This unheroic episode is a relic of the comic traditions associated with Hercules, traditions which obtrude themselves from time to time in serious and even tragic surroundings.[495] Apollonius describes the same incident[496] with the quiet humour that so strangely tinges the works of the pedants of Alexandria. Valerius, on the other hand, has lost touch with the broad comedy of these traditions, and his attempt to be humorous only succeeds in making him ridiculous.[497] His worst fault, however, lies in his obscurity and preciosity of diction. The error lies not so much in veiling simple facts under an epigram, as in a vain attempt to imitate the 'golden phrases' of Vergil. The strange conglomeration of words with which Valerius so often vexes his readers resembles the 'chosen coin of fancy' only as the formless designs of the coinage of Cunobelin resemble the exquisite staters of Macedon from which they trace their descent. It requires more than a casual glance to tell that (i. 411) it quem fama genus non est decepta Lyaei Phlias inmissus patrios de vertice crines means that Phlias was 'truly reported the son of Bacchus with streaming locks like to his sire's'; or that (vi. 553) Argus utrumque ab equis ingenti porrigit arvo signifies no more than that the victims of Argus covered a large space of ground when they fell.[498] How miserable is such a phrase compared with the [Greek: keito megas megal_osti] of Homer! And though there is less serious obscurity, nothing can be more awkward than the not infrequent inversion of the natural order of words that we find in phrases such as _nec pereat quo scire malo_ (vii. 7).[499] Of mere preciosity and phrase-making without any special obscurity examples abound.[500] Pelion sinks below the horizon (ii. 6)-- iamque fretis summas aequatum Pelion ornos. A fight at close quarters receives the following curious description (ii. 524)-- iam brevis et telo volucri non utilis aer. A spear flying through the air and missing its mark is a _volnus raptum per auras_ (iii. 196). More startling than these is the picture of a charge of trousered barbarians (vi. 702)-- improba barbaricae procurrunt tegmina plantae. One more peculiarity remains to be noticed. Here and there in the _Argonautica_ we meet with a strange brevity and compression resulting not from the desire to produce phrases of curious and original texture, but rather from a praiseworthy though misdirected endeavour to be concise. The most remarkable example is found in the first book, where Mopsus, the official prophet of the expedition, falls into a trance and beholds a vision of the future (211):