Ovid's Metamorphoses: An Introduction to the Basic Aspects 0520028481, 9780520028487

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OVID'S

METAMORPHOSES An Introduction to the Basic Aspects

G. Karl Galinsky

UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA PRESS Berkeley and Los Angeles · 1975

UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA PRESS Berkeley and Los Angeles, California ISBN 0-520-02848-1 Library of Congress Catalog Card No. 74-84146

© Basil Blackwell 1975 All Rights Reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publisher.

Printed in Great Britain

Contents

Preface Chapter One: Inspiration, Tone and Theme 1. The Hellenistic impulse and its modification 2. The impulse of the Aeneid 3. The relation to Ovid's earlier poetry 4. Some aspects of the metamorphosis theme 5. The function of metamorphosis Select Bibliography and Bibliography to Chapter One Notes to Chapter One Chapter Two: Unity and Coherence Bibliography to Chapter Two Notes to Chapter Two Chapter Three: Ovid's Humanity: Death and Suffering in the Metamorphoses Bibliography to Chapter Three Notes to Chapter Three Chapter Four: Humor and Seriousness 1. Types of humor 2. The gods 3. Self-irony 4. 'Logical' incongruity and visual over-explicitness 5. Literary allusiveness and parody 6. Verbal wit

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79 107 107

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158 158 162

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185 193

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Contents

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7. The genre scene Bibliography to Chapter Four Notes to Chapter Four Chapter Five: Ovid, V ergil, and Augustus I. 'Augustanism' and 'anti-Augustanism' 2. Ovid's 'Aeneid' 3. Augustus and Ron1e Bibliography to Chapter Five Notes to Chapter Five Indexes

210 210

217 251

261 261 266

There is a plate of a Mural from the House of Livia facing p. 84. We are indebted for the reproduction of this plate to the German Archaeological Institute at Rome.

Preface

The main purpose of the present book is to provide an introduction, in the form of a literary study, to the major aspects of the M etamorphoses and to Ovid's basic aims in that poem. I hope, therefore, that this study will fill a long-standing need. This need has become more acute in recent decades and years. They have witnessed a revival of scholarly and critical interest that holds out the hope of rescuing Ovid's poetry from the limbo of indifference and irrelevant value judgements to which it had been relegated, with infrequent exceptions, since the Romantic period. It was natural that the first major studies to reverse this trend, those of Frankel and Wilkinson, were concerned with Ovid's poetry in general and therefore did not scrutinize the M etamorphose'S in more depth and detail. Of late, scholars like Otis, Bernbeck, and Frecaut have devoted book-length treatments to special aspects of the poem. Overmuch emphasis, however, on one or two aspects of the Metamorphoses and the thesisoriented approach in general have unavoidably led to interpretations of the poem that ignore its variety. Our starting point must always be the realization that the Metamorphoses are an immensely varied creation which defies schematizing analysis. Another of my aims in this book, therefore, is to give the reader an idea of the variety of the tone., style, and subject-matter of the Metamorphoses, especially as this variety has accounted for the great appeal of the poem to the literature and art of later centuries. Both in my presentation of those aspects of the poem which have been the subject of earlier debate and of those which have been neglected I have tried to break some new ground. For another aim of this book is, boldly stated, to try to redirect some of the trends in the scholarship and criticism of the Metamorphoses and to open up

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Preface

some new perspectives. As for the former, two interpretive tendencies, which are backed up by a certain amount of tradition, have continued to make headway recently. I have decided not to argue their merits or demerits at length in this book because sometimes, pace Hegel, no real progress is made in the discussion of a literary work if we confine ourselves to constructing antitheses to previously established theses or if we try to synthesize both, instead of trying to explore new areas of inquiry that may be more pertinent to the work than the old. The case is well illustrated by the first of these trends and the reaction to it. That was the attempt, which began with Richard Heinze's influential monograph Ovids elegische Erzahlung (1919), to fit the Metamorphoses into a genre, epic. The generic terminology has imposed its limitations even on those who have disagreed with Heinze or, more recently, with Otis, as they have characterized the Metamorphoses as an anti-epic, para-epic, mock epic, epic sui generis, or even as elegiac. In this fashion, label is simply replaced by counterlabel and the generic approach to the Metamorphoses is accepted in the process. There is, of course, much evidence in the poem itself that demonstrates the inadequacy of this method. But it is symptomatic of the state of literary scholarship on the Metamorphoses that not until recent! y was a close look taken at the criteria used by Heinze for his contentions and for his definition of 'epic' in particular (D. A. Little, 'Richard Heinze: Ovids elegische Erzahlung', in E. Zinn, ed., Ovids Ars Amatoria und Remedia Amoris [ Stuttgart 1970] 64-105). Most of these criteria, which often are mere assumptions, are vague and subjective, 'at best imprecise, at worst useless'. The basic flaw, I would add, is that Heinze did not work with the definitions for epic subject, style, and narrative that were recognized at Ovid's time, but instead used definitions and criteria of his own. When we try to turn back from the resulting confusion to the ancient theories about epic, we are again made aware of the definite limitations of the generic approach to the Metamorphoses. In antiquity, as S. Koster's recent study has shown (Antike Epostheorien [ Wiesbaden 1970]), even pastoral poetry would be considered as 'epic'. To push distinctions and categories of this kind too far may satisfy the scholarly urge to tidy up and impose order on the baffiing variety of the Metamorphoses, but it tells us little about vital characteristics of the poem itself.

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The second pronounced tendency which I should like briefly to review here rather than discuss at length in the following chapters also has its roots in the scholarly mentality. That tendency is to make the Meta1norphoses and Ovid more profound than they are. Making a writer profound often is confused with profound criticism, and thus even L. P. Wilkinson has been criticized in some quarters for his essentially correct interpretation of the Metamorphoses as the work of a superb raconteur. But Ovid did not want to be another Vergil. There are profound reasons why he did not want to be profound and they are susceptible to profound critical analysis. A brief comment is in order on some of the emphases and methods I have chosen. The Metamorphoses are about myth. Myth is the subject-matter of all their stories. These essential facts have been virtually ignored amid the preoccupation with Ovid's sources, and the genre and structure of the poem. Some attention, therefore, has to be paid to the situation of Graeco-Roman myth at Ovid's time and to Ovid's way of treating myth. Mythology has been the subject of much scholarly and theoretical study of late and we can benefit from some of the insights derived in the process. On the other hand, Ovid's superb literary talents would not be served well by an overly emphatic discussion of the Metamorphoses in myth-theoretical terms. Similarly, a clear exposition is needed of Ovid's quite sophisticated use of the metamorphosis theme, a task which the recent book by Simone Viarre (L'image et la pensee dans les 'Metamorphoses' d' Ovide [ Paris 1964]) did not fulfi.11. Two principal methods have become established in the interpretation of the Metamorphoses and the adherents of each authoritatively criticize the shortcomings of the other while ignoring those of their own method. One is to analyze a select, and often quite small number of individual episodes and generalize on that basis about the poem as a whole. The other is to collect similar characteristics from many episodes, often without paying adequate attention to the various contexts, and to use them as the basis for a general characterization of the poem. By combining the two methods, I hope to have combined mostly their strengths while reducing their weaknesses. To achieve further balance I have discussed some continuous portions of the poem, such as Met. 9.450-11.84 in Chapter 2 and, especially, Met. 13.623-14.608in Chapter 5 with detailed attention to their individual characteristics.

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Preface

Still, I do not pretend to offer more than an introduction. In a sense, the reader will have to do the work all over again, applying my findings and methods to episodes not discussed in the book and proposing modifications. No story in Ovid is quite like another, which is precisely the result of his narrative talent and one of the reasons for the popularity of the Metamorphoses, at least until the Romantic period. To deal exhaustively with each and every story in the Metamorphoses and with all their facets would only have smothered their sprightliness. My disagreement with some received notions should not be construed as ingratitude to earlier scholars. On many points, my debt to them is considerable and their assertions often have been the starting point for my inquiries. I have also tried to continue the tradition, which has been established so splendidly by Frankel, Wilkinson, and Otis, of writing for both classicists and the general literary public.

It remains to acknowledge a few special debts. This book, which was begun several years ago, was substantially rewritten and completed during my year as classicist-in-residence at the American Academy in Rome in 1972-3. I am grateful to the Academy's President, Professor Henry T. Rowell, to its Directors, Bartlett Hayes, Jr. and Professor Frank Brown, and to its ever helpful Librarian, Mrs. Nina Longobardi and her staff for various courtesies and kinds of assistance. I should also like to thank the John Simon Guggenheim Memorial Foundation and the Fulbright Commission for awarding me a fellowship and a grant in 1972-3, and the University of Texas for granting me a leave of absence during that period. It is a pleasure to write a book under such circumstances because books, like Ovid's carmina, laetum/sunt opus, et pacem mentis habere volunt (Trist. 5.12.3-4). The U.S.-U.K. Educational Commission facilitated my acceptance of invitations from several British universities to lecture on some of the material contained in this book. I am greatly indebted to audiences at the Institute of Classical Studies of the University of London, at the Universities of Reading, Birmingham and Liverpool, at Cornell University, the American Academy in Rome, the Universita degli Studi in Venice, and at the Johns Hopkins University for their interest, encourage-

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ment, and cnt1e1sm. An earlier version of my discussion of the Erysichthon and Narcissus episodes, with some tentative conclusions, was presented at a symposium at the University of Texas in February 1972 and appears in Perspectives of Roman Poetry (Austin and London 1974). Thanks are also due to the staffs of the Gerrr1an Archaeological Institute in Rome, the British Museum, the Bibliotheque N ationale, the Royal Library in Copenhagen, and the University Libraries in Mainz and Vienna for their timely assistance. The help and research assistance of my wife have been invaluable. To the keen members of a graduate seminar in 1971I am indebted for a scrutiny of some of the material contained in Chapter 3. To my former student and present colleague, Professor Douglas A. Little, I owe many a critical and stimulating discussion which has helped, and often forced, me to think many problems through more carefully. I am most grateful to Professor E. J. Kenney for giving the manuscript his customary thorough and perceptive scrutiny. I alone am responsible for the imperfections that remain. Finally, I should like to thank Sir Basil Blackwell for his interest and encouragement in publishing this book. Ovid loses even more in translation than most ancient authors. The reader should keep that in mind when he consults the translations that have been appended to the various passages for the convenience of un-Latinate readers. I hope this book will persuade some of the latter to try to read the Metamorphoses in the original. Unless otherwise stated, the verse translations are those of Rolfe Humphries, copyright 1955, by Indiana University Press. I have occasionally modified them slightly. The prose translations of the Metamorphoses are largely those of F. J. Miller in the Loeb Library edition, reprinted by permission of the Harvard University Press. The Latin text cited is that of Ehwald's editio maior, again with occasional modifications. The quotations from Thucydides in Chapter 2 are from The Peloponnesian War, copyright(©) Rex Warner, 1954,by permission of Penguin Books Ltd. Austin, 7 February 1974

CHAPTER

ONE

Inspiration, Tone and Theme

Variety, both of subject-matter and tonality, is the keynote of the Metamorphoses. This variety, to a greater extent, is the result of the variety of Ovid's inspiration and of the theme around which he arranged his chef d'oeuvre. We thus have to ask what impulses led Ovid to write the Metamorphoses, why he chose the theme, and what the consequences were for the narrative and the tone of his poem.

I:

THE HELLENISTIC

IMPULSE AND ITS MODIFICATION

The first such impulse was that Ovid, like other Roman poets of the late Republic and the Augustan age, had a preference for the tendencies of Alexandrian poetry. Writers like Callimachus gave myth the highest place in their works, a place which it did not hold in Ovid's earliest poetry, the Amores. The hallmark of the Hellenistic writer on mythology was his erudition; he would engage in considerable researches to find little-known and quaint stories and legends. A concomitant development with this predilection for the recherche was the change of emphasis in the use of myth. No longer were myths mostly the reflection of deep problems or preoccupations as they had been in the poems of Pindar or the tragedies of Aeschylus. Rather, the learning lavished on mythological poetry often was in inverse proportion to the depth of meaning that was sought. When Callimachus presents myth he aims, for the most part, to be pleasant and charming. Instead of being taken seriously, myth becomes the object of play and artful manipulation. 1 We ,vill return to the properly mythological aspects of Ovid's

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Inspiration, Tone and Theme

treatment of myth later. They are intertwined with the literary aims of the Metamorphoses, and it would be wrong to consider the two, as has often been done, in ise:>lationfrom one another. For the sake of greater clarity, however, it is advisable to discuss first the major literary perspectives, before exploring the connection between Ovid's literary strategy and the function he gives to myth. This connection, as we will see, is epitomized by his choice and use of the metamorphosis theme. The immediate models for Ovid's metamorphosis poem belong in the Hellenistic context we have just sketched. With the exception of a few fragments, they have not been preserved, although, on the basis of other testimonia, we can make some inferences about their arrangement in particular. They belong to a genre of poetry that has conveniently been called 'collective poen1' .2 Its origins can be traced to Hesiod and not to Homer's epics. The earliest Hellenistic example of such metamorphosis poems was the Ornithogonia of the poetess Boio (or the poet Boios), which dealt with the transformation of men into birds and was imitated in Rome by Ovid's friend Aemilius Macer. There are three attested Metamorphoses by later Hellenistic poets, among them Parthenius, who came to Rome shortly after 63 B.c., but we do not know much about their contents. We are of better informed about the Heteroioumena (=Transformations) Nikander of Colophon (second century B.c.),because summaries of twenty-six stories_ from his work were· compiled by Antoninus Liberalis, a mythographer in the second century A.D. Ovid treated twenty-one of these stories in the Metamorphoses and evidently used Nikander's poem. In short, there was a Hellenistic genre of metamorphosis poetry and it was one of Ovid's sources of inspiration. As always in Roman literature, however, the ways in which Ovid differed from his Hellenistic 'predecessors' are far more significant than the similarities between them. Ovid's relation to the Hellenistic poets was similar to the attitude of the Hellenistic poets themselves to their predecessors: he demonstrated that he had read their ve.rsions -for no poeta doctus in the Hellenistic tradition could afford not to do his homework-but that he could still treat the myths in his own way. One basic difference is that the scope of Ovid's poem was far more ambitious than that of any poet of metamorphoses before him. In sheer quantity, it was longer than any previous metamorphosis poem, including Nikander's, which consisted of four or, possibly,

The Hellenistic impulse and its modification

3

five books. For reasons that we will see shortly, Ovid decided to give the Metamorphoses epic length. Another Ovidian innovation was to incorporate a metamorphosis poem into a chronological framework. This, to be sure, was more important for its suggestive value than for its literal implementation from which Ovid often departs 3 and which, because of the lack of a comprehensive chronology of myth in classical times, was impossible anyway. Ovid's announcement that he will deal with myths 'from the first beginning of the world to my times' (primaque ab origine mundi ad mea ... te1npora; 1.3-4) has the primary purpose-and there are others which we will mention in due course-of suggesting the universality of myth. The stated framework of universal history serves to indicate that a continuous poem about various myths is as significant as any work of history-oriented literature, and that is what Roman literature was to an outstanding degree. A more literal interpretation of the phrase would be misplaced, because Ovid ignores the historical aspects of myth throughout the Metamorphoses. Roman and Augustan motifs are too scattered and too few to constitute a recognizable theme, and the Augustan passages in Book I 5 therefore are not the culmination of the poem or of one of its themes. 4 Rather, this indication of a chronological starting point and terminus gives myth the 1imension of universal history; and this effect would have been lost if Ovid had arranged his poem on the basis of geography or categories of metamorphosis, ~s earlier metamorphosis poets seem to have done. A good case can be made for nova (r.r) as an allusion to the novelty of Ovid's undertaking. 5 The word stands right at the beginning of the poem and is separated from corpora, its syntactical complement, by two lines, which is unusual and deliberate. A third and most fundamental novelty of the Metamorphoses, compared to the earlier metamorphosis poems, is that they are not about metamorphosis. Metamorphosis as an actual subject is far from dominating each and every story. Sometimes, as in the story of Cycnus (2.367-80), metamorphosis is indeed the central event in a story. More often it is subordinated to the more important subject of love, and just as often it is merely tangential. In this respect, the literary and artistic tradition that was inspired by the Metamorphoses is a good reflection of Ovid's intentions. On the whole-and there are notable exceptions like Bernini's Apollo and Daphne in the

4

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Inspiration, Tone and Theme

Borghese Gallery in Rome-these artists have not looked for their subjects to the instant of metamorphosis. 6 Instead, they have looked to situations in the stories proper, especially the erotic situations. In contrast to the metamorphosis poets who preceded him, Ovid included many myths which were only tangentially connected with a metamorphosis. The stories of Phaethon, Pentheus, Hercules, Meleager, Theseus, Hippolytus, Ajax, and many others are cases in point. They also make it clear that Ovid was drawing on far more than Hellenistic material. In fact, there is not a genre that he did not utilize. This, and the sheer number of myths told by him (more than 250), indicate that his concern, to which the role of the Metamorphoses in the later literary and cultural tradition is eloquent testimony, was myth and not merely metamorphosis. Ovid's aim in the Metamorphoses was to come to grips with and reshape myth, Greek myth in particular. Briefly, we might say that he was concerned with the metamorphosis of myth rather than mythological metamorphoses. How was Ovid able to metamorphose myth? He himself suggests the answer in a lengthy passage in the second book of the Art of Love, where he extols the merits of versatility of mind and ease of expression. The mythological example which he adduces is Odysseus, and more specifically, Odysseus complying with Calypso's request to tell her the story of the fall of Troy (2.123-42). Calypso was quite insatiable, even for delights such as a good story, and so she repeated the request to him time and again. Each time, Odysseus complied and he told her the same story, the story of the fall of Troy, but with the important difference that he managed to tell it aliterdifferentl y or in a different way: ille referre aliter saepe solebat idem (128). Taking into account the formidable talents of both Ovid and Odysseus, we might surmise that Calypso got to hear the same story in the style of epic, elegy, epistle, suasoria, tragedy, epyllion, aition, and perhaps even comedy and satyr play. As Odysseus in the Art of Love, Ovid in the Metamorphoses would look upon a traditional myth in terms of the challenge to referre idem aliter. This aliter again applies to both the mythological and the literary aspects of the myths which Ovid treats in the Metamorphoses. If all that matters is the various ways in which a myth can be told, the emphasis is a priori on the telling of it and not on the exploration of

The Hellenistic impulse and its modification

5

the deep problems and preoccupations which it might reflect. It is not the substance of the myth that matters, but the way it is told. The how is more important than the what. We will later explore in more detail the function which Ovid gives to myth in the M etamorphoses and, for the moment, again concentrate, despite the inseparable nature of the mythological and literary aspects of the poem, on the literary implication of referre idem aliter. That is, primarily, Ovid's deliberate tendency to tell a given story differently from the versions of earlier writers. For this, too, is an important aspect of Ovid's achievement in the Metamorphoses. The poem is the most comprehensive, creative mythological work that has come down to us from antiquity, and its comprehensiveness and resulting use as a· handbook have tended to obscure the originality of Ovid's adaptation of the myths. He was not a poetic Bulfinch who merely put the versions of earlier adaptors into Latin hexameters, but he did indeed tell the same and often, very traditional myths differently. The story of Erysichthon (8.738-878) is a good example of his independence and originality, and it is also a good introduction to some basic characteristics of the Ovidian narrative. The myth of Erysichthon does not belong among the great, commonly known Greek myths, although it was treated in literature as early as (pseudo-) Hesiod and may have had an extensive, nonliterary folktale tradition. 7 Its subject, Erysichthon's insatiable hunger, gave it the sort of quaint and grotesque appeal dear to the Hellenistic imagination, and the version with which Ovid's was meant to contrast most was doubtless that of Callimachus. The story, as Callimachus tells it in his Hymn to Demeter (31-117), is rather straightforward and forms a consistent whole. Because he wants to build a house for himself, Erysichthon, the young son of Triopas, goes with twenty attendants to cut trees in the forest. They happen on a grove sacred to Demeter. The first tree they cut down there cries out aloud and Demeter, disguised as a priestess, asks Erysichthon to desist. He replies that he needs a house for banqueting, whereupon the goddess appears in her true formher step touching the earth, her head reaching unto 01 ympus-and sends perpetual hunger on him. In the subsequent and longer part of the narrative (lines 68-118), the poet focuses on the destructive effects of Erysichthon's affiiction upon his family and their social status. The parents desperate! y want to maintain their respectability

6

Inspiration, Tone and Theme

and try to conceal the true state of Erysichthon's condition by keeping him at home and devising ever new excuses for declining invitations. Meanwhile, the boy impoverishes them by eating up everything, even the family cat. Finally, with no edibles or money for edibles left at home, the parents' struggle is lost as Erysichthon has to go to the crossroads as a beggar and eat refuse. The myth, in short, is transposed into the reality of everyday, bourgeois life and the narration takes its inner logic and consistency from there. The drawing of this genre scene thus is replete with concrete details, such as the exact number of the servants and a minute description of the various household animals. The same logic underlies the setting of the story. Callimachus pictures himself and the reader as standing in the streets of Alexandria among the women who are expecting the approach of the procession of the Sacred Basket of Demeter. It is they, the worthy middle-class housewives, who tell the story of Erysichthon, and the milieu of the story is theirs. The awe and solemnity with which the Hymn to Demeter could have been invested yields to 'bourgeoisification'. 8 The adaptation of myth to contemporary realities is a frequently practised way of keeping myth alive. But its life span thus tends to become restricted by the passing nature of these realities and Ovid, as his persisting influence through later ages suggests, had greater success in evoking the vitality of myth. One of the main reasons is ,1 that both the tone and the content of his narrative are more varied, uneven, and even inconsistent. Instead of the neatly ordered cosmos of Callimachus the play of the imagination becomes supreme. The contrast between these two poetic modes is subsumed in Ovid's famous characterization of Callimachus (Amores 1.15.13-14): Battiades semper toto cantabitur orbe: q uamvis ingenio non valet, arte valet. [ One will always sing of Callimachus all over the world: he prevails not by his imagination, but by his skill.]

lngenium was, of course, the hallmark of Ovid's poetry and led to his ruin: Ingenio perii Naso poeta meo (Trist. 3.3.74). His technique in the Erysichthon story is quite representative of his tendencies. Instead of the consistent tone, the orderly progression, and the

The Hellenistic hnpulse and its tnodification

7

clear focus of Callimachus' narrative we are faced with a fanciful and even discontinuous sequence of several episodes. They are developed in their own right, and Ovid delights in telling them as long as he can before returning to the main story's slender thread, which is attenuating as rapidly as Erysichthon. There is no consistent tone, and Ovid's narrative bravura stands out. In this regard, the Erysichthon episode typifies Ovid's narrative technique in most stories of the Metamorphoses. The initial tone of the description suggests seriousness. Ovid leads, or rather misleads us into the story by making it appear, at first, as a pendant to the story of Philemon and Baucis (8.616-724)9 whose piety was rewarded by the gods. Erysichthon is not a rash and unconcerned lad whose wish to build a banquet hall gets the better of any other considerations. Instead, he is a grown man qui numina divum sperneret (8.739-40)-a contemptor divum, whom Vergil had portrayed so memorably as a type of human behavior in the person of Mezentius, and the story of Philemon and Baucis had been told in response to the blasphemous remarks of precisely such a deorum spretor (8.612-13). Erysichthon is the very incarnation of wickedness and his actions spring from there. The subsequent description of the grove matches the gravity of this conception of Erysichthon's character. The sacredness of the place does not admit of nymphs 'sporting at noontide' as in Callimachus' hymn (line 38). Instead, the nymphs lead festive choruses that are part of a religious rite (8.746-48). And whereas Callimachus simply speaks of a large poplar, Ovid describes an oak tree in terms deliberately reminiscent of a famous simile in Aeneid 4 (441ff.). This oak is not only huge-it towers above the other trees as high as these trees tower above the grass-but also is a rustic shrine in the agricultural tradition of Roman religion. Votive tablets and wreaths received by grateful supplicants hang from it. Not only does Ovid greatly expand and change whatever he found' in Callimachus' incidental description, which took up all of two lines (37-8), but he also evokes the numinous, an aspect of the Roman tradition which Vergil had so brilliantly integrated into his epic. In this respect Ovid invests the myth with realities familiar to his readers. Ovid's characterization of Erysichthon continues in its original vein. He is impious (761), he commits a nef as (766) and a scelus (765) at which his companions are aghast (765: obstipuere omnes, which

8

Inspiration, Tone and Theme

is another V ergilian echo). He kills one of them with mocking words about the man's piety (767), and the only sly note in the whole account is that Ovid's Erysichthon seems to know Callimachus' Hymn, as might be expected, for he says that even if the goddess herself appeared to him, she could not stop him (755ff.). But then the scene and the tone change, as Ovid again expands what occupied just one line in Callimachus' hymn. There Demeter perceives that her holy tree is in pain (line 40), whereas Ovid describes in detail a procession of the nymphs to Ceres and their reception by the goddess. The passage (8.777-87) is a good example of Ovid's penchant for visualizing and painting a scene, but its effect on the story is that the serious tone is not kept up. Ovid has built up the serious tone to a degree that surpasses its role in Callimachus' version, but only to deflate it now. The deflation is gradual, and the scene of the procession of the nymphs serves as a transition. Everything is reduced to protocol; the nymphs, like Mediterranean wailing women, are properly attired in black and Ceres, so far from being a gigantic deity-for Ovid makes it a point to humanize even the appearance of the gods 10 -is adorned with the attributes and the head-dress we know from Roman art. Most importantly, even the matter of Erysichthon's punishment becomes a question of etiquette. In Callimachus' hymn, this punishment was suggested easily enough by Erysichthon's desire for banqueting. Ovid, by contrast, motivates it with the universal opposition betv1een Hunger and Ceres, the goddess of plenty. But this cosmic idea is only suggested, and not developed. What matters is that it would be against all protocol for Ceres to go to Hunger and thus she has to send one of the nymphs. With this the next tableau begins (788-813). It is developed in its own right and none of its detail is necessary for the main story. After Ovid had infused the story with contemporary reality in his description of the grove in Roman religious terms, he now transposes us into the world of the wondrous and fantastic. And he will continue in the same grotesque and fantastic vein without ever returning to the realities of the early part of the story. He first gives us a general description of the habitat of Hunger (a description, incidentally, which is strangely prophetic of the locale of his exile [ 8.788-9] ), and then follows it up with presenting a personification of Hunger. It is an expansive description, replete with the sort of graphic and

The Helleni'stic i'nipulse and i'ts modz'ficati'on

9

grotesque detail that we know from allegories in Renaissance art

(799-808): q uaesitamq ue F amem lapidoso vidit in agro unguibus et raras vellentem dentibus herbas. hirtus erat crinis, cava lumina, pallor in ore, labra incana situ, scabrae rubigine fauces, dura cutis, per quam spectari viscera possent; ossa sub incurvis exstabant arida 1um bis, ventris erat pro ventre locus; pendere putares pectus et a spinae tantummodo crate teneri. auxerat articulos macies, genuumque tumebat orbis, et inmodico prodibant tubere tali. [ She looked for Famine And found her, in a stony field, her nails Digging the scanty grass, and her teeth gnawing The tundra moss. Her hair hung down all matted, Her face was ghastly pale, her eyes were hollow, Lips without color, the throat rough and scaly, The skin so tight the entrails could be seen, The hip-bones bulging at the loins, the belly Concave, only the place for a belly, really, And the breasts seemed to dangle, held up, barely, By a spine like a stick-figure's; and her thinness Made all her joints seem large; the knees were swollen Balloons, almost, the ankles lumpy tubers.] It is entirely understandable that the messenger nymph should be stricken with hunger at the mere sight of this. She speeds back to Ceres, and the next tableau follows: the effect of Hunger on Erysichthon (823-846), who now reappears after a long interval. The tone in this passage is characterized by utterly grotesque hyperbole. Erysichthon's hunger is a crescendo o~ ravenousness, rising from its first manifestation in Erysichthon's sleep to the climax of insatiability. To that end, Ovid wildly exaggerates. Where Callimachus had shown pity for the parents. Ovid brings out the monstrousness of Erysichthon's affiiction with ever new overstatements. Erysichthon's hunger is of cosmic proportions: he demands

IO

Inspiration, Tone and Theme

what sea, earth and sky produce. What is enough to eat for cities and a whole people is only the hors d'oeuvre for him. Like a raging fire, like the ocean that drinks up all the earth's streams is this hunger. Besides grotesque exaggeration, Ovid concentrates on the paradox of the situation. All the food whets Erysichthon's appetite only more-cibus omnis in illo / causa cibi est (8.841-2)-and he seeks food in food: inque epulis epulas quaerit (832). At last, the metamorphosis theme is brought into the story in the person of Erysichthon's daughter. With Ovid's peculiar logicVenus' clerk Ovyde-she calls on Neptune, her former ravisher, to save her because her father has put her up for sale so that he can buy himself more food. In Callimachus' hymn, a prayer was also addressed to Neptune, but the basis for it was rather different because Triopas, Erysichthon's father, was Neptune's son. Neptune saves the girl by giving her, as he did in (pseudo-) Hesiod's account, 11 the power of metamorphosis. It is typical again of Ovid's procedure that he hardly dwells on the serious, saving aspect of Neptune's action but entertains the reader by having the various transformations of the girl pass in review. She is sold to ever new masters to bring in money for her father, who, however, is hardly mentioned because Ovid's attention now centers on the girl and her transformations, and not on Erysichthon or his hunger. Finally, to bring the story to an end, Ovid cavalierly (in two lines) dismisses its occasional protagonist, Erysichthon, by making him resort to his final solution. Erysichthon eats himself up, and having disposed of him, Ovid nonchalantly moves on to the next story. Ovid's introduction or re-introduction of the subject of metamorphosis into the story accounts for some of the differences between his version and Callimachus'. Since the daughter is essential for the metamorphosis, Erysichthon has to be a grown man and his parents are not mentioned. The role of Neptune had to change because only gods can effect a metamorphosis. Like most stories in the M etamorphoses, however, the Erysichthon is not about metamorphosis. The story is a good example of Ovid's emancipation of metamorphosis from being an actual subject and his use of it as a functional principle that is operative in all aspects of the poem. One of these is his narrative technique. In the Erysichthon story and in the Metamorphoses in general, Ovid deliberately refuses to

The Hellenistic impulse and its modification

II

sustain a certain mood or tone. The Erysichthon story at first looks like the per£ect counterpart to the story of the pious Philemon and Baucis. Erysichthon is characterized as impiety incarnate and the reader is led to expect a tale of crime and punishment, a mythological theodicy. Ovid leads us in that direction for a while, but then completely ceases even hinting at this theme. Other scenes and motifs follow; some are hilarious, some are grotesque, and some are merely entertaining. There is a polytonal variety, a continual change or metamorphosis of tone and mood. We can reduce neither this story nor the Metamorphoses in general to a simple formula such as 'comic epic' .12 Rather, they thrive on the juxtaposition of the serious with the comic and the straightforward with the playful. This is also true of the style of the Metamorphoses and the style of many of their individual stories. The Metamorphoses cannot be restricted to a genre such as epic or 'anti-epic', but they 'are a cosmos of all possible narrative forms' .13 High-blown epic alternates with burlesque, elegiac scenes with dramatic scenes, scenes that concentrate on graphic external description vary with those that explore the inner aspects, the psychology of a character. This variety of styles is well illustrated by the Erysichthon story. Concomitant with the initial tone of the narrative is the high epic style which Ovid employs. The characterization of Erysichthon in terms of the Vergilian Mezentius, which is reinforced by the correspondence between the situations of Mestra and Lausus (8.847; cf. Aen. 7.653-4), is one indication of this intent. So, more elaborately, are the similes such as that of the bull before the altar (8.761-4; cf. Aen. 2.223-34): cuius ut in trunco fecit manus inpia vulnus, haud aliter Buxit discusso cortice sanguis, quam solet, ante aras ingens ubi victima taurus concidit, abrupta cruor e cervice profundi. [ When that impious stroke cut into the trunk, blood came streaming forth from the severed bark, as when a huge sacrificial bull has fallen at the altar, and from his smitten neck the blood pours forth.] The epic color of the description is enhanced by Ovid's recall of yet

12

Inspiration, Tone and Theme

another Vergilian scene, i.e. the bleeding and speaking tree into which Polydorus had been transformed (Aen. 3.33ft.; cf. also Met. 8.770-3). The immense oak tree-Callimachus had spoken only of a poplar-recalls the famous simile in Aeneid 4.441ff., and the description of the headlong fall of the tree (8.774-6)is another epic situation. This epic style, however, is not sustained. It is broken up by Ovid's emphasis on hyperbole and paradox and, on the purely verbal level, by the clever conceits of the type we saw Ovid apply to a situation such as Erysichthon's eating only leading to increased hunger. It is also likely that for some of the exaggerations, especially of the ferocious behavior of Erysichthon, Ovid was looking to the tragedies of Accius, who cultivated this kind of protagonist. 14 Lastly, the style of the Mestra episode (848-78)is neither epic nor clever nor tragic, but light and charming. This is true especially of her conversation with her late owner (855-70), although the clever touches are not entirely missing from it. Recognizing that she has been metamorphosed, the girl rejoices that someone is asking her for herselfa se se quaeri gaudens (862-3).15 And when she swears by Neptune she uses a double entendre worthy of the wife of Autolycus: sic has deus aequoris artes adiuvet (866-7), where artes can mean both the craft of fishing and the art of deception. Connected with this constant transmutation of tone and style is another basic, and obvious, characteristic of the Ovidian narrative, the rapidly moving succession of motifs and episodes. Ovid always surprises the reader-and keeps his attention-by introducing unexpected developments. Like everything else, the degree of this 'jumpiness' of the narrative is subjected to variation in the individual stories. In the Erysichthon, it is both more and less evident than in others. Merely from a geographical point of view, the Callimachean version stays in place as its only locales are the house of Erysichthon's parents and the nearby grove. In the Metamorphoses, we move from the numinous grove in a procession of the nymphs to Ceres. From there we proceed, with the messenger nymph, to the outermost reaches of glacial Scythia, to the Caucasus, and return to Ceres. The scene shifts back to the Caucasus, to Erysichthon's house in Thessaly and then, with the daughter, to the shore of the sea, the air, and the meadows. We end with Erysichthon, who eats himself up, presumably in his house. There is unity in this microcosm of the Metamorphoses, but it is the unity of imaginative association. A certain logic

The Hellenistic impulse and its modification underlies the progression from one segment of the story to the nexte.g., it is 'logical' that the offended nymphs should go to Ceres and that Ceres should enlist the aid of her counterpart, Hunger-but the overall effect is not one of strict coherence. But neither is it chaotic. Ovid's breathtaking skill-and Quintilian for good reasons compares ' him to a juggler (see Chapter 2, page 79)-of maintaining a balance in the entire Metamorphoses between the frequent centrifugal tendencies or thematic discontinuity, both within individual stories and from one story to the next, and some suggestive over-all unity, which is reinforced by the narrative continuity, is another basic tension of the poem. Metamorphosis, as we will see, is the under1ying principle also.for the form of the Metamorphoses. Since Ovid's treatment of the Erysichthon myth is such a good example, we may anticipate also one of the functions to which Ovid put the metamorphosis theme in his transformation of the quality of myth. One obvious characteristic of metamorphosis is that, by its very nature, it eliminates a true solution to the moral issues raised by the myths. 16 For instance, lust and passion in metamorphosis stories seldom are actually defeated or resisted, seldom faced head-on in a true moral conflict that can only be resolved in moral terms. Instead, the passions are represented as they work upon the personality of the character involved until he or she is changed into the bestial or elemental equivalent of that passion: the cruel Lycaon into a wolf, Cl ytie, who is sick with love for the Sun god, into a sun.flower, the lustful Jupiter into a bull, the impetuous Hippomenes and Atalanta into lions, the hard-hearted Anaxarete into a stone, etc. In stories like these, we can see the clear link between the metamorphosis and the evasion of a concern with profound, moral, under1ying problems, and the avoidance of a true moral solution. Such avoidance is an inherent characteristic of the metamorphosis theme. What Ovid does, however, is to use this characteristic in its own right without making it dependent, in most stories, on an actual metamorphosis. This is exemplified by his treatment of the Erysichthon myth. Ovid introduces him as wickedness incarnate and opens up the prospect of a morality play. But his fantastic description of Hunger and his grotesque depiction of Erysichthon's ravenous mania divert us from serious concern with the problem of crime and punishment. He exploits the grotesque for its own sake without giving it the

Inspiration, Tone and Theme spiritual significance that we find, for instance, in Franz Kafka's story The Metamorphosis, a story whose basic situation resembles that of Erysichthon in Callimachus' version. This is true particularly of the effect of the afflicted person on his family and of their attempts to cope with the situation. Ovid, however, eschews anything of this kind. After myth was invested with contemporary, religious reality at the beginning of the story when Ovid described the sacred grove, myth now becomes the vehicle of escape from morality and religion and transports the reader to the realm of the wondrous. The grand problems are thus effaced and Ovid has no desire to return to them, even after we return from the habitat of Hunger. The final solution is not moral or religious-it is simply that Erysichthon eats himself up, and hastily at that. In sum, Ovid's non-moral treatment of myth, and in particular his evasion of moral solutions or of extensive concern with profound, metaphysical problems is related to his choice of metamorphosis as the titular theme of his poem. More specifically, it illustrates again that Ovid was attracted not so much by metamorphosis as an actual subject as by its imaginative and tonal qualities which he freely used in their own right. This is an essential aspect of Ovid's originality. But even when we compare Ovid to Callimachus and, for that matter, other Hellenistic poets, in the narrower sense of literary imitation do his innovations become clear. The combination of different elements of subject-matter and style certainly was not Ovid's invention. We find it, for instance, in Callimachus' third Hymn. There is no indication, however, that Callimachus introduced this kind of variety into the individual stories which comprise his longest poem, the Aitia. 17 From one story to the other, the style sometimes changes; within the same story, it does not. Ovid's innovation, then, was twofold. He applied this variatio to a poem of epic length and to many of its individual episodes. And he applied it to a metamorphosis poem which by this procedure, too, becomes a poem that reflects metamorphosis rather than is about metamorphoses.

2:

THE IMPULSE OF THE AENEID

There is one other aspect in which Ovid drastically departed from Hellenistic precedent. Callimachus had written the Aitia in elegiac

The inzpulse of the 'Aeneid' verse and programmatically disassociated himself from writing 'one continuous poem ... in thou~ands of verses' (Fr. I [Pfeiffer]). In the same breath, he had reject'ed epic subjects, personified by kings and heroes, and the grand style. 'To thunder is Zeus' business, not mine,' he says polemically. We have already seen that Ovid is far from sustaining the grand style in the Metamorphoses. Nor do the deeds of kings-reges et proelia-figure in his poem. Mythological heroes, such as Meleager and Hercules, do appear, but they are far from being the only characters and Ovid does not use them to expound heroic ideals of human life and conduct, as in epic poetry .18 Ostensibly, however, he forswore Callimachus' injunction against a long, continuous poem. In his apologia to Augustus, Tristia 2, Ovid uses for his poem the same term V ergil had used for the second half of the Aeneid, maius opus (63). When Ovid, less than three decades after the death of Vergil, was the only Augustan poet to devote a long hexameter poem-longer than the Aeneid-to myth, we can apply to the procedure the comment made by Ovid's friend Gallio about Ovid's borrowing of Vergilian phrases (Sen., Suas. 3.7). He wrote the Metamorphoses so that they challenged comparison with Vergil's poem: palam mutuandi (causa), hoe animo ut vellet agnosci. The many reminiscences from Vergil's Aeneid which we noted in the Erysichthon story are not restricted to that episode, but echoes and motifs from the Aeneid are an integral part of the M etamorphoses. As one scholar has aptly put it, 'Vergil was ever-present to Ovid,' 19 and the "!i1etamorphoses cannot be properly understood without the realization that they were meant to be Ovid's answer to Vergil's Aeneid. This is another aspect of the poem that is too central to Ovid's poetic and mythopoeic intentions to let itself be reduced to simplistic formulas within the binary system of criticism which currently is so fashionable for the poetry written during Augustus' reign. The Aeneid is an epic and 'Augustan' in both the literary and patriotic sense of the word, but this does not simply make the Metamorphoses into an 'anti-epic' or 'anti-Augustan'. Ovid does more than merely play with Vergilian themes or parody them, as we will see in Chapter 5 in a detailed discussion of his adaptation of the Aeneid in Books 13 and 14. At this point, we shall limit ourselves to setting in relief the fundamental difference between the two poets, i.e. their treatment of myth and the reasons for it, but also some basic points

16

Inspiration, Tone and Theme

of similarity. For Ovid had a keen eye-a keener eye, at any rate, than many serious imitators of the Aeneid-for the special and novel characteristics of the Vergilian epic and he was fully aware of Vergil's normative influence. 20 The different attitude of the two poets to myth may be best approached through the various passages in both Ovid's amatory and exile poetry in which he presents myths as the figments of poetic imagination. 21 In Tristia 4.7.11-20, for instance, he mentions several myths, including six that he had treated in the Metamorphoses, to express the notion of patent impossibility. And even when he reminds Augustus of the Metamorphoses in terms of the Vergilian maius opus, he adds at once that these transformations are not to be believed (Trist. 2.63-4): inspice maius opus, quod adhuc sine fine tenetur, in non credendos corpora versa modos. [ Look into my major work, which is not quite finished yet, look at the men who were changed into figures that are not to be believed.] For Ovid, unlike Vergil, the traditional verity of myth did not exist. This does not mean that it was without any verity whatsoever for him, because otherwise it would have been pointless of Ovid to engage in his maius opus and to claim for himself, as he does on the basis of this achievement, unchangeable immortality in the proud epilogue to the Metamorphoses. To Ovid, the verity of myth lay, above all, in its narrative qualities, in the way he could tell it, and not in its metaphysical, para-historical, explanatory, religious, or other functions. It is useful at this point not to postpone any longer some comment on the properly mythological aspects of the Metamorphoses and to refer to the helpful, if simplified, typology of mythical functions which G. S. Kirk has used in his recent book. 22 He acutely differentiates between three types, which we shall list here in reverse order. One is speculative and explanatory, which is largely selfexplanatory. These are myths that try to explain or offer a solution for a problem, often a complex problem, which defies ultimate rational analysis. They often serve to explain or speculate on pro-

The impulse of the' Aeneid'

17

found mysteries of the human existence or on metaphysical problems of a high order. The story of the f+ood is one example, and so is the treatment of myth by the great Greek tragedians. The second function of myth is iterative and validatory. These are mostly myths that provide a charter for the rightful existence of an object or custom, such as the tree cult commemorating Philemon and Baucis (8.724)or the foundation of Rome. Religious elements, for obvious reasons, can often be found in these two functions of myth. The third function of myth is narrative and entertaining. Of course, narrative qualities are an irrlportant element in any myth, 'for all myths are stories and depend heavily on their narrative qualities for their creation and preservation' .23 Yet, as Kirk rightly points out, 'myths that are exclusively narrative, and seem to have no sp~c1Jlativeor operative content whatever, are rare'. 24 Few myths, then, seem to have been created simply because of their narrative and entertaining qualities. This is, however, precisely the function of myth that Ovid emphasizes most. As Georges Lafaye pointed out long ago in his discussion of the Erysichthon episode: c' est un conteur ... sans s'inquieter beaucoup des grands problemes. 25 This does not mean that Ovid does not hint at them, but he refuses to develop this higher reality of myth. For Ovid, myth has its worth primarily because it can be told, and the manner in which it is told is of central importance. The charm and attractiveness of the Metamorphoses over the centuries have resulted exactly from the author's obvious delight in telling a story and hi! craftsmanship as a raconteur. More germane than the romantic value j-11dgementsabout Ovid's chosen emphasis is the historical perspectives in which it must be placed. When we consider the state of Graeco-Roman mythology at Ovid's time, Ovid's emphasis on its narrative qualities appears indeed as the only viable alternative for keeping myth alive on a large scale. During the Hellenistic age it had lost its profound meaning anyway, as we saw earlier, and it is doubtful whether it had ever possessed such implications for many Romans in the first place.26 The animistic agricultural religion of Italy produced hardly any myths, and by the time ~pe Greek pantheon was grafted upon it the Olympian deities had ceased to be vital religious forces. They were not revived as such in Hellenistic Greece, and whatever vitality they had was choked off hy the Roman state religion in which

18

Inspiration, Tone and Theme

emphasis on the mechanics of the ritual on the one hand, and political manipulation on the other, left little room for spirituality. There were some notable exceptions, such as the cult of Hercules which, for peculiar reasons, escaped the mortifying hand of the pontifices, but by and large, in the Graeco-Roman world at Ovid's time, the gods were conventions and quite dead. 27 We do not wish to follow those who narrow the term 'myth' down to a religious or sacred tale. Yet when Ovid wrote the Metamorphoses, GraecoRoman mythology was in search of its character, and those myths which originally were associated with religion and now were severed from their religious base, epitomize the situation. To restore this original meaning to them on a grand scale was impossible as is shown by the failure of the religious program of Augustus. Vergil, however, succeeded in the Aeneid in re-endowing myth with functions that were more than purely narrative. He revived mythological epic because in contrast to the kind of historical epic which was practised by his Roman predecessors and which he initially may have contemplated writing, mythological epic enabled him much better to explore varying and often contrasting aspects of the human experience, and that essentially is the purpose of the Aeneid. This human experience is largely identified with the Roman national experience and viewed from the perspective of the Augustan peace and achievement. 28 It has been pointed out many times, quite correctly, that the difference in temperament between Vergil and Ovid, which led Vergil to write the Aeneid and Ovid, a different kind of poetry, has much to do with their belonging to different generations. Vergil was born in 70 B.c., lived through the horrors of the civil wars and the chaos of the fall of the Republic, and genuinely appreciated the arrival of the Pax Augusta and even Augustus' idealistic antiquarianism. Vergil, therefore, once more gave myth profound meaning, which reflected the profound nature of his own experience and that of Rome. Ovid was born twenty-six years later and was only in his early teens at the time of the battle of Actium. He knew no \vorse than the peace and prosperity of Augustan Rome. By temperament he was unable to remake myth into a profound reflection of deep problems and preoccupations. But besides such biographic and historical reasons, one other factor is significant. Vergil's treatment of myth was possible because he concentrated on one myth, that of

The inipulse of the 'Aeneid' Aeneas. It gave him a free hand because, with the exception of Aeneas' wanderings, neither the myth nor the main characters, Aeneas and Turnus, had been developed much in the previous mythological tradition. By contrast, the range of Ovid's mythology is far more ambitious. Ovid, as we noted earlier, was trying to con1e to grips with Graeco-Roman myth in general. He presents over 250 myths and tells anew many myths that had been adapted time and again previously. To re-endow Greek myth on this large a scale with the qualities it originally had was quite impossible after the decline of these qualities in the Hellenistic age, nor was the time at which Ovid wrote the Metamorphoses-the late Augustan reigncongenial. One largely untraditional myth, as that of Aeneas, still could be treated in depth and explored for great meaning. Myth in general, however, could not. Thus Ovid followed the only possible course open to anyone who wanted to revitalize myth on a grand scale: he demonstrated that the vitality of the myths consisted mainly in the way they were told. The Metamorphoses, in short, are Ovid's deliberate alternative to the Aeneid. One immediate consequence of Ovid's emphasis on different aspects of myth from Vergil's is the greater egocentricity of his narrative. Since the substance of the myths is fictitious, Ovid wants our attention to be caught up neither in the myths per se nor in the narrative to such an extent that we lose sight of the way in which the story is told and thus, ultimately, of the narrator. This is accomplished by a variety of devices. We already have noted two of them in the Erysichthon story, i.e. the thematic discontinuity of the narrative and ever new appearances of the unexpected. A writer who is dazzling his reader with ever new turns and twists of the imagination directs the reader's attention to his technical virtuosity. This is especially true when Ovid tells myths that were well known and fully expects the reader to know the traditional versions, so that he can appreciate all the more the different way Ovid decides to render them. The reader often is interested not in what happens next, but what new turn Ovid's imagination next will take. In antiquity, Quintilian ( see Chapter 2, page 7 I) severely criticized Ovid for grandstanding, which goes to show that the reading public of the Metamorphoses fully understood the poet's aim of drawing considerable attention to himself and his technique. Essential to this strategy are especially Ovid's verbal wit B

20

Inspiration, Tone and Theme

and his many clever conceits. Through his wit Ovid makes his own presence felt and forces the reader to think of Ovid, the raconteur. Ovid's frequent informative and editorializing comments serve the same purpose. He may call attention to himself by providing a piece of information at a crucial point of a character's speech and thus keeps the reader from being all caught up in the narrative. A good example is Mother Earth's anguished outcry to Jupiter in Book 2.282-3. Ovid interrupts her in mid-sentence to tell us the reason she could hardly open her mouth: 'vix equidem fauces haec ipsa in verba resolvo;' (presserat ora vapor) 'tostos en adspice crines ... ' ['I can hardly open my mouth to speak these words'the smoke had gripped her throat-look at my hair, burned . ... '] cnsp After Byblis has delivered herself of her peculiar confessio amantis in a letter to her brother, Ovid dispels whatever involvement the reader may have developed by now with the girl's plight by informing us why she had to dampen her signet ring with tears (9.566-7): protinus inpressa signat sua crimina gemma, quam tinxit lacrimis (linguam defecerat umor). [ Immediately to seale her shame she takes a precious stone, To which shee moystes with teares; from tung the moysture quight was gone. (Golding's version)] Often the inforn1ation which Ovid interjects is purposely superfluous, and its effect is comical. Jupiter, for instance, concludes his plea to lo ( r .597) with: ne fuge me (' don't run away from me'). Belatedly, Ovid adds at once: fugiebat enim ('for she was running away'), as if this could not be inferred from Jupiter's words. And often he uses an editorial comment, in which he calls attention to the lack of credibility of a myth, to distance himself and the reader from the story. In his account, e.g., of Tereus' rape of Procne, Ovid, as so often, has it both ways: he points out that the myth may well

The impulse of the' Aeneid'

21

be .fictitious, but he revels in its descriptive aspects anyway 29 (6.561-

562): hoe quoque post facinus (vix ausim credere) fertur saepe sua lacerum repetisse libidine corpus. [ Even after this horrid deed-I dare hardly believe it-he is said to have worked his lustful will again and again upon her poor mangled body.] Frequently, Ovid addresses the reader directly 30 or, n1ore generally, such 'parentheses' serve to anticipate the probable reaction, objection, or emotional response of the reader 31 and, conversely, make the reader aware of the controlling presence of the poet. Another immediate difference between Vergil and Ovid which results from Ovid's concentration on the narrative qualities of myth is his handling of meter. Since it is known well enough, only a brief sumn1ary is needed here. Ovid's favorite arrangement of dactyls and spondees in the first four feet of the hexameter is exactly the reverse of Vergil's. The eight most frequent patterns in the Metamorphoses exhibit an average ratio of twenty dactyls to twelve spondees; in the Aeneid, it is exactly the other way around. These eight patterns account for 81.62 per cent of Ovid's verses. All eight have an initial dactyl. Only one of the eight uses more than two spondees, as compared to three of eight in the Aeneid. Ovid makes far less use of elision, again quite in contrast to Vergil, who 'made elision one of the important features of his hexameter, using it frequently and with great art to interlock phrases and reinforce the complexity of his design'. 32 Furthermore, Ovid is intent on combining sense-units with metrical units. Phrases or clauses that form a meaningful unit do not overrun the major caesuras of the hexameter nearly as often as they do in Vergil. The result is that the narrative is perspicuous and flows along smoothly and quickly. It is worth quoting Brooks Otis' succinct summary: 'In a word, Ovid puts in everything ( dactyls, regular pauses, coincidence of ictus and accent, rhyme, alliteration, grammatical simplicity and concision) that will speed up and lighten; leaves out everything (elision, spondees, grammatical complexity, clash of accent and ictus, overrunning of metrical by sense units that will slow down and encumber his verse. ' 33

22

Inspiration, Tone and Theme

Although it is, as always, the differences that count most, we would be unwise to ignore some of the similarities between Ovid and V ergil. Ovid lacked V ergil 's sense for the historical and mysterious aspects of myth, but he adopted other Vergilian innovations. One of these was Vergil 's treatment of the pre-existing tradition. Book Three of the Aeneid is the most conspicuous example. A maze of legends had grown up around Aeneas' wanderings by Vergil's time. Since it was impossible to tell them all, V ergil alludes to some, summarizes others, and expands those that suit his purpose best. This also is Ovid's characteristic technique. As for the Aeneid in general and the character and exploits of its hero in particular, it would be a mistake to assume that Vergil merely put into verse a tradition that had crystallized before him. He innovated and invented essential aspects of the story, such as giving Aeneas Italian ancestry. Rather than Augustan pressures, this freedom to create Aeneas may have been the true reason for Vergil's decision to write the Aeneid. In spite of Vergil's studied effort, which was a must in antiquity, to insert himself into the pre-existing tradition, n1erely his choice of the hero indicates that he intended to leave himself great latitude and artistic freedom. The literary, esthetic, and psychological novelty of the Aeneid is inseparable from its factual, mythopoeic departure from the earlier tradition. In this respect, Ovid, followed V ergil 's example al though, as we have seen, he often took on myths which had a far more extensive tradition than the myth of Aeneas. Still, he kept as free a hand as Vergil in adapting and shaping his material. We cannot give a detailed account here of Ovid's relation to his sources. Numerous studies of this subject exist, 34 however, and unless one constantly postulates lost poems by unknown Hellenistic authors, such studies have shown that Ovid freely adapted his material virtually at all times. We saw a good, though by no means unique example of this procedure in Ovid's version of the Erysichthon story, and Wilamowitz' comment on it applies to the Metamorphoses in general: 'Ovid himself is the poet in all respects; the Greek models, even Callimachus, provide him only with the material and the impulse for his own inventions.' 35 A second salient characteristic of the Aeneid, which recurs in the Metamorphoses, is the emphasis on the portrayal of human passions

The impulse of the 'Aeneid' and emotions. This is not to say that these are absent from the Homeric epics, let alone Apollonius' Argonautica, but the detail and intensity with which Vergil stressed the 'inner' events and the psychology of the characters is unprecedented in the epic tradition. What happens in the characters' soul is more important than their external achievements. The Dido story is of course the best known example of this 'drama of the soul', although this is equally true of the other main characters of the Aeneid. This was another reason for the success of the Aeneid and may have suggested to Ovid that such descriptions had a place in a long hexameter poem. But once more it is important to be aware of the differences between the two poets in this regard. Ovid paints many vivid panoramas of the human psyche in the M eta1norphoses-for example, Byblis, Scylla, Narcissus, Tereus, Phaethon, Alcyone, Medea, Cephalus and Procris -but he does not do so with the same constant involvement that characterizes Vergil 's attitude. V ergil viewed the tribulations of his characters with both sympathy and empathy. He often shares the emotions of his protagonists and makes the reader share them, too. Ovid's attitude, as we will see in more detail later, is more detached. He followed Vergil in striving to manipulate the extent of the readers' emotional involvement in the events and characters of the story, but the reader at all times is kept aware of this manipulation and of the manipulator. Another important difference is that in his portrayal of human psychology, Ovid shares Vergil's sense of mystery as little as he does anywhere else. The sole agent in these portraits, such as that of Narcissus, 36 is intellect. It can brilliant! y and analytically lay bare the many strands of human motivation, but in the process deprive them of the existential mystery which is so typical of Vergilian scenes such as Turnus' seizure by the fury Allecto (Aen.

7.413-66). The final scenes of the Aeneid (12.919-52)and the Metamorphoses are an enlightening epiton1e of the fundamental difference between the two poets, their temperaments, and their attitudes to myth. Vergil had to work with a traditional scene; he could change the tradition of Turnus' death at the hands of Aeneas as little as anyone could let Hector be spared by Achilles. But he gave this traditional myth the greatest possible meaning by summing up in it some of the chief themes of the Aeneid and the characterization of its hero: objective and personal causation, the dilemmas which Aeneas

Inspiration, Tone and Theme constant! y has to confront and which do not allow for easy choices, and his humanity. 37 Ovid, by contrast, ends on a triumphant note ( I 5.871-9):

iamque opus exegi, quod nee Iovis ira nee ignis nee poterit ferrum nee edax abolere vetustas. cum volet, illa dies, quae nil nisi corporis huius ius habet, incerti spatium mihi finiat aevi: parte tamen meliore mei super alta perennis astra ferar, nomenque erit indelebile nostrum, quaque potet domitis Romana potentia terris, ore legar populi, perque omnia saecula fama, siquid habent veri vatum praesagia, vivam. [ Now I have done my work. It will endure Beyond Jove's anger, fire and sword Beyond Time's hunger. The day will con1e, I know So let it come, that day which has no power Save over my body, to end my span of life Whatever it may be. Still, part of me, The better part, immortal, will be borne Above the stars; my name will be remembered Wherever Roman power rules conquered lands, I shall be read, and through all centuries, If prophecies of bards are ever truthful, I shall be living, always.] In keeping with the emphasis on the narrative qualities of myth, the Metamorphoses end on the note of the triumph of the narrator. His role has been very much in evidence throughout the poem and is integral to his manner of telling and reshaping n1ythological narration. Vivam thus is fittingly the last word of the M etamorphoses. The poem on transformations culminates with the one exemplar that is impervious to change: the poet's achievement. To show that it is second to none, Ovid here deliberately uses echoes from Ennius and Horace. 38 Since this epilogue is the formal pendant to the proem, it is possible that the adjective perpetuum, which Ovid chose in lieu of the more common and metrically equivalent continuum (carmen ), may express, besides recalling Callimachus' &eicrµa

The relation to Ovid's earlier poetry

25

Dl1JV€1A second factor that we must take into account, besides this Roman proclivity, is the great popularity at this time of the untragic presentation of tragic myths in the form of the pantomime. We have repeatedly referred to this phenomenon, but it remains to single out one more aspect of this adaptation of myth which provides a strong parallel to Ovid's peculiar and frequent mode of presenting human agony. That was the tendency toward sensationalism. 33 Instead of being developed in a sustained dramatic action that would require the spiritual participation of the spectator, horror was compressed into single, unconnected bravura scenes and there raised to sensational dimensions For this reason, the inherent! y most sensational scenes were chosen from the dramas-e.g., Orestes the matricide, the mad Herakles, the mad Ajax, the blinding of Oedipus-and rendered as 1uridl y as possible. '/This sensationalism was the natural terminus of the progressive externalization of tragedy through the elimination of the tragic spirit and inner meaning of trag{c myth and through the growing emphasis on its outward aspects.r A concomitant development was that simplicity was eschewed and a performance as spectacular and suggestive as possible was aimed for. It is better to view rankly sensational episodes such as the rape of Philomela and the battle of the centaurs and Lapiths (both were also pantomimic subjects) in relation to this contemporary phenomenon than to ascribe them, more problematically, to Ovid's penchant for tqe 'baroque'. Ovid's undertaking to revive myth was not merely an aesthetic exercise, but, like most authors, he wrote for a public and that public had specific tastes. His often morbid elaboration of the horrid and sadistic side of the myths which he chose for the Metamorphoses is an important aspect of his Romanization of mythology. Quite in contrast to its treatment in Greek literary poetry, the horror of myth is transmuted into a non-spiritual, non-int~llectual, and external affair which corresponds to Roman realities.! Occasionally, one has

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the impression that Ovid's exaggerated treatment may suggest that he was merely playing with the predilection of his public. On the other hand, nowhere in his poetry does he condemn the brutality and blood-thirst of the gladiatorial contests in a manner that even remotely compares to the denunciations, e.g., of Plutarch, Dio Chrysostom, and especially Seneca. Comparison with the latter is particularly instructive because preoccupation with the theme of death and suffering is a leitmotif in Seneca's tragedies. 34 So far from being a spectator's attitude as at the time of the pax Augusta, Seneca's treatment of it reflects the ever-present reality and even anticipation of death that characterized his life and the lives of many of his contemporaries. Thus even the most ghastly scenes in his dramas never degenerate into mere cruelty-into much less cruelty than there is, for instance, in an early Shakespearian play such as Titus Andronicus-but in their own way affirm the dignity and spiritual strength of man. It would be too facile, therefore, to exonerate Ovid from treating death with indifference and amusement by pointing to the callousness which the massive bloodletting during the Civil Wars must have produced. The omnipresence of death and suffering was, if anything, even more marked for the imperial circle to which Seneca belonged and it made him more, and not less, sensitive to it. Although the majority of the scenes of death c1.ndsuffering in the Metamorphoses are treated by Ovid in the fashion we have outlined, we would be unjust to him if we did not consider the stories that show him capable of the opposite manner of treatment.,:Partially, the latter may have been motivated by his desire for variety;, Besides this literary purpose, however, they reflect the awareness, and perhaps even struggle, in his and the Roman soul of the need to accord this subject the same kind of sensibility which he infused to an outstanding degree into so many stories, such as that of Pygmalion, that have no or little relation to the theme of death and suffering. In this respect, the speech of Pythagoras once more emerges as a foil. This is not surprising because we owe one of the most articulate condemnations of the brutalizing effect of the gladiator shows on the Roman audience to a follower of Pythagoras in early imperial times. In his treatise On the Eating of Flesh he characterizes them as 'insensibility to human beings, and cruelty'. 35 The central part of Pythagoras' speech, which we discussed earlier, 36 is framed by his

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exhortations to vegetarianism (15.75ff., 453ff.), which ernphasize the abstention fron1 Besh rather than the eating of vegetables. In these passages, it is clearly the distasteful killing of animals that agitates Ovid most, and not the dogmatic aspect, i.e. the possible effect of the eating of Besh on metempsychosis. Lines 75-142 are a moving plea for humans not to butcher animals, and this entreaty is based on simple and humane rather than on dogmatic and philosophical reasons. Ovid pillories such killing as slaughter (86), crime ( 106, 111, 127), as a trait of predatory beasts and not of men (83-7), as ruthless egoism (94-5), and as ingratitude (109, 122-6). 'And that is not enough '-nee satis est, he continues (15.127), 'We make the gods our partners in the abomination,' and he proceeds to describe the killing of a victim at the altar. Whereas Lucretius, who often disparages myths, made one of his rare uses of myth-the story of Iphigenia (Rer. Nat. 1.84-101)-to depict the innocent and helpless state of the victim and thus to arouse the reader, Ovid, whose poem is about myths, chose to present a real experience, with which many of his readers were doubtless familiar, in order to appeal as directly and as movingly as possible to their sympathy (15.130-40): 130

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victima labe carens et praestantissima formanam placuisse nocet-vittis insignis et auro sistitur ante aras auditque ignara precantem inponique suae videt inter cornua fronti, quas coluit, fruges percussaque sanguine cultros inficit in liquida praevisos forsitan unda. protinus ereptas viventi pectore fibras inspiciunt mentesque deum scrutantur in illis. unde (fames homini vetitorum tanta ciborum est!) audetis vesci, genus o mortale! quod, oro, ne facite ... [ So there he stands, the victim at the altars, Without a blemish, perfect (and his beauty Proves his own doom), in sacrificial garlands, I-Iorns tipped with gold, and hears the priest intoning: Not knowing what he means, watches the barley Sprinkled between his horns, the very barley He helped make grow, and then is struck

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Ovid's Hu1nanity: Death and Suffering in the 'Metamorphoses' And with his blood he stains the knife whose flashing He may have seen reflected in clear water. Then they tear out his entrails, peer, examine, Search for the will of Heaven, seeking omens. On these entrails-so great is man's appetite for food!y ou then dare feed, human race. Do not do this, I pray you ... ]

There is a complete absence here of the sensationalism, the bizarre postures, the hyperbolic delight in cruelty, and the ironic asides that characterize so many other depictions of death. Instead, the story is told simply and with the kind of understated detail-such as the victim seeing a reflection of the knife in the water and thus finally learning, one second before the deadly blow, what is happeningthat cannot fail to evoke the sympathy even of the most hard-hearted reader. As so often, Ovid here uses a traditional detail ( see Callimach us, Aitia fr. 75.10-11 [Pfeiffer]), which he also mentions in the Fasti (1.327-8),but gives it new force by describing the earlier stages of the sacrificial process to which the animal is subjected and by presenting the event from the victim's point of view. Ovid reinforces the sentiment by having Pythagoras cond ude his speech with a similar appeal. The description is more compressed and concentrates on nothing but the pitiful murder of the poor creatures ( r5.463-9): quam male consuescit, quam se parat ilie cruori inpius humano, vituli qui guttura ferro rumpit et inmotas praebet mugitibus aures, aut qui vagitus similes puerilibus haedum edentem iugulare potest aut alite vesci, cui dedit ipse cibos ! quantum est quod desit in istis ad plenum facinus? quo transitus inde paratur?

f An

evil habit, impious preparation, Wicked as human bloodshed, to draw the knife Across the throat of the calf, and hear its anguish Cry to deaf ears! And who could slay The little goat whose cry is like a baby's, Or eat the bird he has himself just fed?

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One might as well do murder; he is only The shortest step away.]

It is remarkable that while Ovid equates the murder of the animals with human bloodshed, he depicts the latter in the Metamorphoses with not nearly as much humanity. ).A possible reason is that the episodes of human agony in this poem by necessity belong to the world of myth and Ovid, as we saw earlier, did not believe in the veracity of myths. By contrast, a real experience such as the victimization of animals, which his readers had witnessed, could not so easily be deprived of its impaEt and lent itself better to a serious message. This may well be a further indication that Ovid, quite unlike Seneca, simply did not consider myth capable of being reendowed with the total seriousness that it had possessed, for instance, in Attic drama. t iThere are some passages where, for the most part, Ovid presents the pathos of human agony and suffering without travestying it. But especially in extended descriptions of this kind, he remained true to his penchant for preserving an untragic note by injecting, even if not in a dominating way, some element of irony or parody~ This is well exemplified by the story of Apollo and Coronis (2.596-632 ). At its beginning, Ovid contents himself with describing the outward manifestations of Apollo's jealousy. As so often, psychological depth is ignored in favor of visual explicitness which thrives on incongruity and playful banalization. Ovid evokes the image of Apollo, the god with the laurel crown, only to show how this emblem is falling from his head, an occurrence that is an anticlimactic epilogue to the Daphne story. A quick-witted syllepsis, a device of which Ovid is extraordinarily fond, 37 links together the two dissimilar aspects of Apollo's reaction: 'He lost his countenance, his lyre, and his color.' These two lines are followed by less than one line that says something about the god's emotion in the most conventional terms (2.600-2): laurea delapsa est audito crimine amantis, et pariter vultusque deo plectrumque colorque excidit, utque animus tumida fervebat ab ira ... This beginning of the story, ho,vcvcr, is so designed only in order to

144 Ovid's Humanity: Death and Suffering in the 'Metamorphoses' avoid too much pathos and gravitas. For it is followed by a description of the girl's death and the god's remorse, which for almost twenty lines is truly pathetic and leaves nothing to be desired in senousness. At that point, however, it is time again to suspend the pathos. Ovid does so with an elegance that is far more subdued than the brassy means which we discussed earlier. He says that Apollo groaned and, in one of the frequent ·Ovidian interjections, points out that gods cannot cry (2.621-2): neque enim caelestia tingui/ora licet lacrimis. The effect of the parenthesis is to engage the intellectual attention of the reader in the peculiar discrepancy between the human and the divine characteristics of Apollo. It is the same discrepancy which, more glaringly, we saw at the beginning of the story. 38 It does not ruin the pathos, but it detracts from it, and this suspension is continued by the simile which Ovid chooses for the god's moaning (2.623-5): haud aliter, quam cum spectante iuvenca lactentis vituli dextra libratus ab aure tempora discussit claro cava malleus ictu. [ His moaning Was pitiful, almost like the mournful lowing Made by a mother cow, when her calf Goes down before the butcher's smashing hammer.] Given the seriousness and sympathy with which Ovid invests his description of the slaughter of animals, this is not an utterly ridiculous simile. Nor, on the other hand, is the comparison of the god Apollo to a cow sublime. It does not inspire in the reader a shared sense of Apollo's grief. The tone it sets, however, is well suited to the concluding detail which the mythological tradition provided, i.e. Apollo taking Coronis' baby, Asclepius, out of the mother's womb to save him from being burned on the funeral pyre. This is a somewhat grotesque scene per se, and Ovid leaves it at that and treats it tactfully. He ends his version in a low key with Apollo's injunction, which is not put in direct speech, to the raven henceforth to keep away from white birds. By now the pathos is forgotten, but we should be aware of Ovid's mastery of discontinuing it. He does so

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not by spasmodic turns of the story as in the Erysichthon or by exaggeration as in the Narcissus and other episodes, but by the judicious use of varied stylistic and tonal means. They smoothly succeed in distancing the reader and in restoring an untragic equilibrium. Not ahvays are the results so unobtrusive. In episodes of greater length Ovid could resort to more massive means. A good example is his version of the sea storm in the story of Ceyx and Alcyone. This story is one of the longest in the Metamorphoses ( I 1.410-748),and by and large Ovid treats the suffering of the protagonists with seriousness. To go on in this vein for too long, however, once more did not suit the poet's temper. In his typical fashion, he therefore expanded some details of the traditional story and added others in order to alleviate the gravitas of its central, traditional facts, the death of Ceyx and the anguish of Alcyone. As in the story of Apollo and Coronis, he does not ruin or undercut the serious theme by burlesque, lurid delight in cruelty or by macabre exaggeration, but he provides an escape from it particularly in the lengthy description of the storm, which amounts to almost one third of the episode ( I 1.474-572).Its main concern is not Ceyx' agony and death, but it is a bravura piece of literary wit and allusiveness. 39 By Ovid's time, storms, like so many other themes in ancient epic and elegy, had become literary conventions or even set pieces, and Ovid's public was aware of the long tradition of the motif from Homer to Vergil. Thus Ovid used his storm to write about this tradition by unleashing The Compleat Storm, the longest ever in Latin literature before Lucan. It is a tempest that constantly echoes the storms of Homer, Vergil, the Greek and Roman tragedians, the epics of N aevius and Ennius, and others, and it surpasses them all in thunder, lightning, ,vaves, rain, darkness and disaster. The reader's attention is meant to be absorbed in Ovid's virtuoso play on the literary conventions and precedents, and not in Ceyx' actual plight. The pathos of Ceyx' death is further alleviated by the slight exaggeration of a motif found in elegy: the drowning lover calling out up to the last moment for his beloved and uttering the wish that his body might be washed to her by the waves. But whereas Propertius, for instance, has the final wave quiet the man (3.7.65-6), Ovid goes on to picture how Ceyx calls for his Alcyone even under water ( r r .566-7):

146 Ovid's Humanity: Death and Suffering in the 'Metamorphoses' dum natat, absentem, quotiens sinit hiscere Buctus, nominat Alcyonen ipsisque inmurmurat undis. [ As often as he can catch a Gulp of Air, And peep above the Seas, he names the Fair, And even when plunged beneath, on her he raves Murm'ring Alcyone belovv the waves. (Dryden's translation).] Similarly, the sentimental pathos with which the scene concludesthe grief of Lucifer, Ceyx' father-is controlled by the kind of otiose explanation that Ovid appended to Apollo's grief for Coronis. Apollo could only sigh, not cry; Lucifer can only cover his face with clouds, but he is not allowed to leave the sky because he is, after all, the Morning Star ( I 1.570-2): Lucifer obscurus nee quern cognoscere posses illa luce fuit, quoniamque excedere caelo non licuit, densis texit sua nubibus ora. [ The Morning Star was dim that day; you could not Tell him at all, mourning behind the clouds, Unable to quit his station in the heavens.] Finally, the fantastic and lengthy digression (11.592-649) about the god of Sleep and his cave serves the same purpose as the analogous description of Hunger did in the Erysichthon. 40 It is full of Ovidian whimsy and ingenuity. It is the counterpart of the description of the storm and offsets the pathos of the conclusion of the episode, Alcyone's final reunion with Ceyx. It would be wrong, as we have seen, to say that Ovid, by all these devices, undercuts the pathos of the suffering of the story's protagonists, let alone dehumanizes it. Rather, he uses them to control the intensity of the reader's involvement. The lacrimae rerum are there, but they are not everything and the lighter aspects of life go on existing. This, too, is a kind of humanity, and perhaps one of the profoundest. Ovid is quite serious about the misfortunes of Ceyx and Alcyone and about the power of their love-a principle that Ovid never ridicules-but there is room for the light touch even here. Wit helps to carry the burden of seriousness as it does in any

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person who has true humanitas. 41 On the literary level, this means that humor and seriousness in the M eta1norphoses and their individual episodes are not mutually exclusive and, so far from being merely juxtaposed, often complement each other. We will explore t~is more fully in the next chapter. l Sometimes, and this again re.fleets the variety of Ovid's treatment of each theme, he relates scenes of death and suffering without any frills whatsoever. Too many words can, after all, get in the way of real sympathy, ,and we saw earlier that this was precisely what made the descriptions of the plague by Thucydides and Lucretius so effective. Ovid could restrain himself, even if not very often, as the elder Seneca duly noted. At the same time, the brevity of such passages still conforms to Ovid's desire not to overwhelm the reader with vnmitigated grief and misery. )¾(/An excellent illustration of this is the climactic grief of Niobe : after all her children have been killed. She had been imploring the goddess to spare at least the youngest of the girls and been trying to protect her, an action that is described without theatricality. Then Ovid pictures Niobe as she is frozen in her sorrow, and she literally becomes rigid in this pose (6.298-309):

300

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ultima restabat: quam toto corpore mater, tota veste tegens 'unam minimamque relinque! de multis minimam posco' clamavit 'et unam'. dumque rogat, pro qua rogat, occidit. orba resedit exanimes inter natos natasque virumque deriguitque malis: nullos movet aura capillos, in vultu color est sine sanguine, lumina maestis stant immota genis, nihil est in imagine vivum. ipsa quoque interius cum duro lingua palato congelat, et venae desistunt posse moveri; nee .flecti cervix nee bracchia reddere motus nee pes ire potest; intra quoque viscera saxum est. [ They were all dead but one, The last one, whom the mother tried to cover With body bending over, and wide robes spread To make some kind of shelter. 'Leave me this one, The littlest one of all my many children,

F

148 Ovid's Humanity: Death and Suffering in the 'Metamorphoses' Leave me the littlest one!' But while she prayed That whom she prayed for was dying. So she sat there, A childless woman among her sons, her daughters, Beside her husband, and grew fixed in her woes; no air Lifted her hair, the blood receded from her face, And her eyes were fixed and staring, The picture of utter grief, and in the picture No sign of life at all: the tongue was frozen To the roof of the mouth; no pulse beat in the veins; Neck could not bend, nor arms be moved, nor feet Go back or forward; and the vitals hardened To rock.] Ovid's departure from the earlier versions explains wl).y he did not insert into his own anything that might spoil its effect..:!Incontrast to the traditional myth, Ovid presents Niobe's transformation not as divine grace or punishment, but as a natural, almost psychological consequence of her boundless suffering. 42 The process of transformation is not a forced or extraneous act, but it is profoundly meaningful. Unlike most metamorphoses, it is not brought about by divine intervention but results from Niobe's intensely human feeling and actions. She is petrified in her grief; this is why she turns into stone. It is a beautiful recasting of an old myth on Ovid's part, because he changes none of the external details and simply humanizes the meaning of the event. Ovid's respect for his own art, which he took seriously more often than not, kept him from puncturing the tone of his version with some humorous incongruity. · Although the account of Hecuba's end (13.565-75)lacks any profound changes in the myth of the kind we have just discussed, it nonetheless illustrates well that Ovid did not always lascivire. The subject of the bitch woman certainly was open to a range of humor from wisecrack to burlesque and had attracted its share of satirical and comic writers ever since Aristophanes. Martial, for one, simply uses 'Hecuba' as a synonym for an ugly old hag (3.76.4),and this probably reflects the prevailing type that she had become in the mime. Ovid, by contrast, manages to evoke a rather haunting picture of the poor creature's desolation after she has turned into a bitch. Her last action as a human being still is described with the sort of visual over-explicitness that is typical of Ovid 43 and serves to distance /

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the reader from the characters' plight. She attacks the perfidious king Pol ymestor, who had killed her son, and digitos in perfida lumina condit expellitque genis oculos (facit ira nocentem) immergitque manus foedataque sanguine sontis non lumen (neque enim superest), loca luminis haurit. [ She dug her fingers into his lying eyes, dug out The eyeballs from their sockets, and kept digging, In manic fury, with bloody fingers, scooping Not the eyes (because they were not left) but their hollows.

( 13.561-4)] But in the following scene the tone changes, as is so often the case in the Ovidian narrative. The behavior of Hecuba the bitch is pitiful, and the pity is shared by both Trojans and Greeks and even by Juno, the implacable enemy of Troy ( 13.565-75): clade sui Thracum gens inritata tyranni Troada telorum lapidumque incessere iactu coepit, at haec missum rauco cum murmure saxum morsibus insequitur rictuque in verba parato latravit conata loqui. Locus exstat et ex re nomen habet, veterumque diu memor illa malorum tum quoque Sithonios ululavit maesta per agros. illius Troasque suos hostesque Pelasgos, illius fortuna deos quoque moverat omnes, sic omnes, ut ipsa Iovis coniunxque sororque eventus Hecubam meruisse negaverit illos. [ The Thracians In fury at her deed, came after her With spears and stones, but she, Snarling and growling, chased the stones and bit them, Opened her mouth for words, but what came out Was barking. And that place today is called Cynossema, The Bitch's Tomb, and there, Remembering her ancient wrongs, she howled

150 Ovid's Humanity: Death and Suffering in the 'Metamorphoses' Mournfully over the plains, and her sad lot Moved Greeks as well as Trojans, moved the gods, Moved even Juno, to the point of saying That Hecuba had earned no such misfortune.] No element intrudes here that would be incongruous with the basic tone, but then the passage is not very long. Nor should we forget that Ovid's desire to referre idem aliter again may have been the decisive reason for the tone he chose for this scene. Nikander's version of it happens to be one of the few fragments of any length that have survived from his Heteroioumena. Its style has justly been characterized as 'bald and unexciting' :·14 lv0' 'EKa/317 }\_t,CTCT1Jlr;, or' ev rrvp't,'8epK€TO1rclrp17v Kell rr6crlV €AK1]0€Zcrel 1relpelcr1rellpovrel 0v17Aell';, €lS' a.ArJ.7r OCTCTlV opOVCT€Kell ~v 1"A"Aa·telTO µopcp~v yp11wv, 'YpKelVLD€CTCTlV f:€lD011ev17v CTK1JA(XK€(T(Tl,V,

[ There Hecuba, the daughter of Cisseus, when she saw her native city in Barnes and when she saw, as she was dragged away, her husband gasping his last by the sacrificial victims, rushed forward on her feet to the sea and changed her shape of an old woman, until she looked like bitches from H yrcania.]

It naturally challenged Ovid to tell the story different! y. Although this does not explain all of his motivation to impart to the events a more animated and pitiful note, it does account for part of it. Similar considerations apply to the one instance, which we noted earlier, 45 of a story of suffering and tragic death in which Ovid sustains the tone of dignity, sympathy, and restraint for an unusually long time. That is the episode of Cephalus and Procris (7.661-865) whose spirit and treatment have on the whole been well discussed by Viktor Poschl and Brooks Otis. 46 The suffering, to be sure, here does not belong in quite the same category on which we have focused in this chapter, since it is psychic rather than physical, and to burlesque Procris' death therefore would have amounted to a Stilbruch that would be unparalleled even in Ovid. It may very well be that the seriousness and genuine pathos which Ovid sustains in this story are due to_his humanity in the sense that he admired true,

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conjugal love and had comE~ssiop for the well-motivated and innocent victim~ This is epitomized by his descnpdon ~f the-ae-ath of Procris (7.842-62) which, unlike the deaths of Pyramus and Thisbe, for instance, engages the reader's emotions precisely because Cephalus and Procris have been endowed with far more depth and motivations than the star-crossed lovers in Book Four. And the tone of Ovid's version doubtless is rather different from the saucy novella type to which the story, for all we can make out, seems to have belonged in Hellenistic literature. It would be unwise, however, to seek the reason for Ovid's recasting of the story entirely in the realm of his personal feelings. This brings us back to the question we raised at the beginning of this chapter. It is central to the antinomy between 'poetry of experience' and 'artistic poetry' which has been fruitfully applied to both modern lyric poetry and the poetry of the Metamorphoses. The literary tradition about Procris goes back to earlier than Hellenistic times; in particular, she was the subject of Sophocles' tragedy of that name, and especially her death found its reflection as a tragic paragon both in literature and art. 47 Ovid, as usual, decided to tell the myth aliter and therefore to make it different from the versions most familiar at his time, i.e. the Hellenistic ones. It is typical of the Ovidian preference of the How to the What that the metamorphosis theme, which had been far more prominent in those versions, is relegated to the digression about the wondrous dog (7.771-93),which provides some relief, though not of the humorous kind, from the sadness of the tale. The salient point is that the way Ovid tells the story may be as much the result of his artistic preferences as of his belief in the ideal of truly reciprocal love, especially since this love, after all, leads to disaster. 48 As an artist, he simply may have considered it a challenge to demonstrate that he could tell the story differently and with sustained dignity and even profundity. The serious tone, of course, had been anticipated by Sophocles, but again Ovid took care not to make the myth into a total tragedy by presenting the pitiful and fearful events as immediate. Rather, the story is told, many years after it happened, by Cephalus and bathed in the soft haze of melodrama. By having Cephalus _function as the narrator, Ovid also achieves a fine balance between the 'experience' and the 'artistic' aspects of the story. For Cephalus, it is all heartfelt, personal experience. Whether it is for Ovid is quite another question,

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not in the least because he tells the story indirect! y and reminds the reader of it by interrupting Cephalus' narrative before too long (7.794-5). To have Cephalus narrate the story was a suitable artistic device, because it made possible the unusual reticence and restraint. The reader, at any rate, is distanced from the events by two removes. This does not mean that Ovid did not want us to sympathize with Cephalus and Procris, but we are also kept aware of Ovid's manipulation of the story and have to be careful with interpreting it as a heartfelt manifesto. In sum, it is part of Ovid's elusiveness that at times he makes it quite difficult for us to determine to what extent he identifies himself with the seriousness of his characters or, more generally, to what extent 'pathetic' stories in particular should be read as a reflection of his personal feelings. The thrust of our discussion has not been to deny that Ovid has humanity in the sense of human sympathy although his heart, as E. K. Rand put it, often was 'encased in triple brass' .49 But we must be judicious in using a term such as 'humanity' and not let it become another facile label for the Metamorphoses. Nor would we do any justice to Ovid's poetic ability if we meant such phrases to imply value judgements rather than aesthetic principles. Gefuhl may have been alles £or Dr. Faust, but it is questionable that a poetics of personal effusion would have enabled Ovid to revive Graeco-Roman myth. In many ways, then, Ovid's procedure is quite similar to that of the modern lyric poets, as characterized by Hugo Friedrich :50 It (i.e. the modern lyric poem) refrains from humanity in the traditional sense, it refrains from 'experience', from sentiment, and often even from the personal self of the poet. The poet participates in his creation not as a private person, but as intelligence writing poetry (dichtende lntelligenz), as operator of the language, as artist who tries out the acts of metamorphosis of his overmastering imagination ... on any material he likes, which often in itself is devoid of meaning. This does not exclude that such a poem springs from the spell of his soul and wakes this spell. But this is something different from Gemiit. It is a polytonality of sheer subjectivity ... Still, the study of Ovid's presentation of the theme of death and

Bibliography to Chapter Three

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53

physical suffering enables us to see that the contrast between 'poetry of experience' and 'artistic poetry' cannot be too rigidly applied to the poetry of the Metamorphoses without establishing, ultimately, a false antinomy. It goes to show, once more, the independence of the Metamorphoses from the categorizations of literary history. (The frequency of myths which contained the theme of agony, death, physical misery and suffering presented the literary and artistic problem that their serious treatment would have resulted in a profound shift of the tone of the Metaniorphoses to the serious and tragic side-an emphasis that was thorough! y unsuitable to revitalizing myth on a large scale. Thus a great variety of means of varying intensity had to be marshalled to counteract the gravitas inherent in these themes: amused detachment, irony, parody, travesty, grotesque exaggeration, over-explicit visual detail, literary wit and allµsiveness, incongruities jarring and subtle, bathos, and burlesque/ ~11 this, however, was not only literary strategy but also personal preference. There are definite limits to Ovid's compassionate sympathy and humanity and he quite obviously delighted in the cruel, the macabre, and the gory. In this he was a product of his times and the society for which he wrote. As one might expect, Ovid's artistic purposes and his personal preferences coincided, even if not always. This coincidence of art and life is essential for an understanding of the Metamorphoses and his exile poetry, 51 because art became his life and, conversely, he expressed even his most personal concerns through artistic conventions. This gives an elusive quality to the Metamorphoses which is precisely one of their great attractions.

BIBLIOGRAPHY

TO CHAPTER

THREE

There are no extensive discussions of this subject. Some preliminary remarks may be found in: M. Fuhrmann, 'Die Funktion grausiger und ekelhafter Motive in der lateinischen Dichtung ', in H. Jauss, ed., Die nicht mehr schonen Kunste. Grenzphanomene des Asthetischen (Munich 1967) 41-5. C. P. Segal, Landscape in Ovid's Metamorphoses. A Study in the Transformations of a Literary Symbol. Hermes Einzelschriften 23 (Wiesbaden 1969) 83-5, 92-3.

154 Ovid's Humanity: Death and Suffering in the 'Metamorphoses'

NOTES TO CHAPTER

THREE

Otis 3742. Frankel 21-3 with notes 40-r. In note 41, for example, Frankel ignores the difference in genre when he argues that Ovid's concern, in Amores r.6, for the ianitor contrasts with the lack of interest of Sophocles' leading characters in the problems of those in lowly station. Besides, Ovid's kindliness is used as a stratagem and he makes a mock of the man, e.g., in line 16. 3. As is done, e.g., by L. Friedlander, Darstellungen aus der Sittengeschichte Rams, 9th ed., vol. 2 (Leipzig 1920) 95. Frankel 102 reads into the passage that Ovid 'detested' gladiatorial games. 4- 'Tradition and the Individual Talent', in Selected Essays, 3rd ed. (London 1961) 19-20. Cf. Sir Harold Nicholson's remarks on 'our inability to define his (=Ovid's) state of mind' in the Observer for 25 June 1950, quoted by Wilkinson 151. 5. Besides Trist. 2.354ff., see Trist. r.9.59-60; 3.2.5-6; Ex P. 2.7.47ff. On the other hand, Ovid asserts that his Musa could express experience and become index vera malorum (Ex P. 3.9.49); cf. Ex P. 3.9.47ff.; Trist. r.5.79-80; 5.r.27-30. For other ancient comments on this question see Luck's commentary to Trist. r.5.79-80 and 2 ,353-46. See W. Nicholson, The Historical Sources of Defoe's Journal of the Plague (Boston 1919). 7. Germaine Bree, Camus (New Brunswick 1961) 120 n. 3 has compiled, from Camus' notebooks, the abundant documentation which he consulted. J. Grimm, Die literarische Darstellung der Pest in der Antike und in der Romania (Munich 1965) offers a useful survey of various adaptations of the theme from the Old Testament to Camus. 8. Michel de Montaigne, Essais III. 12. For a good characterization of Montaigne's attitude see Hugo Friedrich, Montaigne (Bern 1949) 363-7. 9. I owe the phrase, and several other insights, to Anderson's excellent commentary on the passage (p. 300 ). 10. B. Otis, Virgil. A Study in Civilized Poetry (Oxford 1964) 41ff. 1 r. See Ehwald's long note on the rare usage of degenerat palmas. 12. This may echo the thematic contrast, with which Thucydides prefaces his work in 1.22.4, between a timeless and an ephemeral achievement, and thus give the passage additional thematic significance. The latter has been well discussed by A. Parry, 'The Language 1.

N ates to Chapter Three

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55

of Thucydides' Description of the Plague', BICS 16 (1969) 106-18, who characterizes the language as 'compassionate poetry' ( 118). 13. See esp. 4.439-42, where Ovid diverts us with the fantastic detail of the city of the dead, which is able to absorb into its gates an ever increasing number of souls without creating a problem of Lebensraum; for details see Bernbeck 14-15. 14. Cf. Anderson, ad Zoe. 15. Lafaye 138. 16. Cf. Grimm (note 7, above) 67. 17. Such massing of present participles was derided by the Auctor ad Herennium (4.12.18); cf. Quintilian's strictures on similar excesses (Inst. Or. 9.4.42). 18. Cf. Chapter 1, pp. 13-14 and pp. 62-3. 19. For a good survey, see \V.-H. Friedrich, Verwundung und Tod in der Ilias. Abh. Akad. Gottingen. Phil.-Hist. Kl. ser. 3, 38.3 (1956). 20. It is reminiscent of Lucretius 3.657-63. On Ovidian similes see A. Rohde, De Ovidi arte epica capita duo (Berlin 1929); Wilkinson 170-2; T. F. Brunner, CJ 61 (1966) 354-63, and AJP 92 (1971) 2 75-84; on their tone and differences from Homeric and Vergilian similes see Bernbeck 9 8. 21. Confessio Amantis V.5684ff. I owe this reference to Mrs. Carlotta Griffiths. She also points out that Chaucer and the French and German medieval translations of the Metamorphoses simply left out lines 5 5 7-60 because of their gruesome nature. 22. It can be traced at least as early as Gorgias' Epitaphios (Gorgias B 5a Diels-Kranz) and became 'one of the most celebrated conceits in European literature' (D. A. Russell, ed., 'Longinus' On the Sublime {Oxford 1964] 69, with ancient and modern documentation, including Ovid., Her. 10.123-4). 'Longinus' 3.2 remarks on the untragic effect of the phrase. 23. Cf Cicero, ad Att. 16.2.3. and 5.1, and Chapter 1, p. 12 with note 14. On Ovid's sources for this story see Otis 406-10. 24. Op. cit. (Ch. 1 n. 79) 279. 25. Compare, in a similar situation, the altogether too long speech of Hercules (9.176-204), which detracts from the pathos of his suffering. 26. In the Marsyas story in the Fasti (6.695-708), by contrast, he eschews such emphasis, perhaps because agony is not so frequent a theme in that poem as it is in the Metamorphoses and needed no such diversions. 27. Cf. Segal 83-4 and Ovid's similar use of elegiac motifs in the Narcissus story, as discussed in Ch. 1, p. 58.

156 Ovid's Humanity: Death and Suffering in the 'Metamorphoses' 28. Contrast, e.g., with Vergil's account of the death of Priam (Aen. 2.550-8). Vergil also offers some gory detail (2.551-3), but only to bias the reader against the cruelty of Pyrrhus. Ovid's reader is effectively distracted from such indignation by the grotesque detail of the talking head and tongue, which takes the place of Vergil's hauntingly evocative picture of Priam's trunk lying forlornly on the shore. 29. See Chapter r, pp. 64-6. 30. Cruelty and Civilisation: the Roman Games (London 1972) 197. 31. 0. Kiefer, Sexual Life in Ancient Rome (London 1934), eh. 5. Auguet's (note 30, above) suggestion that the gladiatorial games were popular because they were 'the fossilized image of Roman conquest' p. 195) is less compelling. 32. A. D. Nock, Conversion (Oxford 1933) 218. 33. On this aspect see especially H. Wagenvoort, 'Pantomimus und Tragodie im augusteischen Zeitalter', NJA 45 (1920) 101ff. 34. See the masterly essay by Otto Regenbogen, 'Schmerz und Tod in den Tragodien Senecas', Vortrage der Bibi. Warburg 7 (1927-8) 167-218, now available as a separate reprint (Darmstadt 1963). 35. Cited from Michael Grant, Gladiators (London 1967) 120. 36. See Chapter 2, pp. 104-7. 37. Good examples are 2.312, 505; 3.99-100; 4.175; 7.347 (quoted on p. 137); 9.135 (with Ehwald's note), 279, 409; 10.473; 11.674; 14.377, 417; see J.-M. Frecaut, Latomus 28 (1969) 28-41; Bomer on 1.750; Kenney in Binns, Ovid 125. 3 8. Ovid exploits it quite often for its humor in his characterization of the gods; cf. Ch. 4, pp. 167-8. 39. For details, see the excellent discussion of Arnaud (Bihl. to Ch. 4) 104-41. 40. See Chapter 1, pp. 8-9. 41. Cf. Chapter 4, pp. 159-60. 42. See L. Voit, 'Die Niobe des Ovid', Gymnasium 64 (1957) 149. 43. See Chapter 4, pp. 179-84. 44. Hollis xxii. The fragment is number 62 in the edition of GowScholfield. 45. Chapter 1, p. 67. 46. Poschl, op. cit. (Ch. 1. n. 89); Otis 176ff. 47. See, e.g., Euripides, Hypsipyle fr. I IV, 2 (Bond); Beazley, ARV, 2nd ed., 1114-15. 48. Cf. R. Coleman, CR n.s. 17 (1967) 49. 49. Op. cit. (Ch. 1 n. 40) 217. Cf. Macaulay's characterization of Ovid as 'a man so witty and so heartless', cited by G. 0. Trevelyan, The Life and Letters of Lord Macaulay 1 (New York 1878) 413.

N ates to Chapter Three

1 57

50. Die Struktur der modernen Lyrik, 4th ed. (Hamburg 1971) 17. The applicability to the Metamorphoses of the various characteristics listed by Friedrich-such as metamorphosis, material devoid of meaning, and polytonality-is so obvious that it needs no detailed discussion here; see Chapter I. 51. For the exile poetry, the point has been well illustrated by the articles of W. Marg and H. Rahn in Ovid, pp. 502-12 and 476-501; cf. S. Besslich, 'Ovids Winter in Tomis. Zu trist. III 1o ', Gymnasium 79 (1972) 177-91, and Frecaut (Bihl. to Ch. 4), who aptly entitles one of his sections (345ff .) 'Ovide en exil ou le refus du tragique '.

CHAPTER

FOUR

Humor and Seriousness

'A man with any trace of humor in him can discuss anything in the world more wittily than humor.' Such was the reaction of Julius Caesar Strabo, one of the most humorous and witty Roman advocates of his time, to the request of his friends in Cicero's De Oratore (2.217) that he discourse on humor. We vividly share his feeling, which has been echoed many times since, but also his resolve because with typical Ciceronian inconsistency, he went on to discuss the subject anyway. While it is true enough that humor does not become any funnier when it is being analyzed, it is one of the central qualities of the Metamorphoses and one that has received disproportionately little attention, at least from English-speaking scholars. 1 We have already come upon several of its manifestations and it is impossible to disentangle it, for instance, from the subtle play of wit that determines so much of the style and conception of the work. Nor would it serve any purpose schematically to differentiate between wit, humor, and irony. Humor is by far the most inclusive of these. Humor can make use of wit and irony, and Ovid's humor often does. It is in this inclusive sense that we shall view the role of humor in the Metamorphoses.

I : TYPES OF HUMOR

Some basic categories, however, can be discerned without undue rigidity and are important for seeing the total picture be£ore we examine some of its details. They are, essentially, the two genera of humor that are distinguished by Caesar Strabo, and they also are pertinent to the problem of the relationship between 'poetry for art's sake' and 'poetry of experience' in the Metamorphoses. On the one

Types of humor

1 59

hand, humor in the Metamorphoses is of the literary, n1anipulative, artistic kind; this includes the conceits, the ,vord plays, the clever interjections, some of the literary parodies and allusions, the double and even triple entendres, the incongruous use of epic devices such as similes, the bon mot-to mention only the most important. Cicero would call most of these, long literary parodies excepted, dicacitas, and his speaker-and here we part company with him-would assert that even these could not really be learned by art (De Or. 2.218-19). The problem may exist for the orator, who needs a natural gift of quick repartee if he is to hold his own in court, but not for the writer who has more time and for whom dicacitas becomes a literary device. We noted earlier how Ovid uses such devices to put a distance between the reader and the events and to call attention to himself, the narrator. 2 But there is also the other, and perhaps more important quality of Ovid's humor which is more difficult to isolate because it is woven into the very fabric of the poem. Its pervasiveness gives the Af etamorphoses that genial tone which has won them so many readers throughout the centuries and which makes their reading such a pleasant experience. That is what Cicero would call perpetua f estivitas (De Or. 2.219). It is more than a means of literary manipulation because it emanates from the poet's mentality and is rooted in his whole being. It is an effusion of Ovid's humanity and as such it is not of momentary intensity-unlike dicacitas, which is a genus peracutum et breve-but aequaliter in omni sermone fusum (De Or. 2.218). The expansiveness of this perpetua f estivitas is the sine qua non for the perpetuum carmen. Besides contributing to the unity of the Metamorphoses, it is this quality of humor that makes us see Ovid the man more immediately than does anything else. It reveals a warm disposition which, as we saw in the last chapter, is not to be equated with compassionate kindliness. Instead, it is a humor which does not mean to wound or hurt but keeps just the right equilibrium between detached amusement and sympathy. This humor is fundamental for Ovid's revivification of myth 3 and also reflects an essential, if not the most essential, aspect of his humanitas. For humor has its full meaning and effect only when it is projected against the seriousness which it suspends. Its assertion in the face of the latter is what Cicero defines as humanitas at the very beginning of the De Oratore not in abstract terms, but in the person of the host

160

H umor and Seriousness

Licinius Crassus. He and some friends gather, at the eve of the Civil War in 91 B.c., and on the first day and up to a very late hour, held long debate together, concerning the crisis and the state of politics generally, which in fact had been the occasion of their meeting. And Cotta recounted many things which were spoken of in that discussion with deep regret by the three speakers of consular rank, in such inspired fashion that (in his words) no evil had since befallen the community which those men, so long before, had not seen to be hanging over it. (1.26) They clearly foresee the impending doom, something that Cicero's readers would be even more familiar with from hindsight. All this, to be sure, is designed by Cicero. But then he needs a transition from the subject of politics to that of art-the art of rhetoric-and the metamorphosis is accomplished by the h umanitas of Crassus, i.e. mostly the charm of his h umor: But when the colloquy was completely finished, so exquisite was the humanitas displayed by Crassus, that, as soon as they had bathed and settled down to table, the melancholy turn taken by the earlier discussion was wholly banished, and such was the man's pleasantness and so great the charm of his humor that it seemed as though a day in the Senate-house was closing with supper in Tusculum. ( I .27) [ eo autem omni sermone confecto tantam in Crasso humanitatem fuisse, ut, cum lauti accubuissent, tolleretur omnis illa superioris tristitia sermonis; eaque esset in homine iucunditas, et tantus in iocando lepos, ut dies inter eos Curiae fuisse videretur, convivium Tusculani.] This is quite similar to Ovid's humanitas in the Metamorphoses and, in the light of this passage, which effects the transition or metamorphosis frorn grimly real events to art,4 we can see once more why Ovid's humor was entirely appropriate and even inherently necessary for his undertaking. Ancient literary critics who, like Ovid and unlike Quintilian and the Elder Seneca, were concerned with

Types of humor

161

aesthetics rather than rhetorical utility, certainly had only warm praise for writers who could treat sombre subjects with charm and wit. 5 It is this ability of Ovid's also, which, as modern critics have come to recognize, gives him his unique position in Roman literature: If gaiety on the whole predominates over sadness in his work, that is something that need not be excused: there is gravitas enough and to spare elsewhere in Roman literature ... Other poets surpass him in profundity, but his catholic sensibility has no parallel in the literature of the ancient world. 6 We may add that humanitas, as opposed to stolid dignity and gravitas, often is conjoined with witty, refined, and sportive disposition in our Roman sources. 7 For the Metamorphoses, it follows that because of Ovid's perpetua festivitas the poem cannot be rigidly divided into serious and humorous portions, but seriousness and humor coexist and intermingle. Nor does our discussion of some of the devices which produce humor imply that they cannot be used for serious purposes also. One example, which stands for many, is Ovid's use of the staple of most humor and comedy, the incongruous or, more specifically, the incongruous aside or interjection. We saw in our discussion of the Coronis story how Ovid utilized the incongruity between the divine and the human characteristics of Apollo to detract from the pathos of the god's sorrow. 8 This was also true of his depiction of Lucifer's grief for Ceyx (11.571-2). The humorous effect, to be sure, is very subdued, amounting to an intellectual point more than anything else. Somewhat more glaring is the use of the same incongruity in the story of Apollo and Daphne ( 1.491): suaque ilium oracula fallunt. Apollo, the Delphic god, is deceived by his own oracle. But when we reach the story of Apollo and Hyacinthus (10.162ff.), such an incongruity only heightens the pathos of the helplessness of the god. He, the god of healing, is trying to keep his loved one from dying, but nil prosunt artes (10.189). This is not a cleverly manipulated paradox, but a grim reversal of Apollo's prowess as a discus thrower who exhibuit artem (10.181). The different tone in 1.491 and 10.189 is sustained by the accompanying similes; the former compares Apollo's burning in love to burning

H umor and Seriousness

stubble after the harvest ( 1.492), whereas the latter is the sublime comparison of the dying person with a cut Bower (10.190-5; cf. Catullus 11.22-4; Vergil, Aen. 9.435-6, 11.68-g), and the subsequent description of Apollo's grievous self-incriminations is genuinely moving. It is characteristic of Ovid's 'spirit of metamorphosis' that he prefaces this story as belonging to leviore lyra (10.152)-a lighter strain-only to present us with one of the most moving scenes of death and suffering in the poem. The incongruous here serves no comic purpose.

2:

THE GODS

This example also shows that the humanization of the deities does not ipso facto have to have humorous results. Ovid's gods certainly are not the gods of religion, but neither are· they consistently ridiculous. The lines from the Europa episode non bene conveniunt nee in una sede morantur maiestas et amor (2.846-7) are _gJten quoted_asO.vid~s,,gener:al-ch_~1rac_~~J:t~~!ion of his amorous ,~iti~s:. !!_)§.., hq:weY~I, p9t sjmpJy, lgvr that makes th~111 .~cJJike humans because they act like humans on oth~rqcc.::a~jons,also. Rather, Ovid often makes them act as subhumans so that they lose the maiestas which they still could retain in the Homeric epics despite their human behavior. It is this less than human behavior and associations that often creates the humorous effect. This is well exemplified by the context jn which the maxi1n belongs. Ovid illustrates it with the pointed contrast between Jupiter, the supreme deity as we know him from Vergil-ille pater rectorque deum (Met. 2.848)-and Jupiter, the subhuman bull. The picture of Jupiter with some of the emblems of his power (2.847-g) is followed by a corresponding, but purposely much longer description of the accoutrements of the animal. There is the definite suggestion that the latter replace the former, and it contributes the more subtle kind of humor in this passage. A god endowed with great insignia cannot become just an ordinary bull, but a bull who, in his way, has just as much to show as the god (2.847-58):

The gods

850

855

sceptri gravitate relicta ille pater rectorq ue deum, cui dextra trisulcis ignibus armata est, qui nutu concutit orbem, induitur faciem tauri mixtusque iuvencis mugit et in teneris formosus obambulat herbis. quippe color nivis est, quam nee vestigia duri calcavere pedis nee solvit aquaticus auster. colla toris extant, armis palearia pendent, cornua parva quidem, sed quae contendere possis facta manu, puraque magis perlucida gemma. nullae in fronte minae nee formidabile lumen: pacem vul tus ha bet. [Jove Put down his heavy sceptre: the great father, Great ruler of the gods, whose right hand wields Triple-forked lightning, and whose awful nod Makes the world tremble, put aside his might, His majesty, and took upon himself The form of a bull, went lowing with the heifers Over the tender grass, showy and handsome, The color of snow, which never a foot has trodden, Never a raindrop sullied. The great muscles Bulged on the neck, the dewlaps hung to the chest, The horns were small, but every bit as perfect As if a sculptor made them, and as shining As any jewel, and the eyes and forehead Ofi:ered no threat, and the great gaze was peaceful.]

The finesse of this h umor is accentuated by the phrase gravitate relicta. It is a good example of dicacitas as the figurative meaning insinuates itself beside the literal one. Thereafter, the humorous tone changes to overt ridiculousness as Jupiter the bull, in order to overcome Europa's hesitation, even playfully leaps on the grass and lies down on his side on the sand-something no real, love-stricken bull would do. 9 There are far more similes, even proportionately, in the Metamorphoses than in Homer's and Vergil's epics, and they contribute to this humorous pattern. We have already mentioned the comparison

Humorand

Seriousness

of Apollo to a cow, which contrasts starkly with his initial presentation as the slayer of Python. 10 Another good example is the simile involving Mercury in the same Book. Again it will be helpful to pay attention to the context because the whole passage is a microcosm of perpetua festivitas and displays the finely shaded variety of Ovid's humor. The episode begins with a legerdemain transition (2.708-10)from the preceding story. After turning Battus into a stone, Mercury randomly Bies off to Athens. Ovid pretends it is just a coincidence that on this very day the Athenians celebrate the Panathenaic festival, which takes place only every five years. The coincidence, needless to say, has been cleverly contrived by Ovid and, tongue in cheek, he calls our attention to this pretense: illa forte die (2.711). Deliberately, he then proceeds to characterize Athens, in this first mention of the city in the poem, in terms of her cultural prominence. She is grata Minervae (2.709),there are the culti arbusta Lycei (2.710), and this is followed by a scene evocative of the Panathenaic procession as represented on the Parthenon frieze (2.711-13): illa forte die castae de more puellae vertice subposito festas in Palladis arces pura coronatis portabant sacra canistris. [ The day, as it so happened, was a festival When the young girls brought to the goddess' temple The holy gifts in baskets wreathed with Bowers.] All this is purposely contrived to make the contrast with \vhat follows all the more effective. For it is not love of the Lyceum or Minerva that makes Mercury linger at Athens, but his lust for the comely basket-bearers of the procession. This is palpably expressed by yet another deliberate incongruity: Mercury sees the girls and is still called a deus (2.714);a moment later, he is compared to an animal, a greedy kite (2.714-21): inde revertentes deus adspicit ales iterque non agit in rectum, sed in orbem curvat eundem. ut volucris visis rapidissima miluus extis, dum timet et densi circumstant sacra ministri,

The gods

flectitur in gyrum nee longius audet abire spemque suam motis avidus circumvolat alis: sic super Actaeas avidus Cyllenius arces inclinat cursus et easdem circinat auras. [ The winged god saw them return from there and he did not continue on a straight course, but kept circling over them. As when a kite, the swiftest of birds, has spied the entrails of a sacrificial animal and is afraid to come down while priests are crowded around the victim; not venturing to go further away, he circles around in the air and on flapping wings greedily hovers over his hoped-for prey. So did Mercury greedily fly around the Arthenian hill, sweeping in circles through the same spaces of air.] The humor here is quite clever. Unlike many other similes, this one uses the same setting as the situation to which it is compared. We witnessed a sacrificial procession, and kites naturally are attracted by sacrifices. But the situation is inverted: the sacrificants become the sacrifice in the simile, an inversion that is underlined by sacra in line 717 recalling the sacra of line 713. Furthermore, the play on ales (714) and alis (719) suggests that the simile is by no means inappropriate for Mercury: he had some wings already, so why not compare him to a bird? An additional element of humor is that Ovid dwells on the animalization of his deus by drawing out the description of his kite-like flight and by emphasizing, through the repetition of avidus in lines 719 and 720, that visceral greed, rather than sublime love, drives Mercury onward. The subhuman debasement of Mercury's appetites is accentuated by the contrasting simile for Herse which elevates her not only once, but twice into the sphere of the gods (2.722-5): quanta splendidior quam cetera sidera fulget Lucifer et quanta quam Lucifer aurea Phoebe: tanto virginibus praestantior omnibus Herse ibat eratque decus pompae comitumque suarum. [ There was Herse, The grace of the procession, loveliest Of all those girls, outshining them as brightly

166

H umor and Seriousness

As Lucifer does the other stars of morning, As the golden moon outshines the morning star.] This simile is the playful counterpoint to the first: while the god gives in to his animalistic instincts, the girl appears god-like. After this mention of the gods, Mercury is reintroduced as I ove natus (2.726).It is a step down from the deus (2.714),but, at face value, still rather dignified. This dignity, however is diminished by the innuendo which I ove natus may have after the story of Jupiter and lo, and by yet another simile. The latter, if anything, reemphasizes the external aspects of Mercury's love. In itself this is amusing enough, but Ovid carries it to the point of visual overexplicitness, a humorous device that merits special discussion because of Ovid's extraordinary fondness for it. 11 Exaggeration adds to the humor. We are to believe that Mercury burned up like a leaden missile hurled from a sling. And it is not just any sling, but a Balearic sling. 12 The mock-exactitude of this reference, which involves the shift from the figurative meaning of 'burning in love' to an unexpectedly literal and technical illustration, is another manifestation of the Ovidian humor that pervades the passage (2.726--9): obstipuit forma love natus et aethere pendens non secus exarsit, quam cum Balearica plumbum funda iacit: volat ill ud et incandescit eundo et, quos non habuit, sub nubibus invenit ignes. [ The son of Jupiter was astounded and hanging in the air, he felt himself burning, just as a leaden missile burns which is hurled from a Balearic sling: it Bies off, is heated by its motion, and finds heat in the clouds which it had not before.] With this, the register of Ovid's humor in this description of Mercury's descent to Cecrops' palace· is not exhausted. Ovid goes on to paint with vivid and amusing detail Mercury's preparations to make a good impression on Herse. The fun is all derived from the interplay between the divine and human characterization of Mercury. First he is presented as very confident in his beauty. He has no need to disguise himself as, by implication, some other divine suitors who, by further implication, did not have the adequate f orma.

The gods

He does not have to look like a mortal in order to be handsome. 13 But then beauty is not all, and Mercury helps his cause by improving his looks as any human suitor would: he smoothes his hair, he takes care that his robe falls even and that its golden border shows. A touch of literary parody, which is combined here with some selfparody, adds to the humor as Ovid makes Mercury follow some of the advice which the poet had dispensed in the Art of Love .14 Both literary parody and that indication of supreme self-assurance, parody of oneself, are aspects of Ovid's humor which we will discuss separately because of their importance. 15 After Ovid has humanized Mercury in this fashion, he reinforces the humorous effects by concluding the description with the kind of incongruous contrast that is essential to his humor. For even if Mercury acts like a mortal, he is still a god and has his divine attributes (2.735-6),the rod and winged sandals. Ovid exploits this incongruity further by having Mercury arrange these just as he arranged his hair and his coat. Two ut clauses are reserved for his human accoutrements, and two for the divine (2.733-6). The difference between human and superhuman attributes, between man and god, is seemingly effaced, but, at the same time, Ovid makes us aware of it. In other words, Ovid, as so often, has it both ways and this contributes to the richness of his humor. We may now quote the passage in full (2.730-6): vertit iter caeloque petit terrena relicto nee se dissimulat: tanta est fiducia formae; quae quamquam iusta est, cura tamen adiuvat illam permulcetque comas chlamydemque, ut pendeat apte, conlocat, ut limbus totumque adpareat aurum, ut teres in dextra, qua somnos ducit et arcet, virga sit, ut tersis niteant talaria plantis. [ Leaving heaven, he comes down to earth, Does not disguise himself, so great the pride, The confidence of his beauty. But he takes care to aid it, To smoothe his hair, to make the robes fall even, The golden border showing, and to carry In his right hand the smooth wand that makes men slumber Or rouses them to wakefulness, and to have The winged sandals glitter around his trim feet. J

168

H umor and Seriousness

The crowning touch of humor is supplied by the following events, because Ovid ignores Herse and instead turns to Aglauros and her metamorphosis. After building it up so elaborately, Ovid suddenly transforms our strained expectation into nothing. This is precise!y what, by Kant's famous definition, causes laughter. 16 It is not only the traditional humanization of the gods that accounts for their humorous effect in the Metamorphoses. The anthropomorphic characterization of the gods is as old as Homer's epics. Even in the Aeneid, Venus and Juno in particular act in a very human fashion, though their role is by no means so restricted. By contrast, one of Ovid's innovations for a hexameter poem of epic / length is to have virtually limited the deities to human behavior, restoring the compensatory aspect of their majestic or ideal 1 without role. Even the most famous and frivolous of the Homeric love stories, that of Aphrodite and Ares ( Odyssey 8.266-366), which produces the 'Homeric laughter' of the gods, ends on the drawnout, solemn note of Poseidon's guarantee for the redress demanded by Aphrodite's cuckolded husband Hephaestus (Od. 8.343-58). The very way Homer introduces Poseidon's action suggests the complementary nature of the merry and the solemn aspects of the gods and prepares for the equilibrium that must be restored ( Od. 8.343-8): He spoke, and there was laughter among the immortals, only there was no laughter for Poseidon, but he kept entreating Hephaistos, the famous craftsman, asking him to set Ares free, and spoke aloud to him and addressed him in winged words: 'Let him go, and I guarantee he will pay whatever you ask, all that is approved among the immortal deities.' By contrast, it is typical of Ovid that he ends his own version of the story on the note of the laughter and notoriety it produced, and on nothing else (Met. 4-188-9): superi risere, diuque haec fuit in toto notissima fabula caelo. [ And there was laughter For a long time in Heaven, as the story Was told and told again.]

The gods

169

In fact, some gods would like to experience such a turpitudo 17 themselves (4.187, 188). The second Ovidian innovation in the anthropomorphic treatment of the gods was that he extended it to the behavior of the gods towards humans. The humanizing situations, which impair the dignity and seriousness of the gods, are found not only in the relations between gods and gods, but also between gods and men (and, even more so, women). The border between the divine and human spheres thus is virtually eliminated. The gods, in all respects, are like mortals even among mortals, and are indistinguishable from the latter. 18 There is, to be sure, one stellar example of such a relationship in the Odyssey, but its sophistication and profound meaning emphasize the difference between Homer's vision and Ovid's. That is the relationship between Odysseus and Athena, which culminates with their encounter at Ithaca (13.221.ff.), when Athena takes on the appearance of a young shepherd. It is a remarkable scene as the mortal and the goddess engage in a little charade and exchange banter and witty reproaches on absolutely even terms. This does not amount to any lessening of Athena's dignity, and not only because it is not an amorous episode. Rather, it is a portrait of two charming, witty, and above all, humane minds, utterly at ease. It is a portrait that would well fit into the Metamorphoses, were it not for its depth and meaning. 19 For Ovid, however, as we have seen on many occasions, myth and the gods simply are not the carriers of profound meaning any longer. His reduction of the gods to trivial humans is related to his disbelief in the traditional verity of myth and to his emphasis on the narrative and entertaining aspects of myth. Thus O!J~.of the ironic aspects of th~ gods' portrayal in the Metam9rphoses and of Ovid's attitude to them is that th~y CEYout to be just like humans, without their characterization generally being raised to the level of complex or contradictory motivation or of/ p~y~ho!ogical depth and intensity which Ovid accords to so many of 1 his human protagonists. There are exceptions-this is in the nature of the variety of the Metamorphoses-such as the Sungod in the Phaethon episode, 20 but by and large the gods act from simple and, often, banal rea~ons. The first mention in· the Metamorphoses of such a divine motivation is an indication of what is to follow: Jupiter swears by Styx to kill the human race (1.188-g)-and can

H umor and Seriousness

adduce no other reason than his responsibility for the half-gods, whom he must protect from the evil mortals. Whereas Ovid makes . us look into the psyche of Medea, Byblis, Cephalus, and Narcissus, to mention only a few, there is no psychologically compelling portrait of a god. The human nature of the deities rarely exceeds the most primitive manifestations; as Wilkinson has noted, 21 most of the male deities tend to act from Iust, and most of the female from jaundice. Their divine trappings and appearance are something purely external which, more often than not, gets in the way of their amatory pursuits-witness Semele's sad fate-nor do the gods have the power to compel. What, then, does it help to be a god-quid iuvat esse deum, as Glaucus asks himself (13.965)soon after having undergone a lengthy metamorphosis into a god. 22 We might answer with Ovid's famous line from the Art of Love (1.637): expedit esse deos (' it is convenient to have gods'); the humor in the M etamorphoses would be poorer without them. There are two additional, and mutually related, means by which Ovid makes light of the notion of being or becoming a god. One is that he applies to the deities the class distinctions found in Roman society; already in their first appearance (1.171-4), they are divided into nobiles and plebs. As we observed earlier, 23 part of the humor in this passage results from Ovid's making fun of the modernization of myth as practiced by many of its adaptors, but in the present context it is important to note that Ovid returns to this classification of the gods throughout the Metamorphoses. 24 Particular Iy telling is the use of this distinction in connection with apotheosis. Hippolytus/ Virbius is aware of his status as de dis minoribus unus ( 15.545). Venus' plea for Aeneas' deification verges on the overtly comical as she is desperate to ensure Aeneas at least some divine standing, no matter how low ( 14.589-90): quamvis parvum des, optime, numen, dummodo des aliquod. [ Grant him some godhead, howsoever lowly, So long as you grant something. l

If he cannot be a duke, let him be a baron. The second aspect of

The gods

171

Ovid's deflation of the notion of divinity thus is its reduction to something external, a procedure which, as we have seen repeatedly, is central to his artistic purpose in the Metamorphoses. Sometimes Ovid plays the human and the external aspect of a deity against one another and in the process destroys the gods' reality all the more. Kierkegaard's emphasis on the destructive quality of irony comes to mind here. 25 It is, to be sure, a gent! y destructive irony and not a Euripidean rapier thrust of demythologizing. This happens when Ovid exploits the contrast between the gods as persons and as personifications of natural powers. Inachus, the river god, weeps, and thereby adds to the waters of the river Inachus ( 1.583-4); the spring Arethusa grows quiet as the nymph Arethusa begins to tell her story (5.574-5); Midas mingles Bacchus, his benefactor, with water (11.125: miscuerat puris auctorem muneris undis); the god of Sleep has a hard time to rid himself of sleep ( 11.621: excussit tandem sibi se); and the Earth withdraws her mouth into the earth (2.302-3: suumque / rettulit os in se). The examples could be multiplied and sometimes are developed in greater detail, as in Alpheus' pursuit of Aret:husa (5.622ff.) or in the story of Achelous (9.1-97), but the instances we have quoted are more representative and also show Ovid's dicacitas. Without the contrast, of course, of the serious aspect of the gods their humorous treatment would be pointless, and Ovid took care to give enough prominence to the former so that we are at least kept aware of it. On these occasions, Ovid does not refashion the gods into true superhumans, but merely concedes them the maximum allowable power that is compatible with their human characterization. In their revenge for slights in particular, the deities can go to the kind of excesses which we know from Greek tragedy. There we are often faced with the unsettling implication that even a sn1all dislocation of the divine cosmos has to be made good by what to modern taste is a totally disproportionate measure of redress, as is shown, for instance, by the Oedipus or the Bacchae. Nothing of this theodicy is left in Ovid. When his gods punish mortals far more devastatingly than is just, they overreact from purely human motives. There are precedents in Greek tragedy also for this behavior of the gods, as in the Hippolytus or the Heracles, but by concerning hirr1self with the vengeance motif as he does, Ovid evokes the entire tradition of this theme in Greek drama. He mentions just enough

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H umor and Seriousness

episodes-those of Actaeon, the Tyrrhenian sailors, Semele, Arachne, Niobe, Marsyas, and perhaps even Lycaon are the most pronounced -to provide a serious backdrop for his amatory and ridiculous deities. Nor are most of the stories which we have just enumerated consistently serious in tone, and in a great many more stories, such as those of Erysichthon and Narcissus, Ovid took care to turn the traditional emphasis on crime and punishment into something different. 26 It seems too far-fetched to regard the divine vengeance stories, to an appreciable extent, as Ovid's criticism of the Augustan ideology and practice of arbitrary power. 27 Ovid inserted them into his poem, above all, for artistic reasons. This is in accordance with his desire for variatio, and if we did not see the gods every once in a while in this light, their humorous portrayal would lack a vital perspective. This is not to say that the serious characterization of the gods is limited to the vengeance theme. It is worth noting, however, that Ovid de-emphasizes and even banalizes another traditionally serious theme that would have tended to restore their godhead, i.e. their hearing of human pleas and prayers. 28 Ovid's light-hearted treatment of the gods is an excellent illustration of his continuing, on a large scale, in the Metamorphoses many characteristics that are already found in his earlier, elegiac poetry. The gods, as one could expect, do not have a large role in the latter, and the expanded treatment of myth does not either, as we saw earlier. But Ovid's attitude to the deities in this poetry is clear enough from passages like his badinage on such topics of traditional morality as the false oath. The gods that are supposed to guarantee the sanctity of the oath are presented by Ovid as conniving with the perjurer. In A mores 3.3, Ovid develops the theme in full: the gods are partial to girls because of their beauty; men are punished for perjury, but women are not; beauty itself has a numen; the gods are in awe of girls who are not in awe of the gods, etc. The gods are only human-di quoque habent oculos, di quoque pectus habent (3.3.42)-and, conversely, if Ovid were a god, he would tolerate just the same cavalier treatment of his nu men. This affirmation of the human nature of the gods answers the poet's earlier question about the reality of their existence (3.3.23-6): aut sine re nomen deus est frustraque timetur et stulta populos credulitate movet,

Self-irony

1 73

aut, si quis deus est, teneras amat ille puellas et nimium solas omnia posse iubet. [ Either a god is a name without substance whom we fear without reason and who scares the people because of their stupid credulity, or, if any god exists, he loves pretty girls and, more than he should, bids them, and them alone, to get away with everything.]

~~-~~~~~lit~~a~~~

in his early poems,'~as well as in the M etaniorphoses and the exile poetry, immortality and the power to immortalize belong to Ovid. The persistence of this theme in Ovid's poetry is another example of the coincidence of his personal and artistic creeds. So is his attitude to the deities. It would be extreme to argue that Ovid's humorous portrayal of the gods in the Metamorphoses is due solely to his artistic aims and ideals. Scholars of comedy possess the enviable ability to have it both ways by contending that, aside from all the artistic fun, comedy often is a release from the things we take most seriously, but this is hardly true in Ovid's case. Still, in the context of the Augustan religious revival his emphasis on the comic and rankly human qualities of the gods amounts to something more than an aesthetic exercise. It would be wrong to interpret his view of the deities as an active criticism of the Augustan religion. It does, however, suggest his personal indifference to the latter and the belief in his artistic ability to give the gods a different and longer lasting existence. As it turns out, this belief was amply justified.

3:

SELF-IRONY

However serious Ovid was about the power of his mythologizing and his art, a heavy-handed expression of this conviction was alien to his temperament. Even in the very last line of the Metamorphoses, he tempers the assertion of his literary immortality by qualifying it with si quid habent veri vatum praesagia. In view of the use, which we shall trace shortly, of this motif in the poem the phrase is fraught

1 74

Humor and Seriousness

with ironic poignancy. It illustrates best the predominant quality of Ovid's irony, whether applied to himself or to his stories and their characters. It is an irony closely akin to that which pervades the works of Thomas Mann :30 a fine irony which does not at all mean r the contrary of what is said, but merely serves to call it slightly into 1 question. In that sense, Ovid's irony is a constituent part of the perpetua f estivitas of the Metamorphoses. It accounts for the quiet delicacy of humor and for the amused, but sympathetic detachment which are keynotes of the poem. Only a writer who is supremely assured of his skill can afford such detachment and to be ironic at his own expense. We saw earlier that one of Ovid's main achievements was to break the monotony inherent in a catalog poem, a monotony from which the H eroides were not free and of which the discourse of Pythagoras is a deliberate example. 31 The repetitiousness of many metamorphosis stories posed a serious problem to Ovid's undertaking and, since he overcame it so brilliantly, he can afford to call attention to it with ironic playfulness. He does so at the earliest possible opportunity in Book One (1.689ff.). The only love stories we have heard up to that point are those of Daphne and lo, which are sufficient! y different from one another, not in the least because of their different metamorphoses. The third such story, that of Syrinx ( 1.689-712), completely repeats the pattern of the first. Daphne worships Diana; so does Syrinx. Both times a god is the suitor of an unwilling girl, and both times a river god effects the metamorphosis. In both stories a transformation takes place into a plant, which becomes the emblem of the god. Even minute details reinforce the repetitious effect, such as the mention of the golden arrow-point of Cupid ( 1.470) and the golden bow of Diana ( 1.697). The result of it all is that even Argus, who has ninety-eight more eyes than the reader, falls sound asleep after less than twelve lines of the story (1.700). Before our discussion has the same effect, we may note in passing that, as in his account of Mercury's descent to Herse, Ovid's humor within one story once more is characterized by cumulative variety and richness. Not only does Ovid reduce the motif of the maiden, who is pursued by a god and changed into a plant, ad absurdum, but he does the same to Jupiter's concern, which was ridiculous enough in its own right, for the welfare of the semi-deities of the woods and the country (1.192198).32 Now that they have been saved from the supposed threat

Self-irony

1 75

posed by mortals all they do is chase virtuous girls like Syrinx ( I .692-4). This was hardly worth the drowning of mankind. Another and more extensive! y used source of poetic self-irony is Ovid's conviction of the fictitious nature of the myths. For this reason, as we have seen, Ovid likes to distance the reader from the story in order to call attention to what is more important than the substance of the myth, i.e. the way in which it is told and thus ultimately to himself, the story-teller. But since Ovid essentially wants to have it both ways-not to believe in the variety of the myths, but to tell them anyway-the ironies that undermine the credibility of a given story often are inseparable from the poet's ironic attitude to himself and his creations. Even after he has given a myth new life through his narrative art, Ovid seemingly undercuts himself by making the reader look with detachment at this new reality of the myth. This undercutting, to be sure, is not meant to ruin the credibility of Ovid's own achievement, but the concept of irony as found in Mann's works again is applicable here. Besides, Ovid may occasionally have had enough doubts about the reality of his achievement to take the h ybristic edge off his self-confidence. Most important! y, this self-irony serves to remind us that the fictive world of the Metamorphoses is the product of homo ludens rather than homo faber. One of the best examples is Ovid's comment on the myth of the rape of Proserpina. It is a myth which figures prominently-and this not only since Richard Heinze's influential discussion-in Ovid's writings, because he tells it at length both in the Metamorphoses (5.341ff.) and the Fasti (4.417ff.). But when Orpheus goes to the underworld, he voices his doubts about the truth of the story. For all he knows, it might be a lie (Met. 10.28-9): famaque si veteris non est mentita rapinae, vos quoque iunxit Amor. The last line makes the allusion to the earlier story even more explicit, because it echoes Venus' exhortation to Amor: iunge deam patruo (5.379). Since Orpheus is a bard himself, he refrains from imputing such lies direct! y to the poets. Pythagoras, on the other hand, has no such scruples and through him, therefore, Ovid presents the whole metier of the poets as suspect. Nisi vatibus omnis eripienda

H umor and Seriousness fides (15.282-3) he says, as he relates the circumstances of the foul

smell of the river Anigros. The story was by no means an exemplary case of poetic invention and Pausanias (5.5.10) simply, and quite correctly, attributes it to a local (folk) tradition. This indicates that Ovid here was more concerned with a generic, ironic gibe at his profession than with criticizing the particular myth. Perhaps the most famous instance of this Ovidian self-irony is his pretense of scepticism about the story of Scylla. Scylla, he says, was .

.

.

v1rg1n1sora gerens et, s1non omn1a vates ficta reliquerunt, aliquo quoque tempore virgo ( 13.733-4). [ She had a virgin's face and, if all tales of the poets are not false, she really was a virgin once upon a time.] Somewhat later, it turns out that Ovid is not only a vates, who is in general subject to the suspicion of handing down fi;cta, but even one of the vates to tell the story of the girl Scylla (13.900-14.74). The poetic self-irony thus is obvious, but the passage also is typical of the Ovidian tendency to pursue several types of humor at the same time. There is the element of literary humor, as line 733 is a travesty of Vergil's depiction of Venus in the guise of a huntress (Aen. 1.315). Ovid's qualification of the credibility of poets also is a playful transformation of a traditional topic. We find such reservations in Hellenistic poetry, especially in Apollonius and Aratus, and the rejection of certain myths by an author is at least as old as Pindar. 33 But the reservations and protests of these poets are always directed against a specific version of a myth and do not serve to mock the poetic profession. Their purpose is as serious as can be. Pindar rids certain myths of unbecoming details because they would contradict his idealistic picture of gods and heroes. Apollonius distrusts an obviously unbelievable mythological detail according to which one of his heroes could see even beneath the earth (1.154),but he leaves it at that and, unlike Ovid, does not proceed to tell the story anyway. On another occasion (4.984)Apollonius, like Aratus (637),apologizes to the deities for referring to a well-attested myth, the emasculation of Uranos by his son, which is not quite compatible with divine dignity. And when he relates the story of the Argonauts' carrying their ship (4.138ff.), Apollonius realizes that his modern readers

Self-irony

1 77

might find it hard to believe and obviates their doubt by proclaiming most emphatically his obedience to the Muses. Ovid secularizes this credibility topos. He does not apologize to the deities for myths that might detract from their maiestas, because in that case he could never stop apologizing, but he invokes the tradition of the topos to express his doubts about Scylla's virginity. The humor in Metamorphoses 13.733-4 thus derives from (a) the dual meaning of virgo; ostensibly Ovid might just be querying whether the monster Scylla ever was a young girl. But the original meaning 'virgin' may also present and lends a note of exaggeration to Ovid's doubts, because Scylla surely was virginal at some point; (b) literary parody; (c) Ovid's playful deflation of the topos of the credibility of myth by his use of it in this context; (d) his self-irony because it involves a story to be told by him. True to Ovid's penchant for variety, the means for expressing his ironic attitude to his material and metier are diverse. A pointed remark about Theseus suggests that some myths originated with their heroes, who were anxious to set them in circulation: eredi sic ipse vole bat-' at least that is what he (Theseus) himself wanted us to believe' (12.360). Many stories, as we know, come from the lore of the country. Ovid acknowledges this by citing the rustics (agrestes 9.346) as his authority for the story of Lotis and, in the same breath, makes a swipe at them by calling them tardi. They are 'slow' in every respect, and because they were so slow in telling the story, poor Dryope did not know the peculiar nature of the Lotus tree and came to grief. Such are the authorities whom Ovid, by his own humorous admission, is following. The mockery of the rustics, of course, is another carry-over from Ovid's earlier poetry. Pseudo-naivete is another stratagem that Ovid uses in this context. We all know that in many myths there are conflicting versions especially of the death of the protagonist. Such is ostensibly the case with the myth of Caeneus; according to some men, Ovid's Nestor says, Caeneus went right down to Hades after being crushed by a huge mound of tree trunks ( 12.522-3). This is denied, however, by a seer because 'from the middle of the pile he saw a bird with golden wings By up into the limpid air'medioque ex aggere fulvis vidit avem pennis liquidas exire sub auras. ( 12.524-5)

1

H umor and Seriousness

To which Nestor good-heartedly adds ( 12.526): q uae mihi tum prim um, tune est conspecta supremum. [ I saw it too, then for the first time and the last.] The doubt is thus sown in the reader's mind and, in all likelihood, is more than justified because Ovid seems to have made up this particular metamorphosis. The passage is an amusing play both on his mythopoeia and on the metamorphosis theme. Ovid seems roguishly to suggest how easy it is to be inventive with metamorphosis as a literal subject and that neither the resulting stories nor their author should be believed too readily. 34 Then, as so often, he playfully pursues the subject by emphasizing that 'the story was believed because of him who told it' (credita res auctore suo est 12.532)and by having Nestor express his doubts about the much better attested tradition of Hercules' exploits::· :zze quid em maiora fide, di!, gessit ( 12.545). Similarly deliberate in achieving the desired opposite result are Ovid's pseudo-credulous appeals to the venerable age of a mythical tradition such as that of Deucalion and Pyrrha ( 1 .400: quis hoe credat, nisi sit pro teste vetustas) or Lichas (9.225: prior edidit aetas). In this last instance, Ovid again supplements the humor, this time with a parodic echo of a stock formula from aetiological poetry. 35 It is only because of the persistence of the erroneous notion that the Ovid of the Metamorphoses is totally different from the Ovid of the A mores that we want to point out, once more, the precedent for Ovid's occasional ironic attitude to his mythopoeic poetry. In fact, in Aniores 3.12 this attitude is combined with the element of literary parody just as it was in nuce in the passage we quoted from the Lichas episode in the Metamorphoses. In Amores 3.12, Ovid laments that he is responsible for Corinna's infidelity because through his poems she became so famous that many men took a more than literary interest in her. With his poetic povver, he created the myth of Corinna, which deserves as little credence as many other myths. This is followed by the catalogue, v1hich we have already mentioned, 36 of mythological subjects, most of which Ovid was to treat again in the Metamorphoses. Thereafter Ovid summarizes the irony about his own achievement and his credibility in the concluding couplets (3.12.41-4):

'Logical' incongruity and visual over-explicitness

179

exit in inmensum fecunda licentia vatum, obligat historica nee sua verba fide; et mea debuerat £also laudata videri femina: credulitas nunc mihi vestra nocet. [ The creative license of the poets has no limits and it does not bind its words with historical truthfulness. The praises I sang of that woman also should have seemed to be false; now your credulity does me harm.] In addition to all this, the poem also is a splendid parody of Propertius' lofty elegiac style. 37

4: ' LOGICAL '

INCONGRUITY

AND VISUAL OVER-EXPLICITNESS

We already have given several examples of Ovid's keen interest in the logical consequences which result from a given situation and in developing them to the point where they are incongruous with that situation. 38 Similarly, we have noted, on various occasions, Ovid's penchant for visual over-explicitness. 39 Therefore, and since both tendencies generate a great deal of the humor in the Metamorphoses, we may combine their discussion here and focus primarily on Ovid's application of them to the metamorphosis theme. Like the theme itself, the description of the actual process of transformation entailed the danger of monotony. There was a priori a largely unalterable scheme for the transformation of men into birds, animals, trees, etc. 40 When a human becomes an animal, for instance, his arms automatically become the front legs, his body is covered with fur, the mouth becomes a snout, the toes and fingers become claws or hooves, and the hairs often become a mane or crest. This did not deter Ovid from describing such transformations in great detail, but besides varying the language and thus achieving variety, he often adds some detail that makes a mock of the whole process. The metamorphosis of Ocyrhoe into a mare (2.667ff.), for instance, proceeds along the lines of the usual scheme. The formation of her hooves is presented as graphically as can be (2.670-1): tum digiti coeunt et quinos adligat ungues perpetuo cornu levis ungula. G

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180

[ Her fingers drew together and one continuous light hoof of horn bound together the five nails of her hand.] But it is the formation of her tail which is more than explicit and which is a play on the logic of the situation, as the tail is formed out of the train of Ocyrhoe's gown(2.672-3): longae pars maxima pallae/ cauda fit.

A spectacular example of the same tendencies is Ovid's account of the dissolution of Cyane into a pond whose guardian nymph she had been. After playfully alluding to this confusion of divine person and personification, Ovid proceeds with detailing the changes that overcome her (5 .429-37):

430

435

molliri membra videres, ossa pati Bexus, ungues posuisse rigorem, primaque de tota tenuissima quaeque liquescunt, caerulei crines digitique et crura pedesque ( nam brevis in gelidas membris exilibus undas transitus est); post haec umeri tergusque latusque pectora in tenues abeunt evanida rivos, denique pro vivo vitiatas sanguine venas lympha subit, restatque nihil, quod prendere posses.

[ And, all in tears, she melted, Dissolving, queen no longer, of those waters. Her limbs were seen to soften, and her bones Became more flexible, and the nails' hardness Was gone: the slenderest parts went first, the hair, The fingers, legs, and feet: it is no great distance From slimness to cool water. Back and shoulders, The breasts, the sides, were watery strean1s, and water Went through her veins, not blood, till there was nothing For anyone to hold.] There is nothing here that is left to the imagination, but things do not stop with this. Ovid begins his account on the note of impeccable logic and credibility. Cyane's hard parts have to soften up; after that is accomplished, her slenderest parts melt first. Her hair and fingers naturally belong to the latter, but when Ovid proceeds to include

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181

her legs and feet in that category also the reader realizes he is being had. Before we can say so, however, Naso magister tells us that this is all very normal (5.433-4):41 nam brevis in gelidas membris exilibus undas transitus est. The logic of the argument is, of course, deliberate! y specious and begging the question. It is very likely that Ovid invented this metamorphosis, just as he invented that of Caeneus, 42 and this may explain why both exemplify Ovid's humorous view of actual metamorphoses. In a similar! y explicit and 'logical' fashion, Ovid likes to exploit the 'magic moment' of the metamorphosis in which both the old and the new natures are part of the character. The instances are numerous and start with the metamorphosis of lo, who persists in this condition for some time (I.637ff.), but the metamorphosis of Iphis is an even richer example of Ovid's intent. At least some people in antiquity, such as Pliny, would not consider a sex change as fabulosum, and we have it on the authority not only of mythographers that such things came to pass. 43 By presenting the process step by step, however, Ovid clearly succeeds in projecting it as something fabulosum (9.786-91): mater abit templo, sequitur comes Iphis euntem, quam solita est, maiore gradu; nee candor in ore permanet, et vires augentur, et acrior ipse est vultus, et incomptis brevior mensura capillis: plusque vigoris adest, habuit quam femina. nam quae femina nu per eras, puer es ! [ And I phis walked beside her as she went, but with a longer stride than usual. Her face seemed of a darker hue, her strength seemed greater, her very features sharper, and her locks, all unadorned, were shorter than before. She seemed more vigorous than was her girlish wont. In fact, you who but lately were a girl are now a boy!] The over-explicit visual detail and the enumeration

of see1ningly

H umor and Seriousness

logical transformational steps continue to impress the incredibility of the event. Once again, however, this humor is not of the lethal, destructive kind. It might have been if the setting had been purely mythological, but Ovid, departing from the Greek originals as he usually did, re-endowed the story with the religious dimension. He made Isis, a contemporary and ardently worshipped goddess, the deity who works the miracle. What is incredible to the sophisticated reader is quite possible to the faithful, such as !phis' mother. Ovid, as so often, has it both ways and the equilibrium, which would be impossible without the humor, is perfect. It is indeed the humorous purposes to which Ovid turned his constant awareness of the logical consequences of a mythical situation that keep it from utterly destroying the latter. For logic is the intrinsic enemy of myth as myth often served to explain something that could not be explained by logical means. Later generations, of course, were not satisfied with this, and the rationalistic critique of myth began with the Ionian enlightenment of the sixth century. It did not set an end to myth, but myth from then on became progressively more important for the literary opportunities it afforded an author than for providing an explanation that reason, logos, could provide also. The development is by no means linear and consistent, but Ovid knew that he could not subject myth to a serious, rationalistic critique without impairing its literary treatment. Hence, he chose humorously to play with this problem as he did with so many others. This is epitomized by his account of the setting of Orpheus' song (10.86-105). Orpheus sat down on a sunny hill, Ovid says, where there was a wide-extending plain, grassy but without any shade whatsoever: umbra loco deerat (10.88). But the problem is easily solved: all Orpheus has to do is to start playing the lyre and umbra loco venit. ( 10.90) For the trees are moved by Orpheus' music and there they come, twenty-seven in all, to provide all the shade Orpheus needs. Ovid here looks rationalistically and all too literally at the well-known

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183

motif of Orpheus' moving the trees with the power of his song 44 and he develops its utilitarian consequences. The myth, however, is saved both by the humorous playfulness in whose spirit Ovid practices this rationalism, and by his consummately meaningful choice of the trees and the arrangement of their catalog. 45 The literal motif of the trees hurrying to Orpheus is metamorphosed in two ways. The lines of the first part of the catalog (10.90-8) are characterized by a steadily intensifying lyrical movement in regard to their meter and the sound quality of their vowels. This refiects the alacrity of the trees' arrival, and the important point is that the literal presentation has yielded to an artistic reflection of it. Secondly, through his structuring of the catalog and the mythological, literary, and symbolic associations of the trees he chooses, Ovid suggests the movement of Orpheus' feelings. The trees of Cha on and Cyparissus, which form the beginning and end of the catalog, are reminders of the fate of Eurydice; the second and next to the last trees-the poplar (Heliades) and the pine (Attis)-are reminders of Orpheus' grief. In between, we move from the idyllic and bucolic ( 10.95-8) to trees that symbolize love (10.99-100), and to a stately and earnest finale (10.101-5). The second part of the catalog (10.99-105) reminds Orpheus of his love. Its metrical and sound qualities are the counterpoint to those of the first part, and the whole reflects the situation of the singing and grieving Orpheus. The movement in the first part of the catalog is exactly reversed in the second. In sum, the literalness of the theme of the movement of the trees thus is superseded by its transference to its imaginative and tonal qualities. This is precisely the procedure which Ovid often adopted vis-a-vis the metamorphosis theme. 46 With this, the reciprocal relationship between the catalog of trees and the humorous passage that occasions it is not exhausted. For taken all by itself, the catalog, in all its minutely crafted and excogitated artistry and in its basic earnestness, may have seemed too weighty to Ovid. It needed some humorous relief, and Ovid provided it. Elsewhere, the humor caused by the application of playfully consequential logic and visual over-explicitness is even more directly related to one of Ovid's chief aims in the Metamorphoses, the untragic presentation of myth. This starts in the first Book with the description of the effects of the flood. Not only is there no emphasis

H umor and Seriousness on death and suffering, but through the means we are discussing the scene becomes one of perpetua festivitas ( 1.296-305):

300

305

hie summa piscem deprendit in ulmo. figitur in viridi, si £ors tulit, ancora prato, aut subiecta terunt curvae vineta carinae; et, modo qua graciles gramen carpsere capellae, nunc ibi deformes ponunt sua corpora phocae. mirantur sub aqua lucos urbesque domosque Nereides, silvasque tenent delphines et altis incursant ramis agitataque robora pulsant. nat lupus inter oves, fulvos vehit unda leones, unda vehit tigres. [ Someone catches Fish in the top of an elm-tree, or an anchor Drags in green meadow-land, or the curved keel brushes Grape-arbors under water. Ugly sea-cows Float where the slender she-goats used to nibble The tender grass, and the N ereids come swimming With curious wonder, looking, under water, At houses, cities, parks, and groves. The dolphins Invade the woods and brush against the oak-trees; The wolf swims with the lamb; lion and tiger Are borne along together.]

Seneca (N.Q. 3.27.13) might denounce this as pueriles ineptias, but such humor must be viewed in the context of its function in the Metamorphoses. To some extent, the passage is quite typical of the relationship between humor and seriousness, because it is preceded by a lengthy (r.272--92)and dignified description, for which Seneca (N.Q. 3.27.13)had high praise, of the power of the elements and the destruction they are wreaking. Without this backdrop, the humorous touches that follow would be trivial indeed. But Ovid was no Seneca, and those who prefer unmitigated cosmic and dramatic grandeur can always turn to the latter's treatment of the deluge. 47

Literary allusiveness and parody

5:

LITERARY

ALLUSIVENESS

AND

PARODY

The importance of literary wit and allusion in the Meta1norphoses is intrinsically related to Ovid's attitude to the previous literary versions of his stories. We saw earlier that he constantly expects his highly literate readers to be familiar with these versions so that they can appreciate all the more what Ovid does with the myths. By their very nature, Ovid's stories are constant allusions to these earlier treatments, and the allusions therefore often are implicit rather than explicit, with many subtle shades in between. As for the ancients' awareness of Ovid's desire to invite comparison, we may recall the Elder Seneca's observation that Ovid imitated many Vergilian lines, 'not because he wanted to steal them, but openly borrow them with the clear intent that this would be recognized' (Suas. 3.7). Of course this situation is not unique to Ovid's Metamorphoses but applies to all Roman and many Greek writers. 'Originality' in ancient literature is not what the Romantics or moderns mean by it; it was a sine qua non that a poet, if he wanted to claim his place, would insert himself into an existing tradition and use his predecessors as points of reference. The important difference between Ovid and, for instance, Vergil and Horace, is that he frequently exploits this relationship for humorous and playful purposes. He displays the same attitude, that of the homo ludens, toward his own position in the literary tradition as he does toward most themes or traditional topoi. Here humor has a liberating force and ultimately suggests Ovid's superior sense of artistic freedom. Nowhere is this better illustrated than by Ovid's use of the introductory formula that the beginning of a poetic work is with Jupiter (ab love 10.148). It was a maxim with an overwhelming literary tradition. When Pindar uses it (N em. 2.1ff .), he already refers to the practice of earlier poets, the 'Homerids ', and Aleman provides an extant example of its early existence (fr. 9). The subsequent occurrences of the motto are no less distinguished. We find it in the Orphic fragments (fr. 21a Kern), at the beginning of the Phaenomena of Aratus, in Theocritus (17.1), Cicero (Leg. 2.3.7), Vergil's Eclogues (3.60) and Aeneid (7.219), and others. But whereas Aratus, for instance, had tried to charge it with new meaning, Ovid

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deflates it by using it as Orpheus' introduction to the erotic adventures of the gods. They are sung in a lighter strain (leviore lyra 10.152); by contrasting it with plectra graviore (10.150), Ovid alludes to the kind of poetry in which the introduction was at home. Ovid further parodies it by taking it literally: his song begins indeed with Jupiter, but with Jupiter as the carnal lover of Ganymede rather than the ethereal lover of the Muses. The intensity of this love is summed up in an all too typical example of Ovidian dicacitas ( IQ.I 56-7): inventum est aliquid, quod Iuppiter esse, q uan1 q uod erat, mallet. [ Something was found which Jupiter would rather be than what he was.] But, as we saw earlier, 48 in the next story we regain the serious perspective as the attachment of Apollo to a mortal, H yacinthus, is told movingly and without witticisms. The longest piece of sustained literary parody in the M etamorphoses is the description of the storm in Book 11 to which we have already referred. 49 The motif had many precedents in epic and so do other parodic passages in the Metamorphoses. Literary parody, however, is by no means restricted to epic in Ovid's poem and even cumulatively, these passages do not make the Metamorphoses an anti-epic, para-epic, mock epic, or whatever label the undifferentiated reaction to the 'epic' view of the Metamorphoses would have us adopt. What makes this parody work is again the element of incongruity, as epic devices and passages are used in contexts where they are out of place. A second humorous element of such parody is that it often puts a novel interpretation on the text that is parodied. An excellent case in point is the speech of Salmacis to Hermaphroditus in 4.320-8. It is modelled on Odysseus' speech to Nausicaa in Odyssey 6.149ff. The striking dissimilarity between the Ovidian characters and situation and the Homeric ones opens up the whole gamut of incongruity. In the Odyssey we are faced with the muchtravelled Odysseus, weary after his exertions, at pains to conceal his involuntary nudity, and attempting to persuade an inexperienced, young girl to help him out of his predicament. This first encounter

Literary allusiveness and parody

of the hero with Nausicaa has been aptly characterized by a recent interpreter as 'perhaps the severest test of tact and resourcefulness in his whole career'. 50 Therefore 'his speech is very carefully phrased and shows remarkable delicacy of feeling'. Salmacis, on the other hand, represents the total opposite of all of this. She is slothful, does not even want to run about with her fellow nymphs (4.303), and steadfastly refuses to undergo any exertions (4.305-9). Her nudity and semi-nudity are intentional, as she bathes her shapely limbs in her own pool (4.310) and 'now, wrapped in a transparent robe, lies down to rest on the soft grass or the soft herbage' (4.313-14), which again is reminiscent of the pile of foliage on which Odysseus slept ( Od. 5.483, 487). A creature like this knows no restraint when the opportunity presents itself. As Alexander Pope put it (Epistle to a Lady 215-16): Men, some to Bus' ness, some to Pleasure take; But ev'ry woman is at heart a Rake. When the young, inexperienced Hermaphroditus happens by, therefore, nothing is left of the 'remarkable delicacy of feeling' under1ying Odysseus' speech. What is left is the speech itself, although it now acquires some qualities that might possibly have served as a corrective, if they had read it. to the fancies of some Romantics and Victorians who wished for Odysseus to marry Nausicaa. Here is Ovid's version and the corresponding sections of the speech of Odysseus:

320

325

tune sic orsa loqui: 'puer o dignissime credi esse deus, seu tu deus es, potes esse Cupido, sive es mortalis, quite genuere, beati, et frater felix et fortunata profecto, si qua tibi soror est, et quae dedit ubera nutrix; sed longe cunctis longeque beatior illa, si qua tibi sponsa est, si quam dignabere taeda ! haec tibi sive aliqua est, mea sit furtiva voluptas; seu nulla est, ego sim, thalamumque ineamus eundem ! [Then did she speak: 'O youth, most worthy to be believed a god, if you are indeed a god, you must be Cupid; or if you

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are mortal, happy are they who gave you birth, blessed is your brother, fortunate indeed any sister of yours and your nurse who suckled you. But far, oh, far happier than they all is she, if any be your promised bride, if you shall deem any worthy to be your wife. If there be any such, my pleasure be a secret; if not, let me be your girl, and let us go to bed together.' (Met. 4-320-8)] [ Then did he speak: 'I beseech you, o queen. But are you mortal or a goddess? If you are indeed one of the gods who hold wide heaven, to Artemis, the daughter of great Zeus, do I liken you most nearly in beauty, figure, and stature. But if you are one of the mortals who dwell on the earth, three times blessed then are your father and your honored mother, and three times your brothers. I know their hearts are warmed forever with joy because of you, as they see you entering the dance, a plant so fair. But ,he again is blessed in the heart above all others, who shall prevail with his gifts of wooing and lead you to his home ... And for yourself, may the gods grant you all that your heart desires; a husband and a home may they grant you, and oneness of heart-a godly gift. For nothing is greater or better than this, when a man and wife dwell in a home in one accord, a great grief to their foes and a joy to their friends; but they know it best themselves.' (Odyssey 6.149-59, 180-5)] The parody results both from the incongruity and the inversion of the Homeric motifs. Odysseus had compared Nausicaa to Artemis, in implicit contrast with the more voluptuous charms of Aphrodite. Salmacis reveals from the start what is on her mind by likening Hermaphroditus to Cupid. This is not devoid of a certain logic, because Hermaphroditus is the son of Aphrodite, but Salmacis of course does not know that. For entirely libidinous reasons she has n1ade a guess which the reader, with his superior knowledge-and such superiority is a well-known cause of comic humor-can only confirm. Ovid imitates the iterative 'three times blessed' of Odysseus by the alliteration frater felix ... fortunata (4-323) and expands the number of family members that are invoked. Besides father, mother, and brother he also makes Salmacis mention sister and nurse. The result is humorous because Ovid has Salmacis protract the notion,

Literary allusiveness and parody which the reader knows to be erroneous, that Hermaphroditus is descended from mortals. At the same time, her guess about the nurse again can only be confirmed by the reader, and the graphic dedit ubera suddenly gives a rather literal meaning to the Naiads' upbringing (enutrivere 4.289) of the boy. Odysseus' reference to Nausicaa's nubility is exquisitely tactful and deepened by his final words that come from the heart of a man who has been separated so long from his wife. Ovid transforms this appeal into an expression of Salmacis' unbridled lust. Odysseus knows that Nausicaa is not married; Salmacis does not care whether Hermaphroditus is married or not-she will grab him anyway. Her desire for the action brings her speech to a much quicker end than Odysseus'. As epic parody characterizes the beginning of Salmacis' pursuit, so it marks its climax. Ovid leads up to it by giving a description of Salmacis' nymphomania which is another splendid example of humor resulting from visual over-explicitness (4.356-62).So far from being expressed explicitly, however, the final event is garbed in a series of highblown epic similes. Through them, it is propelled to a cosmic dimension as the three similes introduce analogies from the realms of air, land, and sea (4.361-7): denique nitentem contra elabique volentem inplicat ut serpens, quam regia sustinet ales sublimemque rapit (pendens caput illa pedesque adligat et cauda spatiantes inplicat alas), utque solent hederae longos intexere truncos, utque sub aequoribus deprensum polypus hostem continet ex omni dimissis parte flagellis. [ At length, as he tries his best to break away from her, she wraps him round with her embrace, as a serpent, when the king of birds has caught her and is bearing her on high: she, hanging from his claws, wraps her folds around his head and feet and entangles his flapping wings with her tail; or as the ivy oft-times embraces great trunks of trees, or as the sea-polyp holds its enemy caught beneath the sea, its tentacles embracing him on every side.] The pedigree of the first and longest simile can be traced best and

H umor and Seriousness

epiton1izes Ovid's procedure. In Iliad r r.2ooff. an eagle attempting to carry off a serpent is an omen, and not a simile. According! y, it is taken most serious!y and gives rise to spirited debate between Polydamas and the belligerent Hector. In Aeneid rr.75rff., the simile is apposite, because it is applied to Tarchon, a descendant of Jupiter whose sacred bird is the eagle. In the Vergilian simile, the eagle prevails, whereas Ovid-and this is an additional element of humor in many of his literary 'adaptations '-sets the whole situation askew by comparing the attacker, Salmacis, to the snake which is the attacked animal in Homer and Vergil ( and, of course, in any such event in real life). In the next two similes, the situation is corrected so that the reader cannot fail to notice the resulting incongruity. And if Ovid wanted the reader to have a long memory, the correct and entirely suitable application of the eagle/serpent sin1ile to Perseus and the monster later in the same book (4.714-20) provides another serious foil without which parody would lose much of its effect. Whether Ovid's procedure should be called vulgarization is, like so much else, a matter of nomenclature. The use of elevated language for unseemly and erotic matters is frequent enough in English literature-Rochester, Dorset, and John Cleland's Memoirs of a Lady of Pleasure come to mind-and someone like Samuel Johnson (Life of Cowley) would be duly critical: Language is the dress of thought: and as the noblest mien or most graceful action would be degraded and obscured by a garb appropriated to the gross employments or rustics or mechanics, so most heroic sentiments will lose their efficacy, and the most splendid ideas lose their magnificence, if they are conveyed by vulgar mouths and contaminated by inelegant applications. In Roman literature, Ovid found his follower in Petronius who engages in far more plays of literary erotic humor. 51 Vergil, whose Aeneid provided one of the impulses for the writing of the Metamorphoses, not surprisingly is the author on whom Ovid draws most often for the purpose of literary humor. Analogous to Ovid's penchant for visual over-explicitness, the humor in these 'borrowings' often consists of Ovid's making explicit what was only suggested in Vergil. The geography of the conciliunz deorum in

Literary allusiveness and parody Book One sets the tone, and we have referred to some of its aspects earlier. The proper foil is not so much the divine council at the beginning of Aeneid 10 as Evander's tour with Aeneas of the site of Rome in Aeneid 8.337-58. There he points out sites which recall monuments erected by Augustus, but this is never openly stated. 52 By contrast, Ovid, besides being far more precise in his allusions ( I. 168-76), finally makes the equation explicit ( 1.175-6): hie locus est, quern, si verbis audacia detur, haud timeam magni dixisse Palatia caeli. [ This is the place, which, if boldness is granted to my words, I would not fear to call the Palatine of heaven.] Needless to say, Ovid has that audacia. Likewise, when he echoes the famous and programmatic simile in the first book of the Aeneid, which compares Neptune calming the waves to a man pietate gravem ac meritis calming a seditious mob (Aen. 1.148-56), he robs it of its suggestiveness and says out loud who is really meant by it (Met.

1.200-5): sic, cum manus inpia saevit sanguine Caesareo Romanum exstinguere nomen, attonitum tanto subitae terrore ruinae humanum genus est totusque perhorruit orbis; nee tibi grata minus pietas, Auguste, tuorum est, quam fuit illa Iovi. [ So, v1hen an impious band was mad to blot out the name of Rome with Caesar's blood, the human race was dazed with a mighty fear of sudden ruin, and the whole world shuddered in horror. Nor is the loyalty of your subjects less pleasing to you than the gods' loyalty was to Jove.] To put it briefly: Ovid externalizes the Vergilian descriptions and symbols. This procedure applies to most Ovidian imitations of Vergil, 53 and we will return to some of them in the next chapter. The tendency to look at things only externally is, as we saw earlier, characteristic of his treatment of many stories in the poem. The

H umor and Seriousness

reason for this in many passages where he imitates Vergil is Ovid's indifference to Vergil 's religiosity. In the example we have just discussed, however, it is the element of literary play that is most instrumental in the externalization of V ergilian implications. To Ovid, such delicate suggestiveness and symbolic complexity are just another literary game practiced by a fellow literary artist, and he humorously exposes what is behind it all. This does not mean that he did not appreciate Vergil, because he admired him greatly, and Ovid himself is a master of the subtle allusion, even though his allusions turn on the element of wit rather than the Vergilian sense of mystery. But the spirit in which he plays his literary prank on his revered predecessor again is that of perpetua f estivitas. For mordant wit or malice were not Ovid's intention, and we may take at face value his comment made from exile (Trist. 2.563-6; cf. 5.3.55ff.): non ego mordaci destrinxi carmine quemquam, nee meus ullius crimina versus habet. candid us a salibus suffusis felle refugi: nulla venenato littera mixta ioco est. [ I have never injured anybody with a mordant poe1n, my verse contains charges against nobody. Ingenuous I have shunned wit steeped in gall-not a letter of mine has been dipped in poisoned jest.] Often the Ovidian parodies are a perceptive comment on the literary intentions of the authors that are parodied. This should help finally to lay to rest the notion that Ovid was a 'naive' poet who at times did not know what he was doing. Ovid may not be profound, but he is discerning. This is quite evident in his treatment of Polyphemus and Galatea (13.75off.). His version is undoubtedly more farcical, exaggerated, and graphically overdone than Theocritus' Idyll I I. But aside from these externals, it is also a subtle commentary on the themes of the Idyll and Vergil's adaptation of it, the Second Eclogue. The Idyll is an affirmation of the power of poetry and demonstrates how the lovesick Cyclops is healed by the power of music and poetic song. 54 This function of poetry and music was rejected by the Epicureans, but it preoccupied poets like Lucretius and Vergil, whose First Eclogue is an example of what music can

Verbal wit

1 93

accomplish, whereas the Second Eclogue exemplifies its futility. Corydon cannot cure his passion by song. Nor can Ovid's Polyphemus whose song is permeated by verbal echoes from the Second Eclogue. Ovid's procedure again is to be more explicit, and the studium inane of his singer thus is evident from the outset. Whereas Corydon urges Alexis to rival Pan with him in silvis (Eel. 2.31) and later reiterates his preference for silvas (2.60)-and the silvae are a symbol of poetry and song-Polyphemus from the start is horrendus ipsis silvis (Met. 13.759-60). His song will lead to odium, a notion reminiscent of Lucretius (5.1416), and finally, he cannot stay in silva (Met. I 3.872) much longer and fiercely attacks Acis. His pipe of one hundred reeds ( 13.784) helps him even less than the pipe of seven reeds availed Corydon (Eel. 2.35-6). His failure to attract his beloved and to calm himself by song is far more conspicuous than Corydon' s. With paradoxical purposefulness, Ovid has the story turn full circle by choosing as its protagonist the very Polyphemus whom Theocritus had depicted as being cured by song. Parody and literary wit, as is well known, do not signify that the parodist is holding in low esteem the writer whom he parodies. Ovid's attitude to Vergil is no exception. Whenever he mentions l' altissimo poeta directly in his poetry, he praises him and considers him as a normative figure. 55 Ovid had great respect for Vergil, but he was not overawed by him. The perpetua festivitas of his adaptations of Vergil and others can be compared to the 'festive comedy' of Shakespeare and Plautus. 56 There we find a reversal, which expresses acknowledgement rather than depreciation, of the 'serious' order of things. This again is play as defined by Johan Huizinga. Besides, Ovid's admiration for Lucretius and the carmina sublimis Lucreti (Am. 1.15.23) serves as a useful reminder that, in accordance with the varying tonality of the Metamorphoses, not all of Ovid's literary adaptations fall into the parodistic category and that the tribute he paid his predecessors could be quite straightforward. 57

6:

VERBAL WIT

Already in antiquity Ovid was famous, if not downright notorious, for his predilection for verbal witticisms. It is primarily for this reason that Quintilian rebuked him for being nimiun1 amator in genii

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sui ( 10.1.88). Ovid was quite conscious of it. This is illustrated by the charming anecdote according to which his friends wrote down those three lines of his poetry that they considered most outrageous and he, the three lines which he most wanted to keep. The lines, alas, turned out to be identical. Two of them are cited by Seneca the Elder (Controv. 2.2.12) and contain verbal plays, and we can assume that this was true of the third also. This penchant of Ovid's is another common bond between his earlier elegiac poetry and the Metamorphoses. It is an aspect of Ovid's humor which has been duly noted, even in English treatments of the subject, and we already have referred to a fair number of examples. The selected few that follow therefore may stand for many. It is typical of Ovid that he exploits the metamorphosis theme for the paradoxes that often result from it. Sometimes, as we have seen, he draws out the process of transformation in detail. 58 On other occasions, he capitalizes on the situation for a quick, witty turn of phrase-peracutum et breve, as Cicero defined dicacitas (De Or. 2.218). After Neptune transforms Mestra into a man, her former master asks her, well, about herself, and she is rejoicing a se se quaeri (8.862-3). Similarly, when Jupiter disguises himself as Diana to surprise Callisto and the girl hails him as 'a deity greater than Jove', Jupiter rejoices 'to be preferred to himself': sibi praeferri se gaudet (2.430). The arrangement of the words in the preceding line enhances the humor; Callisto eulogizes Diana at the expense of Jupiter, 'even if he might hear her', and, of course, he does: 'audiat ipse licet, maius love.' ridet et audit. Likewise, in the story of Narcissus, which is shot through with verbal paradoxes reinforcing its thematic paradox, a chiastic line effectively sums up the situation of Narcissus' looking at his reflection (3.446-7): et placet et video; sed quod videoque placetque, . . non tamen 1nven10. At other times Ovid uses word plays to emphasize the dual aspect of a deity as person and personification, 59 such as in the case of Sleep ridding himself of sleep: excussit tandem sibi se ( 11.621).

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Plays on words, as we remarked earlier, often serve to put a distance between the reader and the events and call attention to the raconteur rather than lead to sympathetic immersion into a story. Sometimes Ovid goes further and a witticisn1 reflects his unfeeling attitude to and even delight in cruelty. Dryden, as we have seen, castigated Ovid for this on the occasion of the agony of Narcissus. Likewise, Ovid cannot resist having Marsyas comment on his graphic Baying (6.385): 'quid me mihi detrahis?' inquit. [ 'Why do you peel me from myself?', he cried.] Or, after Daedalus has lost his son, Ovid prefaces the plaint of the father by calling him at pater infelix, nee iam pater (8.231) and thus effectively destroys the pathos of the situation. The same effect is achieved by coacervatio, or heaping of words. This effect is not done justice by including it under the all-embracing and altogether too vague label of Ovid's 'rhetoric' .60 So far from being mere rhetorical exercises, his catalogs serve diverse purposes. They strike a humorous note in the story of Actaeon (3.206-25), where the long enumeration of canine names is fatal to the pathos of the situation, 61 and in the wooing song of Polyphemus ( 13.789807) because they are a comment on his character as well as a literary parody of Vergil and Theocritus. In accordance with his physical monstrosity, which Ovid stresses time and again, Polyphemus takes a purely quantitative approach to the subject and piles up an unprecedented number of comparatives for Galatea. Bigger, but not better is the distinctive and 1udicrous characteristic both of the appearance of the Cyclops and of his musical endeavor. On the other hand, the catalog of trees in the Orpheus episode ( 10.90-105) is consummately meaningful 62 and that of Pythagoras serves a serious literary purpose. 63 As one would expect from Ovid, literary wit can take on the form of an ironic double entendre. As in the case of coacervatio, the uses of this irony encompass a whole spectrum. At one end is the grimness, for instance, of Philomela's answer to Tereus' command to

H umor and Seriousness bring in Itys-intus habes quern poscis (6.655),where intus can mean both 'in the house' and 'inside'. By contrast, in the story of Cephalus and Procris even the very elaborate triple entendre (7.813820), to which Hermann Frankel has called our attention, 64 conforms to the tragic and pathetic tone of the story. In between, and most characteristic, is the merely amusing kind of double entendre, such as the mock aphorism in 2.436-7. Callisto struggles against Jupiter, 'as much as a woman can' (2.434) sed quern superare puella, quisve Iovem poterat superum? [ But whom could a girl overcome, and what girl could overcome Jupiter the divine (or: Jupiter when he is on top).]

As so often, another element of humor is added, i.e. the verbal play on superare-superum. Most of the time, verbal wit serves as a brilliantly concise summary into which Ovid crystallizes the paradoxical consequences of a given situation. This is the condensed manifestation of Ovid's interest in 'logical' incongruity that we discussed earlier. The face of the warrior maiden Atalanta, for example, strikes Meleager as virgineam in puero, puerilem in virgine (8.323). This word play keeps us from taking his passion for Atalanta too seriously because 1t gives an ironic twist to the expression of his love (8.326-7): 'o felix, siquem dignabitur' inquit 'ista virum ! ' [ 'Happy the man,' he said, 'if that maiden shall dee1n any man worthy to be hers.'] The paradox of Envy, who sees an Athens full of satisfaction, is beautifully brought out by Ovid's description of her feelings (2.796): vixque tenet lacrimas, quia nil lacrimabile cernit. [ She can scarce restrain her tears, because she sees no cause for others' tears.]

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197

Even if phrases of this kind seem tedious to modern taste and have been excoriated as 'rhetoric', humor of this kind was popular with the Romans, as Roman comedy and the extant examples of Cicero's witticisms, among others, prove. And the pun on Atalanta's dual character is not nearly as outrageous as some of Ovid's puns in his earlier poetry, including his notorious summary of the Minotaur's two natures semibovemque virum semivirumque bovem (A. A. 2.24) a line which Ovid jokingly counted among the three with which he least wished to part.

7:

THE

GENRE

SCENE

There is one famous story in the Metamorphoses which Ovid tells more leisurely than usual, with the kind of lavish attention to detail that was dear to the Hellenistic poets and their followers, and without spasmodic turns of the plot or outrageous witticisms. That is, of course, the story of Philemon and Baucis (8.616-724). It has received much attention partly because it is at the virtual center of the poem and, unlike most stories in the Metamorphoses, has some singularly decent and psychologically normal people as its protagonists, and partly because, to echo the prevailing tenor of the literary judgements it has received, it is 'charming! y told', a 'piece of Hellenistic Biedermeier', and radiating so obviously the sort of kindly warmth which some of Ovid's readers would like to find in more of his myths and, one suspects, in their daily lives. Happily, the element of humor it contains has been recognized, even if only generally and not by all critics, and one feels somewhat uneasy to disturb this blissful state of affairs by probing Ovid's ai1ns in this story more deeply. Better than any other story, however, this one epitomizes the role of humor in Ovid's mythopoeia, and both the story and its humor deserve a more than superficial appreciation. Briefly, the story, as told by Ovid, sums up the essential shift in mythology from the explicatory and religious to a purely literary and narrative function. 65 The religious themes on which the myth is based are superseded by its narrative qualities, of which humor is an

H u1nor and Seriousness

intrinsic and indispensable ingredient. The affinity between the basic thematic elements of the story and biblical themes and passages has often been noted and is ultimately explained by the original, religious character of the myth. The theme of the descent of the gods, with which already Homer and Hesiod were familiar, corresponded to cultic realities in Greece and Phrygia, which is the locale of Ovid's story. The divine identification with which Paul and Barnabas were greeted there (Acts 14-11-13) attests that, many decades after Ovid had composed his story, the religious belief in the reality of theophany still flourished in its locale. Similarly, the tradition of the flood, which Ovid here only sketches (8.696-8)-for the dual purpose of avoiding repetition of his earlier account and of diminishing the religious and seriously moralistic character of the myth-and the sacred tree are religious motifs with an impressive tradition including, in the case of the latter, more cultic realities. This is not to say that before Ovid these motifs had been treated with nothing but religious awe, but we should not oversimplify the literary problem by viewing the story merely as an amalgam of Phrygian legend and Callimachean elements. Callimachus' famous Hecale was one of the literary predecessors of Ovid's story. It represents a diminution of the religious content of the theme as a hero, Theseus, and not a god is entertained by an old woman, Hecale. That the Alexandrian poet took pains to reduce the religious and cultic elements even further is clear from a comparison of the summary of his story with Plutarch's account, based on an ancient Attic chronicle, of the same events that led to the I-Iecalesian festival. 66 Still, prophecies and the cult aition are by no means negligible in Callimachus' version, and the same is true of his story of the reception of Herakles by the poor man Molorchus (Aitia III frs. 54-g Pf.). As usual, however, Ovid did not simply 'borrow' from Callimachus without making substantial changes. Prophecies and cultic details disappear in his story while, paradoxically, it incorporates more basic religious themes than Callimachus': besides the theophany, there are the themes of the flood and the tree cult. Ovid, however, adds them only to demonstrate his mastery of toning down their religious content; the motif of the tree cult, e.g., serves merely as an illustration of the couple's devotion which Ovid had emphasized at the beginning of the story-a poor Ceyx and Alcyone grown old, one might say. While Ovid in his account of the couple's hospitality utilizes

The genre scene

some Alexandrian elements, which in turn are based on Homeric descriptions, 67 there is no convincing parallel in the Callimachean fragments for the total design of Ovid's version. Humor is one of its constitutive elements. It thus is a paragon of Ovid's perpetua festivitas at its pleasant best because the humor is understated and Ovid uses in a low key humorous devices that he plays up a great deal more elsewhere. The initial description of the gods in human guise sets the tone. Besides Jupiter, there is Mercury positis caducifer alis (8.627). He had to take his wings off to look like a mortal. It is the same idea that Ovid exploits in more detail, for instance, when he has the Sungod take off his crown of rays so that he does not burn Phaethon. 68 At the same time, Mercury remains caducifer. Of course this is a fixed epithet and Mercury does not have his divine herald's wand with him, but Ovid deliberately retains it to add a touch of the kind of humorous incongruity which he exploits at far greater length in other stories. The self-contradictory use of the fixed epithet is also a parody of the Homeric usage by which dead warriors are still 'swift-footed' and scoundrels are called 'godlike'. Besides, the arrangement of the words is a meaningful pleasantry: caducif er, denoting the divinity of Mercury, is framed by the description of his human appearance, positis ... alis. Inside the human form, there still is a god, who will later reveal himself (8.689).Further on in the story (8.637), Ovid humorously creates a similar situation and uses the same words as in the description of the heaven! y city in Book I when the gods (caelicolae; cf. caelicolae in 1.174)'touch' the penates of the house. 69 Other elements of Ovidian humor also appear in a more subdued form in this story. There is visual over-explicitness in Ovid's describing in three lines how the table had to be made level (8.661-3): mensae sed erat pes tertius in par: testa parem fecit; quae postquam subdita clivum sustulit, aequatam mentae tersere virentes. [ The trivet-table of a foot was lame, A blot which prudent Baucis overcame,

200

H umor and Seriousness Who thrust beneath the limping leg a sherd, So was the mended board exact!y rear' d: Then rubb'd it o'er with some newly gather'd mint, A wholesome herb, that breath'd a grateful scent. (Dryden's translation)]

But the description is not obtrusive because of its elegance and its lack of exaggeration. It may contain a grain of literary parody also because minute depiction of details of that kind was a popular subject in Hellenistic poetry, and we found it exemplified in Callimachus' Hymn to Demeter. 70 Similarly, the chase of the old couple after the goose does not become high comedy, but is typical of Ovid's sympathetic, but amused and detached attitude to many of his protagonists. The contrast between the fluttering and elusive bird and its plodding and frustrated pursuers is vividly sketched, but free from hyperbole (8.684-8): unicus anser erat, minimae custodia villae: quern dis hospitibus domini mactare parabant; ille celer penna tardos aetate fatigat eluditque diu tandemque est visus ad ipsos confugisse deos. [ One goose. they had ('twas all they could allow) A wakeful sentry, and on duty now, Whom to the gods for sacrifice they vow: Her, with malicious zeal, the couple view'd; She ran for life, and, limping, they pursu' d: Full well the fowl perceiv' d their bad intent, And would not make her master's compliment; But, persecuted, to the powers she flies, And close between the legs of Jave she lies. (Dryden's translation)] The primary function of this vignette is humorously to alleviate a situation that might otherwise become too serious, and this again is a typically Ovidian procedure. The scene precedes the theophany and detracts from the potential, religious weightiness of that event. Unlike in Callimachus' Molorchus, where the poor host offered Herakles his only ram as a meal, the Ovidian scene is not part of an

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organic development of the plot-for it comes after the end of the meal-but exists for the sake of its humorous effect. A final motif that Ovid in other stories treated with broader humor, mostly by drawing it out, is the description of the couple's metamorphosis into trees. A detail that is intrinsically amusing under such circumstances is the characters' endeavor to utter some last word as the bark is closing in. For once, Ovid's procedure of attaching -que to one of the spoken words rather than to the verb of speaking 11 may have the ulterior purpose of mirroring how the bark is interposing itself between the words (8.717-19): mutua, dum licuit, reddebant dicta 'vale'que 'o coniunx' dixere simul, simul abdita texit ora frutex. [ Then, ere the bark above their shoulders grew, They give and take at once their last adieu; At once, Farewell, 0 faithful spouse, they said; At once the incroaching rinds their closing lips invade. (Dryden's translation)] But the whole scene is kept brief and may be usefully compared, for instance, with the transformation of Dryope and her implausibly long speech under the same circumstances (9.368-93). The usual drawn-out nature of such descriptions should be added to the reasons for which La Fontaine (Philemon et Baucis, 1685) and Dryden greatly expanded the Ovidian account of the couple's metamorphosis in their versions. Most important, however, for the pervasiveness of the gently humorous tone, which indeed is aequabiliter in omni sermone fusum (Cicero, De Or. 2.218), is Ovid's stylization of the theoxeny into a bucolic, Italian idyl, and the concomitant light-hearted treatment of the Augustan and Roman 'poverty' topos. Ovid is not writing a simple and positive laus vitae agrestis, but surveys the scene from the amused and distanced vantage point of the urban and urbane poet. The detachment begins with his make-believe insistence that the couple, who manifestly typify some virtues of Italian peasant life, 72 live in the 'Phrygian hills'. The meal they serve is typically Roman, and the rather relative nature of its meagerness is a mildly

202

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parodic comment on the patriotic exhortations angustam ... pauperiem pati (Horace, C. 3.2.1) and the glorification, by poets like Horace and Tibull us, of the simplicity of country life. There is an hors d'oeuvre consisting of olives, pickled cornel-cherries, endives, radishes, cream cheese, and eggs. The main course, smoked ham and cabbage, is not lavish, but only because Ovid could not deny it to himself humorously to portray the conflict between the virtues of hospitality and parsimony in Philemon's heart, a conflict that was ended by his cutting off partem exiguam (8.649-50). The ~esej~> again is most varied: nuts, figs, dried dates, plums, apples, grapes, and a honeycomb. This is far from the hardships of Hecale and her people that we can glimpse from Callimachus' fragments. Ovid jokes about the studied simplicity of it all by noting that the mixing bowl was made eodem argento as the earthenware, the fictilia, which were synonymous in Augustan poetry with pristine austerity (8.668-9).73 Other traditional bucolic motifs, such as the embossed (caelatus) mixing bowl and the beechwood cups, are incorporated into the story just long enough (8.668-70) to serve their stylized function. Ovid urbane! y manipulates these motifs and some standard elements of the bucolic idealization of country life, such as the pronounced simplicity of the old couple, its harmony and friendliness, and especial!y the 'frugal' meal. The result is neither an affirmation of values nor a debunking of Augustan ideals. Instead, the story of Philemon and Baucis is one of the most successful examples of the primacy of Ovid's treatment of myth as literature and of the supersession of a traditional mythical content or meaning by his literary skill. 'The dominating characteristic of Ovid's treatment of the Philemon and Baucis material is the poetic transfiguration of the myth from the viewpoint of the urbane poet.' 74 The religious and moralistic content of the myth, including its exemplary value as a parable of how the wicked are punished and the good are rewarded, is so reduced as to furnish only a just sufficiently recognizable backdrop to the literary stylization that replaces it. The element of humor and play is quintessential in this typically Ovidian metamorphosis from the What to the How. The unobtrusiveness, however, of Ovid's manipulation, which characterizes many other stories too, also deserves notice. He does not make it impossible for those who wish to read the story as a pious parable to read it that way. Besides, the original, serious inten-

The genre scene

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tion of the myth is indispensable for a full appreciation of the humor and gently parodic tone of his version. We may put it as simply as this: by treating the myths humorously, Ovid also reminds us of their seriousness. It is the discrepancy between this inherent seriousness and Ovid's playfully distancing treatment of it that accounts for one of the basic tensions of the Metamorphoses and also for the widely differing judgements which individual stories and the work in general have received in the course of the centuries. Ovid's narrative strikes many tones, and each reader, according to his own temperamental disposition, will remember the tones which most appeal to him. Different listeners of a work of music-and Ovid has often been compared to Mozart-whose movements are andante, allegro, and scherzo will single out a different movement as establishing the basic tone of the work. Their judgement, of course, may be at variance with the intent of the composer. Ovid does leave his reader as much freedom as he left for himself when he adapted the material. His narrative manner is not so rigid, to give but one example, as to prevent the reader, who is moved to tears by the fate of Narcissus and Echo, from being so affected by the narrative. At the same time, he did give many hints about his own intentions and we must be open to them. Besides the various aspects we mentioned earlier, there is another under which we can view the deliberate polytonality of the Metamorphoses and especially the constant oscillation between humor and seriousness. 75 In the history of western literature, mythological' literature in particular, Ovid's Metamorphoses mark the triumph of the homo ludens as brilliantly defined by Johan Huizinga in his study of the play element in culture. For good reasons, Huizinga questions the assumption that myth, at the stage of its inception, ever was entirely serious or whether 'the savage's belief in his holiest myths is not, even from the beginning, tinged with a certain element of humor'. 76 We can look upon Ovid in the light of the historical process that is outlined by Huizinga: 'To the degree that belief in the literal truth of the myth diminishes, the play-element, which had been proper to it from the beginning, will re-assert itself with increasing force.' 77 In that case-and few, if any, of Ovid's contemporaries believed in the literal truth of Graeco-Roman myth-the M etamorphoses are simply the culminating point of an evolution that had

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long been in the making. But we are reluctant to stop with that conclusion because it would place too much emphasis on Ovid as an agent in an evolutionary process, and too little on his own personality and conscious artistry. To our mind, Ovid quite consciously reendowed myth with the elements of play and humor, on a far larger scale than anyone else, because he realized that they were essential to the very nature of myth. This is another reason for the timelessness of the Metamorphoses and for their lasting success. As is demonstrated primarily by his use of the metamorphosis theme and of humor, Ovid had more insight into the nature of myth and a far better understanding of it than he is often credited with. Ovid's metamorphosis of myth is not extraneous, but a profoundly meaningful restoration of some inherent and vital qualities of myth.

BIBLIOGRAPHY

TO CHAPTER

FOUR

Arnaud, D. L., Aspects of Wit and Humor in Ovid's Metamorphoses (Stanford Univ. Dissert. 1968; publ. by ·university Microfilms, Ann Arbor). Bernbeck 80- 1 14 and passim. Doblhofer, E., 'Ovidius urbanus. Eine Studie zum Humor in Ovids Metamorphosen', Philologus 104 (1960) 63-91, 223-3r. Frecaut, J.-M.,L'esprit et !'humour chez Ovide (Grenoble 1972). von Albrecht, M., 'Ovids Humor und die Einheit der Metamorphosen ', in Ovid 405-37. Wilkinson 160-9.

NOTES

TO CHAPTER

FOUR

r. This contradicts E. de Saint Denis' aphorism that 'Toujours les Anglais revendiqueront trois monopoles: ceux de la mer, de la moralite et de l'humour' (Essais sur le rire et le sourire des Latins fParis 1965] 17). The most extensive modern discussion is Frecaut's work, which is an 'anatomy' of Ovid's humor along different lines from mine ( see my review in A JP 95 f 19 74] ). Valuable also, besides the discussions listed in the Bibliography to this Chapter, is E. Zinn, 'Elemente des Humors in augusteischer Dichtung,' Gy1nnasium 67 (1960) 41-56, 152-5.

N ates to Chapter Four

205

2. See especially Ch. 1, pp. 19-21. 3. See our discussion, with reference to J. Huizinga's observations, at the end of this Chapter (pp. 203-4). 4. Cf. F. Klingner, Romische Geisteswelt 5th ed., (Munich 1965) 719. 5. See especially Demetrius, On Style, who considers this ability as the most effective kind of charis ( 134-5). 6. E. J. Kenney, 'Ovid', in OCD, 2nd ed. (1970) 765. 7. See Thesaurus linguae Latinae, s.v. 'humanitas' 3078, 7ff., and 'humanus' 3093, 24ff.; Varro, R.R. 2.5.1; Cicero, De Or. 3.29; Leg. 3.1; Ad Quint. Fratr. 2.9.2; Tusc. Disp. 3.64, 5.55; and the excellent discussion by Klingner, op. cit. (note 4 above) 72off. 8. Met. 2.621-2; see Ch. 3, p. 144. 9. Contrast, e.g., with Vergil, Geo. 3.209-41. 10. Met. 2.623-5; see Ch. 3, p. 144. 1I. See pp. 179-84, below. 12. Contrast with 14.825-6, where Ovid speaks simply of a funda. On the expertise of the Baleares see Livy 28.37.6; for the process described cf. Lucretius 6. 178, 306. 13. It is significant that Ovid reuses the phrase tanta est fiducia formae in connection with a mortal, Semele (3.270 ). Poignantly enough, it is a deity, Juno, who so characterizes Semele. 14. Cf. Art of Love 1.269-70: prima tuae menti veniat fiducia, cunctas posse capi: capies, tu modo tende plagas and 1.513-14: munditie placeant: fuscentur corpora Campo; sit bene con veniens et sine labe toga. 15. See pp. 173-9 and 185-93, below. 16. I. Kant, Critique of Judgement, trans. by J. H. Bernard, 2nd ed. (London 1914) 223. 17. The concept of turpitudo or deformitas figures prominently in the ancient discussions of the ridiculous; see Aristotle, Poetics 1449a33; Cic., De Or. 2.236; Quintilian 6.3.8. It can be applied to some types of Ovid's humor, such as his characterization of the gods and his literary parodies, but we have refrained from so doing for the sake of greater differentiation. 1 8. For more detail and different examples see Bernbeck 83-8. 19. See the excellent discussion by W. B. Stanford, The Ulysses Theme, 2nd ed. (Oxford 1963) 3off. He suggests 'that Homer used the Athene-Odysseus relationship to express his humaner instincts, his desire for a less violent order of society' (p. 39). 20. See Ch. 1, p. 51.

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H umor and Seriousness

21. Wilkinson 192. 22. Cf. Hercules' denial of the existence of the gods (et sunt qui credere possint / esse deos? 9.203-4 ), immediately before his deification. 23. See Ch. 1, p. 29. 24. See, e.g., 1.595; 9.5-26; 14.12, 33, 637-42, 673, with Doblhofer's comments (pp. 72-3) on the last four passages; cf. Cic., Tusc. Disp. 1.13-29. 25. S. Kierkegaard, The Concept of Irony, with constant reference to Socrates, transl. by L. M. Capel (New York 1965). 26. See Ch. I, pp. 13-14 and pp. 52-3. 2 7. For this interpretation, see especially Otis 145; cf. Segal (Bihl. to Ch. 3) 93-4. 28. The divine response is minimized, e.g., in 1.381-3. Similarly, at 7.619, Ovid condenses an epic formula (cf. Homer, Od. 20.98ff.; Vergil, Aen. 2.692-4) to its absolute minimum. At 11.583-4 Juno reacts to Alcyone's prayers only because she is annoyed with their futility and does not want to be bothered any longer. 29. Another good example is Amores 3.10 where Ovid, on occasion of the Cerealia, first addresses Ceres as a goddess only to present her, for the greater part of the poem, as an exemplar of the sort of amorous passion-for Iasios, a mortal-in which he would like to indulge. 30. So W. Kraus, AAW 16 (1963) 1I. Cf. K. Kerenyi, Romandichtung und Mythologie. Ein Briefwechsel mit Thomas Mann ( = Albae Vigiliae n.s. 2, Zurich 1945) 15 and 27. 31. See Ch. I, pp. 32-3 and Ch. 2, pp. 104-7. 32. See pp. 169-70. 33. See, e.g., Olympian 9. 30-9, with Farnell's note on line 30, and C. M. Bowra, Pindar (Oxford 1964) 54-61, 285-7. 34. Cf. Frankel's discussion of Ovid's narration of miracles or other improbable events in the Fasti, such as 4.326 and 4.203-6 (p. 148). Apollonius 1.59-64 knows nothing of Caeneus' metamorphosis. 35. nunc quoque (9.226); it is also found at 4.750; 11.144; 14.73, and in Hellenistic poetry: Phanocles fr. 1.25 (Powell); Antoninus Liberalis 18.3 (following Boios, Ornith. 2); A poll. Rhod. 2.717; 4.480. Callimachus uses it humorously in Hymn 3.77. Cf. Verg., Aen. 7.413 (et nunc). 36. See Ch. 1, n. 21. 37. See G. Luck, Die romische Liebeselegie (Heidelberg 1961) 185ff. One of Luck's arguments is that of the twenty-one mythological figures or events mentioned by Ovid, only five are not treated in the Propertian poems that have survived. But like W. Buhler, Gnomon

Notes to Chapter Four

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34 (1962) 788, I am not convinced by Luck's argument (175.ff.) that Corinna in this poem should be identified with Ovid's collection of elegiac poetry. 38. See Ch. 1, pp. 28-9. 39. See Chs. 1, pp. 8-9; 3, pp. 148-9; 4, p. 166. 40. I am indebted to the discussion by L. Winniczuk, 'Le metamorfosi nelle Metamorfosi', Eos 57(1967-8)117-29. 41. Cf. Doblhofer 226. We may note in passing that Ovid's didactic posture is another device used by him to distance the reader from a story; see D. L. Arnaud, CP 64 (1969) 195 and Betten, op. cit. (Ch. 2 n. 22) 156. Ovid's address to Narcissus (3.432--6)is an excellent example; see Chapter 1, p. 57. 42. See pp. 177-8. 43. See Pliny N.H. 7.36. Another conspicuous instance of a graphically over-explicit transformation is Scylla's ( 14.59-67). 44. Cf. Vergil, Eel. 3.46; Culex 280-1; Horace, C. 1.12.7-12, 3.11.1314; and Ovid, A1et. 11.2: saxa sequentia. 45. For details, see the masterly analysis of V. Poschl in Ovid 393-411. 46. See Ch. 1, pp. 61-2. 47. Seneca, N.Q. 3.27-30. Nor is literary parody absent from Ovid's version as lines 302-4 pointedly flout Horace's famous injunction (A .P. 30) not to put dolphins into trees and beasts of the field into water. As for visual over-explicitness, several examples from Ovid's earlier poetry could again be cited, but it may suffice to refer to the recent discussion of Amores 1.5 by Gordon Williams, Tradition and Originality in Roman Poetry (Oxford 1968) 512-13. 48. See pp. 161-2. 49. See Ch. 3, p. 145. 50. Stanford, op. cit. (note 19, above) 52. The quotation 1n our next sentence is from there also. 51. See especially Satyricon 132. 11, where Petronius uses the V ergilian lines that describe the sorrowful meeting of Aeneas and Dido in Hades (Aen. 6.469-70) and the death of Euryalus (Aen. 9.4 36) for the purpose of expressing Encolpius' impotence. This and other examples are discussed by J. P. Sullivan, The Satyricon of Petronius (London 1968) 216-19. 52. See P. Grimal, REA 50 (1948) 348-51. 53. For other examples, see F. Bomer in Ovid 187.ff.Ovid's procedure is by no means limited to his Vergilian borrowings; compare, e.g., Met. 11.234-5 with Horace, A.P. 408-9. 54. See, most recently, H. Erbse, MH 22 ( 1965) 2 32-6. I have discussed 26_( 1965) the argument presented here in more detail in Ce,,,C';JM

208

H unior and Seriousness

161ff. Lucretius takes up the development of music in Rer. Nat. 5. 1379-435. 55. See Amores 1.15.25-6; A.A. 3.337-8, 367-8 (where he condemns criticism of Vergil in terms of sacrilege); R.A. 395-6; Ex P. 3.4.8384; with the comments of Dopp (Bibl. to Ch. 5) 10-12. For more detail, see Ch. 5, pp. 217-51. 56. See C. L. Barber, Shakespeare's Festive Comedy (Cleveland and New York 1963) and E. Segal, Roman Laughter (Cambridge, Mass. l 968). 57. The Ovidian imitations of Lucretius have been compiled by Zingerle 2. 12-4 7. The lack of parodic borrowings from Lucretius in the Metamorphoses is remarkable because it is not true of Ovid's earlier poetry (cf., e.g., A.A. 3.789-90 with Luer. 5.110-12). Lucretian manner is especially evident in some passages of the discourse of Pythagoras (compare 15.143-52 with Luer. 2.7ff., 15.6off. with Luer. r.66ff., 15.25off. ·with Luer. r.783ff.) and produces another effective contrast, as most of Pythagoras' speech lacks Lucretius' inspirational treatment. 58. See pp. 179-82. 59. Cf. p. 171. 60. I have purposely refrained from discussing this facile characterization of Ovid's poetry, even though it is a stock in trade of many books and articles on Ovid. Together with the misguided quest to fit the Metamorphoses into a genre, this particular label has had its undue share of obstructing an appreciation of Ovid's poetic aims and character. Besides, further discussion can be dispensed with now that we have T. F. Higham's definitive article 'Ovid and Rhetoric', in Ovidiana 32-48. Additional evidence of a more sophisticated approach to the subject is George Kennedy's discussion of Ovid in The Art of Rhetoric in the Roman World (Princeton 1972) 405-19. His conclusion that 'in fact, the most important rhetorical quality of Ovid is his view of literature and society' (p. 419) illustrates a transference from the What to the How similar to that which we found in Ovid's treatment of myth and the metamorphosis theme. 61. See Ch. 3, p. 133. 62. Seep. 183. 63. See Ch. 2, pp. 104-7. 64- Frankel 2 l 5 n. 42. 65. This has been established in detail in the sensitive study of M. Beller, Philemon und Baucis in der europaischen Literatur (Heidelberg 1967) 13-36 (with complete bibliography). Beller, however, does not discuss the phenomenon, which he aptly entitles 'From myth to

Notes to Chapter Four

66.

67. 68. 69.

70. 71.

72.

73. 74. 75.

76. 77.

poetry', in the context of Ovid's aims in the Metamorphoses and he touches on its humor only in passing. See also Hollis 106ft. (without reference to Beller), and the fundamental (for the religious aspects of the myth) article of L. Malten, Hermes 74 (1939) 176-206. Plutarch, Life of Theseus 14, compared with the Diegesis of the H ecale. Both texts, translated into English and juxtaposed, are conveniently found in C. A. Trypanis' Loeb Library edition of Callimachus (1958) 176-7. In particular Odysseus' reception at Eumaios' hut: Od. 14.49ff., 72ff., 484ff., 520ft. Met. 2.40-3, cf. 122-4 and 2.735-6, as discussed on p. 167. See Ch. 1, p. 29. Ovid again overwhelms the figurative meaning of the word (penates = household) with its literal implications; cf., conversely, 2.847 as discussed on p. 163. See Ch. r, p. 6. It occurs twenty-six times in the Metamorphoses (in Book 8 alone at lines 203, 480, 560, 689, 717, 767) and has exercised J. Marouzeau in Ovidiana 104-5, who finds it utterly pointless. Such as Philemon's inhabitation of the same cottage during all his life (8.632-3; cf. Livy 42.34.2 and Claudian, Carm. Min. 201-4) and the couple's ideal marriage (8.704-10; cf. C.l.L. 12.1221, 1223, 1732); cf. Hollis 111. Another typical Roman trait, besides the meal, is the goose, especially as she is custodia villae (8.684). Juvenal therefore was quite right in taking, mockingly of course, Philemon and Baucis as the model of the good old days (Sat. 11.78-9, 82; cf. Met. 8.646-8). See Tibullus 1.1.37-40; Prop. 4.1.5; Ovid, Fasti 1.202; cf. D.H. 2.23.5; Pliny, N.H. 33.142. Beller, op. cit. (note 65, above) 34. J. Chaix-Ruy, Pirandello. Humour et poesie (Paris 1967) 99 subsumes such alternation in his definition of humor: 'Une oscillation entre deux idces et deux sentiments contradictoires.' J. Huizinga, Homo ludens. A Study of the Play-Element in Culture (Boston 1955) 129. Huizinga 130.

CHAPTER

FIVE

Ovid, V ergil, and Augustus

I:

'AUGUSTANISM'

AND 'ANTI-AUGUSTANISM'

Perhaps no other period of Roman literature is as much in need of a hermeneutics of criticism as that which has been discussed most, i.e. the Augustan age. Therefore, before we try to assess Ovid's attitude towards things Augustan as it appears- from the M etamorphoses, it is important that we set it into a defined perspective, especially as the terms 'Augustan' and 'anti-Augustan' are another pair of facile labels that have been overused with uncritical looseness. There are certain guideposts which suggest the appropriateness of a more circumspect and careful use of 'Augustanism' and '_antiA ugustanism ', especially with reference to Ovid. In the first place, we should not forget that some of our critical approaches are inherent! y relative, because we are influenced by the prevailing Zeitgeist and may look at certain aspects of Ovid's poetry with far different eyes than did his contemporaries, including Augustus. This does not mean that some passages in the M etamorphoses, such as the Cipus episode ( 15.565-621), cannot be read as subtle, ironic allusions to the princeps. 1 They may-or may nothave been read that way by Ovid's Roman readers and even by Augustus, although Ovid complains in Tristia 2.77-80 that Augustus apparently did not read much of his poetry. When it comes to evaluating Ovid's intent in such passages and the Roman reader's understanding of it, we are dealing with nuances. Their appreciation is not helped by the identification, which is convenient rather than precise, of political attitudes with literary ones. Our recent and ongoing experience with authoritarian regimes and ideologies and with the attempted manipulation of literature and public opinion has made us sensitive to presu1ned analogies in antiquity. Since the

'Augustanis1n' and 'anti- ..4.ugustanisni'

21!

Spartans produced no great literature, the search has stopped, for all practical purposes, with the reign of Augustus. While the attempt to find ancient analogies to modern phenomena is a valid part of the classicist's task, we must guard against reversing the procedure in the process by projecting modern analogies back into antiquity. As for the Metamorphoses specifically, we must not assume that Augustus or the Roman public scrutinized them for 'anti-Augustan' allusions as anxiously as modern scholars do today. Nor does such Ovidian irony, which must be viewed in the context of his use of irony throughout the Metamorphoses, warrant the heavyhanded interpretation that it expressed deep-seated political convictions on Ovid's part. This suggests a second guideline for the criticism of Augustan literature. We cannot go beyond the ancient evidence to determine the princeps' reaction to a work like the Metamorphoses. The evidence is limited, and the rest is mere guesswork and speculation. It is fine for the scholar to engage in the latter, so long as he does not try to pass off his self-assumed role in loco principis as the real thing. The influential picture which Sir Ronald Syme, for instance, . has developed of Augustus' view of Ovid is compelling in its simplicity and remarkable for the neglect of much of the primary evidence. 'Ovid was a disgrace. He had refused to serve the State ... Augustus was vindictive,' 2 and that was all it took to hustle the poet off into exile. Apodictic assertions like these have provided a great impetus to Ovid's anti-Augustan career in contemporary scholarship. Considering that the Art of Love, the ostensible carmen (and lesser of. the tvvo reasons) that led to Ovid's banishment, had been published nine years before the event whereas the Metamorphoses were almost finished in A.D. 8, more than one scholar has suggested that it was really the maius opus (Trist. 2.63) which exhausted the Emperor's patience. 3 Even if this is an extreme view, the quest for the antiAugustanism of the poem continues. Our knowledge of Augustus' literary preferences comes mostly from Suetonius, in particular his Life of Augustus and the fragments of his Life of Horace. A passage from the former has become the locus classicus for the Emperor's view of literature (89.2): In reading the writers of both tongues there was nothing for which he looked so carefully as precepts and examples H

212

Ovid, Vergil, and Augustus instructive (salubria) to the public or to individuals; these he would often copy word for word and send to members of his household, or to his generals and provincial governors, whenever any of them required admonition.

This reflects Augustus' attachment to the utilitarian and pragmatic bias toward literature that was common enough in the Republic, and Augustus was a traditionalist. In spite of the numerous sententiae for which Ovid was much quoted in later Roman literature, this was clearly not the type of literature he produced. Augustus' concern for his own treatment in literature also is pertinent to the Metamorphoses (89.3): He took offence at being made the subject of any composition except in serious earnest and by the most eminent writers, often charging the praetor not to let his name be cheapened in prize declamations. There is no question that Ovid was a most eminent writer, but it remains to be seen whether he treated Augustus serious! y in the Metamorphoses or whether his flattery of the princeps would have seemed anything but serious to his contemporaries. Two questions derive from these passages that we must discuss briefly to do justice to the problem. The first is Augustus' reaction to the refusal of eminent authors to write the kind of value-oriented literature he preferred. The second is the extent of his insistence on seriousness. Did he have a fanatically serious disposition that was averse to jokes at his own expense and would suggest a gradual penning up of resentment against light-hearted litterateurs, which he finally vented by meting out a disproportionally harsh sentence to their most prominent representative? Let us turn to this second question first. The important point is not to take the Metamorphoses out of context. If they contain pinpricks at Augustus, they are quite minor compared to the heavy fare of personal detraction which the emperor, due to his position, had to live with and, in fact, managed to live with. Suetonius devotes an entire chapter (51)to the 'numerous and strong evidences' of Augustus' clemency and moderation vis-a-vis badmouthing, literary attacks, and outright assassination threats.

'Augustanism' and' anti-Augustanism'

213

He mentions the case of one Aelianus, who was accused of habitually 'expressing a bad opinion of Caesar'. Augustus angrily turned on the accuser and asked him to prove the point: hoe mihi probes. It is an apt response also to those who perceive, on largely unprovable premises, a criticism of Augustus in the most diverse episodes of the Metamorphoses. Augustus, Suetonius continues, 'made no further inquiry either at the time or afterwards'. The Emperor's lack of vindictiveness about personal attacks is illustrated even better by his reply to Tiberius, who was rather more indignant about such matters (Suet., Aug. 51.3). 'My dear Tiberius,' wrote Augustus in return, 'do not be carried away by the ardor of your youth in this matter, or take it too much to heart that anyone speak evil of me; we must be content if we can stop anyone from doing evil to us.' This is the advice of a seasoned ruler, which Augustus was at the time when Ovid wrote the Metamorphoses. There is more evidence. Whatever Tacitus might say, freedom of expression certainly was not dead in Augustan Rome. In another chapter (54), Suetonius mentions several examples of libertas and insolence (contumacia) on the part of senators vis-a-vis Augustus, only to conclude that no one suffered for it. Augustus was bothered, as is evident from the subsequent chapters in Suetonius (55 and 56), by lampoons and jests of the scurrilous and spiteful kind. He took pains to reply to them even publicly, but he did not abrogate to the Romans the right to criticize him; in fact, he even vetoed a bill to check freedom of speech (licentia) in wills (56. 1 ), which often served the Romans to express their pent-up feelings about public men and affairs. He was sensitive to the opinions his friends expressed of him in their wills and obviously weighed their words carefully (66.4), but this is a special case and we cannot simply apply it to his reading of the Metamorphoses. Finally, Suetonius makes it a point to mention that Augustus' leniency in such matters extended even to his slaves (77.1), who were punished not nearly as severely as they would have been by other masters for personal insults. All this suggests that Augustus was used to every kind of personal criticism -subtle and broad, literary and verbal-and was not easily disconcerted by it. What is more, he had a great appreciation of humor, jesting, and even literary humor and self-irony. There was, as Suetonius puts it, 'no form of gaiety in which he did not indulge '-nullo denique

214

Ovid, V ergil, and Augustus

genere hilaritatis abstinuit (Aug. 98.3). Augustus' penchant for iocus therefore is a recurring theme of Suetonius' account. It is a iocus ranging from simple jesting and bon mots (53.2) and the 'festive spirit' of Roman holidays (75) to literary wit (85.2, 98.4) and involving even his own position and apotheosis. 'My generosity in gambling', Augustus wrote the somewhat dour Tiberius, 'will exalt me to immortal glory' (ad caelestem gloriam efferet 71.3). Even when he was stricken with terminal illness, he demanded iocandi licentian1 at a dinner party (98.3), played literary games with his friends as Ovid did, laughed and in iocos effusus est (98.4).The rest is history: Augustus looking at himself in the mirror on his deathbed as if he were an actor, asking his friends whether he had played the comedy ( mimum) of life well, and answering his own question with a standard comic tag (Suet., Aug. 99.1).All this makes us doubt that the imperator ludens would have considered the poeta ludens of the Metamorphoses as an 'anti-Augustan', or levity as unAugustan, quite aside from the fact that Ovid's total silence about the Metamorphoses in connection with the causes of his exile must be considered conclusive. What was Augustus' reaction to poets who refused to write his kind of poetry? He did, to say the least, not make it overly difficult for Horace, Propertius, and even Ovid to go on writing the sort of poetry they preferred. The recusatio poems they wrote do not tell us exactly how strong the pressure was on them to write on 'grand' themes. That the mere writing of apologetic poen1s, however, was accepted and sufficed as an answer suggests that Augustus was not a censorious zealot in these matters. 'No poet', as Oscar Wilde has observed, 'sings because he must sing. At least no great poet does,' 4 and we may credit Augustus with that much insight. More importantly, the recusatio poems, at least in the case of Ovid, are the result of literary motivation rather than imperial pressure. Ovid writes recusatio poems not because he refuses an actual request by Augustus or Maecenas, but because he wants to demonstrate that he can write recusatio poems, a genre that has Hellenistic origins. 5 The same motivation may well have been behind some of Horace's and Propertius' recusatio poems. The most direct piece of evidence we have of Augustus' exerting some pressure on a poet ultimately leads to the same result. It is found in one of Augustus' letters to Horace, which is quoted by

'Augustanism' and' anti-Augustanism'

215

Suetonius. 6 There Augustus complains that Horace has hardly made mention of him in the Epistles. The way Suetonius sees it, Augustus thus forced (expressit) Horace to write his famous Letter to Augustus (Epist. 2. r ). This extraneous explanation, however, is totally inadequate as it accounts neither for the genesis of this important and complex literary document nor for its character and aims. This points up the central issue which any hermeneutic approach to Augustan literature must take into account: the primacy of literary over ideological considerations. It is all the more distressing, therefore, that especially in recent times when the techniques of literary criticism have made a promising start in classical scholarship, a probing of the ideological stance of the Augustan poets often takes precedence to an evaluation of their literary achievement and artistry. The usage of the terms 'Augustan' and 'anti-Augustan' is the semantic result of this misplaced emphasis. For good reasons, the term 'Augustan' found its way into the post-classical literatures because it connoted a high point of literary sensibilities, and not political/ideological orientation, even though Augustans commonly preferred political order because it was essential to undisturbed creativity. It is to this meaning that we should return because it is based on a true, even if sometimes intuitive, evaluation of the character of Augustan literature in Rome. Vergil, who devoted more poetry than any other poet to the exposition of Augustan values, is an excellent case in point. His choice of Aeneas as the hero of his epic afforded him, by ancient and any standards, an almost unprecedented creative opportunity. Augustus' desire to have Vergil write an epic in which the gens Julia figured prominently is of subordinate significance compared to the literary, esthetic, and psychological novelty of the Aeneid, which is explained as little as Horace's Letter to Augustus by this particular external impulse. Besides, Vergil's concern, which accounts for the timelessness of his epic, is with the human condition even more than with the Roman destiny, although the two are intertwined.7 That this larger aspect of the Aeneid, including, as it does, Vergil's emphasis on the price of suffering that has to be paid in the pursuit of great achievement, has come to be considered as 'anti-Augustan' is a sad comment on the inadequacy of a confined critical perspective and falls short even of providing any valid insights into the poet's attitude towards Augustus. As for Horace, the great bulk of his poetry is occasional and personal, and

216

Ovid, Vergil, and Augustus

even his political odes have, for good reasons, received more attention qua poetry than qua ideology. Similarly, Livy, who cherished many of the same values as the emperor, 'is not an Augustan in any significant! y political sense'. 8 That is precisely the point. We will never be able to explain-and this should be the first task of literary critics or scholars-the Augustan writers' literary eminence and appeal to later readers if we try to read too much ideological or political significance into their works. The fate of Propertius' fourth book of Elegies provides another instructive example. For a long time, it was considered as a forced concession to 'Augustan' sentiment. Then its supposedly pervasive 'anti-Augustanism' was discovered, and only recently scholars have begun to look more closely at its properly poetic structure, artistry, design, and affinity with Propertius' earlier elegies. But it was in its application to Ovid, the most neglected of the Augustan poets, that the binary ideological approach has had the most spectacular and heavy-handed consequences, producingwith occasional bouleversements-two diametrically opposed Ovids even in the Metamorphoses. Most assuredly, however, it has not been this posited war between these two Ovids that has captured the imagination of the readers of the Metamorphoses and endeared the poem to vast audiences through the ages. Nor does the tortuous and contrived explication and diffuse qualification of the presumed conBict between the 'Augustan' and the 'anti-Augustan' Ovid shed any light on the enjoyment that he wanted his readers to derive from his telling of the myths, let alone on his central achievement of reviving myth. There is nothing per se objectionable to constructing theses about secondary aspects of the poem. When, however, they need to be supported, because of their awkward and artificial nature, by banal and unsupported value judgements such as that 'the "problem" of Ovid is really why a good poet could write such an unconscionable amount of bad poetry ' 9 it is time to re-examine the methodology and, if necessary, discard it. The 'problem', in other words, may have been created by us, and not by Ovid, and we may have to start reading the Metamorphoses and, for that matter, other Augustan poetry, from premises that are more centrally related to the poet's primary aims and achieve1nent. To offer a more detailed hermeneutic precis would be beyond the scope of this book. Before we turn to some additional criteria, which

Ovid's 'Aeneid'

217

apply more specifically to the Metamorphoses than to most of Augustan poetry, let us summarize the basic inadequacies of the political and ideological usage of the terms 'Augustan' and 'antiAugutan' in literary jargon. First and foremost, they implicitly postulate the primacy of ideological and political values over literary and aesthetic values in Augustan literature, a primacy that is flatly contradicted by the ancient evidence, including the texts themselves. The method further ignores the relevant attitudes on the part of Augustus and its own historical limitations. Used as a schematic modus interpretandi and without discretion, it has detracted much needed attention from and failed to produce significant insights into the central, literary qualities of its objects.

2:

OVID'S

'AENEID'

Still, as is commonly known, Ovid's temperament was not Augustan in the sense that he shared the Emperor's, Vergil's, Livy's, and Horace's veneration of the Roman past and Augustus' stubbornly idealistic attempts at a moral reconstruction of the Roman people. He was born too late, as we remarked earlier, to have any sincere appreciation of what is usually called the Augustan program. He is, if we need a label, un-Augustan and indifferent to the moral and political values propagated at his time. These values to a great extent found their most splendid poetic expression in the Aeneid, although that is, as we have seen, not the only aspect of Vergil's epic. Ovid's adaptation of the myth of Aeneas in 1'1etamorphoses 13.62314.608 therefore provides the best focus for his attitudes. Consequently, we will analyze it in some detail to determine whether and to what extent Ovid debunks the Vergilian myth or destroys its basic meaning and seriousness. Before we do so, we again must be careful not to view this part of the poem in artificial isolation, but in its natural context, i.e. the Metamorphoses in general and Ovid's techniques and attitudes in the other parts of the poem. Although Ovid in Books 12-15 for the first time includes many myths that stood in a special relation to Roman history, the tone and spirit of the narrative are not different from those in the earlier books of the Metamorphoses. His description of Fama (12.39-64), ingeniously indirect and, for once, less

218

Ovid, Vergil, and Augustus

exoteric and grotesque in comparison to the Vergilian 'model' (Aen. 4.173-90), his brilliant manipulation of rhetoric for character portrayal in the debate of Odysseus and Ajax (13.1-398), his amusing treat1nent of the Cyclops and Galatea theme, the full-blown literary parody of the exclusus amator and the paraclausithyron in the story of Iphis and Anaxarete (14.698-758), his treatment of Hecuba's transformation in a spirit entirely different from his Hellenistic sources (13.558-75), the charm of the Pomona-Vertumnus tale (14.609ff.), his humanization of Vergil's Sibyl (14.101-53), and even the entire speech of Pythagoras-these are only a few examples which demonstrate amply that neither was Ovid's 'delight in invention flagging' or 'the quality of his poetry declining', nor did he make 'a conscious effort to raise the poem into a ''higher'' strain' or was he 'striving for greater sublimity of subject and treatment. ' 10 In Books 12-15 we find the same Ovid whom we encountered earlier. His attitude of play and irony in particular should not be taken out of context and presented as applying uniquely to his adaptations of V ergilian themes or his treatment of Augustus. Still, one may ask whether Ovid's decision to treat Roman national myths and Caesar's deification on the same basis as a multitude of Greek myths does not ipso facto constitute a diminution of the former. Does the procedure not imply that Ovid considered Aeneas' descent to Hades or the apotheosis of Romulus to be on the same level as stories such as those of Salmacis or Byblis? In answer, we should again be careful not to read ideological criticism into the essentially literary strategy of the Metamorphoses. For as we have noted on many occasions, the Metamorphoses represent the most massive and consummate celebration of variatio, which is a literary principle. The juxtaposition of the serious with the comic, and the sublime with the ridiculous does not reflect the poet's ideologically inspired value judgement on these myths or his intention to reduce them to the same schema, but the contrast effect that is achieved by their collocation is absolutely essential to Ovid's primary and literary concern, that of variety. The phrase perpetuum carmen, with all its connotations, programmatically establishes in the proem Ovid's preoccupation with literary ideology and concerns. His adaptation of the Aeneas myth, an important myth that at least had to be mentioned if he wanted to bring the poem ad nzea te1npora, therefore presents itself as the same literary problem which he faced in his

Ovid's 'Aeneid'

219

adaptations of other myths also, i.e. to tell it aliter. When Ovid thus plays with this myth as he plays with all others, his treatment of it sub specie ludi cannot a priori be construed as a depreciation of the Vergilian version. Ovid simply tells this story, as he tells all others, in other ways than did some of his predecessors. Yet, as we saw earlier, an essential difference remains. In contrast to Vergil-and Aeschylus and Pindar, for that matter-Ovid did not believe in the traditional verity of myth. Perhaps the most startling expression of this attitude, in the context of 'Augustan' themes, occurs in Ovid's apologia to the Emperor, Tristia 2. He asks Augustus to read his maius opus. The phrase is a deliberate echo of Vergil 's proem to the second half of the Aeneid (7 .44). The poem, Ovid continues, is full of 'beings changed into forms that are not to be believed', and in the next distich he goes on to say that the same Metamorphoses are not devoid of praises of Augustus (Trist. 2.63-6): inspice maius opus, quod adhuc sine fine tenetur, in non credendos corpora versa modos: invenies vestri praeconia nominis illic, invenies animi pignora certa mei. Do Metamorphoses 13.623-14.608 and some of his other Vergilian adaptations in the poem provide a clear indication that Ovid was concerned more with destroying the verity of Vergil's Aeneas myth than with merely telling the Aeneid aliter? Does he present especially its central character in such a way that would offend the sensibilities of devout readers of Vergil 's epic? These are some of the fundamental questions that we must keep in mind in the course of our analysis. It is obvious that Ovid drastically shortens Vergil's account. What takes up a whole book in the Aeneid often is compressed into a few lines by Ovid, such as Met. 14.78-81 (Aeneid IV) and 14.82-90 (Aeneid V). Metamorphoses 14.448-53 and 569-73 summarize most of Vergil's maius opus, the second half of the Aeneid. Ovid avoids repeating Vergil. Less frequently, he expands some episodes, such as Anius' hospitality, for which incidents in the Aeneid provided a starting point. Finally, and less frequently again, when he decides to treat an event, such as the story of Achaemenides, at similar length to Vergil's., he varies enough of the detail and tone to make it

220

Ovid, V ergil, and Augustus

different. These three techniques-compression, expansion, and changed emphasis-are the same which characterize, for instance, his adaptation of Callimachus in the Erysichthon. They are Ovid's basic literary tools. Let us proceed to the relevant examples. Ovid wisely decided not to compete with Vergil's lengthy and dramatic account of Aeneas' Bight from Troy. Instead, he summarizes it ( 13.623-7),but even in this condensation, the hallmark of Vergil's episode, Aeneas' pietas, is clearly preserved. Pius, in fact, is not merely the epithet of Aeneas as it is in the Aeneiid, but becomes a synonym for him (13.626). The phrase sacra, et sacra altera, patrem (624) is a brilliant epitome of the religious meaning of pietas. At the same time, Ovid's desire to tell the story aliter is re.fleeted by his allusion ( 626) to a tradition, different from that used by V ergil, according to which the Greeks granted Aeneas an honorable departure from Troy with whatever possessions he cared to choose, and he chose his father. Ovid's constant endeavor to ref erre idem aliter also leads him to pass over the story of Pol ydorus without narrating the latter's metamorphosis (628-30), quite in contrast to Vergil (Aen. 3.37-68). Instead, as we saw earlier, Ovid chose to incorporate elements of this Vergilian episode into his account of the oak tree attacked by Erysichthon (8.761-73).11 The procedure is typical of most of his 'borrowings' of V ergilian phrases and even motifs : he prefers to use them in contexts that are far different from those in which the V ergilian originals occur .12 This, too, is the result of variatio and is one of the reasons why Ovid in his Aeneid is keeping direct imitation of Vergilian episodes to a minimum. To reinforce the point, Ovid dwells on the metamorphosis theme in Met. 13.623-14.608a great deal more emphatically than in many other parts of the poem. It seems to provide him with a thematic justification for treating the Aeneas myth as he does. Of course this unusual prominence of the metamorphosis theme is only a means to avoid the impossible competition with the ultimately inimitable Aeneid, and not the result of Ovid's concern for the stated subject of his poem, because more often than not, metamorphosis is not the most important subject of his stories. But in his Aeneid, it regains its eminence as an actual subject and as a leitmotif. This is exemplified by Ovid's first extended version of a Vergilian episode, the Aeneads' stay at Delos ( 13.632-704).They encounter king Anius, as they did in the Aeneid (3.79-120). Whereas Vergil, however, only

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brieRy refers to the old friendship between Anius and Anchises and to Anius' hospitality (Aen. 3.82-3) in order to concentrate on Aeneas' prayer to Apollo (3.84-9), the god's response (90-8), and Anchises' exegesis of the oracle (102-17), Ovid's procedure is the total opposite. He summarizes the oracle in utmost brevity (13.677-9), and the real function of the Phoebi sacerdos, as whom Anchises addresses Anius (640), is to tell the story of the metamorphosis of his daughters (644674). Thematically this story is not unrelated to the fate of Aeneas and his Trojans because Anius' daughters also were victimized by Agamemnon and the Greek army. The relation of the tale to Aeneas is strengthened by Anius' regret that there was no Aeneas or Hector to help his children. This summary of Aeneas' prowess as a warrior (13.665-6) is adapted, typically enough, from another context of the Aeneid (11.288-91). It gives Ovid the opportunity to mention, in his own way, a traditional and essential characteristic of the Trojan although, true to the conciseness of his presentation of Aeneas, he does not develop it in detail. In the subsequent and final part of the Anius episode, Ovid's technique is similar to what we have observed so far. For the most part (13.681-701) it is the description of the art work on a mixing bowl given by Anius to Aeneas. Ovid's principal motivation was to show, as he had in the Phaethon and Arachne episodes, that he could handle the genre of ekphrasis as well as any other. In addition, however, the themes of the story that is represented have some pertinence to the situation of Aeneas and his people. 13 It is the story of a city affiicted by disaster; although the city is Thebes and the disaster is the plague-Ovid's starting point may have been Vergil's account, which Ovid omits, of the plague that struck the Trojans after they left Anius and landed i!} Crete (Aen. 3.137-46)-the scenes of grief and mourning are reminiscent of Troy and its destruction. The city survives because of the pietas erga patriam of two girls and so, even if differently, does Troy. The story ends with the metamorphosis of the ashes of the girls into two young men, and it seems likely that Ovid invented this particular version to stress the aspect of regeneration. This attempt to create some thematic affinity with the situation of Aeneas contrasts effectively with the near total absence of any such endeavor in other stories, which are not inspired by the Aeneid and with which Ovid intersperses his sketch of Aeneas' voyage from

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Troy to Rome. Whether these interruptions amount to a deliberate deflation of Vergil's epic is a separate question to which we will return later. At this point, it may suffice to note that this contrast is another effective form of variatio and that the procedure to focus on the titular protagonist of a story with varying degrees of intensity is by no means restricted to Ovid's Aeneid. It is exemplified very well, for instance, by the Erysichth on. Ovid moves Aeneas out of the picture for more than three hundred lines (13.730-14.74)to narrate the stories of Scylla, Galatea, Glaucus, and Circe. In keeping with the emphasis on metamorphosis in this part of the poem, he describes the metamorphoses in these stories with a wealth of graphic detail. Before he drops Aeneas, Ovid summarizes in nineteen lines (13.711-29)the hero's wanderings from Crete to Sicily, which took up almost 450 lines in Vergil (Aen. 3.121-569). The procedure, however, is not inappropriate especially to the third book of the Aeneid because Vergil there followed it also when he selectively adapted the massive tradition that had accumulated about Aeneas' voyage. Vergil 's pronounced emphasis, however, on the divine guidance of the Trojans also becomes a victim of Ovid's compression of the story and this requires additional comment. We saw that in the Anius episode Ovid shrank the prayer of Aeneas to the deity (Aen. 3.84-9) and the god's awesome reply (Aen. 3.90-8) into a minimal summary. The same is true of his treatment of the prophecy of Helenus (Met. 13.722-3; Aen. 3.374-462). There are good literary reasons for it; Ovid strives to avoid repeating the exact details of the mythological versions of Vergil or any other writer, and when he uses a Vergilian version he prefers to place it into a different context. This is the case with Helenus' prophecy, which Ovid integrates into the speech of Pythagoras (15.438-9) even though, true to his usual tendency, he drastically shortens it anyway. But Ovid's de-emphasis of the religious and the numinous function of the gods also is a factor. Again this is characteristic of the Metamorphoses in general and not only of Ovid's adaptation of Vergilian material. Frequent as the gods' intervention is in Ovid's poem, he minimizes or humanizes scenes such as the supplication of them and, even more, their hearing of human prayers or providing spiritual guidance. Since one of the main impulses for the M etaniorphoses was Ovid's desire to create a mythological counterpart of epic

Ovid's 'Aeneid' length to the Aeneid, his portrait of the gods to some extent is a response to Vergil's. Primarily, however, it is a reflection of Ovid's temperament rather than the desire to ruin or destroy the Aeneid. The Metamorphoses are totally different from the Aeneid, but they are not an anti-Aeneid. Even though Ovid does not flesh his Aeneid out and does not dwell on its heroism, whether inner or external, or on the sense of mystery so characteristic of Vergil, we should not overinterpret the resulting reductions. Instead of recounting, for example, the plague by which the Trojans are struck on Crete, Ovid simply says that they ferre diu nequiere lovem (13.707) and therefore sailed on. At first sight, this looks like cavalier treatment indeed-'the Trojans could not stand the weather '-and like an implicit deflation of the events told by Vergil in Aeneid 3.135-91. Actually, however, the phrase is an ingenious combination of two Vergilian phrases. One (corrupto caeli tractu; Aen. 3.138) denotes the unsalubrious climate, whereas the other (Dictaea neget tibi Iuppiter arva; Aen. 3.171) expresses that luppiter denies the Trojans the stay on Crete. Coming at the end of a prophecy as it does, Iuppiter here refers to the god and is not a synonym for climate or weather, as it ostensibly is in Ovid's version. Yet Ovid's usage is not at all inconsistent with the events described by V ergil, let alone a debunking of them. By turning the phrase as he does, Ovid combines the two reasons cited by Vergil, the pestiferous climate and Jupiter's action, into one. This makes sense because the climate is the result of Jupiter's doing. As usual, Ovid presumes on the reader's part an exact knowledge of the original. This will keep the reader from taking I ovem merely in its demythologized sense. When the poet returns to the story of Aeneas in Book 14 (75ff.), his mode of adapting the V ergilian material remains unchanged. Books Four and Five of the Aeneid are quickly summarized, and the summary of the latter is overshadowed by the account of the metamorphosis of the deceitful Kerkopes into apes, who give the islands they inhabited their name, Pithecusae (14.91-100). The tale is not found in Vergil, but Ovid goes beyond a mere re-emphasis of the metamorphosis theme by injecting into the story a moral note that is far more typical of Vergil than of the Metamorphoses. The story of the Kerkopes had a long, well-attested tradition in literature and art, but Ovid either invented or followed a version which is

Ovid, Vergil, and Augustus otherwise not extant and according to which Jupiter punished the culprits. He is a highly moral and awesome Jupiter at that (14.91-3): quippe deum genitor fraudem et periuria quondam Cercopum exosus gentisque admissa dolosae in deforme viros animal mutavit. [For the father of the gods, hating the tricks and lies of the Kerkopes and the crimes committed by that treacherous race, once changed the men into ugly animals.] The god's reasons, though succinctly stated, are far better than his lengthy argument against Lycaon and for killing the human race. 14 He is the Vergilian Jupiter, but Ovid has no intention to characterize him as such in more than a minimal fashion. He immediate! y adds a light touch by his playful summary of the result of the metamorphosis ( 14.93-4) ut idem dissimiles homini possent similesque videri [ so that they could seem both dissimilar and similar to man.] And he follows it up by describing some details of the metamorphosis with the kind of visual overexplicitness that he often uses to produce amusement (14.95-100). The attempt to adapt Aeneid VI, Aeneas' descent to Hades, was perhaps the most direct confrontation for Ovid between his sensibilities and Vergil's. No other book of the Aeneid incorporates with equal density the peculiarly Vergilian endowment of myth with a sense of mystery, the numinous, and the metaphysical transfiguration of history. Not surprisingly, these qualities are found in Ovid's version ( 14.101-57)as little as they are found anywhere else in the Metamorphoses. Quantitatively also, Ovid's adaptation of Aeneid VI is typical of his adaptation of the Aeneid in general: he omits most of it, and we can now specify some of the reasons. He was not concerned with an aeniulatio of Vergil's masterpiece, which he rightly recognized to be inimitable. He could not narrate the Aeneas myth at remotely the same length as Vergil because it would unduly

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have swelled the volume of his poem, which already was somewhat longer than Vergil's, nor could he significantly add to the myth unless he, too, gave it extended treatment. Nor was he temperamentally equipped to enrich the myth in a manner comparable to Vergil's. Compromise, both in length and spirit of treatment, was impossible if he wanted to leave Vergil's achieve1nent intact instead of burlesquing or parodying it. Consequently, Ovid restricted himself to presenting an outline of the Aeneid, choosing, at various le~gth, one or two of the main episodes of a given book of the Aeneid and not entangling himself in the rest. He leaves us, thus, an only external picture of the Aeneid. We will return to some of the questions suggested by all this at the end of our discussion of Ovid's Aeneid. His adaptation of Aeneid VI, however, may shed some light on the question whether Ovid's purely external presentation of the events and meaning of the Aeneid results from his prudent recognition of Vergil's inimitability or from a deliberate endeavor to profane Vergil's renderings. One Ovidian line, which has served as a central argument in support of the contention that Ovid indeed profaned Vergil, 15 is a fairly typical example of the problem and of the need for caution and avoidance of over-interpretation. When the Sibyl sees Aeneas, she addresses him as (14.108--9): vir factis maxime, cuius dextera per ferrum est, pietas spectata per ignes. [You man of mighty deeds, whose hand, by sword, whose pietas, by fire, has been well tried.] It has been argued that this provides a clear instance of 'profanation' because Ovid puts Aeneas' pietas on the same level as his sword. All the passage does, however, is reflect the common collocation of Aeneas' chief virtues. His primary claim to fame before V ergil, as we mentioned before, was his martial prowess. V ergil great! y expanded the far less developed notion of Aeneas' pietas and gave it equal importance-or, if one so wishes, put it on the same level-as Aeneas' warrior heroism. Therefore Vergil's Sibyl introduces Aeneas to Charon emphatically as Troius Aeneas, pietate insignis et armis (6.403).

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It is on this line and similar instances in the Aeneid that Ovid's phrase is n1odelled. Similarly, Ovid preserves, in his drastic abridgement, Aeneas' other essential and serious characteristics, such as virtus (14.113, cf. Aen. 6.130) and labor (14.121, cf. Aen. 6.103). That Aeneas eases his labor by conversation (mollit sermone laborem 14.121) is not only a humanizing touch by Ovid, who cherished cultivated sermo for the same purpose, let alone a deflation of Aeneas' heroic stature. It also recalls Vergil's Aeneas and Achates, who multa inter sese vario sermone serebant [ were discussing many things among themselves with varied talk] on their way to the sad labor of burying Misenus (Aen. 6.160). While Ovid does not tamper with the dignity of Aeneas, he gives his version of the descent to Hades a decidedly human, unreligious, and unheroic focus by ignoring the profoundly metaphysical character of Aeneid VI and concentrating, instead, on the all too human fate of the Sibyl and her gradual metamorphosis. To make the contrast with Vergil quite explicit, Ovid has Aeneas address the Sibyl in terms consistent with her characterization in Aeneid 6.65.ff.(esp. 65, 78-9). She is divine and Aeneas will render her divine honors by building a temple for her (14.123-8), just as Vergil's Aeneas had promised (Aen. 6.69-74). The descriptions, however, of the Sibyl's reaction epitomize the difference between the two poets. Vergil spends six lines presenting the awe and terror emanating from the prophetess and her seizure by the deity, her enthusiasmos. It is a gripping depiction that is the enactment of Aeneas' apostrophe to her (6.65) as sanctissima vates (6.77-82): at Phoebi nondum patiens immanis in antro bacchatur vates, magnum si pectore possit excussisse deum; tan to magis ille fatigat os rabidum, £era corda domans, fingitque premendo. ostia iamque domus patuere ingentia centum sponte sua vatisque ferunt responsa per auras.

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[ Struggling in vain, impatient of her load, And lab'ring underneath the pon'rous god, The more she strove to shake him from her breast, With more and far superior force he press'd; Commands his entrance, and, without control, Usurps her organs, and inspires her soul. Now, with a furious blast, the hundred doors Ope of themselves; a rushing whirl wind roars Within the cave, and Sibyl's voice restores. (Dryden's translation)] By contrast, Ovid's Sibyl merely sighs (14.129) and says what is true of Ovid's characterization of the gods in general: nee dea sum'I am no goddess' (14.130).She rejects the idea of being worshipped, because she is only human (humanum caput 14.131).She proceeds to tell Aeneas the story which proves it. Seven hundred years ago, she was a beautiful virgin and Apollo desired her. In order to win her over, he promised her eternal life and she wished to live for as many years as there were grains of sand in a nearby mound. But

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excidit, ut peterem iuvenes quoque protinus annos. hos tamen ille mihi dabat aeternamque iuventam, si V enerem paterer: contempto munere Phoebi innuba permaneo; sed iam felicior aetas terga dedit, tremuloque gradu venit aegra senectus, quae patienda diu est; nam iam mihi saecula septem acta diu: superest, numeros ut pulveris aequem, ter centum messes, ter centum musta videre. tempus erit, cum de tanto me corpore parvam longa dies faciet, consumptaque membra senecta ad minimum redigentur onus, nee amata videbor nee placuisse deo; Phoebus quoque an forsitan ipse vel non cognoscet vel dilexisse negabit: usque adeo mutata ferar nullique videnda, voce tamen noscar, vocem mihi fata relinquent.

( 14·139-53) [ I should have Asked that those years should be forever young, But I forgot. He granted me the years,

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And promised endless youth if he could have me, But I refused Apollo, and no man Has ever had me. Now my happier days Are gone, and sick old age comes tottering on, And this I must endure, £or a long time. I am seven hundred years of age; I have Three hundred still to go be£ore I equal The tally of those grains of sand. The time Will come when I shall shrivel to almost nothing, Weigh almost nothing, when no one, seeing me, Would ever think a god had found me lovely. Even Apollo, it may be, will see me And not know who I am, or, if he knew me, Would say he never loved me. To such change I am borne onward, till no eye can see me, And I am known by voice alone; my voice The Fates will leave me.] There is no question that this portrait of the Sibyl is as different from Vergil's as can be. Ovid has completely humanized her. But, and this is the important point, he has not made her into a ridiculous, undignified figure. Vergil's Sibyl is moving because she is a prophetess; Ovid's is because she is a human being. The subject of her story is such that Ovid could have treated it easily with irreverence and iocus. Instead, he imparts to the story as much pathos as we will find anywhere in the Metamorphoses. The reason may not primarily have been respect for Vergil, because Ovid did adapt other Vergilian episodes, mostly outside of his Aeneid, in the spirit of perpetua festivitas, but the thematic relation of the Sibyl's tale to many other stories in the Metan1orphoses. As it is, it serves as a melancholy comment, more than ten books and seven hundred years later, on the many divine love stories of the 'Divine Comedy' of the early books of the poem. It recalls stories such as Apollo's amorous pursuit of Daphne, and Ovid realistically states the true nature of Apollo's love for the Sibyl, which the tradition by his time had palliated as pius amor ( cf. Servius, Ad Aen. 6.321). The erotic aspect, however, which dominates in Ovid's earlier stories of the type, now is forsaken as the poet uses the unique time perspective to point up the serious side of such divine love affairs. In his earlier

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stories he had not ignored the reactions of the v1ct1ms, such as Daphne and lo, and even described them in detail, but the note he strikes here is different. It is the passage of time, and time does not heal. The problem-solving metamorphosis for the Sibyl is not immediate, but delayed by a thousand years-the precise amount of time that the souls in Aeneid 6 (748) spend in Hades before returning to the earth. By that time, the libido and passionate ardor even of the immortal gods, which Ovid described with so much gusto in Books 1 and 2, have turned into neglect and disavowal. In his own way, then, Ovid treats the Sibyl as seriously as did Vergil, and he gives her story a meaningful, though totally different function in his poem than it had had in the Aeneid. The ultimate reason for this may be found in his fascination with the effects of the passage of time on beauty and love. He expressed it movingly and in an entire! y serious vein in a famous passage in the Second Book of the Art of Love (2.113-20), the very passage that leads up to his description of Odysseus, who had no beauty but knew how to tell the same story aliter. Ovid's version of the story of the Sibyl epitomizes the confluence of two of the essential impulses for the Metamorphoses: his own, earlier poetry and the inspiration of the Aeneid. This accounts, to a large extent, for its peculiar character1st1cs. But Ovid never sustains unmitigated seriousness for too long. The speech of the Sibyl, comprising twenty-four lines, is just long enough for it; when Ovid proceeds to treat the Achaemenides episode (14.154-440)at even greater length than Vergil did (Aen. 3.588-691), we return to the alternation of tone that is typical of most extended passages in the Metamorphoses. Scholars have generally conceded a great deal of narrative autonomy to Vergil's story of Achaemenides, considering it a 'stitched-on piece of brilliant colors' or 'narrated in good part for its own sake', if not downright 'unessential' .16 This may help to explain why Ovid felt encouraged to adapt it as a fullblown narrative. This episode could be more easily detached than others because it was not woven into the fabric of the Aeneid as tightly as most. Vergil invented Achaemenides; Ovid thus could imitate him by inventing Macareus, another of Odysseus' sailors, who in turn relates some of the adventures of Odysseus and his crew, notably the episodes of the winds of Aeolus, the Laestrygonians, and Circe.

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Ovid, in short, combines elements from the Aeneid and the Odyssey, and this alone accounts for the mixture of tones in his version. For in spite of its apparent epyllion character, Vergil's Achaemenides episode certainly does not stand outside the design of the Aeneid but has a significant function in it. 17 It reverses the story of Sinon, the treacherous Greek, and the Trojans now show mercy to their former conquerors. Achaemenides' description of the peril that confronted him recalls the danger the Trojans faced the day and night before at their landing site near Mt. Aetna. Vergil reinforces the theme by making the Cyclops the common enemy of Achaemenides and the Trojans and by stressing the resonance of his threat in nature (3.672-4): clamorem immensum tollit, quo pontus et omnes contremuere undae, penitusque exterrita tellus Italiae curvis que immugiit Aetna cavernis. [ He raised a mighty roar, at which the sea and all its waves shuddered and the land of Italy was affrighted within, and Aetna bellowed in its winding caverns.] Odysseus, the arch-enemy of the Trojans, now becomes a sympathetic figure, inf elix Ulysses (3.613, 691), since he faced the same peril as the Trojans and voiced civilized man's outrage at the cannibal's lawlessness (3.626-9). In short, for all its narrative flourish, much of it ·due to Vergil's mimicry of Greek excitability in the speech of Achaemenides, the episode has a profound function and meaning: it establishes a definite link between Greek and Trojan heroes, who overcome their enmity. It thus prepares for the second half of the epic, Book Eight in particular, where the Greeks and Trojans will face another common enemy. Since Ovid's Aeneid makes only the skimpiest mention of the war in Latium and none of Sinon, his Achaemenides episode perforce cannot have the same function as Vergil's. Ovid sets the stage in a removed and external way, for we encounter Achaemenides not at the moment of peril, but at the time he is landing, much later, with Aeneas' men in Italy. To make him tell his story, Ovid resorts to his frequent device of producing an interlocutor ex nihilo. While Aeneas busies himself with burying his old nurse Caieta-an action that is

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interrupted for n1ore than four hundred lines-an old companion of Achaemenides and Odysseus turns up and wants to know why Achaemenides, a Greek, is sailing on a 'barbarian' ship ( 14.163-4). Ovid, it can be seen, sounds the central theme of Vergil's account, but he does not develop it, because Vergil already had done so. Macareus later simply summarizes what had been the subject of thematic development in Vergil ( 14.245-7): tuque, o iustissime Troum, nate dea-neque enim finito Marte vocandus hostis es, Aenea-moneo, fuge litora Circes ! [ You also, most just of the Trojans, son of a goddess-for you should not be called enemy after the end of war, Aeneasflee, I warn you, the shores of Circe.] Even more succinctly, this theme is the emphatic conclusion of Achaemenides' speech ( 14.220): Graiumque ratis Troiana recepit! Once more, the essence of the Vergilian account is preserved. Since Ovid, however, presents this essence in his typical summary fashion, he clearly will have to make different themes take the place of Vergil's in the Achaemenides story proper. Ovid strongly suggests his capacity to treat the story differently already in the introduction to it. These instances also set the tone for the playfulness of his adaptation, because he playfully disassociates himself from Vergilian precedent. Vergil, who cared more about the function of the· · Achaemenides episode than its Realien, had written (Aen 3.617----:-18.) that Achaemenides was deserted by his companions and left in the Cyclops' cave. This contradicts both the Homeric account, according to which all of Odysseus' party were surprised by the Cyclops in the cave, and Vergil 's subsequent description when it turns out that Odysseus and the others are in the cave, after all. Ovid 'corrects' Vergil by writing that Achaemenides was deserted 'amidst the rocks of Aetna' (14.160). And he completely reverses Vergil's description of the physical appearance of Achaemenides by playfully reusing Vergil's terminology (14.165-6; Aen. 3.590-4). As we could expect, then, the story is a mixture of adherence to serious Vergilian motifs and Ovid's own characteristic tendencies. The label 'parody' ignores the bi-tonality of the Ovidian narrative.

Ovid, V ergil, and Augustus For, besides playing with motifs from Aeneid III, Ovid develops a serious V ergilian theme to take the place of the theme of the newly found community of Greeks and Trojans, which he only summarizes. This serious theme is, emphatically, Aeneas' pietas. Vergil's Achaemenides was seen by the Trojans when they were already ashore. Ovid's Aeneas, by contrast, is at sea and diverts the course of ). He, and not Anchises his ship to rescue Achaemenides ( 14-218-20 as in Vergil's account, is responsible for the Trojans' merciful actions. No wonder Achaemenides praises him from the bottom of his heart; he would be impius (14.173) if he did not express his gratitude in this way. The paean on Aeneas' selflessness forms the beginning (170-6) and the end (213-20) of Achaemenides' account, but Ovid always is uncomfortable with tot~l seriousness and eases it with some light touches. The conclusion of his first praise of Aeneas is a transition to the lighter tone of the middle section which deals with the behavior of the Cyclops. Achaemenides is grateful that aut tumulo aut certe non illa condar in alvo (14.176) [ I shall be buried in a tomb, but surely not in that monster's maw.]

Tumulo makes us think of the action in which Aeneas is presently engaged, i.e. he is building such a tumulus for Caieta. The contrast with illa alvo is a bit of graphic over-explicitness, especially as Ovid, as in the Tereus story,18 returns to this notion again (14.204) and again ( 14.209). Exoteric details of this kind take the place of Vergil 's emphasis on the relation between the monstrous Cyclops and nature, and of the tell uric horror with which he fills the surrounding countryside, Sicily, and Italy. As so often, Ovid reduces his 'model' to its external aspects. His Polyphemus is a cannibal pure and simple. This depiction, however, is not at all inconsistent with his characterization as a primitive brute in the Galatea and Acis episodes. To transpose him all of a sudden into the V ergilian world of high poetry is a contrast which Ovid, for once, eschews, although it would have made for effective epic parody. Instead of raising the clamor i1nn1anis which has near-cosmic repercussions in Vergil (Aen. 3.672-4; cf.

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33

Met. 13.876-7), Ovid's Polyphemus utters a few cliche threats (14.192-7) whose final phrase, lucis ademptae, is a painful reminder of Ovid's deliberate dissipation of the suggestive poignancy of Vergil's monstrum horrendutn, informe, ingens, cui 1umen ademptum (3.658). Vergil also describes the ghastliness of the monster's behavior, but he does not stop at that. He comments on the scene of the monster's cannibalism (3.619-27) with the impassioned reaction, in the name of all civilized decency and justice, of Odysseus. And he follows up his graphic, but very brief depiction of the Cyclops' washing out the bloody mess in his socket (3.662-3) with the description of his awesome clamor and the evocative scene, reinforced by a simile, of the gathering of Polyphemus' 'Aetnean brothers' (3.678), a phrase which makes manifest the sameness of the threats faced by the Trojans at Mount Aetna and by Achaemenides. By contrast, Ovid, true to his taste for the cruel and the grotesque, is content with drawing out the scene of the Cyclops' cannibalism to the point of exaggeration. The grotesque and gory details exist in their own right and become the source of bathetic amusement. Ovid has Achaemenides echo the V ergilian reference to the empty socket luminis orbem (Met. 14.200)-only to have of Polyphemus-inanem him say, two lines later, that he had death before his eyes: mors erat ante oculos ( 14.202). The rescue by Aeneas comes just in time to save Achaemenides from death and his story from Ovid's gimmicks. The stories which Macareus tells in turn continue both the serious and the playful attitude of Ovid to the Aeneid. In Vergil's epic, the description of Aeolus and his incarcerated winds is a powerfully suggestive symbol and leitmotif (Aen. 1.52-63).19 In the Metamorphoses, the Aeolus episode (14.223-32) once more becomes the mere adventure account which it was in the Odyssey. Ovid follows the pattern of reducing Vergilian subjects to their external aspects, but in this case he suggests, speciously of course, that it is not due to his own temperament, but to valid literary exigencies: Macareus, is, after all, Odysseus' companion and therefore his narrative is modelled on Homer, and not Vergil. Still, the echoes of the Vergilian account are strong enough to alert the reader to Ovid's deliberate, if cleverly

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justified, externalization of it. There follows a short description of the reception of Odysseus and his crew in the land of the Laestrygonians ( 14.233-43), while the bulk of the narrative is taken up by the episodes of Circe, and Picus and Canens (14.243-434). Although this may not be the primary raison d'etre for these stories, they do establish an effective contrast to the account of Achae1nenides. The negative counter-examples make Aeneas' actions appear even more positive. The Laestrygonians are cannibals, like Polyphemus, and Circe's cruel treatment of the men and of Picus and his companions is not much better. 20 This is far from the unselfish and forgiving actions of Aeneas, with whose appellation as iustissime Traum ( 14.245) Macareus significantly introduces the story of Circe and emphasizes the contrast between her and the Trojan. This contrast, to be sure, is developed explicit! y as little as was the contrast between the impious Erysichthon and the devout Philemon and Baucis because, as in those stories and others, other subjects and moods soon come to the fore and prevail. But it is important to note that Macareus' tale characterizes Aeneas indirectly and that Ovid, even if he does not impart to Aeneas the inner heroism and fateful mission that would require a much more extensive treatment, does not lessen the dignity of the Vergilian figure. True to his strategy in his Aeneid, Ovid emphasizes and reemphasizes the metamorphosis theme. He treats us to one of the most graphic and detailed metamorphosis descriptions in the poem, that of the men into swine ( 14.279-90), followed by their remetamorphosis into humans (299-305), the transformation of Picus into a woodpecker (386---96),of his companions (412-15), and of Canens (431-2). Circe in fact personifies two of the main themes of the poem, sexual passion and metamorphosis., 21 and this is another reason Ovid gives her far more prominence than V ergil did in the Aeneid (7.10-20). The thematic significance which he accords her in the Metamorphoses may, like other instances of his imitatio of Vergilian passages, be the result of his perceptive recognition of the function of Vergil's account. Though the latter is short, its evocation of the sinister, demonic, and brutalizing aspects of Circe stands in close thematic relation, which is enhanced by the position of the passage at the beginning of the second half of the Aeneid, to the events in those six books, V ergil 's n1aius opus. Instead of sim pi y reverting to the Homeric description, as he had in the story of

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3S

Aeolus, Ovid adapts the story's· function, which he found in the Aeneid, for his own purposes by giving it a corresponding function in his own work. This amounts to anything but a depreciation or parody of his predecessor. It is, however, another useful epitome of the difference between the two poets' styles. Instead of the powerful density and evocative symbolism of Vergil 's characterization, Ovid makes the same point in an expansive, concrete narration. It is the work of a master raconteur, which thrives, as usual, on the introduction of ever new details and, as one might expect, is not devoid of humorous touches. With the preference for anachronism typical of him, Ovid casts the scene of Circe's receiving the Greeks as if it were taking place in the house of a Roman matron ( 14.259-63).She is surrounded by her slaves, while other slave girls lead the guests into the room. The incongruity is amusing between this description and the immediately preceding depiction of Circe's magic animal farm. Fantastic and bourgeois elements are humorously juxtaposed. The description also echoes that of the preparations taken by Vergil's king Latinus before he meets the Trojan embassy in Aeneid 7 (169; cf. Met. 14.261-2). This again makes for humorous incongruity because the two situations and characters are, of course, as different as can be. The Ovidian play becomes even more poignant in the light of the mythological connection between Circe and Latinusshe was his mother 22 -which is Ovid's implicit justification, if he needed one, for adapting the V ergilian scene to Circe. In the brief summary of Aeneid 7 and 8, which he gives after the tale of Macareus (Met. 14.441-56),Ovid preserves Vergil 's innovative emphasis on the Trojan landing at the mouth of the Tiber ( 14.447-8), and the notion of Turnus' juror, though the latter is assimilated to the human love theme of the Metamorphoses. Turnus rages to keep his promised bride (451), and there is no hint of Vergil's portrait of Turnus' conflicting motivations and complex and tragic character. The remaining stories, beginning with that of Diomedes, continue Ovid's chosen emphasis in his Aeneid on metamorphosis as an actual subject, so that the procedure of telling the relevant stories aliter does not seem to be the result of imaginative fancy or subjective playfulness, but has, to all appearances, an objective thematic raison d'etre. To reinforce this impression, Ovid indeed subordinates his narrative innovations in these stories to the subject-matter of metamorphosis

Ovid, Vergil, and Augustus instead of engaging in the play of free association as he does in many other of the poem's episodes in which metamorphosis is not the controlling subject. The story which Diomedes tells, as he doc;s in Vergil's Aeneid, in reply to the Latins' request for help against Aeneas, is a good example (Met. 14-457-511). Vergil's account (Aen. 11.243-95) has two principal themes. Diomedes refuses to help because he has had enough of the impious war against Troy for which the Greeks suffered unspeakable tribulations on their return. These tribulations were the punishment for their crimes ( 11.258). In this connection, he mentions the transformation of his own companions into birds ( 11.272-4) and views it as the punishment for his attack on Venus, when she was rescuing Aeneas from him in battle. The recall of the confrontation, which Homer tells at length in Iliad 5, leads him to his second theme, the formidable martial prowess of Aeneas, which he stresses at length (282--92).His motive, however, for not coming to the La tins' aid is not cowardice but the desire to for get the past evils and crimes (279-80). It is the same motive that impelled the Trojans to be merciful to Achaemenides. Ovid therefore could have made a virtue of his selective adaptation of the Aeneid and developed the Diomedes story as a clearer pendent to the Achaemenides than it is in Vergil's epic, where eight books intervene between the two episodes. But Ovid, as we saw in Chapter 2, is not interested in consistently tying his poem together in this manner. His story culn1inates with the metamorphosis of Diomedes' men into birds, and to this immediate end yield both the interest in larger unity and the V ergilian distribution of emphasis. The metamorphosis is the central element of the story, hence it must be connected with Diomedes' refusal. The latter thus is baldly motivated by the lack of men at his disposal ( 14.463-4). To illustrate the point, Ovid's Diomedes, like Vergil 's, gives an account of the attrition of the Greek fleet and its leaders on their return from Troy. In contrast to V ergil, however, Ovid does not present these events in moral terms of crime and punishment. Instead, they simply happen that way. Venus' action therefore is prompted not by Diomedes' sacrilegious attack on her or by the war crimes of the Greeks in general, but by the arrogant claim of one of his companions that the goddess cannot possibly do them any more harn1 than she already has done. Ovid hereby assimilates the story to the

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prevailing type of divine vengeance tales in the M etaniorphoses: an angered (iratam 494) goddess acts out of spite (iram 495) on the spur of the moment, and the metamorphosis is graphic and drawn out (496-507). Diomedes completes its description by trying to specify to the Latin ambassadors, who might just possibly have ornithological interests, exactly what kinds of birds resulted from the metamorphosis (508-9): si volucrum quae sit dubiarum forma requiris, ut non cycnorum, sic albis proxima cycnis. [ If you ask what kind of birds they were, they were, if not swans, at least something like white swans.] After this, there can be no doubt that Diomedes has hardly any men left and it is on this note that his speech concludes (510-11). As can be seen, Ovid once more reduces the V ergilian episode to its externals which, as so often, he emphasizes and expands. The result, however, is not parody. It is a transformation into a metamorphosis story, and it was inherent in the nature of the metamorphosis tl1eme to eschew great problems and to offer non-moral solutions. Ovid often does so even in stories in which the metamorphosis theme is tangential. In the Diomedes story, he does not go so far, but emphasizes the correlative exigencies between subject and treatment. As for the traditional character of Aeneas as a warrior, he has highlighted it before and can therefore eliminate it from the Diomedes story especially since he, unlike V ergil, does not retell the battles in Latium in which the hero's martial prowess is essential. To affirm the new motive that leads the deity to effect the metamorphosis, Ovid follows it up with the story of the Apulian shepherd, whom some nymphs transform into a tree for the same reason Venus metamorphosed Diomedes' companions: verbal effrontery ( 14.512-26).Ovid was not concerned about the geographical impossibility23 of connecting this story and the preceding one, but such neglect of Realien in favor of the ideas expressed in a given story is anything but un-Vergilian. The story also is a clever link to the next, where the process is reversed as structures made of trees, i.e. the ships of Aeneas, are metamorphosed into nymphs.

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This episode ( 14-527-65)is a reminder of the fundamental differences between Vergil's view of myth and Ovid's. The gods exist in the Metamorphoses, but the supernatural does not. In Vergil's Aeneid, by contrast, it does; the integration of the mysterious and the numinous into the epic is precisely one of the greatest triumphs of Vergil's genius. The contrast which it creates between 'this world' and 'visions of some other world' has been well recognized as one of the major themes or tensions of the Aeneid, 24 and V ergil explores the implications of this contrast to the fullest in Aeneid 9. He describes the metamorphosis itself in two lines (120, 122)because, in typically Vergilian fashion, it is the meaning of the events that matters, and not events themselves. Vergil alerts us to its importance by an invocation of the Muses (9.77-9).The description that follows formally is a triptych. It commences with the prologue in heaven between the Magna Mater and Jupiter, continues with her intervention, and culminates with the reaction of Turnus. The primary purpose of the episode, which has baffled both ancient and modern commentators, is indeed to bring us face to face with the tragic limitations of Turnus. The episode is an integral part of Vergil's portrait of Turnus and of the contrast between Turnus and Aeneas. The events themselves are described only briefly, whereas the divine prelude and the reaction of the human protagonist are developed in full and, purposely, at almost identical length. The first part needs little comment. It impressively establishes the fact that the events have moved clearly to the confines of the supernatural. It concludes with the solemn ratification of the compact between the two deities, and its sweep is beyond mortal comprehension (9.104-6): dixerat idque ratum Stygii per Bumina fratris, per pice torrentis atraque voragine ripas adnuit, et totum nutu tremefecit Olympurn. [ He spoke, and by the waters of his Stygian brother, by the banks that seethe with pitch in black swirling abyss, he nodded assent, and with his nod made all Olympus tremble.] Then, V ergil continues, the fated day had come. If we kept our feet firmly planted in the world of factual reality, we could criticize the poet for forgetting that some ships had sunk off the Libyan

Ovid's 'Aeneid'

2 39

coast and others had burned in Sicily, but we would only shut ourselves off from the transcendental aspects of the poem. The emphasis in V ergil 's actual description of the event is totally on the preternatural: first there is a strange light, then a large cloud and the 'Idaean choirs'. Vergil does not present graphic, descriptive details but leaves the actual appearance of the phenomenon quite undefined and hence, more suggestive and evocative. The goddess does not appear, only her voice is heard. At her command, the ships by themselves break loose, dive into the sea, and emerge as nymphs. Thereafter, Vergil takes us to the third part of the episode, the epilogue on earth, i.e. Turnus' reaction. It is almost exactly of the same length as the initial scene with the deities, with which it is meant to contrast. It centers on one theme: Turn us has no conception whatsoever of the workings of the supernatural. He resembles Oedipus in seeing the hand of the supernatural at work, but refusing to acknowledge it for what it is. He thinks the events can be understood entirely within the framework of this world-at non audaci Turno fiducia cessit (9.126). All he can perceive is that now the Trojans cannot escape over the sea again. Thus, he argues, Jupiter has forsaken them. Vergil emphasizes Turnus' blindness by having him connect this misconception with another delusion dear to his heart, i.e. that the war in Latium is simply a repetition of the Trojan war. To Turnus, one reading of the events complements the other, but he construes only the wrong pattern and embroils himself even more in the self-delusion that is so essential to his tragedy. Ovid's version is an illustrative result of his characteristic desire first and foremost to tell a story, and then also of his concentration, in this part of the Metamorphoses, on the metamorphosis theme. As we saw earlier, the very choice of the theme itself intrinsically leads to a neglect of moral or metaphysical questions. The probing of the inner dimension of man, whenever it takes place, is exclusively psychological. To such psychological interest, as we have seen, 25 the metamorphosis theme also was conducive. But the sole agent in Ovid's psychological interest is intellect, and V ergil 's sense of mystery in portraying human psychology is alien to him. Thus Ovid tells the story of the metamorphosis of Aeneas' ships for its own sake and not for some ulterior purpose as Vergil had. Turnus plays as little a role in Ovid's Aeneid as Dido, a fact that sheds considerable light on Ovid's intentions, which we will discuss shortly. This,

Ovid, V ergil, and Augustus and the lack of the supernatural in the Metamorphoses, make it plain that Ovid could not give his version a remote! y similar function, let alone meaning, to Vergil's. Ovid, therefore, starts in medias res. Turn us attacks the ships, as he had in the Aeneid (9.72ff.),but the action is not interrupted by a scene in heaven. Instead, the deity straightway appears. There is nothing mysterious about her appearance as she drives onto the scene on her chariot drawn by lions, amid the clashing of cymbals and shriil music from boxwood flutes. The nimbus, whose nature Vergil deliberately had left undefined (Aen. 9.111), becomes a naturalistic cloud of hail in Ovid ( 14.543).Whereas Vergil presents the goddess as a nunien, she is highly visible in Ovid's version and even proceeds to cut the ships loose herself. The suggestive account of Vergil becomes an explicit, graphic scene. It is reinforced by Ovid's eagerness not to let the rare opportunity pass that is provided by the unusual metamorphosis of inanimate into animate beings. I-Ience, he leaves nothing to the visual imagination and playfully reverses the usual, anatomical metamorphosis scheme ( 14.549--54): robore mollito lignoque in corpora verso in capitum facies puppes mutantur aduncae, indigitos abeunt et crura natantia remi, quodque prius fuerat, latus est, mediisque carina subdita navigiis spinae mutatur in usum, lina comae molles, antemnae bracchia fiunt. [ Straightway the wood softened and turned to flesh, the ships' curved sterns changed to heads and faces, the oars to toes and swimming legs; what had been side b~fore remained as side, and the keel which ran under the middle of the ships was changed to serve as spine; cordage became soft hair, and sailyards, arms.] Ovid proceeds to play with two motifs that frequently figure in his description of transformation. The first is the element of permanence amid change; 26 the color of the nymphs is the same as that of the ships-caerulus, ut fuerat, color est (14.555). The second is Ovid's exploitation of the logical consequences and paradoxes resulting from a given situation 27 (14.555-8):

Ovid's 'Aeneid' quasque ante timebant, illas virgineis exercent lusibus undas I~aides aequoreae; durisque in montibus ortae molle £return celebrant, nee eas sua tangit origo. [ And now, as water-nymphs, with maiden glee they sport in the waters they feared before. Though born on the rough mountain-tops, they now throng the yielding waves and no trace of their first state troubles them.] In short, it is the compleat metamorphosis description, as none of the characteristic elements is lacking. Ovid goes on to demonstrate once more his lack of concern for over-all thematic development by characterizing the nymphs as unreconstructed Trojan partisans, who hate the Greeks. The stories of Achaemenides and Macareus are already too remote and, as most of the time, it is the immediate purpose that matters for Ovid. In his story, the nymphs' hatred of the Greeks gives him the opportunity to use the reference to the destruction of Odysseus' ship as a 'stepping stone' to the mention of a further metamorphosis, i.e. that of the ship of the Phaeacians into a rock ( 14.564-5). For reasons that we have already discussed, Ovid, unlike Vergil, does not have us take a look into Turnus' soul. But, as is always the case, he understood Vergil's intentions very well. He gives a direct and terse summary of what had been the point of the Vergilian episode ( 14.566-7): spes erat, in nymphas animata classe marinas posse metu monstri Rutulum desistere bello [ After the Beet had been changed to living water-nymphs, there was hope that the Rutulian, in awe of the portent, would desist from war.] The question why the war goes on is bound up in the Aeneid inseparably with the character of Turnus. This character does not exist in the Metamorphoses and thus, once more, merely the external fact is stated: perstat-the war goes on ( 14.568), although Turn us

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had been warned explicitly by the deity that he was committing a sacrilege (539-40). Here as elsewhere, Ovid preserves the gist of the V ergilian account. This is one of the factors which suggests that a one-sided interpretation of Ovid's version as polemic, parody, or debunking of the Vergilian story would be misplaced. The difference between the two stories is fundamental and illustrates the difference between the two poets and their utilization of myth. It is precisely because this episode is ~trongly related to Ovid's general treatment of myth that it should not be narrowly interpreted as an implied criticism of Vergil's handling of the transformation of Aeneas' ships. Ovid tells the story aliter because it cannot, within the framework of his poem, have the same profundity as Vergil's. There is no indication that Ovid wants us to infer that Vergil's treatment is less valid than his own. His version is an effective literary variatio, but it also is a demonstration on Ovid's part that myth can survive by being told vividly and palpably and without the Vergilian sense of mystery and metaphysics. The narrative emphasis on myth takes its place next to the speculative one and both exist in their own right, though separate! y. We would read too much into the text, on the basis of no external evidence, if we postulated that Ovid's treatment was a deliberately antithetical desecration of the Vergilian story. He tells the story aliter, but not contra. Again, however, we have to make allowance for the varied tonality of the Metamorphoses, of which this Aeneid is a part. Ovid's attitude to some aspects of Vergil's epic is by no means bland or neutral. Before he ends his Aeneid on a markedly playful note, Ovid contrasts this mood with an extremely cutting and prosaic comment on the motivation of the combatants in Latium. Forgotten is the motive that Ovid earlier gave at least for Turnus, i.e. Lavinia and, for that matter, the dowry and the rule over Latium ( 14.451). War is not a means to an end, but has become an end in itself. The parties fight for the sake of victory itself and they are afraid to lose face if they end the war without a victory ( 14.569-72): nee iam dotalia regna, nee sceptrum soceri, nee te, Lavinia virgo, sed vicisse petunt deponendiq ue pudore bella gerunt.

Ovid's 'Aeneid' Both the motivation of Vergil's heroes and his own attitude to the war are different from this simple formula and more complex, but the development of such complexity and of the 'inner' aspects of the problem are too deeply rooted in the fabric of his epic to stand easy and concise transference. Ovid wastes no time in following up the serious and profoundly pessimistic note by glossing over the final scene of the Aeneid, the death of Turnus, and by playfully elaborating the metamorphosis of Turnus into an Ardea-bird, a heron. Ovid's inspiration was the figurative metamorphosis of Ardea on ,vhich Vergil comments at a prominent juncture of the Aeneid, the introduction of Turnus. It is an ominous evocation of the past power of Ardea and its transformation into a mere nan1e (Aen. 7.411-13): locus Ardea quondam dictus avis, et nunc magnum manet Ardea nomen, sed fortuna fuit. [ There was a place once called Ardea by our ancestors, and now the great name Ardea still remains, but her fortune is past.] The solemnity of the passage is heightened by the fact that it is one of the rare instances in the Aeneid in which Vergil refers directly to a contemporary state of aflairs ( et nunc manet nomen). 28 Ovid, by contrast, relegates even the fame of the city to the past and presents a literal, visual metamorphosis. He evidently plays with the concept of the Phoenix rising from the ashes. 29 The potential sublimity of the picture, however, is undercut by the temporally limited nature of this rebirth-no reference is made to Ovid's own time-and by the culmination of the visual event in a typically Ovidian, 'logically' resultant paradox: 'Ardea's self is beaten in lamentation by her own . 'wings

575

I

cadit Ardea, Turno sospite dicta potens; quern postquam barbarus ensis abstulit et tepida latuerunt tecta favilla, congerie e media tum primum cognita praepes subvolat et cineres plausis everberat alis. et sonus et macies et pallor et omnia, captam

Ovid, V ergil, and Augustus quae deceant urbem, nomen quoque .mansit in illa urbis, et ipsa suis deplangitur Ardea pennis (14.573-80) [ Ardea fell, counted a powerful city in Turnus' lifetime. But after the outlanders' sword destroyed it and warm ashes hid its ruins, from the confused mass a bird flew forth of a kind never seen before, and beat the ashes with her flapping wings. Her sound, her meager look, her death! y paleness, all things which are fitting for a captured city, yes, even the city's name remained in the bird; and Ardea' s self is beaten in lamentation by her wings.] The end of Ovid's Aeneid, quite in contrast to Vergil's, is the apotheosis of Aeneas. This again is typical of the difference between the two poets. Vergil likes to work through suggestion, whereas Ovid likes to make things explicit. In the Aeneid, Jupiter prophesies the deification of Aeneas ( 1.259-60), and this perspective is operative, though implicit, through the rest of the poem just as the announced, but untold, founding of altae moenia Romae ( r.7). Ovid clearly had the Vergilian scene in mind because he precedes Aeneas' apotheosis with a description, which alludes to Vergil's, of Venus' plea to Jupiter ( 14.585--95). Besides, the mechanics of the apotheosis, which is a special kind of transformation, attracted his visual and descriptive temperament. Thus this final scene is marked by the characteristically Ovidian interplay between seriousness and humor. Venus sets the proceedings in motion like a Roman politician (ambieratque 585), a theme that Seneca later exploited with even more amusing detail in his satire on Claudius and his unsuccessful attempt to become deified (Apocol. 8-9). It does not matter at what divine rank Aeneas is appointed, so long as he somehow becomes a god. 30 Jupiter's compressed phrase quaeque petis pro quoque petis (595) has a mock-solemn ring to it. The description of the preparation of Aeneas' body for deification is explicit (602-7), but Ovid does not let it degenerate into over-explicitness and includes an apposite echo (605-7) of the epiphany of Venus to Aeneas in Vergil's Aeneid ( 1.402-5). We should also keep in mind that the Romans were far more interested in the ritual and external aspects of a sacred action than we are today. Finally, the reference to one of the most hallowed cults of Rome, that of Aeneas lndiges at Lavinium (608), ends the

Ovid's 'Aeneid' description and Ovid's Aeneid on a very dignified note indeed. It is in keeping with the constantly shifting tonality of the Metamorphoses that there follows, after a brief catalog of kings, the lighthearted tale of Vertumnus and Pomona ( 14.623ff.). It would be unwarranted to read profound intentions into the lack of organic connection between the tale of Aeneas' apotheosis and the preceding stories. Far more often than not, it is Ovid's structural procedure not to develop one story organically out of the other. More significant, at first sight, may be Ovid's technique to intersperse his Aeneid with the amorous stories-'frothier stuff', as one recent critic has called them 31 -of Glaucus, Scylla, the Cyclops, Galatea, and the immediately following tale of Vertumnus and Pomona. Was this done to undercut the Aeneid? This is more than doubtful. It is Ovid's standard procedure to loosen the narration of mythical cycles in this fashion. It may suffice to refer, in this connection, to our earlier discussion of the Cadmus cycle, one of the longest in the !Jfetamorphoses (3.1-4.603). It comprises 1335lines, 530 of which are taken up by the argument between Jupiter and Juno about sex, the story of Narcissus and Echo, and the various and sundry tales of the Minyads. All of these are unrelated to the series malorum of the Cadmeans. We have noticed, even within individual stories such as those of Erysichthon, Phaethon, or even Ceyx and Alcyone, a similar autonomous tendency of individual scenes. For this reason alone, it is by no means unusual that Ovid should devote 311 out of the 954 lines of the Aeneas cycle to the narration of unrelated episodes. 32 Such variatio is a fundamental characteristic of the Metamorphoses. The question arises whether Ovid does not sometimes arrange stories in a deliberate sequence so that one comments upon the other. Of course he does so at times; the pattern of a story within a story as we find it, for instance, in the episodes of Vertumnus and Pomona and Iphis and Anaxarete is a good example. It would be imprecise, however, to argue that Ovid juxtaposes 'serious' and 'comic' episodes with a view to 'undercutting' the serious. For, in the first place, few episodes are entirely serious or entirely comic; most are bi-tonal, if not polytonal. In the case of his Aeneid, we could speak of deliberate undercutting only if Ovid had either taken over the Vergilian episodes virtually unchanged or striven to render them as Vergilian as possible, with an emphasis on the tragic, the numinous,

Ovid, V ergil, and Augustus

the metaphysical, the profound inner conflicts of the characters, etc. To juxtapose such 'great' poetry, for example, with the wooing song of the Cyclops would indeed have amounted to the bathetic kind of incongruity that serves to destroy and erode the serious. Such, however, is not the case, and we can therefore return to our principal question, i.e. whether Ovid's adaptation of the Aeneid proper is not an irreverent destruction of Vergil's masterpiece. The salient point is that ·Ovid's Aeneid is not a poetic agon with or aeniulatio of Vergil's. It is much too short for that and Ovid makes it even shorter by presenting only the barest minimum of a factual outline of the events. The Roman reader \Vas familiar with this procedure from Livy's presentation of the story of Aeneas (1.1-2). There is no reason to assume that Ovid's use of the same procedure should have been construed as a depreciation of Vergil's achievement or that Ovid was expected to produce a version that would match Vergil's. Is it not sounder to argue that Ovid limited his account precisely because he was aware of the inimitable qualities of the Aeneid and of the i1npossibility of producing another version, which would be similar to Vergil's, unless he went to far greater lengths? The argument that Ovid's reduction of the Aeneid ipso facto amounts to a depreciation of it is based implicitly on the pren1ise that no poet after Vergil could tell the story of Aeneas unless he wrote another full-blown Aeneid. This argument is convenient rather than precise. It is clear that in the years right after the appearance of the .A.eneid any adaptation of the Aeneas myth in poetry would be con1pared to V ergil 's work, which set the standard for dignity and sublimity. Ovid tries to accommodate this myth to the spirit and exigencies of his poem as much as is possible without detracting from the Vergilian version. Aeneas is as dignified as any character in the Metamorphoses. Ovid clearly preserves his basic qualities such as pietas and, to a somewhat lesser extent, warrior heroism. We do not, of course, see these qualities in action or involved in complex situations because Ovid merely summarizes Vergil, whereas Vergil explores Aeneas' character in depth. In this summary, and in adaptations of episodes like the transformation of the ships, neither Aeneas nor the events have the same spirituality, grand destiny, or relation to the supernatural as they have in Vergil's epic. Ovid's Aeneid is another good example of the

Ovid's 'Aeneid' reduction of a speculative or iterative myth to a narrative one, with the concomitant refusal to become involved in metaphysical problems or to depict tragic themes tragically. This was, as we have seen, the result of Ovid's choice of the metamorphosis theme, which he found most congenial to his temperament. Ovid's Aeneid in general and episodes such as those of Anius and the meta1norphosis of the ships are, therefore, without question, more 'external' than their Vergilian counterparts. Ovid seems to have wanted to emphasize that his mode of treatment was the result of his chosen theme by making metamorphosis, in contrast to his usual practice, the central and reiterated theme of virtually all the Vergilian episodes he adapts. The result is not parody or mock-epic. Because he emphasizes the metamorphosis theme so much in these episodes, Ovid intersperses them with tales unrelated to the Aeneid, such as the myth of Galatea and the Cyclops. In that story in particular, metamorphosis is not nearly as prevalent and therefore it makes for an effective variatio. It might still be argued that Ovid's elimination of all the spiritual, fated, supernatural and 'inner' aspects of the Aeneid amounts to a considerable deflation and that such was precisely Ovid's intent. This seems like a case, however, where we would be prudent to beware of the pitfalls of the 'intentional fallacy' and of interpreting Ovid's aims too narrowly. If Vergil's stories could not be told aliter after Vergil, his epic would have been the death-knell for mythological narration, rather than a stimulus. To some extent, the effect of Vergil's rediscovery of the epic and of his unique treatment of myth set an oppressive standard for the Latin poets after him. Lucan's epic is a good example of an attempt, and the difficulty, to escape from it, 33 and the lack of significant adaptations of Aeneas in the later literary tradition-quite in contrast to the literary fortunes of Odysseus and Herakles-testifies to the feeling that Vergil's achievement had the inhibiting aura of being definitive. It is more than likely that Ovid recognized the implications of Vergil's effect on the treatment of myth. This is one of the reasons he decided to write a continuous hexameter poem, superficially resembling an epic, on mythological subjects in which he used myth aliter from Vergil, whom he greatly respected, as is clear from his direct references to him, and of whose normative influence he was fully aware. 34 The same applies to his treatment of the Aeneid proper. To construe Ovid's intentions as a deflation or 'undercutting' of Vergil's

Ovid, 11 ergil, and Augustus epic is both unduly narrow and misleading. Rather, Ovid's aim was to present a successful alternative to Vergil's adaptation of myth and to suggest that the narrative possibilities of myth, as exemplified by the episodes of Achaemenides, the Sibyl, Circe, and others, were by no means exhausted. Ovid's playfulness, which is so characteristic of the Metamorphoses, is not only essential to his revivification of myth, but also to preserving his poetic and creative independence vis-a-vis the otherwise inhibiting influence of Vergil's achievement. 35 Ho\V valid the Ovidian alternative was is suggested by the response it found in later European literature. It did not diminish Vergil's richly deserved impact on the later tradition, and our complex and soul-searching times may provide a more congenial reception for Vergil than for a superb raconteur. Still, European literature would have been incalculably impoverished if Ovid had not provided a timely response and alternative to Vergil. For example, 'Chaucer, Shakespeare, and Milton seem to have known and used the Meta1norphoses more than anything written by Vergil.' 36 Mere parody and burlesque of what Vergil had done in the Aeneid would not have constituted an equally enduring alternative. This is why Ovid, in his Aeneid, largely eschews them. Opportunities were not lacking and Ovid's versatile imagination could have made the most of them, as it did in the stories of lo, Coronis, Tiresias, and many others. The best example is provided by the Dido episode. According to Ovid himself, Vergil's Dido story was that part of Aeneid which, like the love story genre in our days, was read most (Trist. 2.535-6): nee legitur pars ulla magis de corpore toto, quam non legitimo foedere iunctus amor. [No part of the whole poem is read more than the story of the love that was consummated without a legally binding contract.] In the Metamorphoses, however, Ovid gives the barest summary of the encounter. He keeps it from striking a tragic note by the use of stylistic figures such as the same syllepsis ( 14.78) that he had used earlier in other erotic contexts (Her. 6.55; A.A. 2.407; Met. 9.279),a litotes (14.79), and a play on words (14.81) which highlights the

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kind of paradox that was dear to Ovid's taste. But such avoidance of the tragic is Ovid's customary procedure, and casual as it is, his summary is not a caricature ( 14.78-81): excipit Aenean illic animoque domoque non bene discidium Phrygii latura mariti Sidonis inque pyra sacri sub imagine facta incubuit ferro deceptaque decipit omnes. [ There the Sidonian queen received Aeneas hospitably in heart and home, and she would not bear well the departure of her Phrygian husband. On a pyre, built under pretense of sacred rites, she fell upon his sword and so, herself deceived, she deceived others.] The suggestion that Ovid's earlier treatment of the subject in Heroides 7 was the main reason he did not take it up again in the Metamorphoses is contradicted by his retelling, aliter, in the Meta1norphoses stories like those of Cephalus and Procris, Ceres and Proserpina, and Daedalus and Icarus. Yet comparison with his earlier adaptations of Vergilian themes and tropes is helpful because it sets into relief the fact that in his Aeneid Ovid is far less of the nequitiae poeta than one might expect, e.g., from his utilization of the Georgics for the Art of Love. 37 It is remarkable that, differently from Vergil as he treats stories such as those of the Sibyl and Circe, Ovid gives them a 1neaningful function. It corresponds, within the thematic framework of the Metamorphoses, to the similar, if 'grander' role these episodes had had in Vergil's poem. Even in the Anius story Ovid refrains from the kind of utter banalization of a Vergilian subject, which characterizes H eroides 7, but finds some meaningful connection, although it is not nearly as profound as Vergil's, between the episode and the events that befell Aeneas. In sum, the V ergilian episodes which he recasts-and they comprise the prove that Ovid succeeded in his task to bulk of his Aeneid-indeed find a convincing alternative to Vergil's treatment of myth. Mere trivialization of stories from the Aeneid would not have achieved the same purpose. It would not have been substantial enough, and Ovid realized this, for the kind of enduring poetic achievement, leading to immortality, which he envisaged. For basically, his poetic

Ovid, V ergil, and Augustus aim was quite serious: to demonstrate that the non-moral, nonmetaph ysical, playful, witty, humorous, visual, and purely narrative treatment of myth could validly exist next to Vergil's. It did. Ovid adapts motifs and, to a lesser extent, entire stories from the Aeneid throughout the Metan1orphoses, but his own Aeneid is his most direct confrontation with Vergil 's epic-that it was intentional is also shown by Seneca's comment (Suas. 3.7)-and therefore affords the best insight into his attitude to the mythopoeia of his predecessor. The Vergilian adaptations outside of Met. 13.623-14.608 often serve an immediate parodic or amusing purpose within the story in which they occur rather than be parodic comments on the Aeneid itself. Besides, we cannot ignore that Ovid chose to exclude from his own Aeneid those episodes in Vergil's epic which he recast with great, playful exuberance or sustained, overt parody, such as his description of the underworld and the contention between Aeneas and Turnus over Lavinia. The former is part of the story of Athamas and Ino (4.432-80) and makes for a highly entertaining interlude, whereas the latter is the allusive background of Herakles' and Achelous' fight over Deianeira (9.1-92) and subtly parodies both V ergil 's and Achelous' account. 38 Instances like these are part of Ovid's metamorphosis of his models. Taken collectively, they support the judicious opinion of J. M. Frecaut that 'it (i.e. the Aeneid) is neither harshly caricatured nor systematically desecrated, but subtly utilized for other ends. The parody is underlying, it comes to the surface at times, but it does not take possession of everything and does not turn the model into derision.' 39 This agrees well vvith Ovid's own statement, that he was not malicious in his imitations of other poets. 40 It is also worth considering that Ovid's most obvious and sustained parody 11 of a Vergilian passage is the story of Orpheus (10.17ff.), which Vergil told in the Georgics (4.453-527) and not in the Aeneid, and it is the Aeneid that is the true antipode to the Metan1orphoses. Even though Vergil's Aeneid, therefore, has a special place among Ovid's 'models', it is doubtful that each of the scattered adaptations of passages or motifs from the Aeneid has the same, almost programmatic significance in the Meta1norphoses as Ovid's direct treatment of the Aeneid in Met. 13.623-14.608. Sometimes they may simply serve the same purpose as, for instance, Ovid's parody of Homer in the speech of Salmacis. 42 Taken together, they help to round out the picture we

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derived from Ovid's Aeneid and give added emphasis to the element of play by which Ovid was able to assert his mythopoeic and literary independence in the face of V ergil 's momentous achievement.

3:

AUGUSTUS

A~D

ROME

One of the opinions about the Nletaniorphoses which, for no particular reason and despite the widely differing views of the exact structure of the poem, has tended to become crystallized and been accepted as something approaching orthodoxy, is the presumed 'Augustan culmination' of the poem. The Augustan passages in Book 15, notably the account of Caesar's apotheosis and the events preceding it (745-851), the praise of Augustus (852-60), and the prayer for Augustus' health (861-70)have come to be considered the climax of the poem, the 'end in view ' 43 toward which the M etamorphoses, for all their thematic discontinuity, seem to gravitate. This claim provides a good fulcrum for determining the importance of Augustan and Roman themes in the Metamorphoses. What kind of conclusion can we draw from their existence or non-existence and what sort of attitude do Ovid's direct references to Augustus reveal? In the absence, which we shall analyze shortly, of a persisting thread of Augustan themes throughout the Metamorphoses, the cornerstone of the case for the Augustan culmination is Ovid's programmatic indication that he will bring the poem ad 1nea tempora ( r.4). It is worth noting that he does not say, as he does later in Tristia 2.560, in ... tua tempora, Caesar. 44 In the Metamorphoses, the phrase is indeed a mere temporal indication, devoid of any ideological or patriotic intent, just as the death of Cleopatra was the terminus ad quern for the tragic pantomime. This temporal indication was needed to highlight the peculiar Ovidian innovation of combining metamorphosis poetry with a chronological scheme and thereby underlining the universal significance of myth. 45 The reference ad mea tempora calls attention to Ovid's literary strategy, and not to his ideological orientation. This seems, at first sight, to be contradicted by Ovid's restatement of his intent in the Tristia passage which we have just quoted. Besides notinoits corrected phraseology, however, we should be \ b careful not to take it at face value. In this poem and others (e.g.,

Ovid, V ergil, and Augustus Pont. 1.1.27-8), Ovid makes several claims, which patently cannot be substantiated, about the frequency of his references to Augustus in his earlier poetry. He contends that even the books that were his cri112inaare 'full of your (i.e. Augustus') name in a thousand places' (Trist. 2.61-2). In fact, the Art of Love and the Re1nedies of Love together contain no more than six such references. 46 The same is true of Ovid's claim that in the Metamorphoses, Augustus will find many praises of his name (Trist. 2.63-6). It is useful, therefore, to trace the actual presence and use of Augustan and Roman themes before Book 15. They are not an important thematic element of the poem. Most of the scattered allusions to contemporary Rome or Augustan practices occur in Book 1 and are characterized best as 'the natural references to his own social environment which any writer might be expected to make'. 47 We have already discussed the references to 1nagni ... Palatia caeli, the Roman sociology and topography of heaven, and the Penates in 1.171-6, and to the murder of Caesar in 1.199-205. 48 In addition, Ovid alludes in 1.145 to Caesar and Pompey, as Catullus (29.4) had, to the triumph and the temple of Apollo on the Palatine in 1.560-5, to the custom of young Roman women to wear amber jewelry (2.366), and to the Capitoline geese in 2.538-9. The list of rivers dried up by the conflagration caused by Phaethon concludes with the Tiber (2.259). Further, as we have seen, there is color Ron2anus in stories such as those of Philemon and Baucis and of Battus (2.676-707), who is changed into the kind of stone Romans would hold in their hands when swearing a sole1nn oath. 49 All this, however, does not constitute a thematic movement toward a Roman-Augustan climax. Myths like the gigantomachy (1.151-62) and the exploits of Hercules (9.1-272), which were used by other writers for a poetic glorification of Augustus' deeds, have no such overtones in the Metamorphoses. When we reach Books 12-14, where Ovid takes up myths which for the Romans were at least 'para-history', 50 it again is not Ovid's purpose to give them a Roman or Augustan import. The story of the fall of Troy, which Ovid had already singled out in the Art of Love as the supreme example of narrative flexibility, 51 provides the opportunity for just that. The controversia between Ajax and Odysseus, and the vicissitudes of Hecuba and Memnon are all well told and, as is often the case, only loosely connected. The fall of Troy is not

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set against the backdrop of the destiny of the new Troy, Rome. In the subsequent part of the Metamorphoses, his 'Aeneid', Ovid's concern once more is with the narrative possibilities of n1yth rather than thematic grandeur or even consistency. If anything, metamorphosis, and not the destiny of Rome, is the controlling theme of his Aeneid. The same is true of the speech of Pythagoras which, together with the story of Hippolytus (15.492-546),accounts for more than half of Book 15. The Roman-Augustan topics that crop up in between, i.e. the list of Alban kings (14-609-21),whom the Julian family claimed as their ancestors ( cf. F asti 4.40), and the apotheoses of Romulus and Hersilie ( 14.805-51), are separated from one another and overshadowed by yet another variant of a familiar type of Ovidian story, whose protagonists this time are Vertumnus and ). The brief account of the conflict with the Pomona ( 14-622-771 Sabines (14.772-804)centers on the timely metamorphosis of a cold spring into a hot one and contains one of the most succinct summaries of the founding of Rome (14.774-5): f estisq ue Palilibus urbis moenia conduntur. [ On the festival of Pales, the city vvalls were founded.] Even vvith all due allowance for Ovid's practice of interspersing mythological cycles with unrelated stories, there is no Rome cycle in the same sense that there is one about the Cadmeans, Perseus, or Hercules. The eulogy of Augustus and the account of Julius Caesar's apotheosis are not the organic end of a persistent thematic development. They are 'dedicatory in intent and, as dedications, stand outside the course of the narrative'. 52 On the other hand, a good case can be made for the Roman purpose of the Asclepius episode (15.626744), which precedes them. It is the only story in the entire Metamorphoses which Ovid introduces by invoking the Muses (15.622-5). The underlying idea of the rather extensive account of the god's sojourn from the omphalos of Greece to Rome is indeed, as Frankel has observed, 'that Rome has become the center of the civilized world'. 53 It is entirely in keeping with Ovid's usual practice in such long episodes that even here the humorous touches are not missing.

254

Ovid, Vergil, and Augustus

They consist mostly in the visual over-explicitness with which the movements of the snake and his use of the ship are described. Ovid's treatment of the situation is another testimony that he is still the same Ovid as in the earlier books. As we saw earlier, his humor would be given too one-sided a function if it was interpreted as existing for the sole purpose of undercutting or parodying the serious. What are we to make of the fundamental irrelevance of Augustan and Roman themes to the Metamorphoses? It would be too facile to call them, as if often done, a 'Greek poem', because no Greek, and certainly no Greek at the time of Augustus, ever produced anything like the Metamorphoses. Modern practice to the contrary, ethnic denominations are inadequate for defining the essence of ingenium. It is more pertinent to elaborate what we said earlier about Ovid's modification of the idea of Roma aeterna in the speech of Pythagoras (15.42off.) and its supersession by the idea of the eternity of poetic achievement. 54 It is possible that the word perpetuum, which Ovid chose in lieu of the more common and metrically equivalent continuum (carmen ), m~y imply this notion besides its obvious recall of Callimachus' aeicr1JJx oi17veKe~.55 The idea is clearly expressed, of course, in the epilogue which is the formal counterpart to the poem. Here· Ovid pointedly asserts that the perpetual fame of the Meta1norphoses is impervious even to Javis ira, the wrath of Jupiter (15.871). In the Tristia, Ovid uses this phrase to refer to Augustus. 56 The argument, however, that Ovid wrote the epilogue to the M etamorphoses after his banishment is not especially compelling because, as we have seen, this epilogue is the natural culmination of the intensely personal achievement which the Metarnorphoses constitute for Ovid. It is an integral part of the poem rather than a belated polemical afterthought. The case for the identification of Jupiter with Augustus in 15.871 therefore rests with the context of Book 15. In 15.857-8, Ovid compares Caesar and Augustus to Saturn and Jupiter, and in lines 858-60, he speaks of the similar roles of Jupiter in heaven and Augustus on earth, a comparison reminiscent of the beginning of Horace's Fifth 'Roman' Ode. In line 866, however, Ovid discontinues this analogy. Jupiter now is quite distinct from Augustus as Ovid invokes Jupiter Capitolinus to grant Augustus a long life. When the reader reaches the phrase Javis ira, it is the distinctness of Jupiter and Augustus, and not their -identification, that is foremost in his mind. 11oreover, with I ovis ira Ovid reuses a motif (fulminis

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iranz; 15.81I) from his account of the indestructibility of the books of the Fates (15.806ff.), specifically the fates of the Julian family. This echo is a forceful expression of Ovid's conviction that the eternity and imperviousness of his own poem to the ravages of time will not be inferior to anything. His own claim to fame is equal to that of the Julians. Unlike theirs, however, it does not depend on divine guarantors. Ovid does not mean to be condescending here. After his de-empliasis of the positive, divine functions of the gods throughout the Metamorphoses he could hardly invoke deities in such a capacity. The epilogue is an unequalled expression of confidence in the inherent immortality of creative literature; after Ovid still had asked for the gods' guidance for his undertaking in his proem, he now stresses the imperviousness of the completed work even to the power of their foremost representative. Since it serves as the best established analogue, the eternal quality of the Julian achievement is not depreciated, and Javis ira is not simply a polemic defiance of the Augustan house. But Ovid's creed is that the nature of his own achievement, which is creative, literary, and non-political, is even more enduring than political power and attainment. Poetic fame is even more indestructible than the greatness of political order or empue. It would be forcing the evidence if we construed the absence of Roman-Augustan themes in most of the poem and their treatment in Book 15 as a polemical, engagee antithesis between the Ovid of the Jyfetaniorphoses and the Augustan state. Those who have argued this case may point to the analogy of the problem that ars latet arte sua, which we confronted earlier, 57 and say that outright, openly stated defiance was hardly possible. Hence, they argue, we need to look out- for subtle nuances. By its nature, the method is prone to overinterpretation, as it perhaps has to be. We should note, however, that in the A mores and the Art of Love Ovid could be outspoken in stating his disagreement with Roman-Augustan values. The chronology of the poems sheds some light on this contrast between the earlier poems and the Metamorphoses. At the time he wrote the A1nores, the Augustan program or the pax Augusta, and the welcome difference it provided from the upheavals and the -system by which it had been preceded, were momentous events that called for and found poetic response and discussion. But as Augustus' reign wore on, the generation of Vergil and Horace,

Ovid, V ergil, and Augustus which had witnessed the pre-Augustan dislocations, passed away. When Ovid wrote the Metamorphoses, he wrote for his generation, a generation whom Tacitus viewed as having been reduced to political inertia by the deliberate exploitation, on the part of Augustus, of dulcedo otii-the attraction of leisure (Ann. 1.2). It is doubtful that this state of affairs was the result of Augustus' scheming rather than the natural product of decades of unprecedented peace and prosperity. The poetry that was written for the society of the late Augustan age reflects the changed ambience. It would be unnatural to expect it to have the same fervor and concerns as the wartime and post-war poetry of the generation of V ergil and Horace. The change from the Art of Love to the Metamorphoses, which were substantially completed within ten years of one another, may seem more startling. Permeated as it is with allusions to the Roman locale and Roman customs, the Art is as Roman a poem as can be, though the quality of its nationalism is totally different from the poetry of V ergil, Horace, and even Propertius' fourth book of elegies. On several occasions, Ovid takes issue with central aspects of Augustus' antiquarianism only in order to disassociate himself from it. 58 The absence of such overt criticism in the Metamorphoses has been interpreted either as Ovid's conversion to Augustanism or as a change to latent anti-Augustanism. Neither can be adequately supported from the text of the Metamorphoses, and this is one indication that this binary system is not applicable to the poem. When Ovid does not accord much mention to Augustus and his policies and programs in the Metamorphoses, it is not because he is 'antiAugustan' but because 'for Ovid and his generation, the Pax Augusta was not hard-won and still precarious, it was the natural state of things and could be taken for granted. By the time Ovid came to write the Metan1orphoses, it had been the normal condition of Roman life for over thirty of his forty-three years. It did not need celebration, nor even particular acknowledgement. ' 59 There is no evidence for an organization of literary activity and opinion in the late Augustan reign comparable to the fallacious parallel with such attempts in Mussolini's Italy. If anything, as is clear from Dio's and Suetonius' accounts, free speech was as rampant as ever and so was its toleration. More germanely to Ovid's literary purposes, there are no cogent grounds for the assumption that thirty years after the battle of Actium a long hexameter poem a priori was

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expected to deal with gesta Caesaris. The literary taste of late Augustan society Vlas a far stronger element of 'pressure', if one vvishes to approach literary activity under Augustus in those terms, than any interference on the part of the emperor, and there is no indication that such interference took place. Reflecting the change of interest and the untroubled ambience of the times, the1nes that intrinsically were more literary than patriotic became the center of preoccupation. The Metamorphoses are 'Augustan' in the literary sense of the word. They are another masterpiece written during a period of high literary refinement. Their aim, the revivification of myth, is anything but trivial. They were not written under the same historical circumstances as the Aeneid. Therefore they are not concerned with the same themes and they are not a searching of the Roman soul. It is extraneous, however, to use this difference as the basis for value judgements or ideological inferences. The change-a metamorphosis itself-that is exe1nplified by a poem like the Metamorphoses in comparison to the earlier Augustan poetry, has been noted. Like so many other aspects, however, of the poetry of the period it is in need of more judicious definition and appreciation. We do it little justice by writing off all Roman poetry after 8 B.c., the death of Horace, as 'decadent', 60 nor is Ovid's poem the 'silver' lining on the firmament of the history of Latin literature. It is, in a way, the kind of 'courtly' poetry we know from later ages and literatures. It is literature largely written for its own sake, apolitical, and designed for the enjoyment of a leisured and sophisticated audience. It would also be overzealous to attribute bitterly anti-Augustan animus to Ovid's playful allusions to the emperor. In his description of Hercules' apotheosis, for instance, Ovid says that the hero is becoming augusta gravitate verendus (9.270)-'awesome with august weightiness'. Part of the irony of the phrase consists in the play on both the literal and the figurative meaning of gravitas. Ovid goes on to emphasize the literal meaning by following it up with pondus three lines later and with a reference in line 287 to the gravitas, pregnancy, of Alcmena which figures so prominently in the comic tradition. Above all, in the light of the common association of Hercules and Augustus, augusta, an adjective Ovid uses only three times in the poem,