In his lengthy survey of the cosmic devastation wrought by Phaethon's disastrous chariot ride, Ovid includes two catalogues detailing the scorching of the world's mountains (Met. 2.217–26) and rivers (2.241–59).Footnote ¹ Ovid enlivens these lists through his usual play with sound patterns and revels in the opportunity to adapt so many Greek names to Latin prosody; for instance the opening line of the catalogue of mountains (ardet Athos Taurusque Cilix et Tmolus et Oete, 2.217) masterfully illustrates both of these features.Footnote ² The lists are also brimming with playful erudition. To take but a few examples: a dried-up Ida belies its standard epithet πολυπῖδαξ, ‘many-fountained’ (2.218); the sun's heat doubles the flames of volcanic Etna (2.220); burning Xanthus is destined to burn again (2.245; cf. Hom. Il. 21.330–82); and the famous gold-bearing sands of the Tagus are melting (2.251). These features not only ‘relieve monotony’;Footnote ³ they warrant the catalogues’ inclusion in the category of Ovid's most entertaining.

Yet, not every line in these catalogues is frivolous fun. In at least one case, as in so much of the Metamorphoses, ludic poetics overlay the much more serious theme of sexual violence. The aim of this paper is to unpack the layered resonances of the third line in Ovid's list of burning peaks: ‘and virginal Helicon and not yet Oeagrian Haemus’ (uirgineusque Helicon et nondum Oeagrius Haemus, 2.219). As I will argue, there is a good deal of learned humour in this line, but its interactions with the mythic tradition and other stories in the poem ultimately produce a much darker effect than is at first apparent. ‘Virginal Helicon’ stands in tension with the mention of Oeagrus, because traditionally Oeagrus is the father of Orpheus precisely by Heliconian Calliope. This juxtaposition gives nondum a new meaning: Calliope has ‘not yet’ lost her virginity within the span of Ovid's universal history. Furthermore, I argue that within the narrative world of the Metamorphoses, and particularly in light of the Pyreneus episode in Book 5, this loss of virginity implies rape.

I will begin by explicating the mountains and their epithets individually before moving on to analyse the interaction between the two halves of the line. uirgineus Helicon is, by itself, not particularly striking. The epithet refers to the fact that the mountain is famously inhabited by the Muses, who were often represented as virgins.Footnote ⁴ As such, uirgineus Helicon is one of several mountain-epithet pairings that is not affected by its fiery context in the Phaethon narrative, like ‘Cilician Taurus’ (Taurusque Cilix, 2.217) or ‘twin-peaked Parnassus’ (Parnasusque biceps, 2.221).Footnote ⁵ They counterbalance those mountains whose traditional epithets must be qualified in light of the conflagration, such as the mountain listed immediately before Helicon: ‘at that time dry, though formerly superabundant in springs, Ida’ (tum sicca, prius creberrima fontibus, Ide, 2.218). One of the keys to the humour in this passage is the presence of unassuming standard epithets alongside epithets that must be awkwardly modified to suit this unusual narrative context. This mixture humorously suggests the narrator's thought-process as he composes the catalogue: it is as if he wanted to give a typical Hellenistic geographical catalogue complete with learned epithets, but cannot help pedantically ‘correcting’ them for adaptation to his idiosyncratic narrative.

The other mountain of line 219, nondum Oeagrius Haemus, is a less straightforward case. As a Thracian mountain, Haemus is stereotypically icy and associated with the north wind (cf. pulsumque aquilonibus Haemum, Met. 10.77),Footnote ⁶ so that, in the context of Phaethon's conflagration, Ovid might easily have pointed out the mountain's melted snow. Instead, he uses Haemus’ neighbouring mountain Rhodope to make that joke (tandem niuibus Rhodope caritura, 2.222; cf. 2.224), reserving Haemus for more complex literary effects. As the realm of King Oeagrus, Thrace and all things Thracian may be dubbed ‘Oeagrian’ by docti poetae, just as Triptolemus and the walls of Athens can be labelled ‘Mopsopian’ (Met. 5.661, 6.423) after an obscure King Mopsus.Footnote ⁷ In both cases, the strange Greek name was likely suitably clunky and foreign for Ovid's taste. Following the more familiar Helicon, modified by a Latinate adjective (uirgineus), ‘Oeagrian Haemus’ comes as a shock: the clear-voiced Muses give way to garbled Thracian. Line 2.243 (Peneosque senex Teuthranteusque Caicus) in the catalogue of rivers is structurally equivalent: a river modified by an unassuming Latin adjective in the first two-and-a-half feet sets up for the punchline in the last three-and-a-half feet, in this case the Caicus with the ostentatiously Greek epithet ‘Teuthrantian’ (cf. 2.244, 2.249).

The adverb nondum introduces another layer of humour. Ovid's Oeagrius Haemus is adapted from the Virgilian Oeagrius Hebrus (G. 4.524), ‘a recherche [sic] expression in its own right, the first appearance in Latin of [this] exotic Greek proper name’.Footnote ⁸ Not content merely to reproduce Virgilian learning, Ovid vaults past his eminent predecessor and into the realm of parody by pedantically specifying that Haemus cannot yet be properly designated ‘Oeagrian’, because, at the early point in mythical history at which the Phaethon narrative is set, the epithet's eponymous king has not yet been born. The narrator glimpses future events a few other times in these catalogues, as when he refers to ‘Cithaeron, destined for sacred rites’ (natusque ad sacra Cithaeron, 2.223) four lines later—Bacchus has not been born yet, either.Footnote ⁹ But nondum Oeagrius Haemus is funny because the phrase is cast in the negative. This negative formulation conveys not merely that Oeagrus will one day rule Thrace but particularly that an unqualified ‘Oeagrian’ would be an inappropriate epithet at this point in the narrative. Thus ‘Ovid draws attention to himself’ through this epithet.Footnote ¹⁰ As with the then dry Ida of 2.218, the reader is left to infer the amusing image of the pedantic narrator exercising himself needlessly over the precise applicability of a traditional epithet to his narrative.Footnote ¹¹

So far, these mountains have largely been considered individually, but they can also be analysed together as a pair. It is worth noting, first of all, that these mountains share a line at all, since, a priori, there is no reason to associate Helicon with Haemus.Footnote ¹² From a geographic perspective, Haemus pairs much more naturally with the adjacent Rhodope (cf. Met. 6.87, 10.77), which is, however, held off for three more lines (2.222). As Stratis Kyriakidis has argued, the design of the catalogue of mountains is ‘erratic’, both in its density of mountains per line and in its geographic arrangement.Footnote ¹³ A few lines in the catalogue of mountains are devoted to a single peak (2.218, 2.220, 2.224); some are humorously stuffed with three or more geographically disparate mountains (2.217, 2.221, 2.222; cf. 2.225); in one line a second, unrelated, mountain is squeezed into the last three syllables of the hexameter (2.222); and in the case of Helicon and Haemus, the two mountains are nicely balanced, each comfortably occupying about half of the line, both supplemented by an epithet, one of which is modified by an adverb. All of these devices lend the catalogue a frenetic pace evocative of the ‘erratic’ course of Phaethon's flight.Footnote ¹⁴

To be sure, Helicon and Haemus contribute to this effect, because they are geographically unrelated and add further variety to the density of the catalogue's lines. Nevertheless, other features of the line encourage the reader to treat them as a meaningful pairing. The two mountains are linked by an initial H,Footnote ¹⁵ while assonance and rhyme at the end of the first phrase (Helicon) and the beginning of the second (et non-) ease the transition between them.Footnote ¹⁶ Together with the balanced structure of the line, these features resemble those of line 2.226 at the end of the catalogue (aëriaeque Alpes et nubifer Appenninus), in which two assonant and consonant mountain-ranges each occupy half of the line together with their synonymous epithets.Footnote ¹⁷ In this case, the Alps and the Apennines are clearly linked geographically. The structure and the sound of line 2.219 invite Helicon and Haemus to be read as a purposeful pair along the same lines, but, in the absence of a geographic connection, what constitutes their relationship?

The connection, I would propose, is to be sought in the mythic genealogical narratives hinted at by the mountains’ epithets. In particular, the description of Helicon as ‘virginal’ would trigger the learned reader's knowledge of a few different traditions. As mentioned above, it is true that the Muses were sometimes considered virgins; a prominent Roman example is Catullus’ doctis … uirginibus (65.2). On the other hand, a more mainstream body of myth also acknowledged that several of the Muses were mothers to various heroes and thus could not be considered virgins. As Patricia Johnson notes, despite Ovid's insistence on the Muses’ virginity, several of them bear children in the mythic tradition, while in Ovid's epic itself Orpheus invokes his own ‘mother, the Muse’ (Musa parens, 10.148).Footnote ¹⁸ This last example has a special relevance to line 2.219. Traditionally Orpheus’ mother is Calliope, the chief Muse, while his father is none other than OeagrusFootnote ¹⁹—the same Thracian king whose name has not yet become an appropriate epithet for Haemus.Footnote ²⁰ Indeed, Ovid himself affirms this parentage at Ib. 482.Footnote ²¹ Thus, within one line, one mountain's epithet ascribes virginity to the Muses, while the other alludes to a king notable for impregnating the chief Muse. Consequently, these epithets are at odds. Especially given the juxtaposition of Oeagrius,Footnote ²² the learned reader encountering uirgineus Helicon is likely to object: ‘But what about Orpheus?’ Indeed, a passage of Propertius, which Ovid may well have in mind here, illustrates almost exactly this reaction to an ascription of virginity to the Muses (2.30.33–6):Footnote ²³

Propertius’ solution to the contradiction between virginal Muses and traditions of their maternity is to limit the sexual activity among the group to a single member. Conversely, Ovid's solution to this implicit inconsistency is provided, once again, by the adverb nondum. If there is not yet an Oeagrus, he cannot yet have impregnated Calliope. Presumably the same consideration applies to all of the Muses, so that at this early point in mythic history, all of them can still be called virgins. Thus the nondum qualifying Oeagrius is balanced by a phantom adhuc qualifying uirgineus: Helicon is still virginal precisely because Haemus is not yet Oeagrian. By imparting a temporal nuance on the epithet uirgineus in this way, Ovid achieves a remarkable harmonization of the mythological traditions surrounding the Muses’ virginity.

There is some mischievous humour in this sly literary trick: the narrator mentions the Muses’ virginity but, with a wink and a nod, also invites the learned reader to contemplate their destined loss of virginity. Sex is ever on the Ovidian narrator's mind, it seems, even in a geographical catalogue, even in the space between poetic epithets. But like so much Ovidian humour, this joke, if such it is, is double-edged, because the relations hinted at here may well be non-consensual, particularly in the world of the Metamorphoses. Especially in the early books, the adjective uirgineus and the related nouns uirgo and uirginitas are regularly applied to victims of attempted or perpetrated rape,Footnote ²⁵ as well as to a handful of celibate goddesses.Footnote ²⁶ Exceptions only begin to appear in the second pentad, from which point, in addition to suffering rape, uirgines can also be (more or less) legitimately married,Footnote ²⁷ uninvolved in sex,Footnote ²⁸ or even cast in the role of sexual instigator.Footnote ²⁹ This pattern creates an expectation in the reader that, at least in the first pentad of the poem, explicitly identified virgins will be in danger of sexual violence.Footnote ³⁰ As the circumstances of Orpheus’ conception are recorded in no extant ancient source,Footnote ³¹ a decisive determination cannot be made. Nevertheless, the story pattern invoked by the epithet uirgineus at line 2.219 suggests that, when Orpheus is one day conceived, he will be the product of rape.

A few other considerations point in the same direction. For one, Oeagrus is a Thracian king, and male Thracian sexuality is stereotyped as aggressive in the poem (6.458–60), epitomized by the arch-rapist Tereus and reflected as well in the figures of Boreas and Pyreneus. The literary associations surrounding Haemus are equally foreboding. In addition to the cold and to some bucolic resonances, the mountain is associated with the war godFootnote ³² and bloodshed.Footnote ³³ Similarly, in the Metamorphoses itself, Haemus briefly appears as a hubristic mortal punished with transformation into a mountain (6.87–9), which later serves as the backdrop for Orpheus’ σπαραγμός at the beginning of Book 11 (cf. 10.77).

But the best evidence is the characterization of the Muses themselves as they appear in the episodes devoted to them in Book 5. Indeed, the appearance of the phrase uirgineumque Helicona (5.254) in the same metrical sedes at the beginning of these episodes provides a link back to line 2.219. In that context, ‘virginal Helicon’ had been in implicit conflict with ‘not yet Oeagrian Haemus’. In Book 5, the Muses, emphatically Heliconian (5.267, 5.271, 5.312, 5.663) and virginal (5.254, 5.274; cf. 5.269–70), tell stories in which they are in open conflict with two opponents, their would-be rapist Pyreneus and their musical challengers, the daughters of Pierus;Footnote ³⁴ it is notable, moreover, that in the Muses’ contest with the Pierides rape runs like a leitmotif throughout Calliope's song.Footnote ³⁵ Significantly, in both cases these antagonists have connections to Oeagrus. A stray detail in the Pyreneus story reveals that, like Oeagrus, he is a specifically Thracian king (Threicio … milite, 5.276), even though the story takes place in Daulis (5.276–7). The Pierides are not Thracian,Footnote ³⁶ but if a tradition preserved in later sources goes back at least to Augustan Rome, the learned reader may recall that they are quite literally related to Oeagrus. They are daughters of Pierus by Euippe (5.302–3); he is a son of Pierus by Methone.Footnote ³⁷

Oeagrus’ associations with the Muses’ enemies would seem to league him against them, and the cumulative effect of all these considerations is that Oeagrus’ intercourse with Calliope is most naturally interpreted as non-consensual. If this interpretation is correct, a detail at the beginning of the Pyreneus episode takes on new ominous dimensions. One of the Muses says that she is still shaken from Pyreneus’ rape attempt (5.273–5), which has made her question their very safety on Helicon (5.271–2). The reader familiar with traditions of the Muses’ childbearing will know that at least some of the goddesses will one day lose their virginity, but if Oeagrus is considered the half-brother of the Pierides and thus belongs to the same mythological generation, then that day must be coming very soon indeed. The Muses have escaped one tyrannical Thracian rapist in Pyreneus, but soon enough Calliope, their leader, will not be so lucky when she encounters the namesake of Oeagrian Haemus.

Met. 2.219 stands out for its masterful construction, its dense but subtle allusivity and the multilayered resonances contained within it, both witty and serious. It is, moreover, a line that takes on deeper meaning on a rereading of the poem, particularly in light of the episodes featuring the emphatically virginal and rape-fearing Muses of Book 5. Truly, this line, so unassuming on its surface, is a testament to Ovid's artistry. But it is also a testament to something much darker: the ubiquity of the motif of rape in Ovid's epic. Amy Richlin has observed that the threads of the rape motif in the Metamorphoses ‘run in and out of sight; sometimes a horror in a half-line, sometimes half a book, sometimes gone’.Footnote ³⁸ If my interpretation of Met. 2.219 is correct, the line is remarkable for alluding to a rape that is all but concealed within the subtext. It turns out that the rape motif can infiltrate even into those quarters of the poem in which the thread of sexual violence appears, for once, to be gone.