been made endurable as a subject for narrative poetry. But such self-restraint was foreign alike to the ambition of the poet and to the taste of his age. Statius appears to have been drawn to the subject, not in spite but in consequence of the features which would have repelled a sounder and more chastened judgment. He wished to produce what, in language with which the somewhat kindred experience of our own time has made us familiar, would be called a work of the "sensation" school; and in the choice of means towards his end, he certainly showed himself not injudicious. It is of this poem that we intend to speak for the rest of the present article. We shall give a critical account in detail of the conduct of the story; we shall indicate more briefly the principal characteristics of the poet's style; and we shall mention one special point which may seem to entitle him to the praise of incidental success, even though the final verdict should be, as we fear it will be, that the poem, as a whole, is an elaborate failure. The Thebaid is contained in twelve books, the number which the Æneid had made classical; and the average content of each is about the same as the average content of the several books of the Æneid. But it is made clear at the very outset, that the spirit of Statius is not quite the same as the spirit of Virgil. Instead of the modest "cano" with which Virgil informs us of the subject of his song, we are told that Pierian inspiration impels the poet to sing of the strife of the brothers and the guilt of Thebes. He asks rhetorically where he shall commence ; whether from the very first, the rape of Europa and the voyage of Cadmus ; and concludes that such a starting-place would be too far off, and that he had better confine himself to the family of Edipus. He invokes his Cæsar, Domitian, remembering that Virgil had invoked Augustus, but apparently forgetting that it was at the outset, not of the Eneid, but of the Georgics; and then, after another rhetorical inquiry, which of the invading heroes he shall sing first, plunges into his subject. In the true vein of Seneca, he introduces us at once to the blind Edipus, who, in the depth of his solitude at Thebes, raises the empty sockets of his eyes to heaven, strikes the ground with bloody hands, and implores the Queen of the Furies, by the recollection of his former deeds of horror, to avenge him on his undutiful children, and urge their congenial minds to some crime great enough to gladden their father. The Fury, to the loathsomeness of whose personal appearance full justice is done, makes her way to Thebes, and induces the two young kings to agree to a compact that they should reign alternately, the outgoing king leaving the country at the end of his year. Thebes, we are told, The First and Second Books. 149 is but a poor kingdom,1 yet the lust of sway is as strong in the two brothers as if they were striving for the empire of the world. Eteocles is the first to reign. The people feel some discontent at the arrangement, which they think, not without reason, has been made for the advantage of the brothers more than for their own. Jupiter calls a council, and announces his intention of taking vengeance on the two royal houses of Thebes and Argos for a long series of crimes. Juno puts in a word for Argos, but is sternly overruled, and Mercury is sent down to raise the ghost of Laius, who is to incite Eteocles to break the compact. Meantime Polynices, being excluded by the terms of the compact from Thebes, resolves, for some reason unknown, to visit Argos. He is represented as a veritable exile, without any companion to share his journey, which turns out to be an exceedingly rough one, through rain, wind, and thunder. He finds his way to the palace of Adrastus, the king of Argos, and has just taken shelter in the vestibule, when he is interrupted by another traveller in a similar plight. This is Tydeus, who has had to leave his own home, Calydon, for having killed his brother. The strangers fight with fists, attempt to gouge each other, and would have drawn their swords if the noise had not awakened Adrastus, who separates them, takes them into his house, and entertains them. It is the night of a festival to Apollo, the institution of which is related by Adrastus in a long story, obviously modelled on Evander's narrative of the death of Cacus. A hymn to the great Sun-God concludes the book. While this is going on, Laius is being conducted to earth by Mercury, not without envious gibes from his brother shades, who solace themselves with thinking that he will like his underground dwelling less for having been allowed a glimpse of daylight. On reaching Thebes, he takes the form of Tiresias, and appears to Eteocles in a vision, at the end of which he makes himself known. The scene then changes to Argos again. The morning after the storm, Adrastus makes a speech to his guests, and offers them respectively the hands of his two daughters, whom they had seen at the banquet of the previous night. They accept with thankfulness, and the double nuptials are celebrated with great pomp, which is, however, marred by one bad omen, the fall of a heavy shield from the roof of the temple of Pallas, just as the brides-elect are entering it by torchlight. The wedding festivities over, Polynices begins to sigh for Thebes; and eventually it is agreed that Tydeus, who has now come to be his firmest friend, should undertake the office of ambassador to Eteocles, and remind him that the year of royalty has expired. 1 "Pugna est de paupere regno" (Book 1. 151), one of the very few expressions in Statius that have become in any way proverbial. This duty he discharges in a speech which might have ruffled a more accommodating temper than that with which he has to deal. The king refuses to abdicate, basing his resolution on public grounds, as a change of rulers must be a bad thing for the nation; the ambassador breaks into a fury, denounces war, captivity, and death, and so leaves the presence. Eteocles determines to avenge himself on his audacious visitor, and posts fifty men in ambush along the road by which Tydeus has to travel. And now the poet has got his opportunity, and he uses it unsparingly. The scene is appropriate to a deed of impiety, being a defile overlooked by a rock, a place where the Sphinx once sat and tore her victims, and which cattle, and even birds of ill omen, avoid with horror. Tydeus is surprised by a dart, which strikes him, but does not draw blood; he vehemently calls on his adversaries to show themselves, springs on the fatal rock, and from that vantage-ground attacks the enemy with a fragment of stone, crushing four and making the rest retire. He comes down from the rock, and they soon assail him again; but he is more than a match for them; he keeps them off with his sword, receives their spears on his shield, and hurls the weapons back with deadly effect. Finally, he stands like Ulysses after the slaughter of the suitors, with all slain but a few unnerved wretches, who vainly beg for life, or attempt a feeble resistance. One of these, who happened to be innocent, is spared at the instance of Pallas, and sent back to Thebes to tell the tale. The conqueror ends the book with another hymn of praise, which this time is to Pallas. The Third Book brings us back to Eteocles, who has passed a restless night, wondering that he does not hear of the death of Tydeus. In due time the unhappy survivor arrives, tells his tale, inveighs against his wicked master, and ends by stabbing himself. Eteocles refuses him burial; and the poet, with that zeal for freedom which so curiously characterizes the courtiers of imperial Rome, delivers an enthusiastic eulogy on the man who dares boldly to confront a tyrant. The bodies of the other ambuscaders are brought home and buried, and there is more free speaking against Eteocles. Jupiter has been watching what has happened, and, apparently thinking that Argos and Thebes are not sufficiently likely to quarrel already, sends for Mars, and bids him pay a visit to the Argives. Venus stops her lover as he is going, and pleads her affection for Thebes; he reassures her by a rough caress, hurting her, we are told, against his shield, and says that Fate must have its way, but that when the war has begun, he will bear hardly on Argos. And now we are called back to Tydeus, who reaches his fatherin-law's home, and finding a council assembled, urges an imme The Third and Fourth Books. 151 diate march on Thebes; to which Adrastus replies that he will think about it. After a week's deliberation, the Argive king resolves to find out the will of Heaven, and consults two prophets, Melampus and Amphiaraus. They agree to observe the flight of birds, and after a prayer to Jupiter, which reads like a philosophical apology for the practice of augury, are at last rewarded by an omen. They see an innumerable multitude of swans, which from their peaceful appearance they conclude to symbolize Thebes; these are attacked by seven eagles, of course the seven Argive chiefs, which in their turn meet with mysterious fates of various kinds, corresponding to the fates which actually await the doomed warriors. Statius, elsewhere minute even to tediousness, is here obscure and brief; he indemnifies us, however, by denouncing in his own person the passion for prying into futurity. Amphiaraus, being one of the seven intended chiefs, has discovered his own fate; and now, instead of telling what he knows, he buries himself in gloomy privacy, and keeps silence for twelve days. The war-fever rises, and Capaneus, one of the Argive magnates, threatens the augur, and throws contempt on his act. On this he speaks, and in terms which, though somewhat enigmatical, clearly announces coming ruin, warns his hearers to abandon the expedition. Capaneus retorts in a speech, where, by a happy inconsistency of impiety, the gods are alternately blasphemed and denied, and carries the people with him. Argia, the wife of Polynices, pays a midnight visit to her father, and presses on him her husband's claims. He soothes her, and the book closes. At the opening of the Fourth Book we find that a second year has been spent in preparation, and that the expected day has come at last. The seven chiefs are recounted in order, Adrastus himself, Polynices, Tydeus, Hippomedon, Capaneus, Amphiaraus, Parthenopaus; some of them apparently leaders of independent contingents, others appointed to command tribes subject to the Argive crown. One or two incidents occur:--Eriphyle, the wife of Amphiaraus, is bribed by a fatal necklace, the property of the princess Argia, to induce her husband to join the army; Atalanta, the mother of Parthenopaus, parts with her son in words which show that she does not expect to see him again. The scene shifts, and we are at Thebes, which has already heard the rumour of invasion. As at Argos, there is a wish to explore the future; and the blind Tiresias and his daughter Manto perform magical rites. At last the infernal world opens, and Manto is proceeding to describe the commonplace features of it for her father's benefit, when he tells her that he knows them already, and bids her concentrate her attention on the spirits of Argos and Thebes. These accordingly pass in a somewhat tedious review, when Tiresias, finding that a kind of second-sight is given to him, singles out the ghost of Laius, and by a mixture of threatening and encouragement extorts the information that Thebes will conquer, that Polynices will not gain the throne, and that Edipus will have his will. We leave the invaded, and return to the invaders, who are on their march through the forest of Nemea. Bacchus, the patron of Thebes, resolves to trouble them, and prevails on the nymphs of the spot to dry up the rivers. Burning with thirst, in their wanderings they meet with Hypsipyle, the nurse of the child of Lycurgus, the king of the country, and are guided by her to a small stream which is still flowing. Upon this they throw themselves pell-mell, struggling for the water with a fury like that of an army in action, and continuing to drink when it is already foul and muddy. Again the book is ended by a sort of hymn, which on this occasion is addressed to the god of the stream, by one of the chiefs from the middle of the water.1 The Fifth Book contributes but little to the progress of the poem. Adrastus, wishing to show his interest in the benefactress of his army, asks Hypsipyle who she is, and hears a story in reply which occupies no less than 450 lines, more than half the book. She was a noble lady of Lemnos, and was living there with her father Thoas, when Venus, deeming herself neglected by the Lemnian women, made them first estrange themselves from their husbands, and finally resolve to slaughter the whole male population,-a resolution which they accomplished on the occasion of their husbands returning from an expedition against Thrace. Hypsipyle saved her father, who escaped to Chios, under the guidance of his father, Bacchus ; but this act of splendid mendacity was not known, and the Lemnian ladies made her their queen. They were beginning to repent of their crime, when they were visited by the Argonauts, whom they first attempted to repulse, but finally fell in love with, Hypsipyle herself becoming the mother of twins by Jason. With the spring the Argonauts left them, and about the same time news arrived that Hypsipyle's father was alive. She fled, but fell in with pirates, who sold her to the master whose child she now nurses. This lengthy and irrelevant tale is told, like the story of the Thebaid itself, with much rhetorical indirectness; a good deal of effort is required to follow it; and whether it tired the hearers or no, it certainly tires the readers. 1 There is a difficult line in this part (v. 829), which is not cleared up by such commentators as we have been able to consult : : "Hac sævisse tenus populorum incepta tuorum Read "in cœpta,” and all will be plain. |