Whenever I am going to the movies, and I find out (or already know) that the film I’m going to see is a remake, I inevitably rush out and try to find a video copy of the original, to try and see why it is that someone is redoing this story. Generally these remakes don’t work, in my view, at least when the original is considered a classic. Consider, for instance, The Big Sleep with Robert Mitchum – despite all the care that went into the film, and the good performance by Mr. Mitchum, it just lacked the passion and drive of the original. And I see now that there’s going to be a TV-remake of Carrie – I figure it’s doomed to failure. Truth be told, that’s something of the attitude with which I approached Valerius Flaccus’ Argonautica. After all, Apollonius Rhodius’ version, from the mid-3rd c. BCE, is pretty much the definitive version of the story, the one to which filmmakers and others refer. In reading the Roman remake (from c. 75 CE), I still feel closer to Apollonius’ version, but find that Valerius Flaccus, in the incomplete work we have, highlights dark undertones that Apollonius chooses to do little with in his version. And this darkness has a certain fascination.
Roman epic poetry is either a reworking of Greek mythological epic (Ovid’s Metamorphoses, Statius’ Thebaid and Achilleid, and the first Latin epic [from the 240’s BCE], a translation of Homer’s Odyssey) or historical (Ennius’ Annales, Silius Italicus’ Punica, and Lucan’s Pharsalia); Vergil’s Aeneid is a fascinating combination of both. The problem is that it was tricky business being a poet under the Roman Emperors, just as it was difficult being an artist under Stalin – there was always some uncertainty about one’s future if you tackled anything controversial or political. Ovid, for instance, was exiled for contributing to a decline in morality. Lucan’s sympathies with the Roman Republic (and therefore critical of Nero) was forced to commit suicide. So it is easy to understand that, like Statius’ work, the Argonautica begins with a recusatio (a polite refusal to write an epic poem concerning recent history). Statius claimed that he wasn’t up to the task of celebrating the Emperor Domitian, and so wrote the Thebaid, and presumably the Achilleid, as practice epics. Valerius, in his recusatio to the Emperor Vespasian (I, 7-20), notes that Vespasian and Titus’ military achievements are worthy of an epic, but that the young Domitian (soon to be emperor) has that epic well in hand. Vespasian is generally considered a moderate and fair emperor, as was his son, Titus, but one can’t be too careful in what one writes under an absolute ruler. It is not clear to me why Valerius chose this particular story to retell, except that it involves naval and military adventures of the Greeks in the East, which prefigures Roman control of the Mediterranean, and the exploits of Vespasian and Titus in the East.
The portrayal of the two tyrants (Jason’s uncle, Pelias, who sends him to retrieve the Fleece, and Aeetes, the King of Colchis, who tries to keep Jason from getting it) has a Roman feel about it. Romans maintained, even under the Emperors (at least the first dozen or so), that they believed in freedom, and they looked back fondly on the Republic, which had thrown out kings in favor of government under a strong Senate. Tyrants, always trying to hold onto power, despite what might be in the people’s best interests, are generally shown as somewhat horrific figures in Roman literature. The somewhat naïve Jason is cast as a contrast to these figures. When Aeetes promises the Fleece to Jason for his assistance in a war against his brother Perses, and then reneges, after Jason’s assistance helps to turn the tide in Aeetes’ favor, Jason is dumbfounded. In a rather peculiar simile, he’s compared to a Roman sailor who’s just about to sail up the Tiber river, only to suddenly find himself back off the North African coast – he’s completely befuddled (VII, 91-96). It is clear that Aeetes has no honor, and that Jason, though briefly at a loss, will prove victorious.
Pelias, about whom we learn little – Valerius expects his audience to know the background story – is shown to be crafty and dishonest too – he puts on a friendly face in dealing with Jason, when the young man comes to Iolchus to claim the throne. He suggests the Fleece expedition as a way to get great honor and to reclaim something that belongs to the family and to Iolchus, an effort he would take himself, but for his age. Though Jason is not taken in by Pelias’ words (after all, Pelias deposed Aeson, Jason’s father), he agrees to the expedition for his own reasons, fully expecting the gods’ aid in getting the prize. To keep Pelias honest, at least somewhat, Jason invites Pelias’ son, Acastus, to join the Argonauts. In doing so, he is following the Roman custom of hostages – as Rome came to control more real estate in the Mediterranean and beyond, it would invite (command rather) the sons of kings and princes of areas under Roman control to Rome, where they would learn about Rome and would help to cement relations between Rome and its territory. These guests were well treated, but they were still hostages – if there were troubles in the homeland, the lives of these young men would be forfeit. Of course, Pelias goes a step further, something Jason realizes only after he’s left – his father and mother still live in Iolchus, as does their younger child. Presumably because he’s a tyrant, Pelias plans to kill them as soon as Jason sets sail, only to have his plan foiled – Aeson and his wife commit suicide first (just like opponents of the Roman emperors). Given the high incidence of suicides under Nero (only a few years dead when Valerius began this work), it is possible that Pelias is supposed to recall that emperor, but I couldn’t help thinking, as I read this, that one’s position under any emperor is somewhat uncertain, and Vespasian’s son, Domitian, would prove quite as bad as Nero in this regard. Even though Apollonius also has Acastus as one of the Argonauts, the level of political intrigue and the whole idea of a hostage policy is very Roman.
The sense of political intrigue and political calculation in the work gives one a sense of unease – things don’t happen because they are just or right. Jason agrees to help Aeetes defeat his brother, Perses, to get the Fleece. And Juno and Minerva conspire to help Jason in his efforts, despite the clear sense the gods have that Perses’ cause is right, and that he will ultimately triumph. Jason may be fooled by Aeetes, and he may not see the incongruity in helping this tyrant defeat his brother to overthrow his uncle who had usurped the throne from Jason’s father, but the gods, who certainly do see the bigger picture, still allow injustice to take place, even though they realize that Aeetes is lying. In a scene that is supposed to recall the scene in Homer’s Iliad where Zeus tells the gods they may rejoin the fray, now that Achilles is back, Jupiter tells the gods at the end of Book V that they can get involved in the battle as much as they like, since the end is already determined. In other words, the gods can cause chaos, as the big picture will remain undisturbed – small consolation to all those who lose their life in that day’s battle, or those who must see justice forestalled. There is a strange disconnect between the actions of the Argonauts in Aeetes’ war and a realization of their support for an unjust cause, and that strangeness is made even greater in that the gods, who should know better, join in.
The main part of Apollonius’ Argonautica is the love story between Jason and Medea, which takes up most of Book III in a four-book epic. Alexandrian poets wrote a lot of love poetry, and the romantic side of the Argonautic expedition is paramount – we are supposed to be awed by the grand scope of the expedition, the fabulous places and people they encounter, their own great powers, and especially the love between Jason and Medea. Apollonius’ epic ends before Jason gets home (intentionally – he claims the scope of his work is the Argo’s expedition, which is over as soon as the Argo itself has come out of danger), so that his version remains somewhat upbeat. At the end of his work, Medea hasn’t killed Pelias yet (hasn't even met him), and she and Jason are still a happy couple. Valerius, in his version, is aware from the outset that doom hovers over the expedition. His Medea, though attracted to Jason, and that attraction is heightened by the help of Juno and Venus, still has doubts. She wishes that her father had killed them as soon as they arrived, instead of playing a game of cat and mouse with Jason. Then she wouldn’t find herself in such a fix. It requires considerable efforts on the part of Venus to bridle Medea and keep her fixated on Jason (VII, 214ff.). Other than an outburst of enthusiastic gratitude in which he invites Medea (VII, 550ff.)to join the Argonauts and return to Greece, one gets the sense that Jason is not really in love with Medea. He feels it would be wrong to leave her in Colchis, where her father might execute her for treason in helping the Argonauts, but there is no strong statement of love from Jason. When the Argonauts take it on the lam, and find themselves pursued by Aeetes’ forces, led by his son, Apsyrtus, the Argonauts all act rather unheroically in suggesting they give up Medea, so long as they can keep the Fleece (VIII, 368ff.). Even Jason has his doubts – only the fact that he has married Medea by that point keep him from going along with the suggestion (VIII, 382ff.). Medea, who already had serious doubts (VIII, 392ff.) that the relationship would last, is just about to begin her life of crime (she’ll help in the murder of her brother), hoping that guilt will bind Jason and her together.
It is Valerius’ sense of doom that pervades the work – the epic was presumably to be 12 books in length, of which we have only 7 and the first half of 8. It is thought that Valerius died before completing the work and so we have what he left (I wonder about that, as it seems just as likely that there were few enough copies of Valerius’ work, and that those final four books just didn’t survive transmission). At any rate, the work likely followed Jason and Medea all the way to Corinth, where Jason would jilt her in favor of the king’s daughter, and she would respond by killing the king, his daughter, and her own sons by Jason, before flying off to Athens. That end is always in Valerius’ mind as he tells the story, so that any protestations by Jason or Medea are read through the horrible finale. Though Apollonius’ audience knew the end, he chose to focus on the high adventure and romance of the expedition itself. Valerius chooses to read everything through the tragic end of the story, and it makes for a troubling tale – we can’t get swept up in the excitement of the narrative, as we’re always aware of how things will end – Valerius reminds us again and again. Even at the very beginning, before the expedition has begun, the prophet Mopsus, in a trance, shouts:
“Who is this woman?
Why is she dreadfully covered in blood? She flies through the air
Drawn by winged dragons and waving a bloodied sword!
Jason, save your children, snatch them away to safety…
I see a bridal chamber consumed in flames …”(I, 256-260)
If the other prophet on board, Idmon, didn’t pick up the prophecy at this point and emphasize the good, one wonders if the Argonauts would even have gone on their expedition. Mopsus, later, during the wedding ceremony for Jason and Medea, is the only one who sees the bad omens and realizes that the union will not last. Just as I cannot think of Dallas without thinking of the Kennedy assassination, it seems a Roman author, looking on the myth of the Argo’s expedition, cannot see it, except through the lens of its horrible conclusion. It makes some sense that Valerius would so view it. Prior to his epic, the two chief Latin works on this story were Ovid’s tragedy, Medea, and Seneca’s tragedy, Medea – based on Euripides’ version. Ovid’s version has not survived, but Roman authors who comment on it suggest it was one of Ovid’s greatest works. Both tragedies, like Euripides’ play, focus on Medea, who has done all sorts of horrible things for Jason, is cut off from her home, and is hovering on the edge of madness when he decides to toss her over for a new skirt – before the play is over, Medea has killed four, including her own sons. For all three playwrights, Medea is the strange Eastern woman, alien to Greek or Roman mores, but who is still a pitiable figure. If her crimes are over the top, the anger of a jilted woman seems justified. And that seems to be where Valerius is headed – his Medea is not even on the radar screen for the Argonauts when they begin, but she will be the one who will make it possible for Jason to succeed, and later, who will bring that success crashing down on Jason’s head.
What Valerius adds to the depiction of Medea, at least in the few books we have featuring Medea, is an emphasis on her youth, shown in the teenage idolizing of Jason, and her great uncertainty (which seems to be a feature of teenage romance). She is all giddy when Venus visits her as Circe in Book VII, eager to know all she can learn about this handsome hero, wondering if love between them is possible. She is deeply pained when she has to choose between father and lover, when she faces leaving home for good. Apollonius’ Medea was also young (women generally were married by 16, often younger), but we don’t get that same sense of girlish excitement. Valerius’ portrayal of Medea emphasizes her youth (she seems modeled on Italian girls Valerius himself might have known), and we sense the betrayal of Medea, by the gods, by the Argonauts, and by Jason, as most callous and cruel. What they all fail to realize is that this is a girl who is also a great witch, and when she becomes frightened or angry, there’ll be hell to pay (rather like Willow in last season’s Buffy the Vampire Slayer).
Valerius’ depiction of Jason, though, is very uneven, and not, it seems, a particularly masterly portrayal. At times he is quite heroic – he does Aeetes’ tasks with Medea’s help, but they require quite a bit of him too. Mostly, though, he is filled with self doubt, and he seems generally to be a step behind his opponents. He thinks he has Pelias by bringing Acastus on board as a hostage, only later to realize that his parents are still in Iolchus. He is entirely taken in by Aeetes at first and eagerly joins his war with Perses, only to be totally befuddled by Aeetes’ refusal to hand over the Fleece. He’s the first to cry out when the ship runs into trouble (I, 686ff.), and though all the Argonauts express fear, he seems to do it the loudest and most prominently. It is possible that such was Valerius’ intention, to show us a young man really over his head in the hero business, but with some heroic qualities. If so, Valerius has succeeded, but it makes for a work without a center we can focus on.
It may be that such is an inherent difficulty with “team” works. As a big fan of comic book teams (from the Avengers and X-Men to the Justice League and Legion of Super-Heroes), I was always drawn to this “team” adventure, especially as so many of the heroes had special powers, which made them rather like the superhero teams of my youth. But with any such adventure, it is difficult to find a dramatic center and chief focus for our attention. Homer succeeded in his Iliad that has many great heroes other than Achilles, though it is Achilles’ wrath and its consequences that provide the structure to the work and give it is greatness. Even Vergil’s Aeneid has a great supporting cast behind the hero, Aeneas, though his efforts remain the chief focus. Here we don’t have an Achilles, an Odysseus, or even an Aeneas, in Jason. And there are so many other heroes and characters they encounter that little time is given to any of them. Orpheus becomes little more than a singer/songwriter here. And the heroes who have a featured role, have that role only for a brief time – Zetes and Calais follow the Harpies, Mopsus and Idmon prophesy a couple of times, Pollux wins a boxing match, Castor displays his great equestrian talents, Telamon remains loyal to Hercules, and so forth. Only Hercules gets much attention. And he does have a greater role than in Apollonius’ work. There Hercules did nothing remarkable, but in this work, he saves Laomedon’s daughter from a great sea monster (one of Hercules’ great adventures, but not usually connected to the Argo expedition). Even after he leaves the expedition (or is left behind), he continues to appear off to the side. When the heroes are sailing, they can see the Caucasus mountains in the distance and see a great avalanche – they don’t know that the avalanche was caused by Hercules when he rescued Prometheus, and he was unaware that his friends were nearby. They see the eagle who had been devouring Prometheus’ liver fall, shot by an arrow, but don’t connect it to Hercules. This side adventure adds nothing to the story of the Argonauts, and one has a sense that Valerius may have been trying to pad his work (turning a 4 book epic into an 12 book work would require some padding), but he does do it with great style, and when Hercules is center stage, Valerius’ work has some of the feel of great adventure in Apollonius’ work. It is unfortunate, though, that we have no sense of Hercules as a person. Even though he has great scenes, we don’t get any closer to Hercules. And most of the time, he’s just one of the Argonauts, the back-up to Jason, who is not that interesting a character.
In conclusion, the work succeeds in its poetic effects, in creating a sense of doom and foreboding that permeates the epic. One gets a great sense as well, I think, of what it was like to be prominent in the Roman Empire, where one might earn great glory, but also an early death if one upset the Emperor. It does not succeed in grabbing our attention or keeping our interest in the characters. Only Medea is particularly interesting, and she doesn’t enter the scene until the final third of the eight books we have. Until then, we are left with the cipher Jason and the lightly sketched Argonauts.