alii tradunt semel a Graecis et nunc a Latinis: hoc et magis aptum esse Numani personae, ut se uicisse existimet, qui tam iactans et petulans inducatur (Servius Auctus) . For Numanus Remulus's speech, see Hardie 1 994, ad loc., with bibliography. 7. Aen. 9 .138-39: coniuge praerepta; nee solos tangit Atridas I iste dolor, solisque licet capere arma Mycenis. Nevertheless, Turnus's analogy between himself and Menelaus seems to be a distortion of the true state of affairs, for Lavinia is probably not even Turnus's sponsa. On this topic, see Hardie 1994, ad loc.

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claims the role of a new Achilles.8 The same identification is suggested by the more authoritative voice of the narrator himself. His comment at Aeneid 9 that Turnus would have captured the camp of the Trojans had he opened the gates to his comrades 9 recalls Homer's contrafactual conditional statement at the end of Iliad 16: "There the sons of the Achaeans might have taken gate­ towering Ilium under the hands of Patroclus, who raged with the spear far before them, had not Phoebus Apollo taken his stand on the strong-built tower, with thoughts of death for him, but help for the Trojans." 10 Following in the footsteps of the alter Achilles of the Iliad, this alius Achilles likewise fails in his attempt to take the city of Troy.11However, the Iliadic model, the crucial subtext, points in the opposite direction. It invites the reader to identify the Trojan camp at the mouth of the Tiber not with Troy but with the encampment of the Greeks, Troy's nemesis. The tripartite episodic structure of Aeneid 9-first day of siege, night excursion, second day of siege­ precisely replicates the narration in Iliad 8-12 of the attack of the Trojan army on the Achaean camp, which culminates with Hector's breaching of the Greek wall.12 Consequently, the tale of the Trojan camp in Aeneid 9 ties together features of the ancient city of Troy and of the Achaean camp, the fundamental pair of opposites in the Iliad. Invaded and invaders join to­ gether into one body, one space. The ambivalent nature of this new settlement (and, therefore, its poten8. Aen. 9.741-42: incipe, si qua animo uirtus, et consere dextram, I hie etiam inuentum Priamo narrabis Achillem. Hardie (1994, ad loc. ) draws attention to the similarities between the speeches of Turnus and Pyrrhus at Aen. 2.547-49. 9. Aen. 9.757-59: et si continuo uictorem ea cura subisset, I rumpere claustra manu sociosque immittere portis, I ultimus ille dies bello gentique fuisset. 10. II. 16.698-701. Both Knauer (1964, ad loc. ) and Hardie (1994, 10) cite this passage as the primary model for the Virgilian scene, but in the Aeneid, unlike in the Iliad, no external interven­ tion causes the failure of the attempt. Turn us himself is the sole agent responsible for his failure. The alteration of the typical Homeric pattern casts Turnus's responsibility in high relief. On this topic, see Hardie 1994, at 9·757· Further connections between the Trojan camp and the city of Troy can be detected by taking into consideration the poems of the Epic Cycle. Kopff (1981), for example, views the great attack that Achilles leads against Troy and his death at the hands of Apollo and Paris as an additional model for the aristeia of Turnus in book 9. Since Turnus, unlike Achilles, escapes death at this point of the narration, Achilles's manner of death, according to Kopff, is reserved for another Italian, Numanus Remulus. The greatest of Paris's feats, accom­ plished with the aid of Apollo, is changed into Ascanius' s first entrance into warfare, motivated by his own pious initiative and approved by Apollo. 11. Turnus is called alius Achilles by the Sibyl at Aen. 6.89. On the meaning of alius, see Hardie 1993, 17-18. Thomas (1998, 280-81) aptly notices that the Sibyl's ambiguous alius (instead of alter) probably defines a third, rather than a second, Achilles. 12. The majority of scholars agree that Aeneid 9 is largely modeled on Iliad 8-12. On this topic, see Hardie 1994, 7, with relevant bibliography.

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tial for transformation) is already foreshadowed in the process of its founda­ tion, narrated at Aeneid 7.157-59. As Hardie has noted, the camp is fortified in the manner of a castra, but the line of the walls is marked out with a plough according to the custom for founding a city.'3 Its unstable and shifting status is further emphasized by the terminology that designates it. At one moment, the settlement is elevated to the rank of an urbs, with its inhabitants becoming its lawful citizens, ciues. Immediately after, it goes back to being a simple castra.'4 Like a two-faced Janus, this new Trojan settlement swirls back and forth between antithetic positions-city and castra, Troy and the Achaean camp; precisely in this last role, it also defines the position of the city of Latinus in the structure of the poem. In the general economy of the war in Latium, the Trojan camp is to the city of King Latinus what the Greek camp was to the city of Troy in the Iliad: a useful beachhead from which the invading Trojans will launch, in the final phases of the war, a charge against the defenders' city.Hence, in its relation to the Trojan camp, the city of Latinus becomes yet another new Troy. Further verbal allusions corroborate this equivalence. Two brief scenes that frame the beginning and the end of Aeneas's Iliupersis illustrate the point.'5 In book 2, the initial phase of the description of the last night of the city is introduced by a simile. Aeneas, awakened by the ominous apparition of Hector, climbs onto the roof of his house. Like a shepherd still not fully aware of the dangerous situation, he will lend his ear 13. Hardie 1994, 10 n. 14. See also Horsfall 2000, ad loc. 14. The use of the word castra to designate the Trojan settlement occurs, for example, at Aen. 9.13, 43, 57, 65, 69, 147, 230, 366, 801; urbs at 9.8, 48, 473, 639, 729, 784. 15. For other parallels between Troy and the city of King Latinus, cf. Aen. 2.479, 12.579. In Aeneid 2, Pyrrhus, ipse inter primos, has seized an axe to chop open the doors that barred his entrance to the inner chambers of Priam's palace. Likewise, in 12.579, Aeneas ipse inter primos, makes his way up to the walls of Latinus's city. Cf. also Aen. 2.528, 12.474. In the first passage, the Trojan Polites tries to slip away out of the range of enemy weapons as Pyrrhus presses him closely. Taking refuge in the long porticoes of Priam's palace, he wanders through its emptied halls (uacua atria lustrat). A similar verbal expression is applied to Juturna in Aeneid 12, as she tries to extricate Turnus from the fighting against Aeneas and is likened to a mother swallow who flies around through the lofty rooms of some rich man's mansion looking for food for its fledglings (alta atria lustrat). On this subject, see Nethercut 1968, especially 86; Putnam 1988, 17275; Cf. also the connection between Troy and Latium established by Berlin (1998), who studies how, in presenting Aeneas as narrator recalling the events that lead to the fall of Troy, Virgil links the mnemonic experience of the poem's external audience to that of its internal narrator, creating a causative chain of narration and memory: the poet's story of the war in Latium constructs the reader's memory of the battles of Troy, and the battles' earlier narration by the poem's hero is constructed through his memory of the event. Alternatively, Reckford (1961) compares Aeneas's landing in Latium to his landing in Carthage.

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to a frightening sound, an omen of disaster, while his crops and plowland are being swept away by the power of flames or by the force of a mountain nver. excutior somno et summi fastigia tecti ascensu supero atque arrectis auribus asto: in segetem ueluti cum flamma furentibus Austris incidit, aut rapidus montano flumine torrens sternit agros, sternit sata laeta boumque labores praecipitisque trahit siluas; stupet inscius alto accipiens sonitum saxi de uertice pastor. (Virg. Aen. 2.302-8) [I start from sleep and climb the sloping roof above the house. I stand, alerted: just as when, with furious south winds, a fire has fallen on a wheat field, or a torrent that hurtles from a mountain stream lays low the meadows, low the happy crops, and low the labor of the oxen, dragging forests headlong-and even then, bewildered and unknowing, perched upon a rock, the shepherd will listen to the clamor.] In stark contrast and by a grim progression, as the final assault on the city of Latinus is about to be launched, Aeneas himself becomes the storm striking terror into the wretched farmers and bearing destruction for cultivated lands and works of human labor.' 6 qualis ubi ad terras abrupto sidere nimbus it mare per medium (miseris, heu, praescia longe horrescunt corda agricolis: dabit ille ruinas arboribus stragemque satis, ruet omnia late), ante uolant sonitumque ferunt ad litora uenti . . . (Virg. Aen. 12.451-55) [Even as, when a sudden squall has fallen, a storm cloud moves to land from open seas, 16. On the relation between these two similes, see Vance 1973, 117.

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and luckless farmers, seeing it far off, shudder within their hearts, for it will bring destruction to their orchards, kill their crops, and cut down every planting; and the winds fly fast before it, roaring toward the shore . . . ] Unquestionably, the two Virgilian similes have multiple Iliadic models.'? Nevertheless, none of these Homeric similes (and no other Virgilian simile, for that matter) ties the destructive power of these natural forces to human labor and to the ensuing fear of the community of shepherds and farmers. These themes unequivocally connect the two similes and, therefore, the two passages. Aeneas, who at the outbreak of the sack of Troy represents himself as a shepherd whose work is defiled by the violence of nature, becomes himself, at the moment he is about to lay siege to the city of Latinus, the metaphorical defiler of human works. Thus, two related Virgilian similes frame and equate the account of the fall of Troy with the hour of peril of Latinus's city. Similarly suggestive and intertextually rich is the powerful final image with which Aeneas and the reader take their leave from the burning Troy at Aeneid 3 . 3 : "all of Neptune's Troy smokes from the ground" {omnis humo fumat Neptunia Troia]. In the last harangue to his men, before the siege of the city of Latinus, Aeneas himself applies to this city the same image he had applied to Troy in its final hour. In his imaginative speech, the destiny that awaits the city of Latinus must be the same: "I shall level to the ground all their smoking rooftops" {aequa solo fumantia culmina ponam}.'8 Thus, in the last book of the poem, we return to the flames of Troy. The linear progression of the narrative becomes illusive. The simple movement forward is suspended; repetitions subject the temporal process to an oscilla­ tion that binds different moments and spaces together.' 9 Our fabula, at least from this perspective, unfolds as an unceasing, circular return to the past. This narrative design has important implications from a generic standpoint. The continuous redoubling of the city of Troy, first in the Trojan camp and then in the city of King Latinus, allows the Aeneid to acknowledge its own 17. For the simile in Aeneid 2, cf. especially II. 4.452-55; 5.87-92; 11.155-57, 492-95; 16.38492. For the simile in Aeneid 12, cf. II. 4.275-79, 13.795-99. The destruction of human labors is portrayed at II. 5.92 and 16.392. Human fear is present at 4.279, but the two themes are never connected in a Homeric simile. 18. Aen. 12.569. On the correlation between the two images, see Nethercut 1968, 86. 19. On the relation between narrative and repetition, see Brooks 1984, 99-100.

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epic model and to define the war in Latium as an undeniably epic war. It is an epic war because, besides everything else, it presents itself not as a retreat from but as a return to or repetition of the epic war par excellence, the Trojan War, which, along with the city of Troy, has been transferred to Italian soiU 0 But this repetition presents itself as an "inverted" repetition of the past. In this new Trojan War, the role of the two enemy cities is dramatically altered-and herein lies a striking reversal of the Iliadic situation. As the war progresses, the Trojan camp goes through a remarkable process of metamor­ phosis. Presented initially as a new Troy (see Ilioneus's speech at Aen. 7.233: "Ausonia will not repent the taking of Troy into her bosom")/ ' the settle­ ment of the Trojans begins gradually to encompass the antithetical character­ istics of the city of Troy and of the Achaean camp of the Iliad (Aen. 9 ) . Eventually, when the Trojans launch the final attack against the city of King Latinus, the new Trojan settlement finally completes its transformation into "the Achaean camp." 2 2 The new Troy founded on the shore of Latium by the exiled Trojans is able to replay the new Trojan War not as a "regressive repetition" of it but as a "repetition as reversal" (I here use Quint's terminol­ ogy) and is therefore able to free itself from the ill-fated destiny of the city of Troy.23 Having staged a version of the Trojan war, albeit a newly revised one, the three cities are now able to move on. They begin a forward progression that, in the case of the Trojan camp (as discussed in the last section of this chapter) will lead ultimately to the walls of high Rome. Beyond the Tale of Troy

The comparanda analyzed so far have established a set of powerful relations between the Trojan camp, the city of King Latinus, and the quintessential city of the epic world, Troy. There is, however, yet another important communal experience that connects them and simultaneously differentiates 20. Cf. Kraus 1994b, 267-87. For Kraus, Livy, too, represents Rome's capture of Veii and tbe Gauls' capture of Rome (A UC 5) as a meaningful reenactment of tbe sack of Troy. As Kraus rightly argues, by way of reenacting their Trojan history, the Romans, finally free of the burden of their past and of tbeir Trojan heritage, are able to refound Rome for good. 21. nee Troiam Ausonios gremio excepisse pigebit. 22. For important suggestions on tbe ambivalent nature of the Trojans portrayed as tbe Greek invaders of tbe Iliad in the second half of tbe Aeneid, see Anderson 1957; Netbercut 1968; Rabel 1978; Putnam 1988, 151-201; Quint 1993, 66-83. See, further, chap. 2 in the present study. 23. Quint 1993, 50-51. Quint, in turn, relies heavily on Brooks's terminology (1984) .

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them from their Homeric exemplar: each will be subjected to a siege. Troy itself obviously did not fall to a siege. Virgil knew the story well. After ten years of exhausting war and countless trials, Troy eventually capitulated in the space of one night because of a series of fatal misjudgments that led to the introduction of the wooden horse within its walls. Troy was undoubt­ edly taken from the inside, not from the outside. Yet its downfall in the Aeneid is closely connected to siege imagery. In the first part of Aeneid 2, Aeneas narrates all the most important steps leading to the ruinous fall of the city: the deception of Sinon; the death of Laocoon and his two sons; and the final entrance of the wooden horse into the city, aided and celebrated by the jubilant Trojan crowd.2 4 Night eventually falls, and the description of the last hours of Troy begins. The conquest of the city starts from its outskirts: the occupants of the wooden horse exit from the hollow timber, kill the Trojan guards, open up the gates of the city, and welcome their companions.2s Thanks to Aeneas's account, the reader follows the Greeks in their progression from the outskirts of the town, through the narrow roads, among houses and temples, up to the very heart of the city, the palace of Priam.26 In Aeneas's narrative, the palace represents the center of Troy and the place where the battle for survival reaches its climax: "here, " Aeneas tells us, "the fight is deadly, just as if there were no battles elsewhere, just as if no one were dying now throughout the city" [hie uero ingentem pugnam, ceu cetera nusquam I bella forent, nulli tota morerentur in urbe]Y From the beginning of the description of Troy's final night, the narration focuses the attention of the reader on this phase of the struggle, a phase that is quite remarkable for the central position it occupies in the narrative and for the manner of its representation-that is, as a siege. The differences between the accounts of the last night of Troy given by Quintus Smyrnaeus in his Posthomerica and by Tryphiodorus in his 'IA.iou aA.mmt;, the only other extant epic descriptions of the episode (and the only extended narratives on the topic altogether), expose the specific character of the Virgilian innova­ tions.28 As Heinze has rightly pointed out, Quintus's narrative of the sack of Troy has a catalogic quality.2 9 The various events of that fatal night are 24. On Virgil's elaboration of the fatal events that led to the destruction of Troy, see Heinze's still very valuable and in- depth discussion (1993, 3-67) . 25. Aen. 2.250-67. 26. Aen. 2.364-437. 27. Aen. 2-438-39. 28. For the relation between Tryphiodorus, Quintus, and the Aeneid, see chap. 1, n. 2. 29. Heinze 1993, 44·

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narrated in a linear sequence, and the death of Priam is but one episode among many. It is of some relevance to our topic that there is no mention of the fight at the citadel. The same is true for Tryphiodorus's description. After a sequence of brief sketches of the women, infants, men, and elders caught in their final struggle, the narration gives an orderly account of the topical events of the night: the killing of Dei:phobus, the killing of Priam, the death of Astyanax, the rape of Cassandra, and the rescue of Aeneas and Anchises by Venus.3° Again, there is no mention of a Greek assault on the citadel. Hence, the prominence allotted to this scene in the Aeneid and its imagery, largely adapted from siege warfare, attest to the specifically Virgil­ ian quality of this passage. The events according to Virgil's Aeneas can be summarized as follows: the Greeks, in military formation (acta testudine), rush together to the wall of the palace; they scale the walls with ladders (scalae) and press at the gates.3' From the action of the besiegers, the focus switches to the besieged and their twofold defense. Standing on the roof, the Trojans try to keep the enemy at a distance with missiles of every type; even the tower, an important presence in the narration, will be sacrificed by the besieged in an attempt to hinder the impetus of the attack. Others, positioned at the gates with swords in hand, try to defend the entrance to the palace. Eventually, however, the attack succeeds. Periphas, Automedon, and Pyrrhus's men (Scyria pubes) set afire the roof with torches (et flam mas ad culmina iactant).32 Simultaneously, the Trojan guardians at the gates yield under the harsh blows of the batter­ ing ram. Under Pyrrhus's guidance, the victorious Greeks make their way into the palace like a raging river that has burst its own banks.33 Primeval Troy thus becomes, in Virgil's imagery, the primordial and paradigmatic city under siege. But its experience is by no means unique. In the course of the poem, both the Trojan camp (Aen. 9 ) and the city of King Latinus (Aen. 12) endure a similar fate; their shared destinies develop into a rather striking intertextual nexus, as is shown by the following outline.34 3 0 . Tryph. 542-653. 31. Aen. 2.440-44: sic Martem indomitum Danaosque ad tecta ruentis !cernimus obsessumque acta testudine limen. I haerent parietibus scalae postisque sub ipsos I nituntur gradibus clipeosque ad tela sinisttis I protecti obiciunt, prensant fastigia dexttis. Lines 442-44 have caused interpretative problems. Austin (1964, ad lac. ) , following de Ia Cerda (1617, ad lac. ) , takes gradus to mean the steps leading up to the door. The lines would therefore be describing two simultaneous and interconnected actions, namely, the attack at the doors and the ascent to the roofs. Conington (1858-83, ad lac. ) , less convincingly, understands gradus as referring to ladders. 32. Aen. 2.445-78. 33. Aen. 2.491-99. 34. Some of the similarities between the three sieges of the Aeneid were noted and discussed by Lersch (1843, 100-105 ) and Raabe (1974, 199-202).

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The Besiegers

Testudo3s

Danaosque ad tecta mentis cernimus obsessumque acta testudine limen. 9-505

accelerant acta pariter testudine Volsci . . .

12.574-75

dixerat, atque animis pariter certantibus omnes dant cuneum densaque ad muros mole feruntur . . .

Ladders

2-442-43

haerent parietibus scalae

postisque sub ipsos

nituntur gradibus . . .

9-507

quaerunt pars aditum et scalis ascendere muros . . .36

12.576-77

Scalae improuiso . . . discurrunt alii ad portas .

. .

Fire

una omnis Scyria pubes succedunt tecto et flammas ad culmina iactant. 9-521-22

parte alia horrendus uisu quassabat Etruscam pinum et fumiferos infert Mezentius ignis . . .

9-568

ardentis taedas alii ad fastigia iactant.

9-570

Lucetium portae subeuntem ignisque ferentem . . .

10.118-19

Interea Rutuli portis circum omnibus instant sternere caede uiros et moenia cingere flammis.

12.576

subitusque apparuit ignis.

12.596

ignis ad tecta uolare . . .

12.656

iamque faces ad tecta uolant.

35· For testudo, see, further, Lersch 1843, 101. In light of the presence of the technical verb agere, Sandbach (1965-66, 32-33) interprets testudo to mean the movable shed rather than the tactic of approaching a fortification under cover of linked shield. 36. Cf. also 9.523-24: at Messapus equum domitor, Neptunia proles, I rescindit uallum et scalas in moenia poscit.

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Battering Ram37

Iabat ariete crebro ianua, et emoti procumbunt cardine postes. 12.706

quique imos pulsabant ariete muros . . .

The Besieged

2.445-47

Dardanidae contra turris ac tota domorum culmina conuellunt; his se, quando ultima cernunt, extrema iam in morte parant defendere telis . . . ast alii subeunt, nee saxa nee ullum telorum interea cessat genus.

9·509-12

telorum effundere contra omne genus Teneri ac duris detrudere contis, saxa quoque infesto uoluebant pondere . . .

12.586

(arma ferunt alii et pergunt defendere muros . . .)

The Turris38

turrim in praecipiti stantem summisque sub astra eductam tectis, unde omnis Troia videri . . . ea lapsa repente ruinam cum sonitu trahit . . .

9·530-31

Turris erat uasto suspectu et pontibus altis, opportuna loco . . .

37· The theme of the battering ram is necessarily absent from the siege of Aeneid 9, since Pandarus and Bitias there open the gates of the Trojan camp, against Aeneas's orders. 38. On the presence of the turris, cf. Sandbach 1965-66, 33: "Even more striking in their modernity are the great wooden towers associated with defensive walls. The odd thing about these is that they do not seem to make much military sense. One could understand that the Trojans might have profitably built such a tower inside their camp, to provide eminence from which to pour their missiles . . . , but what is it doing outside . . . ? Equally puzzling is the great tower at Latinus' town, which Turnus had built and which Aeneas sets on fire . . . . One could imagine that, if there were a clear space inside the walls, it could be . . . rolled to any point that was attacked, but such a device seems to be unheard of in military history."

City Identity in the Aeneid

9·535-41

183

princeps ardentem coniecit lampada Turnus et flammam adfixit lateri, quae plurima uento corripuit tabulas et postibus haesit adesis. tum pondere turris procubuit subito et caelum tonat omne fragore.

12.672-73

Ecce autem flammis inter tabulata uolutus ad caelum undabat uertex turrimque tenebat . . .

Why are these parallels drawn? How do these representations affect the temporal frame of the primary narrative? The highly un-Homeric quality of these descriptions has caught the eye of many readers.Homer describes a similar incident in Iliad 12 (the Trojans' assault against the Achaean camp), but Hainsworth's illuminating com­ ments on the Homeric siege reveal the distance between the two events. The episodes themselves form a succession of imaginative tours de force that depict the scene in heightened heroic colours-one did not in life attack a gate in a chariot, pull down a wall with a wrench of the arm, or shatter a gate with a stone held in one hand. . . . Attackers and defenders make use of their normal weapons; there are no siege engines, not even a simple battering ram, and no thought is given to filling the Achaean ditch or heaping up a siege mound against the wall.39 The sieges in the Aeneid differ from Homeric imagery of war by playing conspicuously on anachronisms. This narrative phenomenon has been re­ peatedly noted by Virgilian scholars, who have cataloged these "primary" anachronisms-that is, anachronisms that blatantly contradict the historical evidence available to the poet (in this case, the Iliad)-and ascribed them to Hellenistic and Roman military praxis.4° In a nineteenth-century study on the topic, Lersch wrote: "Romae aderant omnia obsidionis instrumenta. Pollio, 39. Hainsworth 1993, 315. 40. Sandbach (1965-66, 26) recognizes two different types of anachronism, primary and secondary. Primary anachronisms openly contradict the historical evidence available to the poet. Secondary anachronisms impart to the heroic age features of Virgil's contemporary life, but they do not explicitly conflict with the historical evidence known to Virgil.

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Agrippa, Maecenas, alii omnem apparatum bene nouerant. Romana hie sunt omnia." 4' Sandbach, in his authoritative article "Anti-antiquarianism in the Aeneid," lists Virgil's anachronistic siege devices: the testudo, the ladder, the turris ambulatoria, and the battering ram.42 We may carry his point still further. Aside from the presence of these notorious "anachronisms, " the description of each of the three sieges ac­ quires a type-scene quality, for each conflates a series of narrative topoi present in Hellenistic and Roman historiography as is shown by the follow­ ing examples. The Besiegers

Testudo

Caes. BG 5-43·3= Hostes maximo clamore, sicuti parta iam atque explorata uictoria, turres testudinesque agere et scalis uallum ascen­ dere coeperunt. 43 Sall. Jug. 94.3: tum uero cohortatus milites et ipse extra uineas egres­ sus, testudine acta succedere et simul hostem tormentis sagittariisque et funditoribus eminus terrere.44 Ladders

Livy 6.8.10: ingenti militum alacritate moenia undique adgressus scalis oppidum cepit. 45 6.10-4: fascibus sarmentorum ex agro conlatis ductus ad moenia exercitus completisque fossis scalae admotae et clamore primo impe­ tuque oppidum capitur.46 42.63.9: moenia quoque pluribus simul partibus scalis capiuntur.47 41. Lersch 1843, 100. 42. Sandbach 19 65-66. Cf. Kroll 1924, 178-84; Wickert 1930, 456-57; E. V. s.v. "anacronismi." 43. "With a huge shout, as though victory were already won and assured, the enemy began to advance their towers and siege sheds and climb the rampart with ladders. " 44· " h e [i.e., Marius] began t o urge on his soldiers, and he himself went outside the mantlets, formed the siege shed, and advanced to the wall, at the same time trying to terrify the enemy at long range with artillery, archers, and stingers." 45. "and with great alacrity on the part of the soldiers, he [i.e., Camillus] approached the walls from every side and captured the town with scaling ladders. " 46. "they collected bundles of brushwood from the surrounding country, and the army, being led against the walls, filled up the moat, erected scaling ladders, and carries the town at the first shout and charge. " 47. "Also the walls are taken by ladders i n several places a t once."

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Fire4S

Livy 34.38.4: Alii scalas, alii ignem, alii alia quibus non oppugnarent modo sed etiam terrerent, portabant. 49 43.18.7-8: Cum sine intermissione interdiu noctuque alii aliis suc­ cedentes, pars scalas muris, <pars> ignem portis inferrent, sustine­ bant tamen earn tempestatem propugnatores urbis . . . so Battering Ram

Livy 21.8.2: pluribusque partibus, . . . uineae coeptae agi admouerique ariesY 32.23.7: Aries ex ea parte quam Romani oppugnabant aliquantum muri diruerat . . Y The Besiegeds3

Livy 26.44.7: ingens emm tam ws omms genens telorum e mur1s volabat . . . s4 44.35.21: Sed Romani non ab iis tantum, cum quibus contractum certamen erat, sed multo magis ab ea multitudine, quae disposita in turribus stabat, omni genere missilium telorum ac saxis maxime uolnerabantur.ss 48. Fire, a fundamental element in the three Virgilian sieges, is not an anachronistic element in itself, but in Homer, it is reserved exclusively for setting afire the Greek ships. See, e.g., II. 12.198, 441. 49. "Some were carrying scaling ladders, others fire, others the different things with which to attack, and likewise to appall, the enemy." 50. "Although day and night, without any intermission, the troops relieved each other­ some bringing up scaling ladders to the walls, others applying fire to the gates nevertheless, the defenders of the city withstood this tempest . . . " 51. "at many points, the penthouses were advanced and the battering ram was brought up. 52. "On the side where the Romans were fighting, the battering ram had destroyed part of the wall . . . " 53. The reaction of the besieged as represented in Aen. 2 and 9 is the best indicator of the type-scene quality of the siege descriptions in the Aeneid. Although reminiscent of Iliad 12.154-61, the two Virgilian passages are different in a substantive detail. In the Homeric passage, only stones and javelins are thrown at the enemy. In Virgil, the expression telorum . . . omne genus (Aen. 9.509-10; cf. 2.467- 68) recalls an image and a verbal idiom distinctive of historiography. 54. "a great quantity of missiles of every kind were flying from the battlements . . . " 55. "But the Romans were wounded not only by those with whom they were actually fighting but, to a much greater extent, by the missiles of every kind and the stones that were discharged by the multitude of assailants posted on the turrets. " -

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The

Turris

Livy 23.37.4-5: postremo, ubi promouendo adiunctam muro uider­ unt turrem, facibus ardentibus plurimum simul ignem coniecerunt. Quo incendio trepida armatorum multitudo cum de turre sese praecipi­ taret, emptio ex oppido simul duabus portis stationes hostium fudit fugauitque in castra ut eo die obsesso quam obsidenti similior esset Poenus.s 6 Caes. BG 5-43·7= Tum ex omni parte lapidibus coniectis deturbati turrisque succensa est.57 Caes. BC 2.2.6: Crebrae etiam per Albicos eruptiones fiebant ex oppido, ignesque aggeri et turribus inferebantur.s8 As we might expect, attempts to account for the presence of visible and "primary" anachronisms crowd Virgilian studies. The need for an explana­ tion is powerfully felt, for as we are reminded by Sandbach, Virgil's use of such a prominent narrative device is highly innovative in the epic tradition. Notably, in the Argonautica of Apollonius, the only extant pre-Virgilian Greek epic apart from Homer, anachronisms of all kinds are carefully avoided, as Apollonius aims at archaeological accuracy. A similar antiquarian zeal characterizes Quintus's work.S 9 Kroll stated matter-of-factly, "Virgil felt justi­ fied in projecting backwards upon the old Italians such circumstances of the present-day as seemed good to him." 6 ° Cartault understood such anachro­ nisms as deriving from Virgil's wish not to disconcert his contemporaries by things that had become obsolete long ago.6 ' Following the lead of these previous scholars, Sandbach stresses Virgil's concern "to underline the conti­ nuity between the men about whom he wrote and those for whom he 56. "at last, when they saw the other tower brought up to the walls, they hurled a vast amount offire all at once from their blazing torches. While the crowd of soldiers in it, terrified by the conflagration, flung themselves down, a sally out of the two gates of the town at the same time routed the enemy's guards and sent them in flight to the camp, so that on that day the Carthagin­ ians resembled a besieged army more than a besieger." 57. "Then, with stones having been cast from every quarter, the enemy were dislodged, and their tower was set on fire. " 58. "Even the Albici made frequent sallies from the town and attempted to set fire to the siege ramp and towers. " 59. For specific examples, see Peschties 1912, 56; Sandbach 1965-66, 33-35. Sandbach also discusses the use of anachronisms in post-Virgilian Latin epic poets. 6o. Kroll 1924, 178. 61. Cartault 1926, 1:148.

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wrote, . . . by showing them as sharing customs." 6 2 On different grounds, viewing Aeneas as a Roman imperator and a proto-Augustus, Nisbet ex­ plains many of the Virgilian anachronisms as an echo of contemporary history and ideology.63 A certain similarity of approach underlies these different interpretations of the phenomenon. Anachronisms in the Aeneid are consistently understood as a sort of debt paid by Virgil to the "experience of his own times, " a "spilling" of the "Roman present" into a distinct "time past, " with small or little impact on the temporal system of the text, which remains quite un­ affected by them. However, the very term used to label these features­ anachronism-is quite revealing: to define an anachronism as such, it is necessary, first of all, to postulate for the narrative the existence of one (and only one) temporal plane of action in relation to which a feature stands out anachronistically. Yet this basic postulate is called into question precisely by the very presence of such anachronisms. Because of their natural quality of being "out of time, " anachronisms generate an effect of narrative polychrony. Thus, the existence of one (and only one) temporal plane of action becomes an illusive assumption critically underscored by the very narrative feature it helped to define, the anachronism. Precisely as a result of these anachronisms, the mythological frame within which we so comfortably fix the temporal boundaries of the Aeneid presents itself not as absolute but as relative, not as the one but as one out of many. In chapters 4-7, I showed how the narrative system of the Aeneid creates powerful temporal dissonances in the text and continuously blurs the boundaries between narrated time and narrating time, past and present, in multiple and complex ways. Anachronisms may be under­ stood as illustrative devices of this same process, for their presence intensifies the anachronic (or rather, polychronic) quality of the primary narrative of the text.6 4 62. Sandbach 19 65-66, 36. A similar concern for the Roman reader is voiced by Horsfall in E. V. s.v. "anacronismi": "Ia cura avuta da Apollonio Rodio nell'evitare dettagli non-Omerici sarebbe stata intollerabile a Virgilio e parimenti ai suoi lettori." 63. Nisbet 1978-80. The same idea is in part shared by Sandbach (1965-66, 37) , who argues that although Aeneas does not stand for Augustus, the former performs acts and finds himself in situations that anticipate and foreshadow those of his descendant. 64. On this topic, see Greene 1986. In this essay, Greene recognizes five types of anachronism. The first three, labeled respectively "na'ive," "abusive," and "serendipitous," stem either from ignorance or from an attempt to repress the nature of the change between past and present. By contrast, "creative" anachronisms, which Greene sees present in the richest and most rewarding works of the humanist Renaissance, underscore the temporal conflict in the narrative, for specific creative purposes. To these four categories, Greene adds a fifth, which he labels "pathetic" or

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Let us return to our three besieged cities. Previously, I analyzed the ways in which the network of allusions between the three besieged cities of the Aeneid leads the audience to read the tale as a recurrent circular movement backward to the epic past. However, the description of the three sieges connects these very same cities to a temporal system that exists beyond this epic past and that therefore propels the narrative ahead in time. In this capacity, these important places become cardinal hinges in the temporal construction of the poem. By pulling simultaneously in opposite directions (backward and forward), these sites dramatically emphasize their journey, their diachronic passage, out of the remote past into an emergent present. This itinerary, in turn, becomes emblematic of that of the text itself. Moving beyond the tale of the city of Troy, the text manifestly detaches itself from its model. By pointing to the greater breadth of its own literary and historical horizon, it asserts its own relative modernity and so claims its own historical space and identity within the epic tradition. The Tale of Rome

Up to this point, I have analyzed the existing connections between Troy, the Trojan camp, and the city of King Latinus. It is now time to focus on the different destinies that befall each of them. The fate of the city of Troy had been determined long before Virgil's own time. Troy eventually had to fall at the hands of the Greeks. Although their survival is also, at alternate mo­ ments, put in serious jeopardy, the destiny of the two other cities, the Trojan camp and the city of Latinus, is quite different. They survive and continue to exist. In the narrator's own words, after a fierce struggle against each other, they will coalesce into one nation at peace. tanton placuit concurrere motu, Iuppiter, aeterna gentis in pace futuras? (Virg. Aen. 12.503-4) [0 Jupiter, was it your will that nations destined to eternal peace should have dashed in such tremendous turmoil? ] "tragic" anachronism. The locus classicus for this type of anachronism is Aeneas's stop at Buthrotum in Aeneid 3. See also Greene 1982, 37-53.

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Here, yet another different time frame opens up. The future (gentis . . . futuras), a temporal perspective constantly below the surface of the narra­ tive, reshapes yet again the identity of the three cities and invites the reader to reorganize the set of relations between them. From a perspective that reads and interprets the text from a time in the future, the tale of the Trojan camp unfolds as an itinerary, a progression toward this time that lies ahead. No longer moving backward toward its Trojan past, the Trojan camp and its story look to the future and become representative of the Rome to be. Obviously, in some ways, it is not the Trojan camp but Pallanteum, the city of Evander, that embodies the future city of Rome. After all, Pallanteum is built on the very spot where Rome one day will rise; Virgil heavily underscores the connection between the two cities by blurring the temporal distance that separates them. This phenomenon has been aptly noticed by Mack. Here, as in the description of Evander as founder of the Roman citadel, the Forum and Carinae are spoken of as if they not only existed in Evander's day but were before his eyes. His cattle are lowing in the forum, and what is more, he and Aeneas see and hear them lowing there. Vergil has blended Evander's present and Roman present to create a sense image which, by its very incongruity, encour­ ages his audience to apprehend how intricately Roman past is con­ tained in Roman present and vice versa.65 In the Virgilian description, however, Pallanteum seems to represent the fu­ ture Rome in its more static aspect; it defines the spatial quality of the Rome to be, a sacred and inviolable place that protects and guarantees the continu­ ity of its cultural traditions and identity.66 In comparison, the Trojan camp, embodies the future Rome in the dynamic process of its becoming. This is the destined form of the Trojan camp's survival. In the tale of the camp's survival, which is pointedly anticipatory of that of Rome, a series of cities must perish in the long thread of history. Troy is burned to the ground; Carthage, the city of Dido and rival par excellence of 65. Mack 1978, 54. White (1993, 182-90) also connects the detailed description of the city of Pallanteum with the theme of "primeval Rome," a popular topos in Latin poetry in the 20s and closely related to the rebuilding program of Augustus. See, further, E. V: s.v. Pallanteum. 66. For the sacred nature of Rome's soil, cf. Camillus's fierce speech against the idea of a possible displacement of Rome to Veii (Livy 5.51-54) .

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Roman dominion, is abandoned by Aeneas and his men as its walls light up in flames (Aen. 5.3-4: moenia respiciens, quae iam infelicis Elissae I conlucent flammis). Significantly, via a very powerful simile, the death of Dido fore­ shadows the destruction of the city by an enemy army.6 7 lamentis gemituque et femineo ululatu tecta fremunt, resonat magnis plangoribus aether, non aliter quam si immissis ruat hostibus omnis Karthago aut antiqua Tyros, flammaeque furentes culmina perque hominum uoluantur perque deorum. (Virg. Aen. 4.667-71) [The lamentations, keening, shrieks of women sound through the houses; heavens echo mighty wailings, even as if an enemy were entering the gates, with all of Carthage or ancient Tyre in ruins, and angry fires rolling across the homes of men and gods.] This simile anticipates the future course of history. Carthage must burn to the ground to secure Rome's power.6s However, the fate of the city of Latinus, the next obstacle to the existence of the Trojan camp, seems to contradict such logic. Jupiter's agreement with Juno in Aeneid 12 anticipates the final settlement between the two nations and races, and this settlement looks fair and balanced.6 9 Jupiter promises Juno that the Ausonians will be able to preserve their own name, language, and customs. Further, in blending their own body with that of the Trojans, they will give birth to one race, a race that will surpass all others in pietas. sermonem Ausonii patrium moresque tenebunt, utque est nomen erit; commixti corpore tantum subsident Teucri. morem ritusque sacrorum adiciam faciamque omnis uno ore Latinos. hinc genus Ausonio mixtum quod sanguine surget, 67. On this simile, see also chap . 1, n. 78. 68. On events narrated in the Aeneid as foreshadowing Roman history, see my introduction, n. 25. 69. On this episode, see Feeney 1984; 1991, 147-51. Feeney rightly talks of agreement between Juno and Jupiter, rather than reconciliation. See, further, Lyne 1987, 94-98. On the ambiguous quality of Jupiter's prophecy, see ibid., 81-82; O'Hara 1990, 141-44.

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supra homines, supra ire deos pietate uidebis, nee gens ulla tuos aeque celebrabit honores. (Virg. Aen. 12.834-40) [For The Ausonians will keep their homeland's words and ways; their name will stay; the body of the Teucrians will merge with Latins, and their name will fall away. But I shall add (their) rituals and customs to the Ausonians', and make them alland with one language-Latins. You will see a race arise from this that, mingled with the blood of the Ausonians, will be past men, even past gods, in piety; no other nation will pay you such honor.] On one level, therefore, the Aeneid ends, in the words of Jupiter himself, with the equal preservation of the two cities. The cities of Latinus and Aeneas, after dramatic moments in which their very survival is put into question, seem to be able to secure their physical existence. They are not destroyed by the enemy, and they will continue to exist, so to speak, through the body of their citizens (commixti corpore). Moreover, the two cities will be able to preserve their cultural identity. The Latins will maintain their name, their language, and their laws, but Jupiter (and on this, his language is hopelessly and point­ edly vague) will add to their customs the rituals and customs of the Trojans.7 ° The strife between these two kindred nations finds resolution in their becom­ ing one-one body, one blood, one name. This syncretism does not take place by a process of total suppression of one party; on the contrary, it takes place by a process of assimilation. By preserving the identity of the two gentes (and their traditions) and merging them into one body, Trojans and Latins are able to redouble (from being two, they become one) their strength. They give birth to that new powerful gens that will surpass all others in pietas and that will eventually build the walls of high Rome.71 70. On Aen. 12.836-37, cf. Lyne's telling remarks (1987, 83) : "And are we not to suppose that the Trojans added both civilization and religion to the ruder Italians? . . . He is glossing the truth, packaging a fact that will be unpalatable to Juno. Juno is going to get a great deal . . . but not all she wants. The Trojans will make vital contributions to the new race besides their stock: religion and civilization. Better to package that: 'I' Jupiter says vaguely, 'will add religion and "morem.""' 71. Cf. Aen. 7.96-101 (prophecy of Faunus) : ne pete conubiis natam sociare Latinis, I o mea progenies, thalamis neu crede paratis; I externi uenient generi, qui sanguine nostrum I nomen in astra

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However, the end of conflict between these two races not only marks the beginning of the tale of the Rome to be. It acquires significance at another level as well, for it further strengthens the powerful connections between the tale of the Trojan camp and the tale of the city of Rome. The internecine conflict between the Trojans and the Latins (which are kindred gentes even before being united-originally they stem from the same land, Ausonia, and the Trojan journey is ever presented as the "return to" their original mother­ land) 7 2 and the nature of their final reconciliation (at least according to Jupiter) become paradigmatic for the story of the city of Rome itself from its outset to Virgil's present day. The rape of the Sabines, one of Rome's great myths of foundation, connects the birth of the city with a conflict that bears all the characteristics of internal strife between kin. As Livy tells us, the Sabine women are eventu­ ally able to separate the hostile combatants by appealing to the ties that connect the two groups of contenders. Tum Sabinae mulieres, quarum ex iniuria bellum ortum erat, crini­ bus passis scissaque ueste, uicto malis muliebri pauore, ausae se inter tela uolantia inferre, ex transuerso impetu facto dirimere infestas acies, dirimere iras, hinc patres, hinc uiros orantes, ne sanguine se nefando soceri generique respergerent, ne parricidio macularent par­ tus suos, nepotum illi, hi liberum progeniem. 'Si adfinitatis inter uos, si conubii piget, in nos uertite iras; nos causa belli, nos uolnerum ac caedium uiris ac parentibus sumus; melius peribimus quam sme alteris uestrum uiduae aut orbae uiuemus.' (Livy 1.13.1-3)73 [Then the Sabine women, from whose wrong the war had arisen, with their hair disheveled and their clothing torn, their feminine fear conquered by evils, dared to enter the area filled with flying spears, ferant, quorumque a stirpe nepotes I omnia sub pedibus, qua sol utrumque recurrens I aspicit Oceanum, uertique regique uidebunt. On this passage, see O'Hara 1990, 63-64. O'Hara emphasizes the ambiguity of the term sanguis, which means not only "bloodline" but also "bloodshed." See, further, Horsfall 2000, ad loc. 72. For Trojans and Latins as kindred nations, see Aen. 3.167-71 (prophecy of the Penates): hae nobis propriae sedes, hinc Dardanus ortus I Iasiusque pater, genus a quo principe nostrum. I surge age et haec laetus longaeuo dicta parenti I haud dubitanda refer: Corythum terrasque requirat I Ausonias; Dictaea negat tibi Iuppiter arua; on this passage, see Cova 1994, ad loc. Cf. Aen. 7-195-211 (speech of Latinus) , 240-42 (speech of Ilioneus) ; for the passages, see, further, Horsfall 2ooo, ad loc., with extensive bibliography on the topic. 73· For this passage and for the representation of the rape of the Sabines in Livy's A UC, see Miles 1995, 179-219; Jaeger 1997, 30-56.

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to rush from the flank into the space between the hostile armies. They parted the combatants, their fathers on one side, on the other their husbands, begging them, fathers-in-law and sons-in-law, not to splash themselves with abominable bloodshed, not to stain their own offspring with the murder of kin, grandsons of one side, sons of the others. "If your relationship-if our marriage-is hateful to you, turn your anger against us! We are the reason for the war, we the cause of wounds and slaughter for husbands and fathers. It would be better to perish than to live widowed or orphaned! " ] What follows after the Sabine women's plea closely echoes Jupiter's pro­ phetic reconciliation of Trojans and Latins in the Aeneid. The treaty negoti­ ated between Sabines and Romans allows for a resolution to the conflict that again stresses the possibility of a reunification of the two groups within a new set of moenia. These new moenia grow stronger through a process of gemination that preserves both traditions: "They make not only peace but also one state out of two. They unite the government but locate all the power in Rome. Thus, the city was doubled [Ita geminata urbe], and as a concession to the Sabines, the people were named Quirites, from the town of Cures." 7 4 The war between Alba and Rome explores a similar topic and brings about a similar result. Although the war is presented as an internecine struggle, "a war that very closely resembled a civil war between parents and children" [civili simillimum bello, prope inter parentes natosque},75 the resolution of the conflict leads once again to the reunification of these kindred nations. Despite the Albans' initial moment of desperation and their sense of loss (their city is, after all, razed to the ground), the final outcome of the war is positive for both nations alike, a result that Livy aptly emphasizes in an editorial comment: "However, the outcome of the war made the struggle less grievous than it might have been . . . [for ] the two people ended up by amalgamating' [Euentus tamen belli minus miserabilem dimicationem fecit . . . duo populi in unum confusi sunt].76 The two groups thus reunited further the growth of the city of Rome. Rome doubles in number (Duplicatur ciuium numerus); it extends its physical boundaries (Caelius additur urbi mons) and admits among the 74· Nee pacem modo sed ciuitatem unam ex duabus faciunt. Regnum consociant: imperium omne conferunt Romam. Ita geminata urbe ut Sabinis tamen aliquid daretur Quirites a Curibus appellati (Livy 1.13.4-5) . 75· Livy 1.23.1. 76. Livy 1.23.2.

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patrician families the Alban aristocracy (Principes Albanorum in patres ut ea quoque pars rei publicae cresceret legit Iulios, Seruilios, Quinctios, Geganios, Curiatios, Cloelios)Jl Hence, Rome's foundation myths (typically) call attention to and prob­ lematize this key (almost genetic) quality of Rome's history: Rome's potential for expansion stems from and is inextricably conjoined to an internecine conflict. Rome's growth is presented as a redoubling of itself, a refoundation, which underscores the completed process of reunification of its divided mem­ bers.78 The events of the final century of the res publica, the long sequence of social and civil wars, may have only furthered Romans' awareness of this ever present (and troubling) association. As suggested by recent scholars, Livy's representation of Rome's myths of foundation might be best interpreted as an attempt to come to terms with Rome's history of the first century, when, once again, a new conditor had refounded the urbs from the scattered debris of civil war.79 Viewed from this perspective, the prophecy of Jupiter in the Aeneid not only announces the end of the hostilities between Latins and Trojans. At a deeper level, his final speech to Juno becomes an attempt to impart meaning to the history of Rome and its sequence of internal conflicts. "Was it your will, " the narrator asks Jupiter, "that nations destined to eternal peace should have clashed in such tremendous turmoil? " 8 0 In his final prophecy, Jupiter seems to offer an answer to this question. At the end of these trials, the city is not only reunited into one body; it emerges from this process aucta, for it derives strength from the molding together of all its diverse constituents into a new, perfect whole. 77. Livy 1.30.1-2. Cf. 1.28.7 (speech of Tullus Hostilius): Quod bonum faustum felixque sit populo Romano ac mihi uobisque, Albani, populum omnem Albanum Romam traducere in animo est, ciuitatem dare plebi, primores in patres Iegere, unam urbem, unam rem publicam facere; ut ex

uno quondam in duos populos diuisa Albana res est, sic nunc in unum redeat.

78. Notably, the two foundation myths appear on the shield of Aeneas at Aen. 8. 635-45. For the shield of Aeneas and the scenes represented on it, see, among others, Hardie 1986, 346-76; Gurval 1995, 209-49. For the punishment of Mettius, see Gurval 1995, 222: Gurval rightly points out that the poet's attention to Mettius's race emphasizes that the Alban king is not merely a faithless and foreign foe who breaks a solemn compact of alliance; rather, he is part of that future stock descended from Ascanius and "at the same time part of the wars . . . that the Romans must wage in Italy to become one race." 79· For the relation between Livy's representation of the conflict between Alba and Rome and the internal struggles that had vexed Rome in the first century B . c .E . (and from which the city had just emerged at the time the A UC was composed), see Feldherr 1998, 115. For Augustus as founder of a new Rome, see Miles 1995, 89-92, 164-66. So. Aen. 12.503-4.

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However, this is not the end of the poem. The end of the poem leads the reader back to a time when this process has not yet taken place and the Latins and Trojans have not been reunited. Even more significantly for the present argument, the end of the poem seems to cast doubt on the possibility that the reunification will occur in the way anticipated by Jupiter. Since I treated the topic of the final duel between Aeneas and Turnus rather extensively in chapter 7, my intent here is not to discuss it in detail. I shall focus on one key simile, the final simile of the poem.8 ' As the duel between Turnus and Aeneas reaches its conclusive phase, the narrator signals the special force of the hasta thrown by Aeneas against his enemy. Cunctanti telum Aeneas fatale coruscat, sortitus fortunam oculis, et corpore toto eminus intorquet. murali concita numquam tormento sic saxa fremunt nee fulmine tanti dissultant crepitus. uolat atri turbinis instar exitium dirum hasta ferens orasque recludit loricae et clipei extremos septemplicis orbis; per medium stridens transit femur. (Virg. Aen. 12.919-26) [In Turnus' wavering Aeneas sees his fortune, he holds high the fatal shaft; he hurls it far with all his body's force. No boulder ever catapulted from siege engine sounded so, no thunderbolt had ever burst with such a roar. The spear flies on like a black whirlwind, carrying its dread destruction, ripping through the border of Turnus' corselet and the outer rim of Turnus' seven-plated shield; hissing, it penetrates his thigh.] Aeneas's hasta is compared to the crepitus, the roar of thunder. This is the weapon of Jupiter, who, just a few lines earlier, had promised a reconciliation between the two cities. Even more ominously, Aeneas's javelin is assimilated 81. On the final simile of the Aeneid, see Hardie 1986, 147-54; Schork 1986.

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to stones thrown from a tormentum murale, the catapult, at a fortified wall.8 2 The target of Aeneas's spear is thus figuratively connected with a city's defenses, its walls and ramparts.83 Through the simile, Turnus, the champion of the Latins, becomes the city wall, the exposed target of Aeneas's figurative siege weapon. The final duel between Aeneas and Tur­ nus becomes, in a sense, a new siege (albeit a metaphoric one), and this time, contrary to Jupiter's promises, Turnus and the city he embodies must be annihilated. This powerful simile thus reinforces the connections be­ tween individual and collectivity analyzed previously. By wounding (and later killing) Turnus, Aeneas has not only disposed of the young warrior. He has also breached the city's moenia, representative of that collectivity that, as promised by Jupiter, was to become an integral part of the new set of moenia. At the end of the poem, a new set of moenia looms on the horizon, but they emblematize the victor alone. This new set of moenia will indeed rise. But certain aspects of the poem's finale suggest that they fail to do so in the way Jupiter had envisioned and promised.

82. This occurrence of the adjective muralis, -e, used only here in the Aeneid, probably means "causing the devastation of walls," not "characteristic of a wall." Cf. TLL s.v. 83. As noted by Schork (1986, 265 ) , ramparts (moenia) and walls (muri) play a significant symbolic role throughout the Aeneid. Virgil always seals the fate of each of the major cities in the epic by direct reference to their walls. While the ramparts stand, the city stands; when the ramparts are breached, by force or by treachery, the city falls.

Biblio graphy

Ahl, F. 1976. Lucan: An Introduction. Ithaca. Alexander, W. H. 1945. "War in the Aeneid. " CJ 40:261-73. Amberg, G. 1961. "Topoi fur 'Sterben' in griechischer und romischer Poesie." Helikon 1:458-83. Anderson, M. J. 1997. The Fall of Troy in Early Greek Poetry and Art. Oxford. Anderson, W. S. 1957. "Vergil's Second Iliad. " TAPA 88:17-30. Reprinted in Hardie 1999, 3=74-86. . 1963. "Multiple Change in the Metamorphoses. " TAPA 94:1-27. . 1999. "Aeneid n : The Saddest Book." In C. Perkell, ed., Reading Vergil's Aeneid: An Interpretive Guide, 195-209. Norman. Arrigoni, G. 1982. Camilla amazzone e sacerdotessa di Diana. Milan. Austin, R. G. 1964. P. Vergili Maronis Aeneidos, Liber Secundus. Oxford. Avenarius, G. 1965. Lukians Schrift zur Geschichtsschreibung. Meisenheim Glan. Bakhtin, M. 1981. "Epic and Novel." In M. Holquist, ed., The Dialogic Imagination: Four Essays, 3-40. Trans. C. Emerson and M. Holquist. Austin. Bakker, E. 1993. "Discourse and Performance: Involvement, Visualization and 'Pres­ ence' in Homeric Poetry." Classical Antiquity 12:1-29. . 1997a. "Storytelling in the Future: Truth, Time, and Tense in Homeric Epic." In E. Bakker and A. Kahane, eds., Written Voices, Spoken Signs: Tradition, Perfor­ mance, and the Epic Text, 11-36. Cambridge, MA. . 1997b. "Verbal Aspect and Mimetic Description in Thucydides." In E. Bakker, ed., Grammar as Interpretation: Greek Literature in Its Linguistic Context, 7-54. Lei den. Bal, M. 1985. Narratology: Introduction to the Theory of Narrative. Trans. C. Van ---

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. 2001. Virgil and the Augustan Reception. Cambridge. Tilly, B. 1947. Vergil's Latium. Oxford. Traina, A. 1994. "Il libro XII dell' Eneide. " Atti e memorie dell' Ace. Naz. Virgiliana di Mantova 62:19-36. Ullman, B. L. 1942. "History and Tragedy." TAPA 73:25-53. Ussani, V. 1950. "Eschilo e il libro II dell' Eneide. " Maia 3:237-54. Vance, E. 1973. "Warfare and the Structure of Thought in Virgil's Aeneid. " Q UCC 15:111-62. van Wees, H. 1992. Status Warriors: War, Violence, and Society in Homer and History. Amsterdam. . 1997. "Homeric Warfare." In I. Morris and B. Powell, eds., A New Companion to Homer, 668-93. Leiden Vasaly, A. 1993. Representations: Images of the World in Ciceronian Oratory. Berkeley. Vernant, J. P. 1980. Myth and Society in Ancient Greece. Trans. J. Lloyd. Brighton. Originally published as Mythe et societe en Grece ancienne (Paris, 1974) . . 1988a. "The Historical Moment of Tragedy in Greece: Some of the Social and Psychological Conditions." In J. P. Vernant and P. Vidal-Naquet, eds., Myth and Tragedy in Ancient Greece, 23-28. Trans. J. Lloyd. New York. Originally published as Mythe et tragedie en Grece ancienne, 2 vols. (Paris, 1986) . . 1988b. "Tensions and Ambiguities i n Greek Tragedy." I n J. P. Vernant and P. Vidal-Naquet, eds., Myth and Tragedy in Ancient Greece, 29-41. Trans. J. Lloyd. New York. Originally published as Mythe et tragedie en Grece ancienne, 2 vols. (Paris, 1986) . Vian, F. 1959. Recherches sur les Posthomerica d e Quintus d e Smyrne. Paris. von Albrecht, M. 1970. "Zur Tragik von Vergils Turnusgestalt: Aristotelisches in der Schlussszene der Aeneis. " In M. von Albrecht and E. Heck, eds., Silvae: Festschrift fUr E. Zinn, 1-5. Ttibingen. . 1999. Roman Epic: An Interpretative Introduction. Leiden. von Fritz, K. 1949. "The So-Called Historical Present in Early Greek." Word 5=186-201. Walbank, F. W. 1955. "Tragic History-a Reconsideration." BICS 2:4-14. . 1957-79. A Historical Commentary on Polybius. 3 vols. Oxford. . 1960. "History and Tragedy." Historia 9:216-34. Walker, A. 1993. "Enargeia and the Spectator in Greek Historiography." TAPA 123: 353-77· Walsh, P. G. 1954. "The Literary Techniques of Livy." RhM 97:97-114. . 1961. Livy: His Historical Aims and Methods. Cambridge. Warde Fowler, W. 1919. The Death of Tumus: Observations on the Twelfth Book of the Aeneid. Oxford. Webb, R. 1997. "Imagination and the Arousal of Emotions in Greco-Roman Rhetoric." In S. Braund and C. Gill, eds., The Passions in Roman Thought and Literature, 11227. Cambridge. Weinstock, S. 1971. Divus Julius. Oxford. West, D. 1969. "Multiple-Correspondence Similes in the Aeneid. " IRS 59:40-49. Re­ printed in Hardie 1999, 3:384-99. . 1974. "The Deaths of Hector and Turnus." G&R 21:21-31. Reprinted in Hardie 1999, 4=381-90. ---

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Index Locorum

Aeschylus

Appian

Agam.

Pun. 132: 3911 . 69

334-37= 27 Pers.

Aristotle

249-52: 35

Po.

266-67 : 52

6 . 5 -7: 54

284-85 : 52

9 -1- 2: 29

33 0 : 52

10.2-11.1 : 5711. 12

Sept.

11.1: 67

239-41: 46 -47

13. 2: 5711. 12

321-25 : 34

13-4= 33, 68

338-4 2: 2811. 40

13 . s: 34

Supp.

18.1: 5511 . 4

222 - 25: 47

23.1: 54-55

Apollodorus Ep it. 5 . 21 : 4511 . 91

Caesar RC

5 -23 : 26

2.2. 6 : 186

Apollonius of Rhodes

BG

1 . 648-49= 5111. 112 2.130-36 : 9 111. 27

2.24.4-2.25 .3: 6511. 27

2.390 -91: 5111. 112

5-43·3: 184

3 - 4 01: 5111. 112

5 -43-7: 186

209

210

I N D E X

L O C O R L .� !

Callimachus (Pfeiffer)

Ennius (Skutsch)

Aet.

Ann.

1 fr.1.3: 51

78: 1 64

Catull us 62.24: 28n. 3 8 Cicero

266: 139ll. 40 288 : 321l. 49 366-68: 32ll. 49

Pam.

391-94: 139ll. 40

5 .12.4: 62

432-34: 139

5.12.5: 129 11 . 1 4

558: 9on. 20 560-61: 9711. 48 584: 139

Demosthenes

Euripides

ne falsa legutione

Hec.

65.361: 21

287-90: 47ll. 99

Diodorus Siculus

619-23: 34ll. 57

13 .55·4-5= 121

923-35 = 4711. 99

13 .56-7= 122

Tr.

17.13: 20

19 0-96: 34ll. 57

17.13 . 6 : 4 6 11 . 9 8

482-83: 45

17.25 -4= 14411. 51

506-9: 34ll. 57

17.34·8: 144 11 . 51

614-15 : 34ll. 57

17.35-36: 20

1260-71: 26

17.35.4-5: 3311. 52

1277-78 : 34

17.36.3: 3311. 52

1279-80: 26

17.70: 20 17.70 . 6 : 33 1 9 . 6-8: 20

Hermo ge11es ( Rabe ) Meth.

19 .8.3-6: 41

439 = 20

19.109 .3-4= 63

Prog.

20.71: 20 28.8: 96ll. 43 32.24: 3911. 69 Dionysius of Halicarnassus

48: 9 Herodotus 1.5 .3-4= 35-36 6.21.2: 21

A n t. Rom.

7·9=

1.46-48: 2711. 30

8 .142.2: 9911. 55

7.66.3: 10

lOlll.

63

Hesiod

11.1.3: 1 37ll. 35

Op.

Pomp.

160: 146ll. 57

3·17: 12811. 9 Donatus Vitu Vergilii

Th. 9 6 -103: 148ll. 63 Homer

45 = 2

II.

46: 211. 3

1 . 6 : 105

Duris FGrH 76 F1: 1911. 7

1.163-64: 133 2.488-92: 9 0

Index Locorum 2.786-S10: 90-91

12.154-6 1 : 13911. 40, 1S511. 53

3.1-9: 75-76

12.195-254= 79n. 14

}.2: 76, 79

1 2.254-55: 79n. 14

3 . 2-7= 7S

12.278-S6: Son. 22

}.8: 76, 79

12.408-14: 6on. 18

}.8-9: 7S

13.334-36: Son. 22

3.10-14: ss

13-343-44= 79n. 21

3-13-15: 76

14-37S-91: 79n. 14

3-59-75 = 152

15. 697-9S: 79n. 21

3-71-75 = 153

15. 699 -703: 7911. 21

3-94= 153

16.210-S3: 7911. 14

} .ll1: 153

16.392: 17711. l7

3.125: n6

16.69S-701: 60-61, 174

3-125-28: 99

16.765-69: Son. 22

3.1S9: n6

16 .765-76: 13S

3-276-91: 153n. 10

17-33-60: 4Sn. 103

3 -320-23: 153

17.70-112: 6on. 17

3-342-43= 1 60

q.129 -235: 6on. 17

4-79= 16011. 34

17.319- 43 : 6on. 17

4- 279 = 17711. 17

17.366: Son. 22

4-422-45= 79n. 14

17-366-69: 79n. 21

4-429 -}0: 78

17.575-96: 6on. 17

4-433-36: 78

17.755-57: Son. 31

4-452-55: Son. 22

18.154: Son. 30

5 .S7-92: Son. 30

1S.536-37= 145n. 5 4

5 -92: 177n. 17

20.1: 7S

5- 274-96: 48n. 103

20.}: 7S

6.1S6: 1 1 6

20.366-74: 6on. 1S

6-490-93= ll5

21.1-16: 110

6 .492: 116

21.12-14: 112

7- 202-5: 15}n. 12

21.537-43: 110

8.53-54= 77

21.540-42: ll2

s .ss: 77

21 .60 6-n: no, 112

S . 6 o : 77

22.5-515 : ll1

S . 9 0 -91: 6o

22.60 -71: 2011. ll

S.51S-21: n6

22.162- 66: 9S

9 -590 -94= 20

22.1 68-ss: 1nn. 1 2

11.49-so: 77

22.205-7: 157

11.56= 77

22.20S -1}: 1lln. 12

11 .67-71: 77, 1 0 0

22 -440: 116

11.155-57: Son. 30

23 .646: 99 11 . 52

n.171-76: Son. 31

23.81): 16011. 34

12.15-23: 146

Od.

12.S0-107: 79n. 14

3 -371-72: 1 6 0 11. 34

12.120-23: non. 10

7- 241-43 = so

211

212

I N D E X

L 0C0 R U M

Homeric scholia

21.1.1-2: 6211. 21

at II.

21.8.2: 185

163: 133

22.28 .14: 64

7-241: 101 Horace

22.29-3: 64-65 22.29 . 6 : 65

Carm.

23.37.4- s : 186

2.1.1-3: 6211. 21

24-47-16: 4111. 78

2.1.17-24: 126-27, 135

25 .11 . 6 : 114

2.1.21 : 13511. 30

25 .15.14-16: 114

3.2.13: 12011. 48

25.24.11-15: 33 26.9-7-8: 46

Livy 1.1}.1-}: 192

26-44·7= 185 28.19.13-14: 122

1.13 -4- s : 193

29-3.8-9: 9611. 45

1.14-9-11: 113

31.34. s : 9611. 43

1.23.1: 43, 193

32.23·7= 185

1.2} . 2 : 193

33·7·9= 9611. 43

1.23-9= 155

33-15 .}-7: 9511. 41

1.25.6-13: 6511. 27

3}.18.18: 113

1.25.1}: 161-62, 165

34-38-4: 185

1.28.7: 1 9411. 77

38.22.8: 4211. So

1.29 . 6 : 31

42-47·5 = 10211. 64

1.30.1-2: 194

42-54·5= 113

2.9·4-5: 95

42.6}.9: 184

2.33 . 8 : 4211. So

4}.18.7-8: 185

3·3·1: 96

44-12.3: 114

3·3·3-4= 96

44-28.13: 114

4-33·4= 9111. 27 4-33.12-4-34-1: 113 4.37.8-11: 130-31 4-59.10: 3311. 53

44-35-21: 185 Lucian

Hist. conscr. )1 : 128

5 -1}.1}: 114

Lucretius

5.21.6: 122

DRN

5.21.10: 122, 14411 . 51

}.8}4: 97

5-42-4: 28

5-40: 97

5-48.6-7: 64 5-49 - 5 : 64 6.8.10: 184 6.10 -4: 184 6.32.8: 112

Macrobius

Sat. s . s . 2 : sm . 110

6 .33·4= 4111. 78 7-9.8: 15511 . 19 7.10.1 2-7.11 . 1 : 162

Ovid

Met.

7-15-3= 113

12.225 : 28

7.26-7: 16211. 40

12.225-26: 4211. So

7-34-7-11: 13211. 18

15-422-35= 38-39

Index Locorum Pausanias 4.21.1-6: 123n. 65 10.25-27: 26n. 27 10.26.s: 4sn. 94 10.27.2: 45n. 91 Plautus Am.

199-200: 135 201-2: 134 219-34= 134 Plutarch Art.

8.1: 137 De glor. Ath.

347a: 128n. 10 Per.

28.2: 19n. 7 Polybius 2.56: 18 2.56.6: 32 2.56.7: 41 2.56-7-8: 19 2.56.7-12: 11n. 38 2.56.8: 129 2.56.9: 41 2.56.11-12: 19 2.56.13: 62 6.9.12-13: 36n. 62 12.25h: 11n. 38 12.25h.3: 128 12.28a.1: 129n. 11 13.3.2-6: 102 18.22.1: 96n. 43 Propertius 2-34-65-66: 4 4.8.ss-s6: 28 Pseudo-Longinus De sub/imitate

25: 133-34 Quadrigarius (Peter) lOb: 134n. 25 Quintilian I. O.

6.2.32: 127n. 5 8.3.66: 143n. so

8.3.67-69: 22 8.3.67-70: 10 8.3.68: 28 8.3.69: 143, 145 8.3-70: 22-23 9-2-40: 143 9.2.41: 133 Quintus Smyrnaeus 1.53-57: 118n. 40 1.345-46: 118 1.403-4= 118 1.409-35= 149n. 47 1.436-46: 118 1.438: 120 1.446: 120 1.454-69: 119 1.476: 119 13.168-250: 49n. 107 13.222-50: 45n. 91

Sallust Cat.

51.9: 22n. 16 Jug.

5.1: 62n. 21 38.4-s: 97n. 48 40-4: 97n. 48 ss.2: 97n. 48 58.2: 144n. 51 67.1: 97n. 48, 122n. 62 94·3= 184 97-5: 97n. 48 Servius at Aen.

1.278-79= 36n. 63 2.313: 23 2.486: 23 2.501: 46 2-557= 31ll. 48, 40 9-598-99= 173n. 6 10.121: S9n. 16 11.357: 90n. 20 11.475-76: 121ll. 55 11.891: 121ll. 54 12.717: 155n. 17

213

214

I N D E X

L 0 C 0 R U M

Servius Auctus

2.324-27: }lll . 46

at Aen.

2.327-30 : 25

2.}63: Jlll . 48

2._)37: 26

2.) 07: 2911. 41

2.3}8: 2611. 25

2.512: 4611. 97

2.361 -63 : 30

9 ·598-99= 17311. 6

2.364-439 = 179

11.892: 1201111. 46-47

2.373-75: 26 2.390: 10311. 67 2.410-12: 11211. 13

Tacitus Ann.

2.440-43= 181

4·33·3= 6 211. 21

2.440-44= 180 2-445-47= 182

Tibullus 2.3.21: 97 Tryphiodorus s : sm.

no

2.445-78 : 180 2.446-49 = 12211. 63 2.460-61: 182

542-653= 180

2.465-67 : 9 011. 21

634-} 9 : 4511. 91

2-465-68: 182

677-81: 26

2-477-78 : 181

Tyrtaeus (West)

2-479: 17511. 15

10.1-2: 12011. 48

2.486: 23

11.31: 13911. 41

2.486-90: 42 2.491-9 9 : 180

Vir gil

2.492-93: 182

A en.

2.501-2: 44

1.1: 511. 13

2.503-s: 2611. 25

1.5-7: 172

2.506: 44

1 . 6 -7: 43

2.507: 28-29

1.164-65 : 5211. 119

2.507-8 : 2611. 25

1 .267-71 : 4311. 84

2.509-11: 48

1.278-79= 36

2.512-1;: 44-45

1.293-96: 1 67

2.516: 47

1.337= 5 2

2.519-34: 48

1.342: 5 3

2.528 : 17511. 15

2.s: 52

2.535-53: 48-49

2.6-8: 3 011. 45

2.554-58 : 31

2.10-13: so

2. 581: 2611. 24

2.250-67: 179

2.746: 2811. 38

2.265: 3211. 49

2.7)9: 2611. 24

2 . 270: 89

3·3= 177

2.289: 27

3 . 63-64: 89

2.301: 2611. 25

3.167-71: 19211. 72

2.302-8: 176

4.667-71: 41, 190

2.304-s: 2611. 24

5·3-4= 190

2.309-13: 25

5-48: 89

2.313: 23

s.156-s8: 14011. 42

Index Locorum 5-596-98: 43ll. 84 6.88-90: 5ll. 13 6.89: 174ll. 11 6.340: 89 6.766: 43ll. 84 6.769-70: 43ll. 84 6.773-76: 37 6.791-97: 167 7-41-44: 4ll. 11 7.44-45: 4, 5n. 13 7-96-101: 191ll. 71 7-157-59= 175 7-233: 173ll. 5, 178 7-411-13: 37ll. 66 7.812-17: 116-17 8.48: 43ll. 84 8.635-45= 194ll. 78 8.720-22: 168 9-25-32: 84 9-25-46: 87 9.26: 86 9-33= 97, 103ll. 67 9.33-34: 85-86 9.36: 86n. 8 9-130-33: 59ll. 16 9.138-39: 66n. 31, 173 9.188-90: 32ll. 49 9-314-19= 32ll. 49 9-386-88: 43ll. 84 9-459-72: 87 9-462-64: 88-89 9-465-67: 89 9-471-72: 89 9.505: 181 9-507: 181 9.509-10: 122n. 63, 185n. 53 9-509-12: 182 9-521-22: 181 9.523-24: 18m. 36 9-530-31: 182 9-535-41: 183 9-568: 181 9.569-73: 8m. 33 9-570: 181 9.598-99: 66n. 31, 173

9.664-71: 139ll. 40 9.667: 139ll. 40 9-722-26: 112ll. 13 9-741-42: 174 9.756-59: 6m. 19 9-757-59= 174 10.26-27: 173 10.74-75: 173 10.118-19: 181 10.118-22: 57 10.121: 59 10.122: 59 10.130: 143ll. 49 10.146-47= 87ll. 12 10.213-14: 173ll. 5 10.236-37= 59ll. 14 10.238-40: 103ll. 67 10.257-69: 88 10.260-69: 58 10.263: 59, 65 10.267-69: 59 10.324-28: 6m. 19 10.354-61: 138 10.738: 8m. 33 10.747-53: 8m. 33 10.755-57: 8m. 33 10.840: 89 11.26: 89 11.446-54= 89-90 11.446-85: 88 11.147= 89 11.451: 97 11.475-76: 121 11.511-19: 103ll. 67 11.522-31: 103ll. 67 11.650-51: 14on. 42 11.824: 86n. 9 11.868-95: 108-10 11.869: 112 11.876-78: 86n. 8 11.877-78: 42ll. 79 11.88o: 111 11.881-83: 112 11.888-90: 143ll. 49 11.891: 121

215

216

I N D E X L 0 C 0 R UM

Virgil (continued) 11.892: 119 11.893-95: 115, 120 11.895= 120 12.14-17= 152 12.17: 154 12.183-94: 154 12.277-88: 142 12.284: 139ll. 40 12.451-55= 176 12.458-61: 8m. 33 12.474= 175ll. 15 12.503-4: 188, 194 12.505-25: 163 12.526-28: 140ll. 42 12.569: 177 12.572: 88n. 13 12.574-77= 181 12.574-92: 88 12.576: 90ll. 21, 91, 97, 103ll. 67, 181 12.579: 175ll. 15 12.583-92: 91 12.586: 182

12.596: 181 12.656: 181 12.672-73: 183 12.704-7= 156 12.706: 182 12.716-17: 156 12.717-19: 155 12.719: 164 12.730-31: 156 12.735-37= 157 12.744= 157 12.749-55= 157 12.761-62: 157 12.834-40: 191 12.838-40: 68 12.886: 158 12.919-26: 195 12.928-29: 158, 161 12.936-37: 152 12.948-49: 164 12.951-52: 158 G.

3.209-41: 154

G eneral Index

advance of the army in the Aeneid, 84-92, 102-4 in historiography and Livy, 94-97 in Homer, 75-79, 87, 100, 145n. 54 Aeneas as Aeneas in the Iliad, 164n. 50 as epic hero, 68-69 as founder, 30, 36 as messenger of tragedy, 44, 52-53 as narrator, 29, 36-37, 40, 50-53 and Odysseus, 50 as Pallas, 164 as proto-Augustus, 104, 187 as surrogate of the collectivity, 154-55, 158 Aeneid

and Augustan experience, 8, 151, 165 battle narrative (see advance of the army; collective fight; duel, of Ae­ neas and Turnus; melee; �p6�o�; rout) conflation of genres, 1-2, 11-13, 29, 37, 57, 65, 67-69, 83, 94, 97-98, 107-8, 115, 130

death scenes, 74 external reader of, 29, 38, 40-42, 83, 124, 148-49, 150, 152, 159-61, 16668, 188 as foundation poem, 172 ideology of war, 102-4 as national poem, 166 and Roman history, 8n. 25, 30, 37-40, 42-44, 56, 107, 166-69, 188-96 temporal frames of, 13, 83, 104, 1078, 115, 124, 148-49, 166-68, 171, 187-88 as Weltgedicht, 13 See also enargeia; focalization; historical present; peripeteia UE{}f.o�, 98-99 affective vocabulary, 85n. 6, 89-90, 97 Alba in Aeneas's Iliupersis, 42-44 fall of, 23-24, 31-32, 35, 42-44 foundation of, 43 and Troy, 43-44 war with Rome, 42-43, 165n. 52, 193-94

217

218

GENERAL INDEX

allusion, 2-4 by contrast (oppositio in imitando), 51 Amazons, 116, 119-20 ambush, 100-101, 103n. 67 anachronisms, 187 in the Aeneid, 8, 183, 186-88 creative, 187n. 64 in epic, 186 primary, 183, 186 secondary, 183n. 40 anachrony, 105-8, 148 analepsis, relation to primary narrative, 106-7 Anchises, and Roman history, 37-38, 43, 167 UVEAJtLGl:Ol�, 63 Apollonius of Rhodes, 7, 94 and anachronisms, 186 and 6 LT]VEXEOl�, sm. 112 as "exemplary" model, 6, 7n. 21 and Homeric conventions, 141 Aristotle on difference between poetry and his­ tory, 29 on Euripides, 34 on plot structure, 33, 54-55, 57, 67-68 awgOL, 73 Bakhtin, M., 12 Bakker, E., 136, 147 Barchiesi, A., 6 breviter, 50-53 Burck, E., 61-62 Callimachus on plot structure, ssn. 5 rejection of 6 LT]VEXEOl�, 51 Camilla and Latin mothers, 116-21, 123 relation to Penthesilea, 117-20, 123 Carthage, 41, 189-90 certamen, 103n. 68 summum, 121-23 Cicero, letter to Lucceius, 62, 126, 129n. 14

city of King Latinus name of, 172n. 4 relation to the Trojan camp, 175, 191-92 and Rome, 191 siege of, 66, 181-83 as Troy, 66, 172-73, 175-78 closure epic, 66n. 30 lack of, 66n. 30, 150, 161-63, 165 "code" model, 5-7, 61 collective fight in the Aeneid, 130, 138-39 in historiography and Livy, 126-27 in Homer, 75, 79-80, 145n. 54 Conte, G. B., 93 countercharges, in Homer, 59-60, 75 death scenes in the Aeneid, 74 in Homer, 74n. 6 deictic nunc, 131-32, 135, 139-40 descriptio pugnae, 9, s6-s7, 126, 130, 134 descriptive system, 143-45 diegetic mode (the "showing") , 133, 135-36, 144 6 LT]VEXEOl�

in the Odyssey, 50-51 rejection of, 51 Diodorus and "division of crowds," 144n. 51 and peripeteia, 63 and summum certamen, 121-22 and urbs capta, 19-20, 33, 46n. 98 views on the function of history, 41 Dionysius of Halicarnassus and battle narrative, 10 on enargeia, 128n. 9, 137n. 35 and fall of Troy, 27n. 30 and mise en abyme, 159n. 31 "division of crowds," 143-44 Donatus, 2 duel, of Aeneas and Turnus and Achilles and Hector, 157, 162n. 42

General Index and Corvus and the Gaul, 162n. 40 divine spectators of, 162-63 epic conventions of, 154 and external spectators, 152, 159, 161, 166-68 final simile of, 195-96 and Horatii and Curatii, 155, 158-59, 161-62, 164-65 as internal conflict, 164-68 and internal spectators, 152, 154-59, 161, 165-66 interpretations of, 150-52 and Paris and Menelaus, 152-53, 160, 162n. 42 as spectacle, 152-55 and Torquatus and the Gaul, 155n. 19, 162 duels, epic conventions, 48-49, 154 Duris, 8n. 24, 19n. 7, 20, 6m. 19 ecphrasis and prolepsis, 107, 166-68 shield of Achilles, 145n. 54 shield of Aeneas, 43n. 86, 107, 167-68, 194n. 78 Edwards, A. T., 101 �1-ll&o£, 146 empathy, 92-94, 103, 163 empfindung, 92, 96 enargeia

in the Aeneid, 130, 138-39, 147-49 definition of, 127n. 5 and Dionysius of Halicarnassus, 128n. 9, 137n. 35 in Hellenistic poetry, 130 and historical present, 132-35 in historiography and Livy, 10-11, 12737, 147 in Homer, 130, 140, 146-47 in oratory, 130 and Polybius, nn. 38, 128-29 in Thucydides, 11n. 38, 128nn. 9-10, 136 See also historical present Ennius Ambracia, 22-23

219

Annales, 7, 23-24, 32, 43, 66n. 30, 94,

141, 145, 148 fall of Alba, 23-24, 31-32, 42-43 and historical present, 141 epic as absolute past, 12-13, 124, 141, 145-47 and connection between past and present, 124, 130, 148-49, 166-68, 188 and duality and distance, 130, 146-48 "historical," 7, 141 and history, 141 "mythological," 141 and telos, 36-37, 57, 67-69, 166, 172 epitaph of closure, 33, 35, 49 Euripides and fall of Troy, 18, 21, 26, 34, 45, 47n· 99 judgment of Aristotle, 34 "exemplary" model (or "source" model), 5-6, 32, 35, 42, 111-12 fabula, 56-57, 67-69, 171, 177

epic, 67-69 and space, 171, 188 fall of Troy, accounts of in Aeschylus, 26-27 in Apollodorus, 26, 45n. 91 in Arctinus, 17, 24n. 21, 26, 45n. 91 in Dionysius of Halicarnassus, 27n. 30 in Euripides, 18, 21, 26, 34, 45, 47n. 99 in Lesches of Mytilene, 18, 45n. 91 in Pausanias, 26n. 27, 45nn. 91, 94 in Polygnotus, 18, 26n. 27, 45n. 94 in Quintus Smyrnaeus, 18, 45n. 91, 179 in Tabulae Iliacae, 18, 46 in Tryphiodorus, 18, 26, 45n. 91, 179 Feeney, D., 38 Feldherr, A., 158-59 focalization in the Aeneid, 85-94, 97, 103, 124 complex narrator-text, 85-86, 88, 97 definition of, 85nn. 5-6 geometric perspective, 86n. 7 in historiography and Livy, 94-97

G E N [ R ,\ L

220

1N D EX

focalization ( continued)

charges; duel, of Aeneas and

in Homer, 92-94

Turnus; melee;
semantic perspective, 86n. 7

as "code" model, 5-6

simple narrator-text, 85-86, 88, 90, 97

conditional clauses, contrary to fact, 60-61, 174

Genette, G., 106

as " exemplary" model ( o r " source"

Hainsworth, J. B., 183

ideology of war, 98-101

Hecuba

patterning of tenses in, 136, 147

model ) , 5-6, 3 2 , 3 5 , 42, 111-12

as chorus leader, 48

See also enargeia; focalization

and Priam's death, 44-49 as s uppliant, 44-49

im itatio and aemulatio, 2

Heinze, R., 4, 27, 81, 92

intertext ( and intertextuality ), 3-4

Hellenistic epic poetry, 7

authorial subjectivity, 3

Hermogenes on descriptio pugnae, 9, 126 on urbs cap ta, 20

Jupiter

Herodotus and customs of war, 10111 . 63 and [-t Et a fl o A �

tfJ S tU XTJS ,

text-reader oriented intertextuality, 3

35

Hinds, S . , 3 "historical epic," 7, 141 Hellenistic, 7, 123n. 65 historical present to achieve enargcia, 132-35 in the Aeneid, 138-42 in Ennius, 141 in historiography and Livy, 130-35 in Lucan and Ovid, 140 and mimetic mode, 133 and pretended immediacy, 131-35 historiography narrative conventions, 8 -11 (see also advance of the army; collective fight; rout; siege ) role of the reader in, 128n. 10, 129n. 14, 132, 135-37 "tragic history," Sn. 27, 18-19 and urbs capta, 18-20, 23-24, 28, 3133, 42, 46 See also enargeio; focalization; histori­ cal present; peripeteia

and end-directed narrative, 36 -37, 43 prophecy to Juno, 68, 163, 168, 190-92, 1 94-96 prophecy to Venus, 36, 39, 43, 167 Juturna, 158, 1 63 Livy and ancient customs of war, 102n. 64 and Augustan experience, 8 capture of Veii, 10n. 35 and exemplary history, 141 fall of Alba, 24, 31, 35, 42-43, 165n. 52, 193-94 and Hellenistic historiography, 8n. 27, 61 narrative conventions, 8-11 (see also advance of the army; collective fight; duel, of Aeneas and Turn us; rout; siege ) rape of the Sabine women, 1 9 2-93 and urhs capta, 24, 28, 33, 42, 46 See also enargeia; focalization; histori­ cal present; peripeteia Lucian, and historiography, 128

Homer audie nce of, 146-48, 160

Mack, S . , 189

battle narrative (see advance of the

Macrohius, 4-5, sm . no

army; collective fight; counter-

maestitia, 89

General Index melee in the Aeneid, 8m. 33 in Homer, 79 messenger's speech, 44n. 89, 48n. 102, 52-53 "middle," 56-57, 65n. 29, 67 mimetic mode (the "showing") , nn. 38, 133, 135-36, 139, 144 mise en abyme, 95, 159-60, 166 mise-en-scene, 143 Naevius, 7 Odysseus, as narrator, 50-51 Ovid and prophecy of Pythagoras, 38-39 and urbs capta, 28 Pallanteum, 189 Pausanias on fall of Troy, 26n. 27, 45nn. 91, 94 and Rhianus, 7n. 22, 123n. 65 Penthesilea relation to Camilla, 117-20, 123 and Trojan women, 118-20 peripeteia in the Aeneid, 56-59, 67 in historiography and Livy, 56-57, 61-65, 67 and tragic plot, 57n. 12 Phylarchus, 8n. 24 criticism of, 18-20, 23, 32-33, 35, 41, 62, 129 and urbs capta, 35 'f'O �o� in the Aeneid, 8m. 33 in Homer, 8o pitched battle, 76, I00-101, 103 plot structure in the Aeneid, 9-12, 55-57, 65-69, 166 according to Callimachus, 55n. 5 and circularity and repetition, 173, 177-78, 188 epic plot structure according to Aris­ totle, 54-55 tragic, 33, 54, 57, 67-69

221

Polybius and ancient customs of war, 101-2 criticism of Phylarchus, 18-20, 23, 3233, 35, 41, 62, 129 and enargeia, 11n. 38, 128-29 and f-1Eta�oA.� tfi� tVXYJ�, 36n. 62 and mise en abyme, 159n. 31 and peripeteia, 62n. 22 relation to "tragic history," 8n. 28 polyeideia, 12 Pouillon, J., 87 Priam death of, 31-32, 37-38, 40, 44-46, 49 duel with Pyrrhus, 48-49 as Pompey, 40 primary narrative, 106-8, 124, 148, 166-68 and circularity and repetition, 173, 177-78, 188 and polychrony, 124, 187 relation to prolepsis, 106-8, 124, 166-68 "private voice of regret," 163, 165 prolepsis and ecphrasis, 107, 166-68 and prophecy, 107, 166-68 relation to primary narrative, 106-8, 124, 166-68 Propertius celebration of the Aeneid, 4-5 and urbs capta, 28 Quint, D., 36 Quintilian on enargeia , 127n. 5, 143 per partis, 143-45 on tralatio temporum, 133 on urbs capta, 10, 22-23, 28 Quintus Smyrnaeus and anachronisms, 186 and fall of Troy in, 18, 45n. 91, 179 and Homeric conventions, 49n. 107, 141 representation of Trojan women, 118-20

222

GENERAL

INDEX

repetition endless, 30, 44 regressive, 178 as reversal, 178 Rhianus, 7, 123n. 65 Rome aeterna, 30, 36, 39n. 69, 44 and city of King Latinus, 191 foundation myths of, 192-94 and Pallanteum, 189 and Trojan camp, 189-96 and Troy, 40, 43-44, 189 unfounding of, 40, 43-44 war with Alba, 42-43, 165n. 52, 193-94 rout in the Aeneid, 108-12 in historiography and Livy, 112-14 in Homer, 75, 80-81, 110-12, 145n. 54 Sabine women, rape of, 192-93 Servius, 23-24, 32, 42, 46, 92 Sibyl, 5n. 13, 85, 174n. 11 siege of city of King Latinus, 66, 181-83 in historiography and Livy, 184-86 in Homer, 183 metaphoric siege, 196 of Trojan camp, 57-59, 173-74, 181-83 of Troy, 179-83 simile, unilateral correspondence, 155 spes, 59, 63-65 Stahl, H. P., 151 story, 56-57, 68-69 sympathy, 92n. 30 syncretism, 191 Tacitus, 11 110 Tellis, 117 -&a �-��0 £, 160 Thomas, R., 163-64 tELXOOXOJtLa,

Thucydides and enargeia, 11n. 38, 128nn. 9-10, 136 and mise en abyme, 159n. 31 patterning of tenses in, 133, 136 tormentum murale, 196 tragedy and crisis, 57, 68-69, 166 messenger's speech, 44n. 89, 48n. 102, 52-53 plot of, 33, 54, 57, 67-69 and tragic dialectic, 34-35, 37 tralatio temporum, 133-34 and Quintilian, 133 Trojan camp as Achaean camp, 173-75, 178 relation to the city of King Latinus, 175, 191-92 and Rome, 189-96 siege of, 57-59, 173-74, 181-83 and Trojan War, 178 and Troy, 66, 173-75, 177-78 as urbs, 175 Troy and Alba, 43-44 and the city of King Latinus, 66, 17273, 175-78 and Rome, 40, 43-44, 189 siege of, 179-83 and the Trojan camp, 66, 173-75, 178 See also fall of Troy Tryphiodorus and breviter, sm. 110 and fall of Troy, 18, 26, 45n. 91, 179 turbo, 112-13 Turnus as Achilles, 5n. 13, 174 as Menelaus, 173 as Pallas, 164 as surrogate of the collectivity, 154-55, 158, 196 as "tragic hero," 68-69 urbs capta, 10, 18, 24, 28-29, 32-33, 35, 41,

44, 49

General Index flames in, 28-29 history of the topos, 18-24 and �Et a � oA. � tfJ£ tVXTJ£, 3 2-35 representation of women in, 41-42, 46-47

Venus, as messenger of tragedy, 52-5 3

vocabulary of fear,

90n. 20, 97

war as agonic contest, 98-101 civil, 56, 165-68, 192-96 and dance, 101 and games, 99, 10m. 63 ideology of, 98-104 and weaving, 116, 119 and women, 115 -22 Willcock, M. M., 81

223