Between the Sheets
Reading the Coverlet as Comics in
Catullus 64
Natalie J. Swain
Abstract: In Catullus’ longest poem, 64, written in the 1st
century BCE, the Roman poet makes use of a particular innovation of ancient epic: ekphrasis, or the literary description of an artistic object. Appearing midway through the poem, almost half of the text is dedicated to the description of a bedspread which depicts the abandonment of Ariadne by Theseus and her eventual marriage to Bacchus. Linked by some scholars to the sound, movement, and temporality of the poem, the narrative progression of Catullus’ ekphrasis in 64 is unique among ancient examples of ekphrasis and is difficult to reconcile with what is purportedly a single, still image. Comics, too, thrive on the demonstration of sound, movement, and temporality within (a series of) still images, all of which work together to impart a narrative. Here Swain examines the coverlet of Catullus 64 through the perspective of comics, demonstrating how this poem evokes temporal progression, demonstrates movement, and conjures sound in an ostensibly silent image. By examining Catullus’ ekphrasis with techniques apparent in modern comics, we will further expand our appreciation of Catullus’ visual storytelling.
Key words: Catullus, ekphrasis, comics, Ariadne
Résumé : Dans le poème 64, le plus long de Catulle, écrit au 1er
siècle avant JC, le poète latin utilise une innovation de la poésie épique ancienne, l’ekphrasis, ou la description littéraire d’un objet artistique. Celle-ci apparaît au milieu du poème et presque la moitié du texte est dédiée à la description d’un drap de lit qui montre l’abandon d’Ariane par Thésée et son mariage avec Bacchus. Si certaines recherches l’ont rattachée aux sonorités, au mouvement et à la temporalité du poème de Catulle, cette progression narrative de l’ekphrasis de 64, unique dans l’Antiquité, est difficile à concilier avec ce qui est censé être une seule image fixe. La bande dessinée se développe également sur la manifestation du son, du mouvement et de la temporalité dans des images fixes qui fonctionnent ensemble pour transmettre un récit. Cet article met en perspective le drap de lit du poème 64 de Catulle avec la bande-dessinée, montrant comment le texte évoque la progression temporelle, donne à voir le mouvement et convoque le son dans une image qui reste ostensiblement silencieuse. En examinant cette ekphrasis latine avec les outils d’analyse de la bande dessinée moderne, il s’agit d’élargir notre compréhension de la narration visuelle chez Catulle.
Written in the 1st
century BCE, Catullus’ poetry was in part a response to the many poetic innovations in Greek and Hellenistic literature. In 64, his longest poem, Catullus makes use of one of these innovations common to ancient epic, specifically ekphrasis, the literary description of an artistic object, which first appears in Homer’s Iliad. Yet Catullus 64 is far more than just a description of a piece of art. Instead, it recounts the marriage celebrations for Thetis and Peleus, the mythological parents of Achilles at which many of the Greek and Roman gods appear in attendance. The ekphrasis comes midway through the poem, with 216 of the poem’s 408 verses dedicated to a description of the bedspread that has been gifted to the couple. This marital bedspread depicts the abandonment of Ariadne by Theseus and her subsequent terror as she wanders the island alone. The mythological future king of Athens, Theseus travelled to Crete in order to put an end to the ongoing sacrifice of Athens’ youth to the Minotaur. Ariadne, a daughter of the Minoan king, falls in love with Theseus and helps him by giving him a ball of thread with which he can navigate the labyrinth once he has defeated the Minotaur; on his survival, the two escape Crete together,
before arriving on a small island1
. While there, the forgetful Theseus abandons Ariadne alone, where she is discovered by the god, Bacchus.
Unlike other examples of ancient ekphrasis, Catullus’ account of Ariadne’s abandonment as it appears on the coverlet is distinctly narrative, something that is difficult to reconcile with what is purportedly a single, still image. However, to quote Groensteen: “a single image can evoke a story, but… this does not mean that it tells one” (2013, 23). Catullus’ description of the bedspread certainly tells a story, yet Catullus verbally frames it as a work of art (64.50-51; 64.265-66) and frequently evokes the gaze both of characters within
the ekphrasis, and of the reader themselves to remind us of this fact2. Thus the ekphrasis of Catullus 64 is
unusual in its narrative content and has seen its fair share of study, with scholars attempting to reconcile the overt artistic setting with the apparent digressions from artistic description that imbues
the ekphrasis with narrative3
. Laird breaks this down, explaining that:
The ecphrasis in 64 invites and highlights comparison between verbal and pictorial communications, even more than ecphrases usually do. Sound, movement and temporality are characteristically open to verbal narrative, but closed to visual media (21).
This is remarkably similar to comics, which thrive on the demonstration of “sound, movement and temporality” through a visual medium, all of which are employed to impart a narrative. Therefore, if the ekphrastic opening of the coverlet’s description encourages the reader to consider this section as a piece of narrative art, by examining this art as a series of sequential images we gain a new appreciation of the narrative dynamics within the text. Thus I will demonstrate how Catullus in 64 creates ekphrasis which is capable of evoking temporal progress despite the suspension of action in a visual image, demonstrating movement in a fundamentally stationary text, and conjuring sound effects that highlight the aural elements of a silent poem. By approaching the sound, movement, and temporal progression in Catullus 64 through the lens of comics theory, I will seek to expand our appreciation of Catullus’ visual storytelling which makes use of a variety of narrative devices common to modern comics and help to transform this ekphrasis into a piece of narrative art.
This is not to say that Catullus particularly intended his ekphrasis to be read as a modern comic; there are no speech bubbles, no motion lines, no physical gutters (the space between comics panels). Yet there was
1 Although Naxos is the island usually associated with Ariadne’s abandonment by Theseus, here Catullus gives the island’s name
as “Dia” (64.52 and 64.121), and its description in Catullus 64 as a small and deserted island stands in contrast to Naxos.
2 As discussed by Elsner “Viewing Ariadne” and Roman Eyes 67-73. 3 See Laird, O’Connell, Rees, and Thomson, among others.
certainly an ancient precedent for the use of sequential imagery in retelling Theseus’ story, with the labours of Theseus appearing as a common motif on fifth-century Attic bowls and frequently featuring the encounter with the Minotaur in pride of place (Arafat). Moreover, as Elsner discusses in “Viewing Ariadne”, there is a distinct similarity in the focus on the gaze in Catullus 64 and presentations of Ariadne’s abandonment in mythological friezes found in ancient Pompeii. Although many of the surviving visual examples post-date Catullus’ writing (dating from the first century CE), the viewing of these images was dictated by their
positions within the house, implying and applying a sequential reading to a visitor witnessing them4
. Thus, for all that Catullus could not have envisioned this ekphrasis as a modern comic, there are precedents in ancient art for sequential visual readings, both in terms of the Labours of Theseus from fifth century Athens and in imperial Rome, which may have both influenced and been influenced by Catullus and
his ekphrasis in 645
.
1. Time Travel
The temporal progression of Catullus’ ekphrasis is one of the central elements that have caused scholars to flag it as an unusual example of the form, and is one of the key elements which have led scholars to define this ekphrasis as “narrative”. The connection between narrative and temporal progress is not new and is considered by some to be the defining element of narrative as Prince explains: “Narrative is the representation of at least two real or fictive events in a time sequence, neither of which presupposes or entails the other” (4). Although modern narratologists have pushed the definition of narrative beyond “the temporality of existence” (Ryan 24), it is still considered an important element of both narrative
and narrativity, the concept which is coming to replace “narrative” in scholastic discourse6
.
Thus in analysing the temporal progression of the ekphrasis in Catullus 64, a simple break down of the ekphrasis by event demonstrates the narrative and temporal movement that occurs within it:
Line Numbers
Brief Description Total Line Count
64.52-70 Ariadne watches Theseus leave as her clothing falls off 19
64.71-75 Transition to backstory 5
64.76-79 Description of sacrifice to Minotaur 4
64.80-83 Theseus chooses to fight the Minotaur 4
64.84 Theseus sails to Crete 1
64.85 Theseus arrives on Crete 1
64.86 Ariadne sees Theseus 1
64.87-90 Description of Ariadne’s virginity 4
64.91-93 Ariadne falls in love 3
64.94-98 Theseus is a dog 5
64.99-104 Ariadne fears for Theseus & prays 6
64.105-111 Theseus defeats the Minotaur 7
4 This is further supported by the work of Bergmann.
5 Similarly, the Tabulae Iliacae and Trajan’s Column were both created in Rome after Catullus and employ sequential, visual
narrative.
6 In Ryan’s eight possible characteristics of narrativity, “This [story]world must be situated in time…” (29) is the second possible
64.112-115 Theseus follows the thread out of the labyrinth 4
64.116-120 Ariadne leaves her family with Theseus 5
64.121-123 Ariadne falls asleep on Dia 3
64.124-131 Ariadne roams Dia before speaking 8
Even in summary, these individual events when taken together in Catullus’ ekphrasis, demonstrate temporal progress and it would be difficult to argue that all of these scenes could be woven out in detail in a single image. Of course, this is in keeping with ancient ekphrasis elsewhere, which usually constructs objects which could not exist precisely as they are described. Nevertheless, if we conceptualise these as individual frames in a visual, sequential narrative, we begin to appreciate the way a modern reader can conceptualise this narrative as art and the way that an apparently stationary visual image (or series of images) begins to manifest the sense of temporal (and thus narrative) progress.
In the sequential narratives produced in comics, individual moments are similarly employed to manipulate the reader’s temporal experience. And the gutter (the blank space which separates one comics panel or framed image from another) is similarly an important mark of temporal change. To quote Groensteen:
The reader spontaneously converts the inter-iconic space [the gutter] into a temporal interval… We are teleported to the aftermath of events, and we have to link this aftermath to what we have read before (2013, 37-38).
Dittner is even more concise in his analysis, expanding Raeburn’s a “comic strip is literally a map of time” (2002, 11) by explaining that: “its producers are attempting to render the passage of time visible through the use of static, sequential images” (2002, 222). Yet this “mapping” of time in comics is complex, with frame size, inset panels, and page layout all playing an important role. Thus by analysing these moments in the ekphrasis of Catullus 64 I will further demonstrate the way that Catullus manipulates the reader in a way analogous to the manipulation of comics readers in order to evoke a sense of time and narrative.
By considering longer or shorter passages analogously with larger or smaller comics panels, beginning with Ariadne’s awakening, we find a long, nineteen-line description of her watching Theseus pull away from the island (Catullus 64.52-70). These nineteen lines detailing the stationary position of Ariadne as she looks out to sea is a rich description of her emotional response. By focusing on Ariadne’s discovery and emotional trauma for almost twenty lines of poetry, the reader is held stationary (like Ariadne herself) in this moment of discovery and betrayal.
In comics, the full-page panel (or splash page) has the similar effect of holding a reader in a narrative moment. A comics page that contains a sequence of panels encourages the reader to move from one panel to another: “Reading a comic, I am here, then I am there, and this jump from one panel to the next (an optical and mental leap) is the equivalent of an electron that changes orbit” (Groensteen 2007, 113). Thus when the panel is resized to fill a page, the reader is instead encouraged to sit and wait in that moment and to better consider that frame’s content. In fact, both Stan Lee and Will Eisner wrote in support of the use of the splash page as a way to open a comic (Lee 1978, 45; Eisner 1985, 62). As Eisner particularly notes, a splash page is an ideal way to establish a certain “climate” before the comic’s rhythm is entrenched (1985, 62).
After this splash-page introduction, we begin Catullus’ analepsis (or flashback), describing the sacrifice to the Minotaur, Theseus’ decision to fight him, and his journey to Crete, all of which take place over the
course of only a few lines (64.76-85). By contrast to the nineteen-line splash-page that describes Ariadne’s abandonment, here Catullus summarizes time-consuming events as single moments/panels that pass quickly with no effort to keep the reader held frozen in narrative time. The story-time may be extensive, requiring Theseus to travel from Athens to Crete, but the discourse-time is compacted, given only one line in Catullus
647
. These events are important in that they carry Theseus (and the reader) from point A to point B, but they are not important to Catullus’ larger narrative focus on Ariadne, and so he rushes through them, providing only a single image that quickly carries the reader forward in the narrative.
As the analepsis continues, we find the narrative of Ariadne’s infatuation with Theseus and her assistance in defeating the Minotaur narrated in evenly-distributed sections. With most moments taking only three to five lines, they build to the mini-climax of the Minotaur’s defeat (which encompasses seven lines), and finally the reality of Ariadne’s current situation (with eight lines). This evenly-paced textual build is reminiscent of a traditional comics page which depends upon frames of similar or equal size with important moments taking pride of place in the page’s centre (Groensteen 2007, 29). Similarly, in Catullus 64 the key moment – the defeat of the Minotaur – holds pride of place in the centre of the analepsis, just as it would have on many of the fifth-century Attic bowls which recounted Theseus’ labours.
This series of evenly-sized couplets/panels bring the reader through Ariadne’s backstory, building to her wandering Dia prior to her monologue. After a series of similarly/equally sized panels, comics writers/artists commonly incorporate a splash page that rewards the reader by holding them in a single, important moment in medias res. After Ariadne and Theseus arrive on Dia, Catullus brings the analepsis full circle as Ariadne falls asleep on the beach. Here we find a return to the splash page, this time focusing on Ariadne’s present moment and desperation on Dia; the result of the evenly-paced analepsis that came before. In a description that is one long sentence, the reader is made breathless just as Ariadne is, and we now find ourselves caught up in her sudden movement as she roams the island seeking an escape (Catullus 64.124-131). Catullus verbally highlights this as well through the repetition of “tum” in line 126 and 128 which can be translated as “now this, now that” and helps to highlight the frenetic quality of Ariadne’s desperation to escape. Thus we are pulled into and held in Ariadne’s moment of panic, moving with her through the measureless time that she waits on Dia, just as we are held in place through the use of a single splash page in comics. Time moves for Ariadne as she changes physical position on the island, yet that moment, just like the island, is impossible for her to escape, something that is dramatized through the use of sentence-length and the frantic repetition of “tum”. Thus Catullus plays with the expectations of the reader and manipulates it visually in a way that is comparable to the narrative construction of comics.
2. Motion in Stillness
Time in comics (and in Catullus 64) is closely bound with the depiction of movement. Just as with temporal progression, movement in comics is most often demonstrated between the panels, with the reader’s eye tracking movement as it tracks time. In the words of Coleman: “Motion in the movies is made possible by the projector; in the comics, motion appears through our becoming, so to speak, human projectors” (1985, 97). As McCloud explains, the demonstration of motion between panels originated in early European comics, and has thus been an important staple of the medium (1994, 107). In
7 Here I employ Sternberg’s “discourse-time” for the time external to the storyworld which it takes the reader/viewer to read the
an example from Rodolphe Töpffer’s Histoire de Mr. Vieux Bois (The Adventures of Obadiah Oldbuck), one of the earliest examples of a European comic, we see the way the relative placement of objects demonstrates that motion has occurred between frames (1837, 13):
Rodolphe Töpffer, The Adventures of Mr. Obadiah Oldbuck, New York: Wilson & Co., 1837: 13 (Courtesy of Dartmouth College Library)
The motion involved in Mr. Oldbuck being thrown from his horse is found in the gutter, and that motion is indicated primarily by the relative positioning of figures within the comic; in the first frame, Oldbuck sits astride his horse, while in the second the horse continues to run, this time at the far end of the frame, while Oldbuck is pictured mid-fall, telling the audience that in the intermittent space/time the man has been thrown from his horse. This sense is heightened further by the use of props. Here, Oldbuck’s hair and hat are flying upwards and positioned to emphasise the movement of the character that has already been established in the change of his relative position. The movement is not directly pictured, it can’t be by virtue of the medium, but rather it is indicated by still images that imply it.
Depicting that motion is an important, if not vital element of comics storytelling. In the estimation of André Gaudreault and other film theorists, motion contains an intrinsic narrativity, it implies a transformation of some kind, which lends itself to narrative (Groensteen 2013, 21). McCloud too recognises the importance of portraying motion in comics, explaining (1994, 109):
Scott McCloud, Understanding Comics, New York: HarperCollins Publishers, 1994: 109 (Courtesy of HarperCollins Publishers)
In the first two frames, there are no speed lines and no visual distortion so (as in Töpffer) motion is implied only in the gutter and by means of a change in the relative positioning of objects between frames. In the final frame, McCloud introduces one of the many ways that comics artists have found to demonstrate motion, by adding motion lines which imitate a streaking effect, as in film. No, the reader can never see motion in a comic, but the effects of it can be made clear through a combination of relative object placement between panels, motion lines, and the use of props. As noted by Thomson, the first section of the ekphrasis of Catullus 64 is rich with a sense of motion, despite the lack of temporal progress as Ariadne (and the reader) are caught in the moment of shocked abandonment (Thomson 1997, 401). Various Catullan scholars have read (64.61) “saxea… effigies bacchantis” (“stone-statue of a Bacchant”) as a reminder to the audience that this narrative represents a physical, artistic object, similar to the stone-statue of a Bacchant that Ariadne
herself resembles8
. Despite this however, this section is pregnant with words that indicate movement, including (64.53) “cedentem celeri cum classe” / “departing with his swift fleet”, (64.58) “fugiens pellit
vada remis” / “fleeing he strikes the water with his oars”, (64.59) “ventosae… procellae” / “windy storm”,
and (64.62) “magnis… fluctuat undis” / “she swells with great waves”. Considering the fact that the protagonist here physically resembles a statue and that Catullus is attempting to establish this as an artistic representation, which thus resists movement, this is rather incongruous. I contend that this is the intention. After all, these nineteen lines open the ekphrasis, making them somewhat programmatic of what will come next: this is not predictable ekphrasis, but rather it is one that carefully blends the verbal and the visual, the stillness of art and the motion of narrative, just as comics do.
Here, although Ariadne herself stands stone-still, belying her internal upheaval, Theseus is a figure of motion. In the first two lines, we see Theseus sailing away from the (64.52) “fluentisono litore Diae” / “the wave-sounding shore of Dia”, giving the shoreline an implicit motionlessness by defining it by the sound-producing waves which surround it. Further, in contrast to Dia, Theseus is a character of motion here (64.53), “cedentem celeri cum classe” / “departing with his swift fleet”.
If Dia (and Ariadne) are stationary, the relative position of Theseus is always changing, always growing larger as he moves away. Further, this particular line is alliterative with the letter “c”. The series of full-stops produced when verbalising this line creates a distinct sense of urgency that reflects the smack of the oars against the water, pushing the reader through the line just as Theseus moves away. In the same way
that motion lines can be used in comics to indicate movement, this alliteration highlights Theseus’ change of position and works to demonstrate motion to the reader. Essentially, through alliteration, Catullus creates a form of verbal speed lines.
Next, Theseus is described as (64.58) “fugiens pellit vada remis”, (“fleeing, he strikes the water with his oars”). The relative positioning here of Theseus continues from the previous analysis, with this “fugiens iuvenis” clearly fleeing Ariadne and the island. Yet here Catullus incorporates the use of props with the inclusion of “remis”¸ those oars that so violently strike the sea. Enhanced with the verb “pellit”, Catullus incorporates the movement of props (the oars and the ship) which imply the movement of Theseus himself. Finally, Fordyce notes the unusual inflection produced by the strong caesura in the fifth foot of this line (a particular break between words within a metrical foot), which alters its cadence through a series of dactyls and, by Fordyce’s estimation, may represent the splashing of oars (286). Thus the metrical structure of this verse further enhances the alliteration of the earlier line which called ahead to the sound of oars smacking against the waves. Just as Catullus used alliteration to reflect the sudden movement of Theseus, here the rhythm reflects the movement of the rowers as they work to increase the distance between themselves and Dia. Thus we see that Catullus’ use of relative positioning, the figurative equivalent of “speed lines” through alliteration and word choice, and the use of props to demonstrate movement are actually quite similar to the creation of movement in comics.
Having now considered these new points originating in a comics-based methodology, if we return to 124-131, we find new insights into these couplets. Having just returned from Catullus’ analepsis, the reader here finds Ariadne still on the beach preparing to speak. In contrast with the stillness of Ariadne when we last found her standing on the beach, staring out to sea, in this scene she is in active motion as she roams the island, her external movements finally reflecting her internal chaos (Catullus 64.124-131). Not coincidentally, it is here that Catullus shifts his verbs from the perfect into the present which, as O’Connell suggests in his own analysis of Catullus 64, reflects the author’s use of present infinitives to imply motion (750-751). We see that clearly here, with the present infinitives throughout this scene adding an urgency and immediacy. Just as the alliteration in lines 52 through 62 helps to provide verbal “motion lines” that highlight the movement of Theseus, here Catullus shifts into the present in order to reflect the sudden movement of his protagonist.
The repeated tum on lines 126 and 128 is also important as it contributes to the sense of relative object placement, helping to differentiate Ariadne’s physical positioning between one tum and the next. First she (64.126) “tristem conscendere montes” / “climbed the… mountains in her grief”, in order to look out to sea,
tum she is at the seashore (64.128) “procurrere in undas” / “rushing forward against the waves”. By
changing her position relative to island landmarks (the mountains and the sea) from one moment (or frame) to the next, “tum” becomes a kind of verbal gutter, with the juxtaposition inherent in the word presenting these moments as single panels that are then read in sequence. This relative positioning also helps to stress Ariadne’s immobilization on the island; she may be roaming around Dia, but her movement is limited, trapped as she is by the sea. When she climbs the mountain to look out from the island’s peak (64.127): “unde aciem in pelagi vastos protenderet aestus” / “from where the vast ocean tide extends to the edge of sight”, the seascape is unmoving; and when she races down to the seashore (64.128): “procurrere in undas” / “rushing forward against the waves” she comes to a full stop even as she lifts her clothing and the water continues to move around her (64.129): “mollia nudatae tollentem tegmina surae” / “lifting the delicate clothing from her naked legs”. Finally, Catullus incorporates props into his description to help imply
movement again, this time with the use of Ariadne’s clothing which moves away from the waves that she wades into.
In both of these examples, Catullus incorporates the use of relative positioning within or between moments/frames, the use of props, as well as the use of verbal “motion lines” through the incorporation of particular word choice. Certainly, the poet makes use of specific verbs of motion that tell the reader that individual characters are moving. But in the same way that motion can never entirely be present on a comics image, so too can there never be true movement in a textual narrative, and thus Catullus makes use of similar techniques that appear in modern comics to enhance the movement in Catullus 64. Just as speed lines in comics are a tool that allow the writer/artist to communicate the motion in a narrative, so too does Catullus’ word-choice highlight the motion within the narrative even as it describes that motion. In this way, the motion that Catullus describes is made more visual, more appropriate to ekphrasis.
3. Biff! Pow!
From here we move into Ariadne’s speech, sixty-nine lines of lament over her abandonment. This has been a particular point of contention for ekphrastic scholars for, as Rees explains: “pictures do not speak” (84). Yet the medium of comics essentially prove that this is not always the case and elements, such as the speech balloon, which allow for the blending of the visual and verbal have indeed come “… in the modern collective imaginary… to typify comics, to characterize the formal apparatus of the medium and its language…” (Groensteen Comics and Narration 11).
One such manifestation of the audio in comics is the onomatopoeia frequently used to represent non-linguistic sound. This onomatopoeia has become such an integral part of comics that when Batman was translated into the TV show, Batman (1966-1968), visual, verbalized sound effects were added during fight scenes overlaying the action despite the presence of real time audio. Although a strictly visual medium, comics have impressively assimilated sound in such a way that this integration has become one of the hallmarks of the form.
Just as in comics, this ostensibly visual narrative (ekphrasis) consistently presents the audio. The most obvious appearance of this is Ariadne’s lament, which is reported as audio dialogue. However, beyond reporting that there is speech, it is difficult to break down Ariadne’s lament into the equivalent of a comics speech bubble that Catullus might employ. Instead, it is the audio elements that are incorporated outside that speech, beginning with the opening lines of the ekphrasis, which highlight the aural element of the poem. We see this from the beginning of the ekphrasis, where the Latin “fluentisono” “…greet[s] us with a seductive illogicality, as the first adjective used in this visual description refers not to a visible quality, but to
the sound of waves breaking on the shore”(Armstrong 192). Such references to the audio pervade the
opening of Catullus’ ekphrasis, with the unusual “fluentisono” here being followed by “clarisono” (125) and “raucisonus” (263). As Thomson notes in his commentary, these words are relatively unknown in the surviving canon of Latin literature, yet Catullus makes use of them to either incorporate the audio in what is ostensibly a visual image (in the case of “fluentisono”, literally “wave-sounding”), or to highlight the audio-quality of aural-words (in the case of “clarisono”, “loud-sounding” and “raucisonus”, “harsh-sounding”), literally building the “sound” right into the word (Thomson 1997, 400, 409).
Elsewhere, Catullus makes the effort to represent the audio, even when eschewing the -sonus component. While watching Theseus’ adventures on Crete, Ariadne is described as “tacito”, “silent”, as though this image of Ariadne is unusual in its reticence to speak (64.104). Only a few lines later, Catullus specifically refers to the “material” of this ekphrasis, making the tapestry literally his “carmine” / “song” (64.116-117). The sonic quality of the ekphrasis comes to a particular climax upon the understandably noisy arrival of Bacchus himself and which, in Catullus’ words (64.260) “frustra cupiunt audire profani” / “the wicked wish in vain to hear”. Here Catullus takes great pains to describe the instruments that accompany the god
Bacchus, but he also makes these couplets particularly onomatopoeic (noted by Thomson 423).
. When (64.261) “plangebant aliae proceris tympana palmis” / “others were beating timbrels with flat hands”, the sound of the line is punctuated with hard consonants, reflecting the noise of striking a timbrel, just as the ringing of cymbals is in the following line (64.62): “aut tereti tenues tinnitus aere ciebant” / “or caused a fine ringing from rounded cymbals”. This changes abruptly when Catullus begins his description of the woodwind instruments, here transitioning into sounds to further reflect the deep vowels “a”s and “o”s of horns ((64.263) “multis raucisonos efflabant cornua bombos” / “Many horns blew a harsh and buzzing sound,”) and the shrill “i”s of the flute ((64.264) “barbaraque horribili stridebat tibia cantu” / “and the barbarous flute screeched its horrible song”).
In comics we saw how non-verbal sound could be represented through the use of onomatopoeia. This is precisely what Catullus does to create the same sense of non-verbal sound. It’s all well and good for him to include speech and words referring to the poetic nature of the ekphrasis, but by incorporating unusual words that incorporate “-sonus”, and by extensive use of onomatopoeia, Catullus is able to incorporate the audio into what is ostensibly a visual work of art.
Conclusion
The fact that Catullus himself would have had no sense of comics narratology is unimportant; the ekphrasis in Catullus 64 can be read with a comics-based methodology. Carrier once wrote that comics: “… are, arguably, the natural response to the limits of traditional narrative painting” (48). In 64, Catullus produces a similar response, employing the benefits of both literature and visual arts to create something altogether new. Just as in comics, the ekphrasis of Catullus 64 seamlessly combines the verbal and visual to produce a narrative whose unusual elements can be further appreciated through the employment of a comics-based methodology. In so doing, we see that Catullus’ use of sound, movement, and temporal progression in ekphrasis, which apparently resists all three, makes use of similar devices to what we find in comics. Thus we gain a deeper appreciation of the narrative and artistic construction in the ekphrasis of Catullus 64, reconciling the apparent impossibility of a noisy image, a temporal image, or a moving image through similar devices found in comics. The ekphrasis of Catullus 64 is unusually narrative in its content, and all three of these devices help to drive the narrative forward, help to blend the visual and the verbal in a unique way which, similarly to comics, produce distinctly narrative content through an apparently visual medium.
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Natalie J. Swain is a PhD candidate at the University of Bristol where her research project focuses on the applications of a comics-based methodology to Latin elegy. Her areas of research interest include Latin narratology and elegy, gender studies, the ancient world in polar literature, and the reception of the ancient world in comics and video games. She is an active participant in the classics community, working on the board of directors of Antiquity in Media Studies and running the #ClassicsTwitterComics reading group. Email: [email protected]