No More Learning

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? THE WORLD OF POETRY
As beaux stand round with admiration big,
Blusking you'll say, "My charm is but a wig.
Some dimpled Gretchen from beyond the Rhine
Merits the fame that once, alas, was mine. "
Such is our lover's career. After many suc-
cesses, after loving two sweethearts at the same
time, after loving with undivided affection each
girl that he sees, after many buffetings and
floutings, he would fain resign. He has had
much to bear. It is not pleasant to sing a
closed-door serenade to your mistress while the
rival is within or to be observed by the latter
as he comes away.
Waste no more honeyed words, fell charm of yore.
I'm not so foolish as I was before.
And yet, the battle of Hate versus Love tor-
ments him:
I cannot live or with you or without.
I think I know my will and still I doubt.
If only she were either less beautiful or more
virtuous, -- but either wish is vain. Ah, well,
there is no escape.
You're mine, whatever else. Decree my fate I
Will you by will I love, or forced by fate?
But no! Let freedom's breeze my broad sails fill!
I'll nolens volens will Love rule my will!
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? OVID AND HIS INFLUENCE
This is a complex sort of freedom, worthy a
place among the metaphysical conceits of
Donne or Cowley. There is an unexpectedly
Calvinistic ingredient in Ovid's erotic philos-
ophy; he finds no difficulty in being damned
for the glory of his mistress. To die in her
embraces, that is the happy end.
Then at the grave some sobbing friend shall say,
"Just as he lived, our Ovid passed away. "
11. THE BEGINNINGS OF A GREATER PLAN
O mihi turn si vita supersit
Tu procul annosa pendebis fistula pinu
Multum oblita mihi. milton
Pulsanda est magnis area maior equis. ovn>
Medea
In one of the poems of the Amores, Ovid
describes the ancient and solemn rites of Juno
which he witnessed with his wife at Falerii, a
town just over the Etruscan border. The sud-
den revelation of Ovid as a sober family man
taking a steep road to attend a religious festi-
val is a bit disconcerting. Yet the tone of the
poem is serious or even devout; Ovid, like a
true Roman, has a relish for liturgy.
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? THE WORLD OF POETRY
'Tis worth the toil to see a splendid rite,
Though rough the hills that take us to the sight.
As the horrors of tragedy are lightened -- and
intensified -- by scenes of comic relief, so there
is a kind of " serious relief," the use of which
Ovid well understands. Satire, said Thackeray,
must walk arm in arm with Sympathy. Humor
needs pathos to give it depth, and the audacity
of Ovid's wit calls loudly for sobriety. The
poet sometimes hears, and sometimes does not
heed. The threnody on the death of Tibullus
in the Amores is spoiled of its seriousness by
over-pretty conceits and the amusing cat-fight
of Delia and Nemesis at their lover's funeral.
One often asks of Ovid, with Dryden, "If
this were wit, was this a time to be witty? "
Wit, as Ovid observed, was his undoing.
None the less, at the time when our poet
was busied with the adventures of his imagi-
nary Corinna and her ridiculous lover, he was
planning greater things. The new work should
be not epic, for he had burned his fingers in
that fire, but tragedy. Ovid was fond of the
drama, as allusions in the Tristia and adapta-
tions in the Metamorphoses amply show. His
play, on the familiar subject of Medea, has not
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? OVID AND HIS INFLUENCE
come down to us, but it won the plaudits of
competent critics like Tacitus and Quintilian.
With the help of Seneca's tragedy on the same
theme, it is perhaps possible to infer that the
conception of Medea in Ovid's play was more
stern and heroic than that which appears in
his later works.
Heroides
O sely womman, ful of innocence,
Ful of pitee, of trouthe, and conscience,
What maked yow to men to trusten so? chaucer
Ignotum hoc aliis ille novavit opus. ovid
Whatever the merits of his play, Ovid was
not encouraged to send others in its train. In-
stead, he hit on a happy device, of which a
suggestion had appeared in Propertius, where-
by both his interest in tragedy and his wit,
wholesomely sobered, could find scope. He in-
vented a series of letters, sent by lonely or
desperate heroines to the men who had caused
their distress. The poems are tragic mono-
logues in form, set over into epistles. Attic
tragedy has furnished Ovid with the largest
number of his subjects, yet some come from
epic, some can be traced no farther back than
the Hellenistic period in Greek literature, and
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? THE WORLD OF POETRY
once, in the letter of Dido, the poet reckons
with an illustrious Roman model.
In spirit, only two of these pieces are within
range of tragic feeling. The despair of Phyllis,
nine times descending to the shore and nine
times hoping vainly for the sight of her return-
ing lover's sails, stirs deeper emotions than
mere sympathy. So do the horror and the
bravery of Canace, victim of her brother's in-
cestuous love, and of her own. The former
story, so far as we know, is no earlier than the
Hellenistic age, when tragedy had virtually
ceased to be. Canace was one of the themes of
Euripides, Ovid's master in many ways; one
can feel Greek iambics under the elegiac dis-
tichs at the close of the poem.
Elsewhere in the Heroides, one waits in vain
for the thrill of tragic pity and fear, even in
the letters of Medea, Deianira and Phaedra,
heroines that figure in well-known masterpieces
of the Attic stage. Ovid subjects the characters
of tragedy to his art of metamorphosis, as his
predecessors in the Hellenistic age had done.
Heroic figures were made over for romance
then as in the Middle Ages. He was a startling
inventor who in Ovid's phrase,
Made fierce Achilles sentimental.
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? OVID AND HIS INFLUENCE
Ovid liked the novelty, and tried his hand at it.
But there is not the faintest breath of romantic
quaintness in his lettres des dames du temps
jadis. Ovid's is not a chronicle of wasted time,
or
Beauty making beantiful old rhyme
In praise of ladies dead, and lovely knights.
He invites the romantic into the light of
common day; his pathos is human and con-
temporary. It is varied enough; it attends the
patient longings of Penelope, the humorous
timidities of Laodamia, the tumultuous passion
of Sappho. The poet has a modest garden, but
he cultivates it intensively.
The writers in the Heroides are thus, after
all, characters in elegy rather than tragedy and,
perforce, characters in the kind of elegy that
Ovid had made his own. The use of the elegiac
metre is thus appropriate, if not inevitable.
Wit, the poet's supporting virtue and his em-
barrassing vice, breaks forth in season and out.
Briseis, he cannot forget, is heroine not only
in the Iliad, but in Horace's ode to a young
friend in love with a maid-servant. In Ovid's
poem, humor plays delicately on the surface
of pathos, -- dangerous skating, which Horace
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? THE WORLD OF POETRY
would have applauded. Laodamia is treated
with a freer hand; she well-nigh becomes mat-
ter for comedy. As her husband sails with the
army for Troy, she cautions him to beware of
Hector on the field. His campaigns are else-
where.
In love, not war, a par fit, gentil knight, --
So let my dear one love, while others fight.
And let him be cautious in the landing! In the
thousand ships, be his the thousandth, and of
all on board, be he the last to leap ashore! All
this would turn the lament into burlesque, if
this were all. Again, as in Briseis, the under-
tone is pathos, with an approach to tragic
irony; for Protesilaus was to leap forth first,
not last, and fall by Hector's spear.
The strands of grave and gay fail to unite
in the Heroides when gayety brings us from
the heroic age plump into that of Augustus.
Tell-tale reminiscences of the Amores are all
too plentiful. Penelope apprehends from her
husband the dreadfully Ovidian reproach of
rusticity. Briseis slips from her tent quite in
the manner of Corinna eluding the concierge.
Phaedra has studied an advance-copy of the
Art of Love. The heroine of Euripides, to be
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? OVID AND HIS INFLUENCE
sure, is as adroit, and Hippolytus delivers a
kind of Anti-Ovidius, sive de Arte non Amandi;
but all this finesse is, in the play, caught up
into tragedy, with its deep questionings of di-
vine justice and human fate. When, in the let-
ter, Jove is displayed as the first Augustan and
critic of rusticity, illusion takes wings and the
atmosphere of the Amores is about us.
That ancient piety, doomed soon to die,
Lasted through Saturn's rustic dynasty.
Jove called things righteous if they pleasant be,
Wedded his sister and made morals free.
Ovid does not quite turn Phaedra's appeal into
comedy. Would that he had done so! He has
merely out-Euripidized Euripides.
The poems of the Heroides, despite their
artificialities, lapses in taste and the presence
of jocoseness where one looks for grief, are
alive today for the reason that Ovid has ac-
complished the chief purpose for which he
wrote them. We should regard them not as
unsuccessful attempts at tragic monologue, but
as thoroughly competent studies of woman's
moods. To Catullus and the other predecessors
of Ovid in love-elegy, woman is an unsolved
riddle. The poet can analyze his own emotions,
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? THE WORLD OF POETRY
but back of them is the impenetrable cause,
from which he moves uneasily away. Lesbia
is vividly a person because her worshipper is.
We can reason back, theologically, from effect
to cause, and have no doubt that she very
much exists. We know that she is beautiful
and passionate and wicked; she bites. But
what the inner workings of her soul are, Catul-
lus cannot tell. He can get no farther than
sentio et excrucior. Tibullus and Propertius
are still less capable of an answer. We doubt
the reality even of their own feelings; their
mistresses fade into the background of literary
conventions; it matters not whether Plania was
really Hostia or who she was. Nor has Ovid,
in the Amores, much place for an analysis of
woman's moods. His chief amusement is in the
invention of his myth and in the ridicule of
the romantic lover who figures in it. But Ovid
is equipped by a superfeminine acuteness,--
I speak as a man -- to understand women. He
is a member of that small coterie to which
Euripides before him, Chaucer, Boccaccio,
Shakespeare and Meredith after him had right
of entrance. It is in the Heroides that our poet
blithely embarks upon the great adventure:
Insano iuvat indulgere furori.
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? OVID AND HIS INFLUENCE
There are manifold types of woman and
woman's moods in the poem, -- wife, sister,
step-mother, servant, shepherdess, queen, the
trusting girl, the vengeful woman, the ingenue
and the adept in passion and its art. The study
of Phaedra will satisfy us better, if we look
not for tragedy or even pathos, but for a
searching analysis of a woman's longings, cas-
uistries and wrongs. Ovid's Phaedra is less
noble than the heroine of Euripides's play, but
she is altogether as complex. In his portrayal
of Dido, our poet subjects himself even more
audaciously to comparison, and has been
treated with general contumely and misunder-
standing for his pains. Ovid is not correcting
Virgil. He is picturing a different heroine, less
queenly, more subtle. He would interpret the
turnings and returnings of her emotions, like
the colors on the changing sea, at the moment
when, certain of her betrayal, she would send
her sister to implore Aeneas for a short re-
prieve. It will not do merely to say that Ovid
has replaced a heroine by a woman. No truer
woman ever suffered than Virgil's Dido. But
Ovid avoids tragedy; his Dido is a person of
more humor, irony and common sense. She is
in one mood, -- when she speaks of her unborn
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? THE WORLD OF POETRY
child -- more heroic, not less.
She can be fairly
blunt and brutal in showing her traitor the
commercial advantage of settling in Carthage.
Then in an instant she is a weak and loving
woman, begging her life of him. Dryden de-
clares that Virgil's portrayal of Dido must
yield to the Myrrha, the Biblis, the Althaea of
Ovid, who has "touched these tender strokes
more delicately than Virgil could. " 8
Incidental to Ovid's plan is a certain de-
preciation of his own sex. There is material for
a comic Aeneas in Dido's letter. He is fickle,
rock-hearted, short-sighted, perjured, supersti-
tious, ungallant and somewhat naive; he thinks
that after seven years of miscellaneous buffet-
ings on the deep he is the darling of the gods.
He owes his safety to her, not them; she saved
him from a watery grave and gave him food
and clothes. His eye is on the main chance and
his great mission is the love of war for war's
sake; he is bellicose but not heroic. Above all,
-- here is a slam at Virgil -- he is fickle and
feminine. Varium et mutabile Aeneas! So is
Jason,
Mobilis Aesonides vernaque incertior aura
mobile piu che il vento! Ovid has pointed the
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? OVID AND HIS INFLUENCE
way for Chaucer's Legend of Good Women and
partly depicted Meredith's egoist, -- that is,
any man -- who is as capricious as a woman
and who finds woman capricious chiefly be-
cause his logical processes operate less quickly.
Ovid damned Aeneas for all time and pre-
vented some readers from understanding the
tragedy of the fourth Aeneid, which needs, and
displays, the suffering of the hero no less than
of the heroine. Ovid's Aeneas is the father of
a long line of villains, ridiculed by Jean de
Meun, by Chaucer, by Shakespeare, by Scar-
ron and by Prior in his infamous couplet:
Nor sing I Aeneas, who led by his mother
Got rid of one wife and went far for another.
But Chaucer and Shakespeare, and Ovid, too,
are writing for a purpose, in which a tragic
Aeneas would be eminently out of place.
If we remove the Heroides from the realm
of tragedy to that of psychology, and allow
Ovid's wit a wider range than first appeared
appropriate, we shall better understand his
heroical letters and their writers. Nothing
would have amused him more than to see an
excess of seriousness imputed to them. When
Henry Esmond read Lady Castlewood his ver-
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? THE WORLD OF POETRY
sified renderings of the Epistles, particularly
the strains in which Medea and Oenone call
after their false lovers, "she sighed and said
she thought that part of the verses most pleas-
ing. " Thackeray had no small share of the
anima naturaliter Ovidiana, for he adds: "In-
deed she would have chopped up the Dean,
her old father, in order to bring her husband
back again. But her beautiful Jason was gone,
as beautiful Jasons will go, and the poor en-
chantress had never a spell to keep him. "
-
The Double Epistles
Ovid's friend Sabinus took up the cudgels
for the men, by composing answers, unhappily
not extant today, to several of the heroines'
letters; the heroes were allowed to explain
themselves. Ovid, acting on this hint, wrote
three double letters, message and reply, be-
tween Paris and Helen, Leander and Hero,
Acontius and Cydippe. It is strange that the
genuineness of these poems was debated so
long; if they are not from Ovid's pen, an
ignotus has beaten him at his own game.
The letter of Paris is a masterful application
of the precepts of the art of love. He begins
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? OVID AND HIS INFLUENCE
by declaring his passion. That is the whole
story; he loves her. But more, his love is di-
vinely enjoined. Appointed arbiter in the con-
test of the three goddesses, he favored Venus,
and Helen is the prize. He has come over the
seas for her. And when he saw her, -- it seemed
the vision of Venus again. But is he worthy?
His lineage springs from Jove and his kingdom
is far wealthier than poor little Sparta. Poor
little Sparta? That was not well said. The land
that gave Helen birth is paradise. Yet, really,
such beauty needs transplanting to an even
fairer garden. And the women do dress well in
Troy; receptions are crowded with models of
the latest style; the very latest seems not yet
to have reached Sparta. Poor old Menelaus, he
ill appreciates his treasure. Oh the torture of
that banquet, to see him at her side! Paris
could but sigh, and gather from the lips of little
Hermione the kisses that her mother had left
there, and sound her handmaids, Clymene and
Aethra. Ah, if she would but yield to the Fates
and abandon the impossible contest between
virtue and beauty, -- such beauty as hers!
Simple little Helen, -- he will not call her rus-
tic -- not to see that the gods are on their side.
The laws of heredity can hardly create Puri-
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? THE WORLD OF POETRY
tanism in the offspring of Leda and Jove. It
is all arranged by her husband's stupid com-
plaisance, his lack of any feeling for her. How
lonely her couch must be! Her lover's is lone-
liness itself. He can offer her eternal fidelity
and a right royal progress amidst the crowds
of Troy. No harm in that, no prospect of
calamity or war among the nations. Jason
stole Medea from Colchis, and no Colchian war
ensued. But suppose a war, is Paris not a
champion? Is Hector not his brother? And
should her beauty launch a thousand ships in
a world-conflict, think what her fame would
be throughout all time. Oh why not obey the
gods and open her arms to the delights await-
ing her!
Who would resist such rhetoric? Not Helen.
A little while she strove and much repented,
And whispering, "I will ne'er consent," consented.
Helen's answer is as delicately contrived as
Paris's appeal; the opening lines tell the story:
"Could I unread, oh Paris, what 1 read,
Chaste should I be, as chaste I once was bred.
But as my eyes are stained by reading through,
'Twere idle vengeance not to answer you. "
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? OVID AND HIS INFLUENCE
This is surrender; the rest is apology. It is a
long apology, with twists and turns, backings
and fillings, defiance and remorse, and absolute
capitulation. She begins in a blaze of indigna-
tion. The taunt of rusticity is the first to be
answered. She admits that her looks do not
suggest the Puritan. Her mood then softens to
one of astonishment, and that to one of in-
credulity. How did he dare? Few wives are
chaste, perhaps, but might she not be an excep-
tion? Heredity counts for little; she labors the
point triumphantly, -- Ovid's women are often
victorious in skirmishes before the great defeat.
Still, she owns that it is a minor argument.
Could she consent, it would be only for love.
She had noticed his doings at table; she dwells
on them with a certain fondness, particularly
the greedy look in the rascal's eyes. He would
have made a fine lover, for some other woman,
or for Helen, -- at some other time. Why was
he not among her early suitors? It is wrong,
it is cruel to urge her now. The heart may
yield, but duty opposes. And that contest of
the goddesses, -- a pretty myth indeed. To
think that she, Helen of Troy, should be named
by Venus as the prize. Preposterous! And yet
it is a pretty compliment for Paris to pay.
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? THE WORLD OF POETRY
After all, who knows? It were dangerous to
offend the gods. Perhaps, perhaps, she might
love, if she only knew the way. If someone
had only instructed her in Ars Amandi! If it
were done, then it were well if it were done
secretly. Of course Menelaus is away; really
it was rather ludicrous in him to bid her take
good care of Paris; all that she could say, to
keep from smiling, was "I will. " Oh no, it
cannot be. How shameful to betray such con-
fidence. And her fears, -- possibly the cure for
rusticity would be compulsion. But what will
they think of her in that strange land? Will
she not be an outcast and a thing of scorn? It
is a fascinating prospect, though; what could
the Trojan styles be like? No, it is all false.
Jason made such promises to Medea. There is
something to apprehend from the wrathful god-
desses whom Paris rejected. He is wrong about
the chances of war; there have been plenty of
battles over love. Paris, further, is hardly a
champion. He is born for love, not war. Let
Hector do the fighting, and he, -- oh, he can
have her. Enough of words, Clymene and
Aethra will arrange the rest!
Incomparable audacity, the radiant attend-
ants of Helen of the Iliad degraded to the
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? OVID AND HIS INFLUENCE
circle of Corinna's maids! Bernard Shaw could
not shock us more. It were unforgivable, were
it not a logical conclusion from the Homeric
Helen's acts. Something like this happened in
Sparta. Ovid is thinking out ancient history,
the part that the historians do not record.
Following Euripides, once more, he has trans-
formed heroic lovers, playthings of the gods,
into human beings, and solved a human prob-
lem in a perfect work of art. No less perfect
in art and reality are the letters of Acontius to
Cydippe and the little girl's reply. If apology
or " serious relief" is demanded after Helen's
surrender, it is here. The actors in this little
drama are boy and girl; their love is pure and
tender. Simplicity is not always rustic. Acon-
tius has an untaught art of love unerringly
effective. Cydippe does not submit without a
course of moods, reproach and tantalizing rid-
icule among them, as wealthy, in their way, as
those of Helen. These four poems, and the
moonlit lines describing Leander's swim, would
put Ovid in the front rank of poets, had he
written nothing more.
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? THE WORLD OF POETRY
111. THE ART OF LOVE
Avyseth yow and putte me out of blame;
And eek men shal nat make ernest of game. chaucer
Ah Rustick, ruder than Gothick! congreve .
Scis vetus hoc iuveni lusum mini carmen et istos
Ut non laudandos sic tamen esse iocos. ovn>
After the experiences recorded in the Amores,
it is small wonder that our poet felt himself
an expert in the ways of love. He now writes,
therefore, what is in form a didactic poem,
one that the historian of literature must put
on the same shelf with Virgil's Georgics and
the De Rerum Natura of Lucretius. As the
subject of the new poem is still fit matter for
elegy, Ovid makes no change in his metre.
Had he commenced in the heroic verse that
Virgil and Lucretius had employed, Cupid
would have smiled again, as the beginning of
the Amores pictures him, and stolen away a
foot from every line.
The Art of Love was preceded by a little
work which must have created some excitement
among Roman beauties, on the Art of Cos-
metic (De Medicamine Faciei). Only a frag-
ment of this poem is preserved. It opens with
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? OVID AND HIS INFLUENCE
a panegyric on culture, of which agriculture
was the only sort appreciated in primitive days.
When Tatius ruled, the buxom Sabine dame,
For feats of spinning known to rustic fame,
With country dainties piled the groaning shelf
And dressed her corn-land better than herself.
But these Mid-Victorian virtues are outgrown.
The rising generation in Rome, as possibly in
any age, has changed all that.
For tender mothers bear us tender girls
Who dress in gold and crimp their fragrant curls,
Or cut them off, or wave or bang or part,
And gain complexions with a stroke of art.
O matre molli filia mollior! Ovid has found
his clientele and shown himself a connoisseur.