The text of Valerius Flaccus’ Argonautica is known to be difficult, but since the Reference Liberman1997–Reference Liberman2002 revisionary edition by Liberman, little progress has been made in emending the poem; many readers (including Spaltenstein, in his magisterial Reference Spaltenstein2002–Reference Spaltenstein2005 commentary) have no doubt believed that he went too far in his suspicion of the paradosis. Although some of Liberman’s interventions are indeed less than ideal, my contention is that Valerius’ text remains full of corruptions, some of which have not been suspected before, while others have not been widely accepted as such because of a lack of compelling corrections. The following notes attempt to demonstrate this contention, by discussing some dozen passages from book 2 and offering some twenty new conjectures, as well as endorsing a few older ones; it should not, however, be assumed that these exhaust the difficulties of book 2.Footnote 1 Needless to say, some of the proposals are suggested more diffidently than others; their goal is not to be the last word on the passages in question, but to show that conjectural emendation is a tool with still unexhausted potential: in order to embrace a difficult transmitted reading wholeheartedly, the reader must weigh it against all possible alternatives, and this can only be achieved if such alternatives are formulated to begin with – even if only to be rejected. Besides Liberman (Reference Liberman1997) and Spaltenstein (Reference Spaltenstein2002) mentioned above, book 2 of Valerius’ Argonautica has dedicated commentaries by Harper Smith (Reference Harper Smith1987) and Poortvliet (Reference Poortvliet1991), and a rich collection of old conjectures is offered in Giarratano’s edition (Reference Giarratano1904): these have been the most useful tools, and are cited repeatedly. For each passage discussed, I first offer a version of the current vulgate (often a compromise between Ehlers Reference Ehlers1980 and Liberman Reference Liberman1997 when they disagree), accompanied by a minimal apparatus (γ is the common ancestor of the surviving manuscripts; ω is the common ancestor of γ and Carrion’s lost manuscript), as well as a more or less literal translation whose sole purpose is to suggest a possible construal of the printed text.
Argonautica 2.6, 7
Already Pelion, its highest ash-trees level with the sea, and, at an angle, the temple of Tisaean Diana drown; already Sciathus has disappeared in the sea, already the cape of Sepias has gone away.
The passage has three difficulties: (1) it is unclear whether mergunt is intended intransitively (a construal that suits the context better, but is not well paralleled) or transitively with the Argonauts as the implied subject; (2) the wording of 6 is ‘certainly not the most lucid of expressions’ (Poortvliet); (3) it is not easy to make sense of 7 obliqua.Footnote 2 To begin with the first difficulty, the verb may be protected by [Orph.] Arg. 460 Τισαίη [Pius: πισ(σ)- codd.] δ’ ἀπέκρυφθεν ἄκρη, and I am inclined to take templa as the subject; if the intransitive construal is objectionable, Samuelsson’s mergunt se is a viable option.Footnote 3 Next, the weakness of 6 lies not only in its syntactic complexity, but also in the redundancy of its phrasing, the notion of Pelion disappearing behind the horizon being conveyed twice, with fretis … aequatum and mergunt. It seems likely that aequatum conceals a finite verb of which Pelion is the subject, either aequauit (-auıt could easily be misread as -atū, possibly with the cross stroke of t being interpreted as a macron) or perhaps exaequat (prefixes being easily omitted, the remaining aequat could then be corrected to aequatum).Footnote 4 Given mergunt, one might prefer the present tense form, but Valerius is somewhat unpredictable in his use of tenses in narrative; besides, here the progression from the perfect to the present may be intended to convey the notion that these are subsequent occurrences: already Pelion has hidden behind the horizon, and Tisaeum is disappearing too. Finally, obliqua, which Poortvliet paraphrases: ‘out of the corners of their eyes the Argonauts see Diana’s temple sink below the horizon’; I have three objections.Footnote 5 First, though obliquus can indeed denote ‘sidelong’ glance when used with a term for ‘eye’ or ‘sight’, I am not convinced that it can mean ‘seen out of the corners of someone’s eye’ when defining the observed object (especially when there is no indication that the object is being observed to begin with). Second, used predicatively, obliqua ought to qualify mergunt, and since the verb implies vertical downward movement, the adjective should specify the object’s orientation relative to that line, not to some (imagined) observers. Third, the implication seems rather unrealistic in practical terms: for an elevation to disappear behind the horizon, the ship needs to be sailing away from it, not along it (one can of course imagine the ship turning just before the summit disappears, but it is rather doubtful that Valerius can be making such a specific point in so vague a way). Linguistically the most natural implication obliqua can have in our context is that Diana’s temple was like the Tower of Pisa, but since no other sources mention this temple, it is unlikely that Valerius’ audience could expect or understand such a reference. I think we need a standing epithet, and antiqua seems the obvious option (cf. Host. fr. 6.2 uiolabis templa antiqua, Hor. Sat. 2.2.104 templa ruunt antiqua deum, Ov. Fast. 1.223–4 nos quoque templa iuuant, quamuis antiqua probemus, | aurea).Footnote 6
Argonautica 2.35, 36
Already the Sun’s chariot is approaching the turning-post in the Atlantic and, having ascended, the reins are let loose on the sky’s downslope, when old Tethys raised her hands ready for embrace and the holy Sun made a splash as the sea parted.
A well-known difficulty is euectae at 35: modern editors and commentators are content to keep it in the sense of ‘having (first) ascended (to the zenith)’, but it is odd when used of habenae and rather belated after the reference to approaching the western horizon in the preceding line. Giarratano lists eiectae (Sabellicus), erectae (Pius), inuectae (Heinsius) and emeritae (Peerlkamp), but all are unparalleled and weak in sense.Footnote 7 I have thought of effetae ‘exhausted, worn-out’ (OLD s.v. effetus 3), but admittedly the adjective rarely denotes temporary rather than permanent ‘exhaustion’ (though note Stat. Theb. 6.873 flatibus alternis aegroque effetus hiatu), and the metonymy by which it would be used of the reins rather than the horses is rather bold (though, again, note Sen. Apoc. 2.4.1–2 iam medium curru Phoebus diuiserat orbem | et propior Nocti fessas quatiebat habenas). Given that the many attempts to find a palaeographically straightforward solution appear to have failed, we should be open to the possibility that euectae is not the result of a purely mechanical error (one might speculate that euectae prono was influenced by 32 iniectam fesso, occurring three lines earlier in the same metrical position), and that accordingly the original reading may not be close to it in ductus. As numerous parallels suggest (cf. e.g. Verg. Aen. 5.818 manibusque omnes effundit habenas), a suitable term would be effusae: as the Sun lets go of the reins, they become slack.Footnote 8 Now the main problem. Poortvliet seems to take the passage to be a typical case of cum inversum, comparing in particular Verg. Aen. 7.25–7 iamque rubescebat radiis mare et aethere ab alto | Aurora in roseis fulgebat lutea bigis, | cum uenti posuere, as well as, from Valerius, 3.417–21 iamque sopor mediis tellurem presserat horis | et circum tacito uolitabant somnia mundo, | cum uigil arcani speculatus tempora sacri | Ampycides petit aduersis Aesepia siluis | flumina and 4.58–61 iamque iter ad Teucros atque hospita moenia Troiae | flexerat Iliaci repetens promissa tyranni, | cum maesto Latona simul Dianaque uultu | ante Iouem stetit (he also cites 2.72–6, on which see below).Footnote 9 All three examples conform to the characteristic pattern of the cum inversum construction: the main and the subordinate clause refer to two unrelated but simultaneous occurrences.Footnote 10 By contrast, in our passage the two halves of the period narrate two consecutive stages of the same event; saying ‘the sun was approaching the horizon when it set’ sounds patently absurd. We need to write iam for cum at 36, to restore the same pattern as we encountered in 6–9 (for the corruption, cf. e.g. Ciris 513 quid enim cum [Heinsius: iam codd.] sedibus illi?). The scribe was no doubt misled by his familiarity with the cum inversum construction, which indeed often has a reference to the time of day in its main clause.
Argonautica 2.75
72 dubio … igne Baehrens: -os … -es γ || Pallantidis Parrhasius, -os Bury: Atlantidis γ
Already under the uncertain light of dawn in the east the field grows white and ferocious bears return from the vexed sheepfolds to the safety of their lairs and the shore sends a few birds out in the sea, when the first Sun rose over the top of Athos on his breathless steeds and spread the day all over the waters.
Liberman is undoubtedly right to follow Parrhasius (and Baehrens) in the restoration of 72, pace Harper Smith, Poortvliet and Spaltenstein.Footnote 11 First, when not used with a verb of motion, sub with the accusative can only mean ‘Just before (a point of time, event)’ (OLD s.v. 23), but ‘the light of the Pleiades’ does not refer to a specific moment. Second, it is doubtful that the position of the Pleiades in the sky can be used to specify the time of night, as it changes depending on the season.Footnote 12 This makes it even clearer that the cum inversum construction is as inapposite here as it is at 34–7: dawn and sunrise are not two simultaneous unrelated occurrences, but two consecutive stages of a single phenomenon. The remedy is the same: write iam for cum at 75. A somewhat trickier problem is presented by the second verb in the line, transmitted as exegit. Harper Smith, Poortvliet and Liberman defend it, taking it to mean ‘comes over the top of Athos’, but it is unlikely that it can convey such a meaning.Footnote 13 Spaltenstein sees in it a reference to Athos being ‘revealed’, but again the verb does not have such a sense, and in any event it is odd with instrumental equis.Footnote 14 The last point is also valid against Bury’s erexit (‘awoke’) and Langen’s accendit (‘lights’). I think Harper Smith, Poortvliet and Liberman are generally right about the required sense, but it must be obtained not by forcing the transmitted word, but by writing escendit instead: the verb is rare in poetry and often gets corrupted in the manuscripts, but is actually transmitted at 1.206 (for the verb used of climbing a mountain, cf. e.g. Liv. 36.30.3 Oetam escendit). One final observation: commentators seem unconcerned by 74 tuta, but it is odd, conveying as it does the notion that the bears are being threatened, which is inapposite (contrast esp. Ov. Met. 10.714–15 trepidumque et tuta petentem | trux aper insequitur, cited by Harper Smith); I think there is a good chance that Frieseman’s lustra is correct, restoring an echo of Verg. Aen. 3.647 lustra domosque.
Argonautica 2.100
Opposite stands the ever-cold altar of Venus, since the time when the goddess was terrified by her husband’s deserved wrath and Mars was caught by silent chains.
Homer tells us that the snares devised by Hephaestus were invisible (Od. 8.280–1 ἠύτ’ ἀράχνια λεπτά· τά γ’ οὔ κέ τις οὐδὲ ἴδοιτο, | οὐδὲ θεῶν μακάρων), whereas here they are referred to as ‘silent’. The usual approach is to interpret tacitae in the sense of OLD s.v. tacitus 8 ‘Hidden, concealed, secret’, but as Poortvliet rightly points out, this meaning is not quite applicable (the chains were not merely concealed, but invisible by nature), suggesting instead that Valerius may ‘simply mean that the chains made no sound’.Footnote 15 Perhaps; but tacitae would be an easy corruption for graciles (with [insular] g omitted by haplography after [e]t, and word-final s simply ignored, racile can look very similar to tacite), the term Ovid uses to render Homer’s λεπτά (Met. 4.176 graciles ex aere catenas).Footnote 16
Argonautica 2.167
As they meet each other, they tell and hear the same story, and none suspects its truthfulness. Then they fill the gods with shouts and complaints, next they give repeated kisses to the beds and even to the doorposts, and tarry again crying and looking.
What does it mean that the women ‘fill the gods’ with their complaints? Poortvliet compares 126 hanc super incendit Venus atque his uocibus implet, but there the verb means (if correct) something like ‘informs, gives detailed instructions’ (cf. Verg. Aen. 11.896–7 Turnum in siluis saeuissimus implet | nuntius); such a sense is not impossible in and of itself, but the notion that the women ‘fill in’ the gods on their misfortune is odd in the context.Footnote 17 Poortvliet also raises the possibility that deos is a metonymy for caelum, which seems far-fetched. I suggest deos is an error for domos: this produces a much more straightforward sense linguistically, and is also better contextualised, given that the women are preparing to leave their homes (note toris and postibus in the next line).Footnote 18
Argonautica 2.201, 202
Then in her fury she sends out again and again a strange cry through the scared air, with which first Athos and the sea and the huge Thracian marsh were terrified and likewise every mother in her own bed and at the stiffened breast the babies froze.
A well-known problem is palus at 202: a ‘Thracian marsh’ does not exist. Poortvliet, followed grudgingly by Spaltenstein, ascribes it to Valerius’ fantasy, which is a weak defence (Thrace is not some ultima Thule about which an ancient author could invent any sorts of fiction).Footnote 19 Liberman changes it to latus, construing ingens latus as apposition to Thraca, which produces a rather unconvincing text.Footnote 20 Harper Smith is no doubt right that a verb should be supplied instead: ‘The phrase needs a word meaning “tremble” or “fear”, forming the first and weakest member of the tricolon with exhorruit and riguerunt.’Footnote 21 Pierson’s pauet, however, is weak next to 200 pauidas and 204 Pauor, pace Harper Smith, while Madvig’s salit is inapposite, since salire is not used to express fear. I suggest the most straightforward option is tremit (for trembling caused by a voice, cf. Sen. Med. 739 mundus uocibus primis tremit, Luc. 5.364–5 tremuit saeua sub uoce minantis | uulgus iners, Sil. 11.72 uocumque tremit certamine templum); while it may not be impossible that tremit was omitted because of the homoearchon with T(h)raca, a likelier explanation is that palus originates as an error for pariter, probably abbreviated as parit’ (or some such) and read as palu’ (r → l, ıt → u).Footnote 22 This favours taking primus with all of the subjects of tremit (or whatever verb we restore), being then answered by pariter (likewise Harper Smith), but I find the notion that the landscape reacts to Venus’ shouting before its inhabitants whimsical (and in fact pariter, ‘At the same time, simultaneously’, OLD s.v. 4, may rather contradict such a reading). Courtney (who kept palus) construed it with Athos alone, suggesting that it should be followed by tum pontus; but again the temporal progression seems bizarre, and in fact since Venus is already on Lemnos (198), her shouts should first reach the sea and only then Athos, not the other way round.Footnote 23 I think primus is corrupt, though it is understandable why pulsus (Peerlkamp), pressus (Koestlin) or pronus (Hirschwaelder) do not appeal; I suggest summus.Footnote 24 Finally, I am worried by omnis: it adds nothing to mater (which anyway would naturally be taken as a collective singular), and in turn mater may be seen to restrict its potential scope. I believe ipsis would be much more pointed, one’s bed being the place where one is supposed to feel safe (cf. Luc. 10.374 crudelemque toris dominam mactemus in ipsis). Possibly omnis originates as an exegetical gloss intended to clarify that mater is a collective singular, though both omnis and ipsis being function words with an emphatic force, it is not impossible to imagine them being subconsciously confused in a more direct way.Footnote 25
Argonautica 2.212
The Venus herself undertakes a different and far more dreadful crime, as she fakes the groaning and crying of men being killed, bursts into homes and, carrying in her hand a throbbing head, her bosom smeared with fresh gore and her hair standing on end, (shouts): ‘Here I return, the first to have punished the guilty bed; behold, the day has come’.
Since there is no indication that the head is someone else’s, at first glance it appears that Venus is carrying her own gasping head – for some reason in her hand rather than on her neck (cf. 6.555 sanguinis ille globos effusaque uiscera gestat, and OLD s.v. gesto 5a); it is only from 214 ulta toros that the reader has to deduce that the head is that of her (or rather Dryope’s) husband, especially as this detail does not appear in any other accounts of the Lemnian massacre and may well be Valerius’ invention. A qualifier would be welcome for ora (cf. Luc. 9.137–8 gestata per urbem | ora ducis, Sil. 4.214–15 portans galeam atque inclusa perempti | ora uiri), and manu is entirely dispensable: the obvious option is uiri (for the collocation, cf. further e.g. 4.300 aduolat ora uiri). I cannot parallel the corruption, but the intrusion of manu can perhaps be explained as a ‘mental gloss’, gestare being often accompanied by manu (cf. e.g. Verg. Aen. 7.687–8 pars spicula gestat | bina manu).Footnote 26
Argonautica 2.220–3
They assail the entrances and the men once dear to them: some (assail) those who were drowsy with food and wine, just as they were; others, prepared even to engage hand-to-hand and with huge torches, (assail) those who were awake and saw everything, but fear prevents them from attempting to escape or taking up arms in defence.
The passage is tricky and rather more deeply corrupt than is usually realised. Let us begin with 221 ut erant: what is its point?Footnote 27 The closest parallel comes from Ov. Fast. 5.455–6 inde domum redeunt sub prima crepuscula maesti, | utque erat, in duro procubuere toro: the expectation is that one would prepare one’s bed before going to sleep, and the parenthesis stresses that this is not what happens.Footnote 28 In our context, however, the phrase is merely otiose, as there is no reasonable expectation that the women should not attack their husbands while they are asleep. Besides, though it is not impossible that inuadunt can be supplied here and in the following lines from 220, another explicit predicate would not be unwelcome; I suggest adeunt (ad → ut, eunt → erant), in the sense of OLD s.v. adeo 10d ‘to meet in battle, etc., engage, tackle’. My second concern is with 220 aditus ‘entrances’: its specificity is odd in the context, and it does not pair well with corpora (if the two objects implied two consecutive stages of the women’s attack, one could expect them to refer to the same class of thing, say ‘entrances’ and ‘bedrooms’; if they formed a hendiadys, the former term ought to refer to a place in which the men could be found).Footnote 29 Hence Meyncke’s artus, which, however, is merely tautologous with corpora. I suggest thalamos, picking up 215 in thalamos agit (‘she leads their assault on the bedrooms’ rather than ‘she leads them inside the bedrooms’); the corruption to aditus is not very straightforward, but 221 adeunt (if I am right to read it) could be responsible one way or another.Footnote 30 Now the main problem, the construal of 222–3. I see several issues with the current text. (1) The suggestion that there were only two groups of men, those asleep and those awake but unable to move, is contradicted by 237 effugiunt. (2) If 222–3 both concern the men unable to resist, then the emphasis (note etiam) on the fact that the corresponding group of women were prepared to fight is odd. (3) It is odd for this second group of men to be referred to with quosdam: these must be not just ‘some’ men, but all who were not asleep. (4) It is surprising to see the women attack the men with torches: torches do feature in the attack later on, but they are used to set the houses on fire, and it is yet another group of women who use them (235 aliae). (5) magnis is a pointless epithet for facibus, apparently unparalleled. To begin with the first three points, I think we must assume that there were three groups of men: those asleep (221), those prepared to fight (222, reading paratos with Heinsius) and those awake but stunned (223). If this is correct, we also need three groups of women: pars (221), pars (222) and – quaedam (223); cf. Ov. Met. 2.11–13 natas, quarum pars nare uidetur, | pars in mole sedens uirides siccare capillos, | pisce uehi quaedam. This leaves us with magnisque paratos | cum facibus, or actually magnosque, though it should be noted that the ending of magnos is probably due to harmonisation with paratos, just as it was later changed to magnis to agree with facibus. What can magnosque … cum facibus be concealing? Assuming -que is genuine, it is difficult to think of a plausible correction in which the host of -que were not coordinate with manus. What kind of word or expression could this have been? ‘To join hands and battle’ seems a reasonable hendiadys for ‘to join hands in battle’, and one line of approach would be to supply such a noun instead of cum facibus, while adjusting magnosque to agree with it. I cannot think of a suitable noun, and anyway the notion of the spouses fighting ‘great battles’ may sound parodic. The alternative is to replace magnosque with a noun, and pugnasque is an easy change (note already Koestlin’s pugnisque); for the hendiadys, cf. Sil. 8.14–15 finis pugnaque manuque | hauddum partus erat. It may be remotely possible to keep cum facibus, explaining that torches were the only kind of weapon at hand for the men to protect themselves with. I think it more likely that cum facibus is a corruption for coniugibus (abbreviated in the same way, con and cum are often confused, and after the misdivision, the truncated iugibus could easily be misread as facibus): some of the men were actually prepared to fight their wives. In sum:
They break into the bedrooms of the men once dear to them: some attack those who were drowsy with food and wine; some, those who were still prepared to engage in hand-to-hand fighting with their wives; others, those who were awake and saw everything.
Argonautica 2.349
Now Jason and Hypsipyle are seated in the middle, then the other heroes. While first hunger is being relieved with sacrificial meat, wine is passed around in bowls and the entire hall keeps silent. Next, the banquet having begun, they while the night away and keep on conversing till the small hours.
A well-known difficulty is coeptis at 349: what exactly does it mean? The most natural interpretation would be ‘once the banquet has started’, but this is merely repetitive after the actual description of how the banquet begins in the preceding lines, and is patently redundant next to mox.Footnote 31 Poortvliet (following Harper Smith) glosses dapibus with ‘the actual banquet’ (that is, as opposed to extis at 347), but it is quite doubtful that it can convey such a specific point by itself (the term’s first meaning is ‘sacrificial meal’, OLD s.v. daps 1).Footnote 32 Liberman adopts the early conjecture captis, but it hardly makes things better: a temporal ablative absolute is still ill-fitting next to mox, and the implication that the guests quickly consume the food in silence and only then start talking is odd (and it creates a narrative gap between prima fames and dapibus captis).Footnote 33 There is clearly contrast between 349 aula silet and 350 sermonibus, and so there should be contrast between sacris … extis and whatever dapibus coeptis conceals. What we need is not a participle but an adjective: festis (cf. e.g. Hor. Ep. 9.1 ad festas dapes, Tib. 2.1.81 ueni dapibus festis, Ov. Fast. 6.672 ad festas conuenit illa dapes, Stat. Theb. 5.191 festasque dapes; another possibility might be laetis, but the adjective seems unparalleled with daps).Footnote 34 This will also improve the text by equipping fallunt with a desirable instrumental ablative (cf. e.g. Prop. 1.3.41 purpureo fallebam stamine somnum, Ov. Met. 8.651 medias fallunt sermonibus horas).
Argonautica 2.407
Your ship could flee the harbour like this if the harsh Pleiades had detained you on the shore of unfriendly Thrace. Do we really owe the delay to the weather and the waves hindering your journey?
As Poortvliet comments, 407 tenentibus is ‘rather careless after tenuisset in the previous line’.Footnote 35 The possibility should at least be considered that it is an error for negantibus, cf. e.g. Verg. Aen. 7.8–9 nec candida cursus | luna negat, Ov. Met. 7.445 sedem negat ossibus unda (uetantibus is another potential option, but I cannot find good parallels).
Argonautica 2.435
A Jupiter-sent storm never dares to afflict the island with waves; the (local) god churns up the waters of his own accord then when he prevents faithless sailors from touching his shores.
Though not indispensable, an adversative particle would be welcome, while the emphatic tunc is otiose, especially as the corresponding cum follows it so closely. We should read tamen, which (no doubt abbreviated as tm̄) is often corrupted to tunc (tūc) in the manuscripts (see e.g. Cypr. Gall. Lev. 246, Alc. Avit. Carm. 2.14, 4.634, Anth. Lat. 286.65, 197).Footnote 36
Argonautica 2.517
Just as when Boreas rises from the valley of the icy Hebrus and sways along airborne clouds through the Rhipaean mountains (darkness then covers everything with a pitch-black sky), at the same time the beast advances its frightful mass and rocky back and draws near as a huge shadow.
As far as nox for nec is concerned, Thilo’s widely accepted conjecture seems certain, cf. 1.617 piceoque premit nox omnia caelo, but tum appears otiose.Footnote 37 What dum conceals is I suggest not tum, but (an abbreviation for) con misread as cum; we should read continet (OLD s.v. contineo 8?) or better contegit (cf. 1.279 contectus nubibus, Cic. Arat. fr. 34.204 caerulea contectus nube, Liv. 40.22.4 omnia contecta nebula erant).
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