No More Learning

The malady then attacked the chest. It caused sneezing, hoarseness, and
a violent cough. It afterwards attacked the stomach and caused vomit-
ing and convulsions. The surface of the body was livid and was covered
with pustules. Externally there was little fever, but internally it was
intense. The sick could not bear any covering. They felt an overpower-
ing desire for coolness and an insatiable thirst. Many actually threw
themselves into cisterns but could get no relief, whether they drank little
or much. The sick were continually restless and unable to sleep. At this
stage the plague brought death to many, after afflicting them in all from
seven to nine days. If the patient survived, the malady descended into
the bowels, causing ulceration, diarrhea, and exhaustion, which often
proved fatal. Finally it settled in the extremities. Some lost fingers or
toes, some grew blind, and others were affected with such amnesia as not
to remember either themselves or their friends.
No remedy for the disease could be relied on. What was beneficial
to one man proved harmful to another. Most appalling was the despair
of those who found themselves attacked, for they did not even try to
save their lives. Hardly less appalling was the spread of the infection.
Those who ventured to care for the sick caught the plague themselves,
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? METAMORPHOSES -- BOOK SEVEN
especially if they aspired to heroism. Often even friends and kindred of
the sick fled from the house, leaving them to die untended.
But fortunately those who recovered from the disease were im-
mune afterwards to serious attack and proved most valuable attendants
of the sufferers. All men congratulated them, and in excess of joy they
fancied they could not die of any other sickness. Such immunity to
further contagion is normal for those recovering from an attack of
typhus fever. But the condition of the patient is less fortunate than
Thucydides implied. After a few years he becomes susceptible again to
infection from others, and even after many years his original disease
may return in a virulent form.
In one respect, Thucydides continued, the malady was unique. At
other times birds, wild beasts of prey, and dogs would devour bodies
which lay unburied. Now such animals usually avoided the bodies of
those who died of the plague; and, if they did not, they soon caught
the disease themselves. In fact, they rarely were seen at this time -- a
proof, in the opinion of Thucydides, of their being destroyed by the
plague. If Thucydides was accurate in his statement of facts, his con-
clusion was improbable. The few animals which devoured the bodies
would succumb to typhus fever, but the disease would not become epi-
demic among the rest.
Because of the Spartan invasion, the country people crowded into
Athens during the heat of summer. This exposed them to the plague
and occasioned great loss of life. In their temporary lodgings the dead
lay one upon another. The dying crawled about every fountain. In the
emergency men no longer regarded the sancity of temples. These too
were used as lodgings and became filled with corpses. The customary
laws of burial were forgotten. Ceasing to lament for the dead, men dis-
posed of the bodies hastily in any way that offered itself. They did not
scruple to burn them on the funeral pyres of other people and to lay the
ashes in ground which rightfully belonged to others.
Lawlessness became general. Neither piety nor virtue seemed of
any avail. Everyone appeared to be under a sentence of speedy death.
Those who behaved honorably would not survive to be held in honor, and
those who did ill would not live long enough to be called to account. Many
did not scruple to indulge without restraint in the pleasure of the
moment.
This famous account of the plague influenced many later authors,
notably Procopius in his history and Boccaccio in the Decameron.
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? CREATION OF THE MYRMIDONS
But the most remarkable influence appeared in the work of Lucre-
tius. At the close of his great poem this author dealt with the cause of
disease. It is a scientific fact that the presence in the air of an unusual
quantity of gas from decaying animal or vegetable matter promotes
the increase of harmful bacteria. Diseases are caused indirectly by an
unwholesome atmosphere. But Lucretius imagined that diseases were
caused directly by germs floating in the air and that the whole atmos-
phere of the country was infected. The idea was general in ancient
times, it was repeated during the eighteenth century by Gibbon in his
account of the plague at Constantinople, and it has been refuted only
recently. The atmosphere of every country, Lucretius went on, is in-
fected by certain forms of disease. The inhabitants become used to
them, but strangers are apt to sicken. Sometimes the atmosphere of
one country moves to another country; an unfamiliar infection pollutes
the water and grain, often destroying cattle; and it may also bring a
plague on human beings. A famous example was Athens infected by the
atmosphere of distant Egypt.
Lucretius proceeded to a description of the Athenian Plague. He
did not indicate the historical situation, and he left out the brighter
side of the picture, notably the immunity of those who recovered and
their tending the sick. Lucretius devoted his attention to the symptoms
of the disease and the demoralization of the people. In this he followed
Thucydides rather closely, but often intensified the horrors, so that his
narrative became overweighted with what was abnormal and repulsive.
Lucretius heightened the effect with new details observed probably
during pestilence of his own time. Some of these details were observed
in epidemics of the same plague, typhus fever. Thucydides had spoken
of the sick as retaining their bodily strength during the first stage of
the malady. Lucretius spoke of their suffering immediate prostration,
which ordinarily is true of typhus fever.
He noted also how the eruptions of the skin resembled those of
erysipelas, which is true of typhus fever in certain epidemics. But other
details suggest plagues of a different kind. Lucretius described the
tongue as swollen, rough, and bleeding -- a usual effect of small pox;
and his references to twitching of the hands, nosebleed, and the general
appearance before death suggest the normal effect of typhoid.
He mentioned a spread of the plague from Athens into the coun-
try, destroying farmers in their huts. He told of the confusion at
funerals, adding that it led often to strife. But he did not mention
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? METAMORPHOSES -- BOOK SEVEN
other forms of lawlessness -- perhaps because his work remained in-
complete.
Lucretius had studied a plague among human beings. To Vergil
his example suggested study of a plague among animals domestic and
wild. In the Georgics Vergil described a pestilence which had devastated
Illyria. Following Lucretius, he imagined that an unfamiliar atmo-
sphere inundated the country with strange infection, but he noted also
the intense heat of autumn. With Lucretius he noted the pollution of
water and subsistence of cattle, but he mentioned specifically lakes and
pastures.
Although much information had been available about the Athenian
plague, Lucretius had added realistic details from his own observation.
Since little information was obtainable about the Illyrian plague, Ver-
gil went much further. For almost all detail he drew on his own observa-
tion of sick animals. His account of symptoms was remarkably accu-
rate and vivid. But he implied a general situation which was improb-
able. Drawing uncritically on observations made at various times and
in many places, he described chiefly the effect of anthrax but also the
effect of a number of other diseases, and he implied that all of them
became epidemic at the same time. In describing the plague, Lucretius
emphasized the element of horror. Vergil introduced piety and pity.
Speaking first of sheep, Vergil mentioned thirst shriveling their
limbs and then watery humor dissolving their bones. The animal stand-
ing by the altar and adorned for sacrifice fell down in the throes of
death; or, if it was killed by the priest, the scanty blood hardly tinged
the sacrificial knife. The flesh would not burn, and the entrails afforded
no guidance to the seer. Among the pleasant fields and before the full
cribs the calves died in herds. Madness beset the usually harmless dogs.
Contagious pneumonia attacked the swine. The horse which had been
victor in the race languished, and Vergil described in detail his terrible
death. Vergil told at some length of the ox falling at the plow and
perishing sadly, despite his faithful labor and temperate life. Unseemly
buffaloes must draw the car at Juno's temple; men had to cultivate their
fields by hand. The wild creatures too were stricken and forsook their
normal ways. The wolf no longer threatened the herds; deer wandered
with dogs near human habitations. And, with splendid imagination,
Vergil added even more remarkable details, such as the sea creatures
lying dead on the beach and the water snake perishing, his scales erect
with terror.
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? CREATION OF THE MYRMIDONS
Nothing could check the disease. The remedies attempted in-
creased the evil. Chiron and Melampus labored in vain. Tisiphone,
accompanied by Disease and Dread, raged in the fields. Bodies lay in
heaps decomposing or they were buried wholesale in pits, for the plague
had ruined flesh, hide, and fleece. Even men fell sick, if they put on
clothing made from the infected wool.
In describing the plague at Aegina, Ovid profited by the example
of all his predecessors. Following his Alexandrian authority, he at-
tributed the plague to a hostile deity. Juno, angry because the island
was named after her rival, Aegina, sent this terrible affliction on its in-
habitants. It was strange that she delayed until Aeacus had become an
old man, but Ovid may have supposed that she was offended chiefly by
the growing prosperity of the island. The supernatural cause gave
Ovid's narrative a traditional and impressive effect, and it made easier
the choice of striking detail.
With the Iliad and Sophocles, Ovid imagined the plague as attack-
ing first animals and then human beings. But in his description he
relied chiefly on the more scientific narratives of Thucydides, Lucretius,
and Vergil. These authors helped him to give a stronger sense of reality,
and they allowed him to choose what he found best from much circum-
stantial detail. Ovid combined the element of horror in the work of
Lucretius with the piety and pity in the work of Vergil. He appreciated
Vergil's moderation and his method of contrasting the normal, flourish-
ing state of the animal with the terrible effects of the plague.
Thucydides, Lucretius, and Vergil had been scientific in their aim
and had been anxious to show the actual course of a pestilence. Their
purpose limited them to details which were scientifically probable and
required them to include all details which would further an understand-
ing of the facts. Ovid was interested only in literary effect -- in sug-
gesting terrible destruction. He was not limited by scientific probability
or obliged to give more than was necessary for his own purpose. Lucre-
tius and Vergil had seemed to digress from the main course of their work.
Ovid made his description an essential part of the story.
All previous accounts of pestilence, from the Iliad to Vergil, had
been impersonal and general. This was true even of Thucydides, who
had been present at the time of the Athenian plague and himself had been
attacked by the disease. But Ovid made his account the personal nar- -
rative of King Aeacus, an eyewitness of the event and the one chiefly
concerned in the catastrophe.
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? METAMORPHOSES -- BOOK SEVEN
In accord with Thucydides, Ovid showed Aeacus observing how at
first the formidable nature of the malady was unknown and how the
physicians combatted it in vain. The circumstances preceding the epi-
demic Ovid took chiefly from Lucretius and Vergil. South winds blew
continually, causing sultry heat. Ovid added that during four months
there were continual clouds and fog. The infected air polluted springs
and lakes. But Ovid also introduced and magnified the Alexandrian
author's idea of a serpent poisoning the water. Thousands of serpents
crawled through the fields and tainted the rivers with their venom.
He then told of the plague among animals. The details he took
chiefly from Vergil, but he recorded them in better order and made his
description more concise. Although he felt obliged to omit some ad-
mirable passages, this was an advantage. Like Vergil, Ovid indicated
first the extent of the destruction. It fell on dogs and birds, sheep and
cattle, and wild beasts. He noted the death of oxen at the plow. And,
since by poetic license Vergil had called them bulls, Ovid followed his
example. The sheep bleated feebly, while their wool fell off and their
bodies rotted away. The horse, renowned on the track, forgot his earlier
glory and groaned in the stall, doomed to an ignoble end.
Wild animals too became infected. Here Ovid used several fine
details from Vergil but added also a number of his own. The boar for-
got to rage, the deer to flee, the bear to attack the herds of cattle. Vergil
had introduced the Fury Tisiphone raging in the fields and causing
widespread death. Ovid omitted the incident, probably because he had
introduced Tisiphone prominently in the tale of Athamas. Through all
the country, he continued, there lay decomposing carcasses, filling the
air with stench. Dogs, birds, and hoary wolves avoided them and left
them to spread contagion.
The plague soon passed to human beings, first in the country and
then in the city. Here Ovid followed Lucretius, but not closely, and
again he made the description more concise. In individual cases the
vitals were consumed with fever, the face was flushed, the breathing
labored. The tongue became rough and swollen, the mouth was open
and gasping. No bed or covering was tolerable. Ovid added the pic-
turesque idea of the sick vainly throwing themselves flat on the ground,
in the hope of cooling their bodies. But the ground did not cool them.
On the contrary it became hot. With Thucydides he observed that phy-
sicians themselves perished from the disease, and with Vergil he noted
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? CREATION OF THE MYRMIDONS
that remedies increased the evil. The more faithful the attendants, the
more quickly they caught the plague.
The sick, despairing, grew reckless of precautions and restraints,
for nothing availed. Shameless they lay in fountains, streams, and
cisterns and drank unsatisfied until death. Ovid added a further horror.
Many, unable to rise, died in the water; yet others did not scruple to
drink it. Ovid then elaborated effectively ideas of Thucydides and Lu-
cretius. So hateful did their sick beds appear that many forsook them.
The weakest rolled about on the ground; the others fled from their
homes, hoping so to avoid the unknown evil. One could see them stagger-
ing about the roads or prostrate on the ground, weeping, rolling their
eyes, and extending their hands towards the pall of clouds.
Aeacus longed to die with his people. Everywhere he saw them lying
in heaps, like mellow apples or acorns shaken from the tree. Thucydides
had spoken of prayers as useless; Lucretius had spoken of parents fall-
ing dead on the bodies of their children. Ovid combined these two ideas
in a more effective manner. Aeacus pointed out to Cephalus a temple
of Jupiter, with its long flight of steps. How many, he said, brought
thither fruitless offerings! How often a husband praying for his wife or
a father for his son died, still holding part of the incense unused!
Euripides in the Hippolytus had mentioned it as a rule of the gods that
one deity should not thwart the purpose of another, and probably for
this reason Ovid showed the people of Aegina obtaining no help even
from Jupiter, their divine patron and the king of the gods.
Ovid then adapted effectively a detail from Vergil. Often, he said,
bulls standing at the altar and being decorated for sacrifice fell, with-
out receiving the stroke. While Aeacus himself was about to make such
an offering in behalf of his family and his people, the animal uttered
dreadful bellowings, fell down, and hardly stained with its blood the
sacrificial knife. The disease had so ravaged its vitals as to make them
useless for augury.
Human bodies were piled before the temple doors and -- more
horrible -- before the very altars. Thucydides and Lucretius had
spoken of the sick as not even trying to save their lives. Ovid declared
that many hung themselves, anticipating their fate. He then followed
the account that Lucretius had given of funerals. The usual ceremo-
nies were lacking, for they could not be performed. The dead either lay
unburied or were heaped indiscriminately on pyres. Men fought for a
chance to burn the corpses of their friends. No kinsmen were left to
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? METAMORPHOSES -- BOOK SEVEN
serve as mourners. And Ovid added still other striking circumstances.
The souls went forth unwept -- matrons and brides, young men and old.
There no longer was a place for graves or wood for funeral fires.
Previous accounts of plague had said nothing of any recovery.
From the Iliad to Lucretius they implied that effects of the pestilence
remained indefinitely, and Vergil declared that in his own time Illyria
still was deserted. But Ovid's Alexandrian predecessor had mentioned
a repopulation of Aegina by the transformation of ants. Ovid saw an
opportunity to introduce a new ending, and he emphasized it by skilful
elaboration.
According to ancient tradition repeated by the Manual, Greece had
once been afflicted with drought; and Aeacus, a man famed for piety and
a son of Jupiter, had been chosen to pray for relief. His prayer was
answered by a loud roll of thunder and abundant rain. Ovid imitated
the incident in his tale of the plague. Aeacus prayed his divine father
either to restore the people or to send him also to the grave. A peal of
thunder resounded in answer. Then Ovid invented a picturesque inci-
dent. While Aeacus rejoiced, he turned towards a venerable oak, the
seed of which had come from Jupiter's sacred grove at Dodona. Up the
trunk and along the branches a column of large ants was ascending.
Amazed at the number of the insects, Aeacus prayed for an equal number
of citizens. The branches and foliage of the oak swayed and rustled in
the still air.
Ovid took much pains to impress his readers with the wonder of the
transformation. Aeacus, terrified at what seemed like a response to his
prayer, kissed the ground and the tree, not daring to confess his hope
even to himself. But the idea remained in his thoughts, and while he
slept that night the scene returned in a dream. As the oak trembled in
answer, it shook the swarming ants to the ground. Gradually they be-
came men and women. Waking, Aeacus dismissed the vision as incredible
and lamented the wreck of his country. But the palace, long silent and
empty, filled with the noise of human voices. Aeacus thought it still a
dream, until Telamon entered and bade him come and behold something
incredible. Hastening forth, Aeacus found the same people of whom he
had dreamed, now saluting him as their king. To them he apportioned
the vacant lands and justly gave the name of Myrmidons. They still
retained their original industry, thrift, and valor and would prove good
soldiers when Cephalus should obtain a favorable breeze.
The east wind, said Ovid, had brought Cephalus to Aegina and it
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? CREATION OF THE MYRMIDONS
had not ceased blowing. Cephalus must delay his return until the wind
should blow from the south. From the point of view of navigation this
was a curious reason. The east wind had not prevented Minos from
leaving Aegina or from sailing to Megara -- in a direction only a little
different from that of Athens. And, unless another factor was involved,
there would seem to be no reason why Cephalus should not use a wind
from any direction. But Ovid wished to detain him as the narrator of
still other tales, and he caught at any pretext for delay.
Ovid's account of the Myrmidons interested many authors of later
times. Dante in the Convivio noted the conduct of Aeacus as illustrating
virtues proper to old age. In the Inferno he compared the wretched
state of the falsifiers to that of the people of Aegina when the island
needed repopulation by the metamorphosis of ants. Chaucer remem-
bered in his Legend of Ariadne the cordial relations between Athens and
Aegina and imagined that Theseus too visited the island.
Many authors recalled Ovid's account of the plague. To Manilius
it probably suggested his mistaken idea of the Athenian plague begin-
ning in the country and spreading to the city. Seneca in his Oedipus
imitated many of Ovid's details. Lucan used a few of them while describ-
ing a plague that afflicted Pompey's army. In Lycidas, Milton noted
that sheep,
Swollen with wind and the rank mist they draw,
Rot inwardly and foul contagion spread.
Gray remembered a detail that Ovid shared with many accounts of the
plague. In The Bard he spoke of hungry birds as avoiding corpses of
the Welsh heroes. And Shelley often followed Ovid when he described a
dread plague in The Revolt of Islam*
*Remarkable descriptions of plague, not influenced by Ovid, were those of
Evelyn, Pepys, Defoe, Manzoni, Bulwer Lytton in Rienzi, and Conan Doyle in Sir
Nigel.
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? METAMORPHOSES -- BOOK SEVEN
Cephalus and Peoceis
The next morning, while Aeacus was still asleep, Ovid continued,
the two older sons, Peleus and Telamon, began assembling troops, and
the third son, Phocus, conversed with the Athenian ambassadors. Pho-
cus, who enjoyed hunting, observed that Cephalus had with him a
javelin of extraordinarily fine workmanship. The head was made of gold
and the shaft of some unusual kind of wood. Referring to this weapon,
Phocus learned from one of the sons of Pallas that it had the further
merit of always hitting the animal at which it was aimed and then
returning spontaneously to the hunter. With heightened interest Phocus
proceeded to ask many questions. Cephalus answered him but hesitated
to mention at how sad a cost he obtained such a javelin. By this observa-
tion Ovid would appear to mean the temporary estrangement of Cepha-
lus from his wife, but the context indicates that he was thinking rather
of her tragic death. Remembering the lost Procris, Cephalus shed tears
and observed that his javelin would cause him life-long grief, for it had
brought destruction both to him and to his wife.
Cephalus then told the circumstances which formed the background
of the tale. His wife was Procris, daughter of King Erechtheus of
Athens and sister of the ravished Orithyia. This information Ovid had
given already near the close of the preceding book. But Cephalus added
that both in beauty and in character Procris excelled her sister. The
marriage proved one of mutual affection, he continued, and it seemed
happy both to others and to him. But this opinion was not shared by
all. Describing in the Aeneid the death of Ripheus, the most just of the
Trojans, Vergil added the memorable comment, "To the gods it ap-
peared otherwise. " He thought apparently that, if the gods had con-
sidered Ripheus just, they would have given him length of days. Ovid
made a similar comment on the idea that Cephalus had been happy. To
the gods it did not appear so, or they might have made his happiness
permanent. With this introduction Cephalus turned to the events of the
story.
In the Odyssey, Ulysses had noted Procris as one of that company
of ladies who loved and perished haplessly -- an idea which Vergil re-
peated long after in his Aeneid. The early epic called Epigoni observed
that Cephalus killed his wife accidentally and was purified of guilt by
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? CEPHALUS AND PROCRIS
the Thebans. Sophocles treated the myth in a play which is now lost.
Pherecydes appears to have recorded the following circumstances.
Cephalus, doubting the loyalty of his wife, disguised himself beyond
recognition and tried to seduce her. She yielded to his temptation, and
husband and wife were for a while estranged. Becoming reconciled, they
often went hunting together. One day when Procris was following a
wild beast through a thicket, Cephalus, not realizing where she was.
killed her accidentally with a javelin.
Another Greek author, whom we cannot identify, elaborated inter-
estingly the account of the estrangement and reconciliation. Procris, he
said, took refuge with the maiden goddess, Diana. The goddess made it
possible for her to obtain the reconciliation. She gave Procris a javelin
which never missed and a dog which never failed to take the quarry.
Disguising Procris beyond recognition, she bade her return, and show
the gifts to Cephalus. Delighted with them, Cephalus became so anxious
to possess them that he offered marriage. Procris revealed herself, and
Cephalus realized that he was guilty of the same offense for which he had
blamed his wife. While residing with Diana, Procris had engaged in
hunting, and she afterwards was glad to share this pursuit with her
husband. Callimachus, alluding to the new version, mentioned Procris as
a comrade of Diana.
Later Alexandrian authors gave the story a less attractive form.
The javelin and dog, according to Eratosthenes, had been given by
Jupiter to his paramour Europa and had been inherited by Minos of
Crete. Procris took refuge, not with Diana, but with Minos. He pre-
sented her with these remarkable gifts and presumably seduced her. In
the Manual, the story reached a still lower plane. Originally a certain
Pteleon courted Procris, offered a golden crown, and seduced her. Ceph-
alus, who presumably had no part in the affair, learned of it and
became estranged from his wife. The Manual then told in some detail
of the seduction by Minos. Fearing the hostility of his queen, Pasiphae,
it continued, Procris became reconciled to Cephalus. The Manual said
nothing, however, about her tempting him while in disguise. After the
accidental killing of Procris, Cephalus was tried before the Athenian
Court of the Areopagus and was exiled for life. Nicander too recorded
the myth. Although he agreed in most respects with the Manual, he
gave an account of the first seduction which was more nearly in accord
with earlier tradition. Cephalus doubted the loyalty of his wife and
tempted her by encouraging another man to seduce her. To these later
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? METAMORPHOSES -- BOOK SEVEN
Alexandrian versions, Ovid alluded in his Remedies for Love, observing
that Minos deserted Pasiphae for Procris.
In the Art of Love, Ovid retold the concluding incident of the tale,
the death of Procris. Greek authors, in the early part of the story,
often had shown Cephalus jealous of Procris. Ovid in the latter part of
the story showed Procris jealous of Cephalus. Alexandrian authors had
treated the theme of a husband so interested in hunting that he ne-
glected his wife and caused her to suspect him of being unfaithful. The
wife tried to watch his behavior from a concealed place but she perished
disastrously. In a tale recorded by Parthenius the hounds attacked and
killed her. This general idea Ovid associated with the accidental killing
of Procris. She did not go hunting with Cephalus, he said, but remained
at home. Cephalus used to spend the morning in pursuit of wild beasts
and at noon to visit a particular spring on Mt. Hymettus and enjoy the
cool, refreshing breeze (ewtro). He used even to address the breeze,
urging it to visit him. Informed of this, Procris imagined that he was
courting some nymph named Aura. In great distress she went alone to
the spring and concealed herself, alternately hoping and fearing. On
this occasion Cephalus addressed not only the breeze but also Zephyr.
Happy to find herself mistaken, Procris would have rushed to him. But,
as she stirred the leaves, Cephalus imagined that a wild beast was near
and wounded her fatally with an arrow. She survived only long enough
to tell him of her tragic mistake.
For the Metamorphoses Ovid planned to retell the whole story of
Cephalus and Procris. He decided to use material both from the un-
known Greek author and from his Art of Love and to avoid the gross-
ness of the later Alexandrian accounts. Both husband and wife were to
be loyal, and yet without cause both were to indulge in jealousy. For
this purpose Ovid elaborated the tale and altered it at many points.
First he associated it with a myth of Cephalus and Aurora. In
Greek mythology the goddess of dawn often was supposed to have car-
ried off some beautiful youth. The Odyssey mentioned her abduction of
the hunter Orion. The Theogony gave an account of her carrying off
Tithonus. Although she conferred on him immortal life, she neglected
to add immortal youth and so he withered and at last was transformed
into a cicada. Later Greek authors usually followed this account and
regarded Tithonus as the aged husband of the Dawn.
The Theogony spoke of Aurora as abducting Cephalus also and
as bearing him a son named Phaethon. Euripides declared in the Hippo-
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