EPIC VOICES IN STATIUS’ ACHILLEID: CALCHAS’ VISION AND ULYSSES’ PLAN

Abstract

This article deals with Calchas’ prophecy and Diomedes’ and Ulysses’ interventions during the mustering of the Greeks at Aulis in Statius’ Achilleid (1.514–52). It will be argued that Calchas and Ulysses embody two different approaches to the generic tensions of the new epic which Statius’ poem represents. Calchas, the old uates of the Homeric tradition, seems unable to fully understand the ‘poetics of illusion’ enacted by Thetis and Achilles in disguise, as is clear from his vision. His point of view is skilfully complemented by Ulysses, who turns out to be the true uates, as well as the perfect leader for Achilles’ rescue. As the only figure who can face the fluid and ambiguous reality of the poem and its literary dynamics as well, Ulysses also stands as a poetic voice himself; through his speech, Statius reflects upon the tensions of his epic and the poetic effort needed to channel the narrative from the peaceful setting of Scyros to the martial horizon of Troy.

Despite its importance as a turning point in the plot, the episode of the mustering of the Greek fleet at Aulis in Stat. Achil. 1.397–559 has only recently begun to attract scholars’ attention on account of its literary interest.¹ In this paper I would like to examine the section which contains Calchas’ prophecy and Diomedes’ and Ulysses’ interventions (1.514–52). My aim is to show that in this passage the voices of these characters function as ‘poetic voices’, through which Statius reflects upon his poetic agenda. I will focus, in particular, on the traditional figures of Calchas and Ulysses, by considering their different degrees of adaptability in the complex system of literary genres with which the poem is engaged. Both Calchas and Ulysses belong to the epic tradition of the past, but in the new epic of the Achilleid they represent two opposite approaches to the same genre. Calchas is so firmly rooted in the tradition of martial epic that he proves unable to adapt his prophetic skills to understand the fluid and ambiguous reality which is displayed in the Achilleid, and consequently the new literary dynamics of the poem as well. Therefore, his voice needs to be integrated and enriched by that of Ulysses, the polytropos hero, who once again demonstrates his ethos, namely versatility, and skilfully manages to control the generic tensions of the poem, so as to channel the narrative from the un-epic setting of Scyros to the martial world of Troy.²

I. THE VOICE OF A TRADITIONAL SEER

Calchas’ prophecy at Aulis takes place after the voyage of Thetis and Achilles to Scyros in terms of narrative sequence, but almost simultaneously in terms of chronological sequence. From an internal point of view, therefore, Calchas’ vision is necessary to provide the Greeks, who do not know where Achilles is, with useful indications on how to find him and counteract Thetis’ furtum. From an external point of view, the revelation, which is a shortened rewriting of what has previously been narrated at length, allows the reader to re-experience the same story but through the focalization of the internal characters. In this sense, repetition creates a sense of diffraction. As we will see, the same content is presented through multiple points of view and interpreted in different ways. This offers a first glimpse of the ‘multifocal’ architecture of the Achilleid,³ and at the same time it reveals the difficulty in decoding the divine message univocally by human characters who show different levels of understanding and sensibility.

As is known from Iliad Book 1, the prophet Calchas is consulted by Achilles about the causes of Apollo's wrath because ‘he knows both the past, the present and the future’ (Hom. Il. 1.70). In the Achilleid, a poem chronologically posterior to the Iliad but prior to it in terms of literary plot, Calchas, who is expected to be the omniscient uates of the Homeric tradition, is urged by Protesilaus to reveal the recent events involving Thetis and Achilles. However, when Protesilaus finishes his speech, Calchas seems to be in trouble: while he begins to be possessed by the god, he frantically turns to various mantic techniques, until he is completely overcome by prophetic frenzy (1.514–25). Ecstatic possession is an innovative element in Calchas’ characterization: although in his Iliadic past he already interpreted divine signs and made prophecies,⁴ now, for the first time in his literary biography, he receives Apollo within himself (intrantemque deum, 1.515) and his prophetic furor.⁵ In other words, Calchas becomes a possessed mouthpiece for mysterious and often obscure divine knowledge which he cannot control in his own right.⁶ In the detail of the furor, Calchas diverges from his Homeric self and rather aligns himself with the prototype of the female prophetess possessed by Apollo, namely the Virgilian Sibyl (Verg. Aen. 6.50–1 adflata est numine … | iam propiore dei), as well as with the Lucanian Phemonoe (Luc. 5.161–77, 186–7 plena laborat | … Phoebo).⁷ The overall outcome of this mixture between experience of various mantic arts and visionary frenzy is that Calchas appears like a patchwork character, a ‘super-uates’, who combines in a single figure several traits of all the most famous epic and tragic prophets.⁸ However, this solemn portrayal ends up clashing with the content of the revelation itself, thereby producing a consequent sense of bathos (Achil. 1.524–37):⁹

tandem fessa tremens longis mugitibus ora

soluit, et oppositum uox eluctata furorem est:         525

‘quo rapis ingentem magni Chironis alumnum

femineis, Nerei, dolis? huc mitte: quid aufers?

non patiar: meus iste, meus. tu diua profundi?

et me Phoebus agit. latebris quibus abdere temptas

euersorem Asiae? uideo per Cycladas artas         530

attonitam et turpi quaerentem litora furto.

occidimus: placuit Lycomedis conscia tellus.

o scelus! en fluxae ueniunt in pectora uestes.

scinde, puer, scinde et timidae ne cede parenti.

ei mihi, raptus abit! quaenam haec procul improba uirgo?’         535

hic nutante gradu stetit amissisque furoris

uiribus ante ipsas tremefactus corruit aras.¹⁰

As previously mentioned, Calchas speaks in the name of the god (et me Phoebus agit, 1.529).¹¹ The prophet received his mantic art from Apollo (Hom. Il. 1.72), and in this sense he seems to be a proxy for the poet, who in the proem asked Apollo to give him new sources of poetic inspiration as well (da fontes mihi, Phoebe, nouos ac fronde secunda | necte comas, 1.9–10). Again, Calchas’ prophetic aim of discovering the hiding places (latebris, 1.529) where Thetis has sought to conceal her son overlaps with Statius’ poetic aim, namely to reveal the hero who is hidden (latentem, 1.5) at Scyros. Thus, Calchas, in his role of uates, is a figure of prophecy and poetic composition who is inspired by Apollo as patron of prophets and poets.¹² In this light, a passage which needs a close reading is the passage in which Calchas claims Achilles as his own: meus iste, meus (1.528). By these authoritative words, which echo the solemn style of the exclamation cried out to Apollo by the Sibyl, deus, ecce deus! at Verg. Aen. 6.46,¹³ the uates declares his intention to take Achilles away from his mother and make him join the ranks of the Greeks.¹⁴ However, given the ‘polyphonic’ arrangement of the revelation, Achilles is also meus to Calchas, because Apollo, who speaks through the voice of the uates, wants to ensure his control over the fulfilment of Achilles’ literary destiny. In this sense, the exclamation meus iste, meus makes complete sense if we consider that, from the Homeric tradition onwards, it is Apollo who is going to kill Achilles at the hands of Paris, and that, in knowing this, Apollo's claim might serve as an allusion to the destiny of the young hero in the Achilleid as well.¹⁵ Ultimately then, given that Achilles is the object of a poem inspired by Apollo, the divine voice claiming meus fades into the all-controlling voice of the inspired epic poet, who evokes the inescapable trajectory of his literary creation (that is, Achilles as well as the Achilleid) towards Troy.¹⁶

Calchas’ speech touches upon all the remarkable events which have been narrated at length in the previous account by the narrator, and even shows straightforward connections with it. For example, Calchas’ question to Thetis (latebris quibus abdere temptas, 1.529) closely reworks Protesilaus’ question (quibus abditus oris | quaue iubes tellure peti?, 1.505–6) and matches exactly the moment when Thetis, emerging from Chiron's cave, is pondering where to go with her son (quibus abdere terris | destinet, huc illuc diuisa mente uolutat, 1.199–200). But the content of the vision needs to be considered in light of the personal point of view of the seer as the interpreter of that same vision, without neglecting the limits and prejudices by which he is affected.

Let us examine the opening apostrophe to Thetis: quo rapis ingentem magni Chironis alumnum | femineis, Nerei, dolis? (1.526–7). The theme of the furtum is immediately announced through the reference to the abduction of Achilles (quo rapis)¹⁷ and to the female tricks (feminei … doli) Thetis resorted to in order to carry her son away from Chiron.¹⁸ This formulation also bears an allusion that helps to further explain Calchas’ mindset. First, the verb rapere referring to Thetis’ kidnapping of Achilles conjures up the traditional abduction of young women and the subsequent military expeditions they are unwittingly responsible for;¹⁹ after all, Helen's abduction is still fresh in the Greeks’ minds and is the very cause of their departure for Troy.²⁰ Second, the expression feminei doli activates sinister associations. This is, for example, the label by which Clytemnestra, who is planning a ‘greater crime’, designates the tragic deeds of unfaithful wives, nefarious stepmothers and women such as Medea at Sen. Ag. 116 tecum ipsa nunc euolue femineos dolos.²¹ It is immediately clear how Calchas’ vocabulary appears disproportionate to its real object. What Calchas calls feminei doli does not actually represent a case of mortal deceit with tragic effects, in the manner of Clytemnestra's feminei doli, as the prophet suspected. Thetis’ feminei doli are rather materni doli which just stem from the art of deception, that defensive strategy in which the goddess––since her Ovidian encounter with Peleus in Metamorphoses Book 11––proved to be well versed and which she now exploits to protect her son.²²

Calchas then moves on to the exposition of the vision proper (uideo, 1.530), which is made up of a sequence of ‘frames’, as it were. An interesting aspect of this section is the way in which Calchas depicts Thetis’ trip across the sea. He describes her as ‘searching for’ (quaerentem, 1.531) a place that can accommodate the turpe furtum.²³ It seems that Calchas, inspired by Apollo, envisages Thetis’ trip as the ignoble and debased version of another famous journey, one which is much more familiar to the god, namely the wanderings of Apollo's mother Latona who, after being unjustly refused, had to travel around the same islands in order to find a shelter to give birth.²⁴ It is tempting to trace a crypto-allusion to this mythical referent in the place name Cyclades. The Callimachean aition attested in the Hymn to Delos, indeed, suggests an etymological interplay between the name Cyclades and the fact that these islands gathered in a circle all around Delos, after the island had hosted Latona and had been anchored to the bottom of the sea: Ἀστερίη θυόεσσα, σὲ μὲν περί τ᾽ ἀμφί τε νῆσοι | κύκλον ἐποιήσαντο καὶ ὡς χορὸν ἀμφεβάλοντο (Callim. Hymn 4.300–1).²⁵ In this sense, then, the name Cyclades not only provides a set of geographic coordinates but also functions as a marker of mythical chronology: the landscape is reminiscent of its history and even in its topography it bears the vivid marks of its literary past.

The revelation goes on in the next section. Among all the islands of the Aegean Sea, Scyros is the final choice (placuit Lycomedis conscia tellus, 1.532). It comes as no surprise that, to Calchas, even the land which Thetis opted for seems itself to be an accomplice to the furtum. But in fact the juxtaposition of Lycomedis and conscia sounds somewhat like an antiphrasis, considering that King Lycomedes himself will later fall victim to that deceit. There is also something more to add here. Calchas, without even realizing it, is offering a longer-term prophecy: Scyros, which is henceforth considered to be conscia of Thetis’ furtum, will soon be conscia––according to the meaning of the adjective in erotic contexts²⁶—of another furtum, the furtum of love between Achilles and Deidamia.

Calchas then moves on to the cross-dressing scene in a characteristically selective style: o scelus! en fluxae ueniunt in pectora uestes (1.533). Everything is reduced to the single detail of the clothes (uestes, a word further emphasized by the alliteration of ue-): clothes that in the eyes of a Greek (but a Greek of quasi-Roman inflexibility) evoke first of all a trait of oriental effeminacy.²⁷ A similar expression, for instance, recurs at Luc. 8.367–8 illic et laxas uestes et fluxa uirorum | uelamenta uides, referring precisely to the clothes of men from Asia.²⁸ But the most disturbing and intolerable aspect of them in Calchas’ speech is that these uestes … ueniunt in pectora, they ‘come upon Achilles’ breast’, which is the symbolic shorthand for his strength.²⁹ That breast, which in the Homeric tradition used to be covered by the corslet or the shield,³⁰ is now to be concealed under female garments, in order to validate the new gender identity of the character. But when the deceit is over and Achilles suddenly turns into a great hero, the clothes will fall down by themselves and his breast will be uncovered again with a spectacular unveiling: illius intactae cecidere a pectore uestes, | iam clipeus breuiorque manu consumitur hasta | (mira fides) Ithacumque umeris excedere uisus | Aetolumque ducem (1.878–81).³¹ Let us compare the first line of this passage with line 533:

o scelus! en fluxae ueniunt in pectora uestes (1.533)

illius intactae cecidere a pectore uestes   (1.878)

The end of the two hexameters (in pectora uestes and a pectore uestes) and the matching opposition of the words depicting the garments (fluxae ueniunt and intactae cecidere) stage the circular mirroring of two key moments that visibly echo each other in the wider frame of the poem: the beginning and the end of the ‘masquerade’. Indeed, the whole story of Achilles’ disguise is the story of a dress––a female dress that carelessly shows off Achilles’ breast in the presence of the Greeks during the banquet at Lycomedes’ palace (nudataque pectora, 1.768),³² and that once again loosens at the trumpet blast, when the epic tuba announces by a coup de théâtre the end of the ‘comedy’ and the martial turn of the narrative (iam pectus amictu | laxabat, cum grande tuba sic iussus Agyrtes | insonuit, 1.874–6).³³

The revelation, right at the peak of its tension, suddenly ends with a question, leaving the major element in suspense: quaenam haec procul improba uirgo? (1.535). In the first instance, this riddle prompts us to reflect upon the multifaceted dynamics of focalization and the complex system of vision which is cleverly exploited by Statius in order to create an Ovidian ‘poetics of illusion’ which ensnares the reader (and the internal characters as well) in a play of conflicting perspectives.³⁴ In other words, the narrator designs a brilliant closure for a prophecy––one of Sibylline obscurity––that perfectly mimics, with its final flash, the fleeting uncertainty of the situation itself combined with the pleasant effect of theatricality and irony. In addition, this final question also aligns Calchas with many other prophets of the tradition, who often show a limited understanding of their own prophecies and lack clarity of expression,³⁵ as is clear in particular from the phrase quaenam … procul?.³⁶ Yet, while the ambiguity typically fits the oracular context, here it betrays a deeper difficulty of interpretation as well. Calchas himself either does not understand the last image of the vision or, if he does understand it, he does not reveal it in full. So, what does the seer mean by the expression improba uirgo? We cannot provide a definite answer. The problem is that improba uirgo wittily expresses the issue of sexual ambiguity, pointing exactly to one of the main paradoxes in the poem.³⁷ One possibility is that improba uirgo designates Deidamia, as has been suggested by the majority of scholars.³⁸ In this case, from the Greek viewpoint, Deidamia would be improba because she is the object of Achilles’ erotic desire and, therefore, she is responsible for Achilles remaining at Scyros and not joining the mustering troops.³⁹ However, it seems more likely to me that what Calchas sees and is unable (or unwilling) to name is not Deidamia but Achilles, who has seemingly left the stage after being abducted (raptus abit, 1.535) only to come back immediately afterwards in the guise of a uirgo.⁴⁰ But why should Achilles look like an improba uirgo in the eyes of the prophet?

We should keep in mind the context of the vision. From this perspective, improba probably hints at a physical trait of the body or the bearing that visibly looks unnatural at first sight, as well as at an air of boldness which is not befitting of a young lady.⁴¹ In this sense, the adjective improbus ⁴² is highly appropriate here, if we think that Achilles is stifling (albeit somewhat awkwardly) his own masculine nature in order to look like a real girl of refined manners, thereby accomplishing his mother's vow (sit uirgo pii Lycomedis Achilles, 1.396), but still remaining the boy who grew up in the wilds of Pelion and Ossa.⁴³ That Achilles has something strange in his physical appearance and demeanour is also demonstrated by the special attention which is paid to him by the maidens of Lycomedes’ court. In their eyes (notice the insistence on the sphere of visual perception), he appears to be a uirgo noua:⁴⁴ noua not only because she is the last one to join their group, but also because she is unusual and different from the other girls, as is clear from her height, her shoulders and, once again, her breast (quantumque umeros ac pectora fundat, 1.369). Lycomedes’ daughters (who denote a female, youthful and curious eye) see as nouitas what Calchas (a male voice of the epic-tragic tradition) sees as improbitas. After all, in this flowing continuity of literary chronologies, we should keep in mind that the Calchas of the Achilleid is the same prophet who appeared in Iliad Book 1, and who knew the martial Achilles of the Homeric narrative. This is the only Achilles he can imagine. Unsurprisingly, therefore, when talking of Achilles, Calchas is always looking at his standard representation of the epic hero who is destined for great achievements. First, he calls him ingentem magni Chironis alumnum (1.526);⁴⁵ then, with a proleptic glimpse of the future, he calls him euersorem Asiae (1.530).⁴⁶ As we can see, Calchas’ rigid, Homeric viewpoint is mirrored in his own rhetorical style. In this sense, his language follows in the footsteps of traditional epic vocabulary: the expression euersor Asiae, in particular, resounds with the echo of the Homeric epithet πτολίπορθος (‘sacking or wasting cities’)⁴⁷ and especially with the memory of Verg. Aen. 12.545 Priami regnorum euersor Achilles.

Moreover, Calchas’ attitude is to be considered not only as a self-standing manifesto of the Greeks’ heroic aspirations but also as an answer to the anti-epic threat of the female antagonist Thetis. Calchas’ awareness of the risk of Achilles’ deviation emerges clearly when he begs him to choose war and to reject the clothes and his anxious mother's wishes: scinde, puer, scinde et timidae ne cede parenti (1.534).⁴⁸ But no sooner has the seer delivered his warning than the young hero yields to the other side. In that exact moment, as if by magic, Thetis’ son disappears and then he comes back as Thetis’ daughter. This foretold metamorphosis is also sealed––as the reader can notice from his detached and amused perspective––by the ring composition between the first line (quo rapis ingentem magni Chironis alumnum?, 1.526) and the last line of the prophecy (ei mihi, raptus abit! quaenam haec procul improba uirgo?, 1.535).⁴⁹ The effect of Thetis’ abduction (rapis ~ raptus)––which is reflected in Achilles’ shift from Chironis alumnus to improba uirgo––is thus conveyed within the prophecy itself, but ironically the seer still seems to be too disturbed by the uncanny spectacle of the transformation to realize what has happened.

Since Calchas fails to acknowledge Achilles in cross-dress (or does not even dare to imagine such a scenario), he is ultimately exposed as being too tightly bound to outdated systems of interpretation that prevent him from reading the core of the vision correctly. In other words, Calchas is too one-dimensional in his role of interpreter. Perhaps the phrase fessa … ora (1.524), which referred to the seer struggling to convey the divine message, offers a subtle allusion to a tradition that is now exhausted and needs to be refreshed with a new perspective which will soon be provided by Ulysses’ versatile intuition and perceptive foresight, as is shown in his following speech and especially in the embassy at Scyros.⁵⁰

II. CALL TO AN EPIC LABOR

Calchas’ limited and defective sight will be supplemented by Ulysses’ insightful ‘eye’. Ulysses, in fact, is the only one who is able to fully decipher the vision by means of his cunning mind. His speech is actually delayed by Diomedes’ exhortation (Achil. 1.538–45):

tunc haerentem Ithacum Calydonius occupat heros:

‘nos uocat iste labor: neque enim comes ire recusem,

si tua cura trahat. licet ille sonantibus antris         540

Tethyos auersae gremioque prematur aquosi

Nereos, inuenies. tu tantum prouidus astu

tende animum uigilem fecundumque erige pectus:

non mihi quis uatum dubiis in casibus ausit

Fata uidere prior.’         545

In its essential traits, this scene harks back to the assembly preceding the famous Doloneia at Hom. Il. 10.218–53. But while in the Iliad it is Diomedes who chooses Ulysses as his companion (10.241–7), now––in a much more condensed scene––it is Diomedes who volunteers to be Ulysses’ wingman.⁵¹ Turning to Ulysses, who is still hesitant, Diomedes claims that a labor is summoning them; obviously, he could not refuse to undertake this mission at Ulysses’ side (neque enim comes ire recusem, 1.539).⁵² Diomedes thinks that he will have to face a fully fledged epic task, a sort of new Ulyssean journey to the end of the earth or, better, to the depths of the Ocean, in the caverns of Tethys and Nereus (sonantibus antris | Tethyos auersae gremioque … aquosi | Nereos, 1.540–2).⁵³ This image has no close parallels, but it possibly recalls, in its majestic tone, the Homeric scene in which Hera goes to visit the Halls of Ocean and Tethys.⁵⁴ Diomedes’ prediction is hyperbolic and counterfactual, but it outlines one of the possible alternative developments of the Achilleid itself, namely the proper mission that would have awaited the two heroes if the prophecy Thetis had falsely attributed to Proteus had been true (iubet … | Carpathius uates puerumque sub axe peracto | secretis lustrare fretis, ubi litora summa | Oceani et genitor tepet illabentibus astris | Pontus, 1.135–9).

Even though he is not really aware of the meaning of Calchas’ revelation, Diomedes is eager to entrust the leadership to Ulysses, because Ulysses is prouidus (1.542), that is, because he can foresee.⁵⁵ By making this remark, the Statian Diomedes subtly recalls the Homeric Diomedes, who wanted to find a companion because, when two go together, one ‘perceives before’ the other (σύν τε δύ᾽ ἐρχομένω καί τε πρὸ ὃ τοῦ ἐνόησεν | ὅππως κέρδος ἔῃ, Hom. Il. 10.224–5).⁵⁶ But being prouidus is typical of prophets as well: Calchas himself, for instance, is said to be ueri prouidus augur at Ov. Met. 12.18.⁵⁷ In this sense, therefore, when Diomedes claims that no prophet would dare to see the Fates before Ulysses (non mihi quis uatum … ausit | Fata uidere prior, 1.544–5), he is acknowledging the prouidus Ulysses as the only true and reliable uates. In addition, he establishes a symbolic succession and points out the need to switch from a traditional seer, Calchas, whom he deems inadequate, to a new, superior seer, Ulysses.⁵⁸ Ultimately, it is the foreseeing Ulysses (prouidus astu, 1.542), not the sightless and absent Calchas (caecus et absens, 1.517), who will first see and recognize the improba uirgo and then figure out how to reveal her own nature.

III. ULYSSES’ PLAN, OR HOW TO MAKE ACHILLES AN EPIC HERO

Ulysses’ reply to Diomedes represents his first intervention in the Achilleid. Hence, this passage deserves close attention since it potentially contains a programmatic agenda of the hero's intentions in the next section of the poem (Achil. 1.545–52):

subicit gauisus Vlixes:         545

‘sic deus omnipotens firmet, sic annuat illa

uirgo paterna tibi! sed me spes lubrica tardat:

grande quidem armatum castris inducere Achillem,

sed si Fata negent, quam foedum ac triste reuerti!

uota tamen Danaum non intemptata relinquam.         550

iamque adeo aut aderit mecum Peleius heros,

aut uerum penitus latet et sine Apolline Calchas.’

Despite his ostensible uncertainty, Ulysses appears self-confident and satisfied with Diomedes’ flattering appeal (gauisus, 1.545).⁵⁹ So, he wishes that Jupiter and Minerva could fulfil Diomedes’ purpose and support their common pursuit. By calling Minerva illa | uirgo paterna tibi (1.546–7), Ulysses bestows on Diomedes the special link that existed between the goddess and Diomedes’ father, Tydeus, as is well known from the tradition as well as from Statius’ own Thebaid.⁶⁰ But, of course, Minerva is also Ulysses’ tutelary deity, and this was one of the reasons why the Homeric Diomedes wanted Ulysses by his side (φιλεῖ δέ ἑ Παλλὰς Ἀθήνη, Hom. Il. 10.245).

Not without some hesitation, Ulysses declares his mission and comments upon it: grande quidem armatum castris inducere Achillem (1.548).⁶¹ Ulysses’ statement complies with the plans of the poet, who had himself already announced something similar in the proem: tota iuuenem deducere Troia (1.7), namely to bring Achilles to Troy and lead him all the way through the war.⁶² Ulysses’ words can thus be read, beyond their literal meaning, as an authorial remark: his military mission stands somehow as the equivalent of the literary mission of composing an epic war poem about Troy. The language is indeed characterized by a reflection on poetics. grande hints at the measure of an epos that is expected to ‘embrace’ the greatest hero of all, that hero whose uis festina, as Chiron said at Achil. 1.147–8, foreshadows nescio quid magnum.⁶³ In addition, grande points to the tension between the first part of the poem and the second, as does the Dulichian trumpet with which Agyrtes grande … | insonuit (1.875–6), thereby announcing the impending passage to the expected-to-be martial section.⁶⁴ In the Thebaid too, grande stands as a signpost to the climactic increase in the poetic agenda: when Tisiphone summons Megaera to rouse the brothers Eteocles and Polynices to their mortal combat, she claims that her plan is a ‘grand deed’ (grande opus, 11.100), thereby marking a narrative and poetic twist that, with a surge of tension, plunges the plot into the intimately tragic core of the poem.⁶⁵ Not only that, the adjective armatus (1.548) also guarantees that the Achilleid should be in line with traditional martial epic, that is, the epic of arma uirumque; and at the same time it ensures that the characterization of the young hero should be in tune with the Horatian recommendation according to which Achilles ‘should claim everything by force of arms’ (nihil non arroget armis, Hor. Ars P. 122).⁶⁶ In this programmatic reading of Ulysses’ statement, inducere (1.548) also gains renewed prominence, since it is also a technical verb to depict the staging process.⁶⁷

The choice of Ulysses as a mouthpiece of the most strictly epic issues of the poem could not be more adequate. Throughout the narrative, in fact, he is represented as the poetic repository of the Homeric tradition.⁶⁸ This is consistent with the ancient rhetorical tradition, in which it is Ulysses who most epitomizes the ‘grand style’ (in this case, the style appropriate to sing of Achilles in arms), of which the label grande at the beginning of line 548 is a clear assertion.⁶⁹

None the less, to bring Achilles into camp is an ambitious project which seems risky and no longer appealing.⁷⁰ This awareness is pointed out by a clear allusion to the very beginning of Ovid's Amores 2.18, as noted by A. Barchiesi (Am. 2.18.1–2):⁷¹

carmen ad iratum dum tu perducis Achillem

primaque iuratis induis arma uiris

The words used by Ovid to describe the poetry of his friend Macer, who practises the traditional (and quite exhausted) epic genre in the style of Homer and the Epic Cycle,⁷² now surface as a foil in the Statian line spoken by Ulysses (Achil. 1.548):

grande quidem armatum castris inducere Achillem

This allusive clue to the Ovidian criticism, on the one hand, problematizes the current difficulty in writing a traditional epic poem; on the other hand, it warns the reader about the novelty of Statius’ poetic project. Unlike Macer's iratus Achilles (the Homeric hero of μῆνις), Statius’ Achilles is armatus, not in the sense that he is already ‘in arms’ but rather in the sense that he is to be provided ‘with arms’. In other words, he is to be transformed into a real epic hero and possibly, given the sexual symbolism of arma, will thereby become a male in the proper sense.⁷³ Clearly, it turns out, there will be a return to the war epic but only through a new metamorphosis: from being a lover at Scyros to becoming a soldier at Troy. This shift is officially signalled by the ‘metamorphic’ adjective par excellence, mutatus, at Achil. 2.10.⁷⁴ After all, the destination––just like the corresponding poetic way to reach it––is clear: Achilles is to be brought to the castra, the military camp. None the less, if we keep in mind the elegiac intertext of Ovid's Amores 2.18, the epic word castra cannot but recall by contrast the castra of Love, the camp of the erotic battles to which Ovid wanted to draw Macer (si bene te noui, non bella libentius istis [sc. the love stories associated with the Trojan War] | dicis, et a uestris in mea castra uenis, 2.18.39–40).⁷⁵ Likewise, the court of Scyros, since it was suitable not for the battles of Mars but for the battles of Love,⁷⁶ has also determined the first deviation in the heroic career of Achilles in love.⁷⁷ The task of redirecting the young hero and, at the same time, of setting off the epic turn of the plot is now up to Ulysses.⁷⁸ He has to engage not only with a new endeavour but also with a new epic, which challenges the balance of internal tensions in the poem (the themes of love and war, as well as the mixture of different generic elements).⁷⁹ None the less, the grandeur of this pursuit is not devoid of uncertainties. Notice especially the use of expressions such as haerentem (1.538) and spes lubrica tardat (1.547). Once again, the reading is twofold: haerentem and tardat are reminiscent of the critical vocabulary of poetry making. The same verbs tellingly recur at Silu. 4.7, the lyric ode to Vibius Maximus, in which Statius, referring to the composition of the Achilleid, states that Apollo comes more sluggishly than usual (tardius … uenit, 4.7.22), and that his Achilles, namely his Achilleid, is stuck (haeret, 4.7.24) just after the first turn of the racecourse (Silu. 4.7.21–4):

torpor est nostris sine te Camenis,

tardius sueto uenit ipse Thymbrae

rector et primis meus ecce metis

haeret Achilles.

In this case, the delay formally depends on the absence of the patron who is the primary source of inspiration for the poet;⁸⁰ but the sense of compositional lethargy and stalemate might also outline his difficulty in arranging the new epic project. In the same way, Ulysses initially feels uncertain about his duty to set off the martial plot. Yet this is only a momentary (and perhaps artfully simulated) hesitation and soon the hero appears resolute in carrying out his mission: uota tamen Danaum non intemptata relinquam (1.550). These words sound once again like a programmatic statement exploiting the language of metapoetic reflection: to accomplish the vows of the Greeks means to accept the challenge of leading Achilles to Troy and, at the same time, provide the new subject of the poetic song––namely, to deal with a military as well as literary labor (to use Diomedes’ words) that has not yet been experienced. It is no coincidence that the litotes non intemptata contains the verb tempto, the same verb that Statius used to depict the newly undertaken process of writing the Achilleid in the authorial statement at Silu. 4.4.94 magnusque mihi temptatur Achilles.⁸¹ Moreover, tempto is frequently associated with the experimentation of new poetic paths, starting from the famous ‘proem in the middle’ at Verg. G. 3.8–9 temptanda uia est, qua me quoque possim | tollere humo uictorque uirum uolitare per ora.⁸² With reference to the literary activity, equally noteworthy for our comparison is the wording at Hor. Ars P. 285 nil intemptatum nostri liquere poetae.⁸³

Aware of these risks from a poetological dimension, Ulysses envisions the chance of a successful outcome (aderit mecum Peleius heros, 1.551),⁸⁴ as well as the possibility of failure in the event that uerum penitus latet et sine Apolline Calchas (1.552).⁸⁵ The possibility that Calchas is sine Apolline outlines the portrait of a fake seer, who is not truly possessed by the god and who is, therefore, devoid of prophetic inspiration.⁸⁶ But there is also a second level of interpretation: being without Apollo––the same Apollo that was invoked in the proem––also means suffering from a lack of poetic inspiration. A similar expression recurs in another passage from Silu. 5.3, in which Statius presents himself as still in need of poetic guidance from his dead father (Silu. 5.3.289–93):

somnique in imagine monstra

quae solitus. sic sacra Numae ritusque colendos         290

mitis Aricino dictabat nympha sub antro,

Scipio sic plenos Latio Ioue ducere somnos

creditur Ausoniis, sic non sine Apolline Sulla.

Taken at face value in the context of this simile in which Statius lists three examples of divine support, the reference to Apollo (non sine Apolline, 5.3.293) points to the fact that, before the Battle of the Colline Gate, Sulla appealed to the god for victory and kissed a golden image of him; in this sense, then, he was ‘not without Apollo’.⁸⁷ But Apollo's appearance in the last line of a poem dealing with issues of inspiration (and the temporary lack thereof) tellingly suggests poetry as well, and seals the carmen with a glimmer of hope for a future creative comeback.⁸⁸ Moreover, in both passages, sine Apolline recalls, albeit only formally, the standard expression sine te (or sine plus a proper name), which is typical not only of hymns to the gods but also of proemial contexts of request for poetic inspiration from a deity (or a patron).⁸⁹ If Calchas’ revelation is truly inspired by Apollo––that is, Calchas is not sine Apolline––then the project (understood as both military and literary) with which Ulysses has been entrusted as interpreter and executor of the message of the vision is also likely to prove successful. However, despite his doubts about the authenticity of Calchas’ divine inspiration, Ulysses is intimately aware that the first fundamental mission of the Achilleid ultimately depends on himself and the resources of his own human intelligence.

In conclusion, this section of the poem, through Calchas’ and Ulysses’ speeches, stages the interplay between two poetic voices, which belong to the same generic system, namely epic poetry, but diverge considerably from one another in their interpretative approach to reality within the narrative. On the one hand, Calchas appears to be closely bound to strictly traditional practices of prophetic art so that, in the new challenging context of the Achilleid, he conveys Apollo's divine message but then fails to interpret it in light of the complex dynamics of deceptions which stand at the heart of the plot. On the other hand, Ulysses, who has grasped the meaning of the revelation, outdoes Calchas, thereby presenting himself as the true uates and the leader of the upcoming expedition. But Ulysses’ plan bears signs of poetic self-reflexivity as well. So, his first intervention within the Achilleid functions as a kind of ‘poetic proem’:⁹⁰ through Ulysses’ promise not to leave the Greeks’ request for Achilles (the uota Danaum) unfulfilled, the poet reflects upon the difficulty of managing the epic, but, in the end, he reassures his readers about his loyalty to the epic programme declared in the opening of the poem––the awaited move from Scyros to Troy. In this light, if we imagine that everything that has been narrated up to this point represents a sort of ‘false start’ in terms of the epic plot,⁹¹ Ulysses’ speech also provides an ideal proem for the second part of the Achilleid, that is, the martial beginning. Ulysses pulls the strings of the plot and holds together two different sections (and dimensions) of the poem. Thanks to his epic identity as the polytropos hero and his experience of a great variety of generic situations––traits which seem tailored to the blended identity of the Achilleid itself––Ulysses proves that he is perfectly equipped for his poetic goal of unblocking the impasse of the Scyrian court and redirect Achilles onto his martial track.