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Statius, Transl. Jane Wilson JoyceA modern alternative to SparkNotes and CliffsNotes, SuperSummary offers high-quality Study Guides with detailed chapter summaries and analysis of major themes, characters, and more.
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Upset at the ongoing delay, Jupiter sends Mercury to goad Mars into action, as Jupiter ordered him to start the war back in Book 3 (1-33). Fighting inclement weather, Mercury flies to the Barren Woods and the foreboding Shrine of Mars, where various personifications of human anguish haunt the grounds (34-63). Mars himself swings by in his terrifying chariot, driven by the minor war goddess Bellona, and terrifies Mercury, who delivers his message (64-81). “No longer delay”—Mars takes up Jupiter’s anger, while Jupiter himself calms down, since his will is enacted (81-9).
With the funeral of Opheltes and the funeral games finished, Adrastus pours his infant’s shade a final libation (90-104). Nearby Mars mobilizes the personification of Panic, who makes the surrounding plain of Nemea dusty and noisy, an illusion of approaching troops. The Argives are already fretting and war-hungry when Mars finishes the job with a terrifying call to arms (116-44).
Bacchus, disheveled with worry rather than his usual drunkenness, notices the Argive troops now nearing his beloved Thebes. He appeals to his father Jupiter on Thebes’s behalf, asking if he—and his mother, Jupiter’s ill-fated consort Semele—mean so little to him (145-67). He wonders if Juno, who hates Thebes, put Jupiter up to this, and adds that the Thebans take after Bacchus: they like to party, but are unaccustomed to war (168-77). His argument concludes with a distinct tone of jealousy, that Jupiter cares for his other children more than him (178-92).
Bacchus’s jealousy charms Jupiter. He reminds Bacchus that not only is this war fated—it is high time the Thebans pay for their crimes against the gods, as have other blasphemous nations (e.g. Mars punishing the Lapiths, Diana punishing the Calydonians). He alludes to Bacchus’s own fraught history with demanding worship from the Theban citizens (an episode covered most famously in Euripides’s tragedy The Bacchae) (195-215). Finally, he reiterates that this is what divine law demands—and the “Kindly Ones” too, another name for the Furies. Juno, he assures, will suffer as well, as he will equally punish her beloved Argos. Bacchus is cheered by this (215-26).
A messenger informs Eteocles of the Argives’ approach. Hiding his fear, Eteocles takes stock of his troops, who have gathered outside the city walls (227-42). He and Polynices’ younger sister, Antigone, asks her elderly attendant Phorbas to tell her who the troops are (243-52). Phorbas gives a mini-catalogue of the Theban troops and their allies (253-373). Many of the warriors’ origins are marked by sexual assault and hyperviolence (e.g. the “brothers” Lapithaon and Alatreus (290-308; Hypseus (309-27)). Phorbas catches himself weeping and tells Antigone he stays alive only to see her protected. Once she is married, he would happily die before seeing such awful interfamilial crimes repeat themselves.
Eteocles addresses the troops, claiming that they fight for him “by choice—of your own free will you champion my righteous wrath” (377-8). He emphasizes Polynices’ supposed betrayal and fomentation of civil war and positions himself as a victim of Polynices’ savagery, protected now only by loyal “volunteers” (381-9).
Meanwhile the Argives march for two days and nights straight towards Thebes: “Halts were scorned—why, they hardly / took time out to sleep or eat! Like men fleeing, they / sped towards the foe” (400-2). Again, a slew of dire omens, including showers of blood and stones, ghosts, and other anomalies in the natural world, are ignored (402-23). The troops are only briefly halted by the raging river Asopos—his son, Hypseus, is on the Theban side (see lines 315-27)—but Hippomedon forces his charger into the water and the others follow suit (424-40).
The Argives find a good camp near Thebes and settle in. The sight of them terrifies the Thebans. Fear on both sides is increased by Tisiphone, who “runs amok / through both camps, setting brother against brother, their father / against them both—he, down in his underground dwelling, aroused, / makes an appeal to the Furies, insists he wants back his eyes” (466-9).
In the dead of night, Jocasta—Oedipus’s wife, his mother and also the mother of Eteocles and Polynices—marches to the Argive camp with her daughters, Antigone and Ismene, demanding to see her son. Despite her frightful appearance, Polynices embraces her and weeps. Jocasta demands that Polynices look on his native city, which he now intends to raze, and suggests he and his brother talk it out with Jocasta presiding. “I married sin,” she says, “and I brought it forth, but I love you both / as you are (ah, pain!); even now I excuse your frenzies” (514-5).
Her pleas for compassion make the men weep. Polynices is ready to surrender, and Adrastus would support it. However, Tydeus intervenes. He mocks Jocasta’s newfound penchant for peace-making and reminds Polynices of the treatment he, Tydeus, had suffered as an envoy to Eteocles in Book 2, asking him what he thinks Eteocles will do to him once he has surrendered (538-59). His argument renews the lust for war.
Tisiphone seizes the moment. Nearby the two tamed tigresses who pull Bacchus’s chariot are lounging; she drives them mad and they begin mauling the Argives (524-90). When the Argives mortally injure the tigers, they limp back to Thebes, where their deaths enrage the Thebans (591-607). Jocasta flees the chaos; any chance for peace is gone. War has begun (608-21).
Statius again invokes the Muses to help him describe the battle (628-31). Tydeus and Hippomedon enjoy early victories (632-48). A young priest of Bacchus, Eunaeus, all dressed up in Bacchic finery, demands a stop to the slaughter of people and city favored by the god. Capaneus taunts him and quickly kills him with his spear (649-87). While Eteocles fights in full force, Polynices is reluctant to kill his fellow citizens (688-9).
The last section of the book highlights the doomed Amphiaraus, beloved priest of Apollo (690-820). Mars allows his brother’s favorite to enjoy incredible success in his final hours. Amphiaraus enters an aristeia—a period of almost supernaturally powerful battle rage. When his charioteer is killed, Apollo himself drives him in disguise. Together, they inflict awful, gory damage on the opponent (709-70). As Amphiaraus’s time draws near, Apollo reveals himself and tells him what is going on. Amphiaraus is unafraid. Grateful for the god’s help, he entrusts him with the care of his son (and punishment of his evil wife, Eriphyle). Apollo retreats in sadness (771-93). Suddenly the earth creaks and splits (794-816). The chasm swallows Amphiaraus and his chariot whole, dropping him straight into the Underworld. The earth closes again (794-823).
Amphiaraus plummets into the Underworld, much to the shock of its citizens (1-20). Dis, the king of hell, rules here. He personally judges the dead, though “nothing human aroused his pity—he raged at them all” (23). Minos and Rhadmanathus—the usual judges of the Underworld—ineffectually attempt to temper his judgements (27-31).
Dis is shocked and affronted to see starlight above him. He suspects one of his Olympian brothers, Jupiter or Neptune, is waging war on him, and shares a litany of historical offenses against his kingdom (e.g. Theseus and Pirithous’s attempted rape of his wife Proserpina, Heracles abducting his three-headed dog Cerberus, Orpheus arriving to reclaim his wife Eurydice). Dis himself has only left the Underworld once—to abduct Proserpina and make her his bride (31-64). He sends Tisiphone to harass the world above in revenge (65-79). He then turns his wrath on Amphiaraus, who tells Dis he means no harm and begs his mercy (80-98). He shares his story—his identity as a priest of Apollo, his unwillingness to go to war, his wife’s betrayal, his strange experience being dragged to hell—and laments that no aspect of body remains on earth to be mourned. Dis reluctantly backs down (99-126).
Back on the surface, the Argives are terrified by what happened. Messengers bring Adrastus the unbelievable story and Rumor flies. Men begin deserting. Night falls, forcing a brief truce (127-61). Amphiaraus’s allies are so that they barely eat, barely look after their arms. They wonder what will happen to them, if a man so devout could be treated so contemptibly by the gods, and who will now interrupt the gods’ signs for them. They speak kindly of Amphiaraus and hope he is well in the Underworld but are unable to perform any of the normal funeral rites because his body is missing (164-217).
In Thebes, the troops are partying. They mock Amphiaraus, praising their own seer Tiresias, and recount famous Theban myths (218-39). Even Oedipus emerges for the feast, cleaned up and apparently in good humor—“Why lay concealed: not the fortunate turn of the Tyrian War— / war alone cheers him up” (250-1). In the Argive camp, Theban jeers and catcalls keep a worried Adrastus awake (259-70).
At dawn, Adrastus calls a council to find a new seer for the Argives to replace Amphiaraus. Everyone nominates Thiodamus, a young colleague of Amphiaraus, who must be persuaded to accept due to his own sense of modesty and youth (271-93). His first act is building an altar and giving offerings to Earth to appease her, begging her to recognize that even they, as foreigners, are still human beings, and asking that she not steal them from the surface again. Finally he addresses Amphiaraus himself, claiming he will perform prophetic rites for him, not Apollo, and begging his favor (294-341).
In Thebes, Tisiphone and Bellona marshal seven leaders to the seven gates of the city. The Argives are less eager; “BUT NOW, WAR calls!” (342-73). Statius asks the Muse Calliope to refresh him for the next round of narration (373-4). Mars himself stands on the field of battle; the armies clash (383-401). Before war had made a “gallant show”—everyone looked splendid and noble in their armor, everyone was well-ordered—but now “raging Madness and Courage, careless of life, had released their force” (402-11). The fight is a chaotic ugly mess (412-27). Heroes on both sides brutally butcher others (428-71).
The star is Tydeus, who is favored by the goddess Minerva (also known as Pallas). When Tydeus attempts to kill Haemon, a favorite of the deified Hercules, Hercules himself meets with Minerva on the battlefield. He yields to her, acknowledging the great favor she showed him while he was alive, and withdraws his protection of Haemon. Minerva’s rage is mollified by the honor he pays her. When Haemon retreats, sensing Hercules’s absence, she deflects Tydeus’s spear and saves him (497-535).
Tydeus’s aristeia continues. He kills many, including Atys, the betrothed of Eteocles and Polynices’ sister, Ismene. Undeterred by her family’s troubled history, Atys was eager for their marriage, now interrupted by the war. Not knowing of Tydeus’s prowess, he tries to take him on, but Tydeus, “judging the rascal not / worthy of sword or spear,” shoots him in the groin with an arrow. He tells the dying man he is not worth a killing blow, or even the time it would take to strip him of his spoils (554-96).
Meanwhile, Ismene and Antigone talk about their family’s ill fortune. Ismene shares that the night before, she had dreamt of Atys and their wedding—which she claims to not be eager for—and that Atys’s crazed mother demanded Ismene return her son (621-35). She wonders what it means. Just then, the dying Atys is brought in. He asks to see Ismene, and he looks at Ismene until he dies. Ismene admits her true feelings for him and breaks down in tears (636-54).
Tydeus’s rout continues. He vaunts and crows for a worthy opponent—and spots Eteocles. The two men fight as mortals and gods look on. A Fury blocks Tydeus’s blow, “keeping Eteocles safe for his infamous brother” (687). The Thebans shield Eteocles with their bodies as Tydeus tries to hack at him (688-99). Tydeus finally notices that Minerva is not looking at him—she is instead appealing to her father for mercy on his behalf. Tydeus is struck by the spear of an unknown assailant (711-29). His allies carry him from the battlefield.
Tydeus realizes he is dying and does not care, “… funeral pomp is of no interest / to me. I hate my body,” he says, “My useless, broken flesh” (736-8). All he wants is the head of Melanippus, one of Thebes’s defenders. Capaneus finds the man and brings him to Tydeus. Tydeus “mad / with joy and rage when he saw that face gasping for air, / saw those fierce eyes, and in the sight perceived himself”—and insists they behead Melanippus anyways (752-3). He is content with dying so long as he can crack open Melanippus’s skull and eat his brain. Just then Minerva returns from her father, having successfully petitioned for immortal glory for Tydeus, but she sees what he has done and flees in disgust (759-66).
Eteocles plays on his men’s anger at the death and decapitation of Melanippus: “On our side—humane swords and firebrands: on theirs—naked hatred, ferocity needing no arms” (12-20). Like vultures, the Thebans scavenge Tydeus’s corpse for spoils (24-31). Rumor brings word of the desecration to Polynices; it devastates him. He collapses on the corpse of his friend, telling him he is now a forever exile, as he has lost “my second, better brother” (53). He wishes Tydeus himself had killed him long before this day and is barely prevented from taking his own life in grief (49-85).
Hippomedon stands guard against the encroaching force “like a crag defying the waves” (91). Eteocles mocks him and attacks ineffectually; others try and fail to move him from the corpse of Tydeus, which he protects like a mother cow over her calf (91-146). Tisiphone herself arrives on orders from Dis (see Book 8, lines 65-79). She addresses the terrified Hippomedon, telling him that Adrastus is screaming for him, borne away by the enemy: “Why hesitate? / Do we go? or does the dead man detain you, the live one / count so little?” (166-7). Hippomedon believes her and reluctantly follows—only to find that Adrastus is fine. With his protector gone, the Thebans mutilate Tydeus’s corpse (180-95).
Hippomedon rushes back, though he knows the fight is now pointless. He rides Tydeus’s horse Wingfoot, which, despite its initial skittishness at a new master, is also eager to avenge Tydeus (204-22). Hippomedon drives the Thebans down to the raging river Ismenos, where several drown or are easily chopped up by Tydeus in the surf (225-79). Tydeus presses on even after the death of Wingfoot, running “mad with his sword” and killing many, including the Theban twins Lichas and Anthedonian (284-314).
Statius asks the Muses to help him describe how the river Ismenos himself dragged Hippomedon under the waves (315-8). Ismenos’s grandson Crenaeus, who often played safely in the river as a child, attacks Hippomedon, accusing him of defiling sacred waters with carnage. Hippomedon kills him. With his dying breath, Crenaeus cries for his mother, a river nymph (319-50). She desperately searches the corpse-clogged waters until she finds him and brings him to the depths, where she mourns his youthful beauty and demands justice from his grandfather, Ismenos (351-403).
Her laments rouse Ismenos, who was lounging in his secret grotto. Statius describes his waking and water-like movement (404-20). Ismenos rages first at Jupiter for allowing his stream to be defiled by so many bodies, despite his own faithful service to the god and to Bacchus (421-41). He then turns to Tydeus, telling him he will pay. He summons torrents from many natural sources and swarms the hero, who literally fights the river, even taunting Ismenos for the weakness of his dead grandson (442-80). Finally divine strength overcomes mortal will; “No flight now for the wretch, no chance for a dignified death!” (490-1). Ismenos crushes Hippomedon under an ash trunk and traps him in a whirlpool. Hippomedon cries out to Mars, asking if he will allow such dishonor on a fine soldier (506-509).
It is not Mars who hears him, but Juno, who loves Hippomedon as a citizen of her favorite city, Argos. She convinces Jupiter to force the river to back down, but it is too late to save Hippomedon (510-25). He is finally cut down by Theban allies, who fear to approach even his corpse. At last, Hypseus strips his helmet and vaunts over him; he is quickly cut down for his insolence by one of the last remaining members of the Seven, Capaneus, who strips his corpse in turn (526-65). “Even-handed in war’s harsh turn and turn about,” Statius tells us, “Mars / interwove mutual wounds for Greeks and Sidonians both […] each side consoles itself with the other’s grief” (566-9).
The scene shifts to Atalanta, the famous huntress and mother of the young Parthenopaeus (she had tried to stop him from going to war; see Book 4, lines 309-43). Atalanta has been having awful nightmares of being driven from the woods, her son dying. The worst dream centers on her favorite oak tree, where she keeps her hunting trophies, being chopped down, “its limbs bleeding a gory dew” (570-601). She rushes to her patron goddess Diana’s sacred shrine and finds the oak tree still standing. She reiterates her vow to virginity—though she was unwillingly assaulted, once—and to the sort of wilderness lifestyle beloved to Diana. She begs Diana to protect her son or at least to let her see him one last time; the goddess has already departed, heading straight to Thebes to help Parthenopaeus.
She finds her twin brother Apollo there, who is still mourning the death of his seer Amphiaraus at the end of Book 7. He commiserates with her helplessness—neither can seem to protect their favorites, despite their divinity. No one can oppose Fate (637-62). Diana maintains that at least she can give Parthenopaeus a glorious death with the assistance of her arrows (663-9).
Parthenopaeus is in the fray in finery with a woodland edge, his sword and shieled too large and heavy for him; “he liked hearing his scabbard clank, his quiver rattle / and rustle” (696-7). Even his enemies avoid hitting him, seeing reminders of their own sons in his youth and beauty (699-711). Diana mourns that the woods are too small a pond for him, and that she can do nothing to prevent his impending doom. Still, she lends him her divine assistance (712-35).
Parthenopaeus enters an aristeia (736-75). The Thebans rally. Amphion taunts Parthenopaeus to stop playing at war games and go back to the woods. Parthenopaeus taunts back and is only saved by Diana’s interference (as he was once saved by Atalanta in a boar hunt) (776-800). Like Atalanta, Diana tries to tell him to back off, but Parthenopaeus refuses—he wants only to kill Amphion (801-20).
From heaven, Venus riles up Mars to protect their Theban descendants (i.e. the descendants of their daughter, Harmony) and to stop the upstart virgin Diana. Mars threatens Diana with physical violence; war is his realm, not hers. She retreats. (821-840). Mars draws the savage warrior Dryas to face Parthenopaeus, who is already feeling weak from the exertion of battle. A terrified Parthenopaeus cannot keep up and is dealt a killing blow—though Dryas is also, by an unknown assailant (841-76). As he dies, Parthenopaeus asks his comrade Dorceus to comfort his mother Atalanta and break his death to her gently (885-90). He speaks to Atalanta, though she is not there, telling her she was right and to not worry about him anymore (891-907).
In Book 7, preparations and delay are over. We finally enter the war portion of the Thebaid. The Thebaid’s bipartite structure is modelled on its most important intertext, Virgil’s Aeneid, where the final war for Italy also starts in Book 7. But first we wrap up another Virgil-inspired episode: a journey to the Underworld.
In Book 6 of Virgil’s Aeneid, the hero Aeneas journeys to hell to consult with his deceased father Anchises and learn of Rome’s glorious destiny. While the concept might seem macabre, a journey into the afterlife was a common set piece in ancient myth and folklore. Such voyages—the metaphorical “death” and resurrection of the hero—are quests for knowledge. Indeed, in Virgil’s Aeneid, Aeneas learns crucial information in the Underworld and returns a new man, a more capable leader.
In Book 6 of his Civil War, the later Roman poet Lucan inverted the motif. His hero does not descend under the earth; rather, the chthonic witch Eritcho performs a necromantic ritual and drags the dead up to the surface. Lucan’s successor Statius goes further: At the end of Book 6 and into the beginning of Book 7, he drags Amphiaraus into hell as a living man, completely upending and defying the natural order.
Amphiaraus’s reception there is also indicative of broader themes of the work. Dis’ first reaction is of fear and outrage: he automatically assumes that one of his Olympian brothers, Jupiter or Neptune, is trying to steal his throne. Like Eteocles (and perhaps the emperor Domitian), Dis is sensitive and suspicious, recounting other mythological “conspiracies” against his throne. Once again, Statius underlines the hypocrisy of his universe’s gods: Dis condemns Theseus and Pirithous’s attempt to assault his wife Proserpina (Book 8, 53-4), but a few lines later, admits that his one journey to the surface was to assault her himself (61-64). While Greek and Roman mythology often involves stories of sexual violence against women, the male gods of Statius are particularly awful in this regard. In Book 1 Apollo assaulted the princess of Inachus (557-95); in Book 9, Atalanta reiterates her vow to virginity though she was unwillingly assaulted once before, an encounter which resulted in the birth of her son, Parthenopaeus (608-34). Statius uses these episodes to underline the dangerous world his characters inhabit.
Like Virgil before him, Statius also highlights the tragedy of young heroes dying before their time. Beautiful unmarried youths in the prime of their life (like Crenaeus and Parthenopaeus) are cruelly cut down by older men, episodes Statius injects with a heavy sense of injustice and pathos. Images of this sort of graphic violence—particularly disordered tableaus like murdered twins entwined in death—are meant to both interest and repulse Statius’s audience. Morbidly drawn into the details of the carnage, the reader is implicated in the heinousness of civil war.
Many of the awful deaths in Books 7 through 9 also illustrate divine impotence in the Thebaid. While the powerful ruler types are cruel, sadistic tyrants, the lesser gods are helpless to protect their favorites; they are defanged and hampered. In Book 7, Apollo cannot protect his favorite Amphiaraus from his fate; the other Argives wonder what will happen to them if a man so devout could be treated so contemptibly by his patron deity (Book 8, 170-3). Apollo commiserates with his sister Diana in Book 8 over her equal helplessness to protect Parthenopaeus (637-62). Similarly, on the mortal plane, the one “good” king in the text, Adrastus, is kept awake on a day of horrific Argive losses by cruel jeers and catcalls from the Thebans (Book 8, 259-70). The picture Statius paints is clear: Not only do evil, violent beings rule his universe—more mercifully-minded authority figures cannot help the pious even when they try.