Men, Marriage and Mistresses: Ovid's Use of Myth in the Ars Amatoria I-III

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Surname, Initial(s). (2012). Title of the thesis or dissertation (Doctoral Thesis / Master’s Dissertation). Johannesburg: University of Johannesburg. Available from: http://hdl.handle.net/102000/0002 (Accessed: 22 August 2017).

MEN, MARRIAGE AND MISTRESSES Ovid’s Use of Myth

in the Ars Amatoria

Jacqueline Diack

MEN, MARRIAGE AND MISTRESSES: OVID'S USE OF MYTH IN THE ARS AMATORIA

JACQUELINE DIACK (NÉE DUTTON)

909603005

THESIS

submitted in fulfilment of the requirements for the degree

DOCTOR LITTERARUM ET PHILOSOPHIAE

LATIN

in the

FACULTY OF HUMANITIES

at the

UNIVERSITY OF JOHANNESBURG

SUPERVISOR: PROF J.L.P. WOLMARANS

CO-SUPERVISOR: PROF W.J. HENDERSON

Submission date: October 2018

NASO MAGISTER ERAT

Ovid Ars Amatoria II: 744 & III: 812

ii ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

Thanks are owed to my supervisor, Professor Hansie Wolmarans, for his patience and insight. His knowledge and shared interest in mythology have provided sound guidance and motivation throughout this undertaking, which has proved to be both interesting and challenging.

Gratitude is also owed to my co-supervisor, Professor Bill Henderson, who told me in my second year at the University of Johannesburg (then RAU) that an undergraduate degree offers the one opportunity in life to indulge our every educational whim; a conversation that led me to major in Latin.

I would also like to acknowledge the people who graciously carried heavy books, second- hand books, books with explicit titles, and even books in foreign languages, back home to South Africa in their luggage. Without them my book collection would have been a considerably less impressive ‘love affair’ with Ovid.

Lastly and most importantly, I owe an immense debt of gratitude to my family. To my husband, Warren Diack, I offer thanks for his support and patience, without which I could not have completed this dissertation. For the time I took for writing from occasions that would have been spent with them, I especially thank my children, Mina and Cora. In memoriam, I hope my father finally understands why Latin.

iv ABSTRACT

Ovid’s Ars Amatoria (The Art of Love) consists of three books. The first teaches the young male lover the where and the how of winning over a desired mistress. The second explains how to keep her once he has successfully charmed her. Finally, the third combines the advice of Books I and II and contextualises it for a female audience. In this newly established genre of erotodidactic poetry, Ovid retells nine Greco-Roman myths at length: the rape of the Sabine women, Pasiphae and the bull, Ariadne and Bacchus, and Deidamia and Achilles in Book I; Daedalus and Icarus, Ulysses and Calypso, Helen and Menelaus, and Venus and Mars in Book II; and Procris and Cephalus in Book III.

The aim of this study is to establish how Ovid uses these myths to critique, maintain or restructure male-female amorous relationships within Roman patriarchal society. To date, such a study has not been done systematically. The method used to explore this problem was to establish the extratextual context of the Ars Amatoria (biography of Ovid; the Leges Iuliae about marriage, the literary background and intended audience). Each mythical digression was then analysed by reconstructing the traditional version(s), and comparing them with Ovid’s retelling (intertextual and intratextual analyses). In this way an account was given of Ovid’s creativity and perspective on how men and women should love each other.

The results of the research may be summarised as follows. Ovid’s disenchantment with the traditional system of arranged marriages probably stems from his own experience. His first marriage was arranged and brought two people together totally unsuitable for one another. His second wife left him for reasons unknown, while his third wife fulfilled her duties quite well. Ovid did not pursue a military career, but rather promoted the idea of being a soldier of love. The Leges Iuliae were promoted by the Emperor Augustus to maintain the social fabric of the ruling classes in the Roman Empire. Adultery was a punishable offence and the laws did not promote fulfilling liaisons between males and females attracted to one another. Adultery therefore continued unabated and Ovid pretended to aim his advice at

v the lower classes, the poor, in order not to seem to promote transgression of the Leges Iuliae. It is hypothesised that the popularity of his ideas spread at recitationes of his books, and that this was the reason for his being exiled by the Emperor. The honour-shame code of behaviour, regulating marriage, is heavily criticised by Ovid. The Trojan war was started to avenge patriarchal values of shame, not to rescue an abducted dear wife. To promote his ideas of mutual choice and pleasure in male-female relations, Ovid created the new genre of erotodidactic poetry, containing elements of epic as well as Roman love elegy.

In making use of these ancient myths, Ovid did it in such a way as to entertain his male and female audience, supplying a rationale for their life-styles which included extra-marital affairs, and establishing his own authority. Furthermore, he retold the myths in such a way as to use them as exempla to charter a brave new basis for relationships as being based on love and fulfilment. To form a successful liaison and to maintain it, necessitates skill. In this way he debunked typical ‘myths’ associated with male-female affiliations, and replaced them with new perspectives. Ovid denies that women need to be controlled by men and that deception and violence are acceptable to do so. Instead, he proposes persuasion by the skilful use of words. The view that women like to be raped was widespread. Ovid denies this even when making use of myths which are about rape. He argues that rape is illegal and without art. Typical of a male patriarchal vision is the idea that desire in women becomes abnormal and excessive if not under male control. Ovid deconstructs this notion. He does argue that women are forced by society to hide their desire behind modesty, and that the male lover should take the initiative. He should, however, be able to distinguish this desire from true disinterest. The misconception that success in love is dependent on physical beauty and sexual prowess is also discredited. Being educated, being able to use words well, tell stories, and understand the female psyche, are more important in the long run. The typical emotions of lust and jealousy should be controlled in service of self-control and the use of skill. To maintain a relationship requires hard work. Finally, Ovid forcefully condemns the belief that the use of love potions and magic spells are successful in awakening and maintaining a love interest. The skilled art of seduction on many levels is what really counts.

vi The carrier of these outdated values would have been elegy. Ovid therefore openly criticises the traditions of the elegiac genre, opting for a more transformative erotodidactic alternative.

Ovid has been unfairly judged as being a promoter of illicit affairs, but he was actually paving the way for enlightened 21st century views of male-female relationships, as being based upon mutual fulfilment on a bodily and intellectual level, as well as the acceptance of these relationships as basically and possibly transitory.

vii NOTE ON THE TEXTS

In quoting the Latin text of Ovid’s Ars Amatoria I have used the Loeb Classical Library’s Ovid: The Art of Love and Other Poems (translated by Mozley 1979: 11-175). I have retained the v as it appears in the source rather than replace it with the consonantal u.

For the spelling of Greek names I have generally used the Latinised forms, for example, Hercules rather than Herakles. Where differing Greek and Roman names for a character occur, such as in the case of Odysseus (Greek) and Ulysses (Latin), I have used the Latin name, except in instances where the author uses the Greek name in the primary source.

All English translations provided are my own, unless otherwise stated.

When referring to the works of ancient authors I have used the abbreviations in Lewis and Short’s A Latin Dictionary (1879). Where not available, I have referred to the abbreviations list in the Oxford Classical Dictionary (Hornblower & Spawforth 2003).

I have maintained the traditional Roman numeral system when numbering books written by ancient authors, but have numbered poems and chapters of books using the Western Arabic numeral system.

viii TABLE OF CONTENTS

AFFIDAVIT ...... iii ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS ...... iv ABSTRACT ...... v NOTE ON THE TEXTS ...... viii TABLE OF CONTENTS ...... ix SECTION A – INTRODUCTION ...... 1 Chapter 1: Research Problem ...... 2 Introduction ...... 3 Research Problem and Rationale for the Study ...... 4 Review of Secondary Literature ...... 5 Conclusion ...... 12 Chapter 2: Methodology ...... 13 Introduction ...... 14 Research Method Employed ...... 14 Structure of Study ...... 16 Chapter 3: Socio-Historical Context ...... 18 Introduction ...... 19 Ovid, the Man and the Poet ...... 19 The Laws of Augustus ...... 22 Ovid’s Audience ...... 28 Conclusion ...... 32 Chapter 4: Literary Background ...... 34 Introduction ...... 35 Definitions and Functions of Myth ...... 35 Myth within the Ars Amatoria ...... 36 The Concept of Rape ...... 38 The Genre of Roman Love Elegy ...... 41 Distinguishing Author from Narrator in Elegy ...... 46 Conclusion ...... 48

ix SECTION B – ANALYSIS OF THE MYTHS RETOLD WITHIN THE ARS AMATORIA ...... 50 Chapter 5: Delineating the Ars Amatoria ...... 51 Introduction ...... 52 Book I Myths Catalogued ...... 54 Book II Myths Catalogued ...... 55 Book III Myths Catalogued ...... 55 Conclusion ...... 56 Chapter 6: The Rape of the Sabine Women (Book I: 101-134)...... 58 Introduction ...... 59 Summary of the Presumed Traditional Myth ...... 59 Ovid’s Use of the Myth ...... 62 Conclusion ...... 77 Chapter 7: Pasiphae, the Unfaithful Wife, and the Bull (Book I: 289-326) ...... 79 Introduction ...... 80 Summary of the Presumed Traditional Myth ...... 81 Ovid’s Use of the Myth ...... 83 Conclusion ...... 98 Chapter 8: Ariadne and Bacchus (Book I: 525-564) ...... 101 Introduction ...... 102 Summary of the Presumed Traditional Myth ...... 102 Ovid’s Use of the Myth ...... 104 Conclusion ...... 121 Chapter 9: Deidamia and Achilles (Book I: 664-718) ...... 124 Introduction ...... 125 Summary of the Presumed Traditional Myth ...... 125 Ovid’s Use of the Myth ...... 128 Conclusion ...... 143 Chapter 10: Daedalus and Icarus (Book II: 21-98) ...... 145 Introduction ...... 146 Summary of the Presumed Traditional Myth ...... 147 Ovid’s Use of the Myth ...... 149 Conclusion ...... 166

x Chapter 11: Ulysses and the Sea Goddesses (Book II: 99-144) ...... 168 Introduction ...... 169 Summary of the Presumed Traditional Myth ...... 169 Ovid’s Use of the Myth ...... 172 Conclusion ...... 190 Chapter 12: Menelaus and Helen (Book II: 337-372) ...... 193 Introduction ...... 194 Summary of the Presumed Traditional Myth ...... 195 Ovid’s Use of the Myth ...... 197 Conclusion ...... 206 Chapter 13: Mars and Venus Exposed (Book II: 535-600) ...... 209 Introduction ...... 210 Summary of the Presumed Traditional Myth ...... 211 Ovid’s Use of the Myth ...... 214 Conclusion ...... 230 Chapter 14: Procris and Cephalus (Book III: 683 - 746) ...... 233 Introduction ...... 234 Summary of the Presumed Traditional Myth ...... 235 Ovid’s Use of the Myth ...... 237 Conclusion ...... 251 SECTION C – CONCLUSION ...... 253 Chapter 15: Conclusion ...... 254 Problem Statement and Method ...... 255 Socio-Historical and Literary Context ...... 256 Analyses of Mythical Digressions ...... 257 Conclusion ...... 266 SECTION D – BIBLIOGRAPHY ...... 269 Ancient Sources ...... 270 Books and Articles...... 277 Images ...... 285

SECTION A – INTRODUCTION

Chapter 1 Research Problem

2 Introduction

The Ars Amatoria is a collection of 3 books written by the Roman poet, Ovid, as a manual teaching the ‘Art of Love’. It was published around 1 BCE (Hornblower & Spawforth 2003: 1085; Melville & Kenney 1990: ix). The prologue boldly claims that the goddess of love, Venus herself, chose the narrator to reveal his knowledge.

The suggestion of the opening couplet is that any member of the audience who does not know the art of loving should read this work and he will find love by applying the skill he has been taught. Book I explains to the men of Rome the process of choosing the feminine object of their desire, including where to meet her, how to behave, what to wear and other helpful tips on hygiene and appearance. Book II instructs the reader in methods of impressing his lover, with the intention of keeping her. While the first two books are specifically addressed to the young men of Rome, the third addresses a female audience. In concluding his trilogy with advice for women, Ovid equals the playing field in the game of love by equipping women with the tools for successfully fulfilling their role within an amorous affair.

In all three books, Ovid gives expression to the female voice, making it an invaluable text. Ovid is one of the first authors to consider the female persona extensively, and he does so by making significant use of mythical exempla. These mythical references are used with varying intentions throughout the work. Ovid’s insights into both the male and female nature and his intentional use of myth in discussing their amorous interactions are successfully combined by his skill as a poet. This in turn secures this work’s status as a noteworthy text for a wider audience than just those interested in gender studies. The text can in essence be described as an investigation of male-female relationships explored through myths.

3 Research Problem and Rationale for the Study

The range of Roman male-female relationships was extensive. From the outset it is clear that the advice of the Ars does not pertain to Roman marriage. It seems therefore that this work is either a critique of or an attack on the typical Roman arranged marriage. Traditional Roman marriage was not primarily concerned with fulfilling personal relationships, but with the survival and power of noble families specifically and the Roman state in general. Ovid, however, speaks of a relationship that benefits and pleases both male and female participants. For this reason, it is important to make a distinction between the two types of relationships, namely marriage and extra-marital amorous affairs.

In presenting his instructions, Ovid’s text is saturated with both Greek and Roman myths that serve as his examples of male-female interactions. His references include myths such as that of the love triangle of Helen, Menelaus and Paris, Pasiphae and her infamous passion for the bull that fathered the famous Minotaur, as well as the exposure of Venus and Mars. Some myths he uses in their traditional sense, sometimes he omits notable elements and sometimes he selects a particular version. Some are mentioned more than once in the work, even linked to a different lesson than before. For the most part, no more than a few lines are spared to retell a myth. However, in certain instances Ovid dedicates a number of lines to a particular myth, retelling it in considerable detail and for a specific purpose. Only nine myths are given this privilege of an extended retelling across the expanse of the work. Ovid’s extensive and inconsistent use of mythology in a didactic text supplies the rationale for this thesis. Therefore the problem which this thesis will research is how Ovid makes use of myth to support his argument. To date, such a systematic study has not been undertaken and it is foreseen that an original contribution to the function of myths in argumentation and instruction, in Ovid specifically and in mythology in general, would be made.

4 The problem will be deemed solved when: (a) the main myths used by Ovid have been identified; (b) the argumentative, didactic or other function of each main mythical digression catalogued; (c) the way in which Ovid adapted each main mythical digression from tradition explicated; (d) the way in which Ovid’s use of myths structures male and female roles in romantic relationships is specified (i.e. how gender is institutionalised in the myths; how acceptable and non-acceptable behaviour are presented; and how relationships should function ideally); and (e) it is established whether Ovid implies a rethinking of traditional Roman marriage and male-female erotic relationships.

In order to address the questions posed above, it is important to consider both the presumed traditional myth and Ovid’s version of it. This is done in part by reviewing and comparing Ovid’s text with those of his predecessors and his contemporaries. Knowledge of the research of modern scholars is also imperative.

Review of Secondary Literature

Through a review of relevant literature it is also possible to ascertain whether this study makes a contribution to the existing body of literature that exists about Ovid and his Ars.

Within his own time, Ovid’s Ars Amatoria was banned by Emperor Augustus. It is generally presumed this was for its explicit sexual nature, but the reason remains unknown. Traditionally Ovid’s Ars was viewed with contempt, considered inappropriate due to its content, and thus was seldom studied extensively. Despite his immense skill, Ovid’s works have often been termed ‘frivolous’, even by his contemporaries (Quint. Inst. 10.1.98). Blunt (1928: 183) says the following of him: “Ovid, who also wrote in Augustus’ reign, is a great story-teller, and his verse is faultless in form; but he is not a real poet.”

5 Much like the surge in popularity it experienced in the Middle Ages, interest in Ovid’s work has again grown considerably over the last few decades. The primary focus has been his other works, namely the Metamorphoses and the Fasti, with a fair amount of interest in the Heroides and the Amores as well. The Ars has been translated on a number of occasions, but the limited number of comprehensive commentaries of the text are indicative of the limited level of serious attention it has received.

Scholars have written on Ovid’s themes, his works as a whole or have given analyses of particular works, with the Amores and Metamorphoses being the more popular. Ovid has in recent years also begun to receive increased references in books dedicated to the topics of analysing elegy, stylistic literary elements (such as repetition or alliteration) within Roman texts, and many more such subjects pertaining to Roman literature. The corpus of literature does include studies pertaining to Ovid’s use of myth, predominantly in the Metamorphoses, Heroides and Fasti.

Numerous authors have translated and commented on the various texts of Ovid. Riley (1887) provides one of the earliest known translations of Ovid’s complete works. It includes a detailed philological commentary on the semantics, grammar and syntax of specific words. The arguments of the texts do not receive analysis. His bias against the content of the Ars appears when a passage, which he deemed exceptionally vulgar, is excluded from his translation. In general, he uses euphemistic language in his translation, as well as in his commentary. The weakness of his approach is that it does not place the text in its socio-historical context, nor does it actually analyse the male-female interaction within the text or the myths used to shape these relationships.

Wilkinson (1955; 1962) explains the nature of erotic Latin love elegy. He supplies a personal and socio-historic background to Ovid’s works, translating selected passages from Ovid’s works with comments. Wilkinson (1962: 49) views Ovid as a “tasteless boar” but does accept that he had an “unusual tendency to see things through the eyes of the opposite sex”. He provides no further analysis in this regard, although he does discuss a few myths briefly. His books on Ovid were written predominantly as an introduction to Ovid for a reader without a Latin background. While interesting and informative as regards Ovid’s

6 style, his two books do not examine in any depth the myths that Ovid includes in the Ars, nor their relationship to Ovid’s treatment of women.

Humphries (1958), on the other hand, translates the text with a much more sexually explicit overtone. He does not take cognisance of the fact that Ovid’s audience included females also, both from a socio-historical perspective and as stated by Ovid himself. Humphries’ translation gives the impression that the book is a manual for lewd male sexual conquests. He provides no commentary, nor discusses Ovid’s subject matter, thereby lacking any value in a study of the use of myth in the text.

Fränkel (1969) provides a summary of Ovid’s works, with helpful discussions of the socio- historical context, and general syntactic analyses of selected texts. He does not touch on the matter of gender within the text and does not discuss the function of mythology within the Ars Amatoria.

Kelk’s (1975) commentary on Book I: 1-504 addresses the composition and structure of the work, as well as Ovid’s attitude toward Augustus, providing a useful work of reference. He discusses the mythical exempla used in the text, but does not examine them extensively.

Hollis (1977) has compiled the most detailed commentary of Book I available to date. He provides occasional translations of difficult or disputed lines, and his commentary gives some insight into the gender question and that of the relationship of the Ars to traditional marriage. He expresses the opinion that it was necessary for Ovid to make his female characters “more recognisable in a real situation” (1977: xvi). For him, Ovid’s contribution was to de-objectify women. Ovid presented this extensive didactic poem as a manual to approach lower class women so that he might avoid the impression that he was promoting adultery in Augustan Rome at a time when, more than ever, Emperor Augustus was obsessed with safeguarding the traditional institution of marriage. However, in reality, Hollis asserts that he profiles the aristocratic females. Hollis also states that it was Ovid’s intention to be provocative (1977: xvii). He does not, however, discuss Ovid’s critique of Roman society or the institution of marriage, nor does he treat the role of myths within the text at any length.

Murgatroyd’s (1982) commentary of selections from Books I and II provides some helpful background and syntactical information for analysing the text. He mentions the myths briefly in his notes, stating what message they convey to the audience about women, but he offers no extensive analysis of these myths.

Melville & Kenney (1990) supply a more subtle and modern translation of the text, accompanied by a commentary. They discuss the socio-historical setting of the text and state the Ars to have “a sub-text which expresses the poet’s complete mastery of his art and craft” (1990: xx), expressing their view that the text is not actually a manual, but rather a means through which Ovid boasted his poetic abilities. They state the Ars to be different from other love elegy in that it allows the protagonist to be both happy and in love at the same time, rather than lamenting his fate (1990: xx). While they provide valuable information about the text within the context of love elegy, they do not explore the question of the male-female relationship extensively. They also provide no mythological analyses.

Kennedy’s (1992; 2012) primary focus is the discussion around ‘Augustan’ and ‘Anti- Augustan’ literature. He therefore naturally touches on the genre of love elegy. He argues (1992: 42) briefly that myth and legend are fluid in meaning and thus a natural area of dispute, referring to Ovid’s rewriting of the highly influential charter myths1 of Rome as “frivilous discourse” and disruptive to Augustus’ intentions. He views the Ars as necessary in justifying the need for a leader such as Augustus. Thus, although the Ars receives some attention, no beneficial analysis of the function of myth in the poem is offered.

1 Charter myths justify social customs considered necessary for maintaining order and stability (Wolmarans 2001: 15).

8 Sharrock (1994; 2002; 2012) indicates that the Ars conveys a complex sexual and social morality to its audience. Her research area is predominantly gender related, and as such she examines the differences between gender and sexuality. Sharrock (1994) reviews Ovid’s ability to “capture” his audience with his skilfully written poetry. Her methodology includes an extensive inter-textual analysis. While she (2002) states that Ovid provides both a male and female voice in his works, she recognises that it is in a problematic manner. She therefore provides a deconstruction of the messages portrayed by certain Latin words in an attempt to stabilise the gender categories. She examines various Ovidian texts, but gives the Ars little attention, and thus does not speak of the myths used in it. Sharrock (2012) continues to address gender issues within Ovid’s texts, with brief references to mythology and Augustus’ Laws. Although her primary focus is not Ovid’s use of myth, her insight into a gendered reading of Ovid’s texts and the elegiac genre is a very useful point of departure in analysing the purpose of the myths in the text.

Janka (1997) provides the only extant full commentary of Book II. He provides a detailed analysis of the syntax of the text, providing in-depth inter-textual knowledge as well as socio-historical context. It is an invaluable starting point in such a study, but its purpose is not to analyse the use of the myths in depth.

Kenney (2002) provides a detailed analysis of the actual vocabulary used by Ovid in his elegiac poetry, determining which words are particular to Ovid in the chosen use. Although the Ars receives only a small portion of his attention, his insight into Ovid’s elegiac style is significant in distinguishing the purpose of myth within the text.

Holzberg (2002) offers insight into the Augustan laws, as well as the genre of love elegy. He examines the complex elements of Augustan Rome’s social reality versus the elegiac practice of completely contrived personas. Certain myths in the Ars are discussed for the purpose of explaining the elegiac genre and Roman society, thereby revealing their relationship with Ovid’s poetry. The purpose of his work is predominantly to show the topics of mores, men’s desire, women’s pleasure, and their relation to each other in Ovid’s corpus of works. Because of the vast use made of myth throughout Ovid’s works, the subject

9 matter cannot be ignored, but Holzberg references the myths merely in an exemplary manner rather than for the purpose of analysing their specific purpose.

Gibson (2003) provides useful information about social norms, the elegiac genre and the Leges Iuliae in his detailed commentary of Book III. He deals with the female characters in his introduction, mentioning the Leges Iuliae2 briefly and providing some additional historical background. For the most part he provides translation assistance and syntactical analysis of the text with corresponding commentary. His work receives considerable praise for carefully considering all previous research on the text and adding extensive and new insights. Gibson addresses Ovid’s controversial role as instructor to women, as well as the political and literary significance of the content of the text. Gibson does not, however, provide extensive insight into the functions of the myths.

James (2003; 2012) puts strong emphasis on identifying the audience of love elegy and distinguishing the poet himself from the teacher-narrator of this genre. In her process of defining the above-mentioned elements James provides detailed information and socio- historic context, with some reference to the myths. Naturally, any analysis of love elegy would result in a gendered study due to the nature of the texts. James shares her very strong opinion that the praeceptor of love elegy hates women. She gives, in particular from the Ars, very damning examples with which she justifies her statements. Her argument is, however, very one-sided, ignoring any elements within the text which would counter her line of reasoning.

Armstrong (2005; 2006) provides an overall analysis of Ovid’s love poetry as a whole and does not dedicate any particular chapter or theme exclusively to the Ars. She does not focus

2 The Leges Iuliae were laws promulgated by the emperor, Augustus, in this case to regulate and promote the traditional Roman marriage. This is discussed further in Chapter 3 (of this paper).

10 on Ovid’s treatment of the female voice within this text specifically, but rather across his various works. She does, however, give some attention to the myths in the Ars, which is informative but does not clarify their roles within the text sufficiently. Her address of the myths of Pasiphae, Ariadne and Phaedra in Latin poetry provides a detailed intertextual analysis of their references in Ovid, Catullus and Virgil, presenting a predominantly gendered analysis.

Rimmell (2006) refers extensively to the Ars in her study of Ovid’s preoccupation with how desiring subjects interact with and seduce each other. She does explore the relationship between the real male and female worlds, as well as their interactions within the text, but her primary objective is not to provide a detailed analysis of Ovid’s use of myth within the Ars in relation thereto.

Numerous scholars have researched the Roman love elegy genre with no particular focus on the role of mythology in the genre. Luck (1959) wrote one of the earlier critical works about Latin love elegy. More recently, Miller (2004) studies what aspects of the reality of Roman life are exposed in Roman elegiac texts. Liveley and Salzman-Mitchell (2008) consider the relationship of elegy with narratology. Raucci (2011) examines the role of sight in Roman elegiac love poetry extensively. Caston’s (2012) study centres on the many aspects of jealousy present in the genre. Liveley (2012) also considers the role of the genre in perpetuating a rape culture. Gardner (2013) looks at the gendered language of time in Tibullus, Propertius and Ovid. More such theses and papers exist addressing the history and criticism of the genre of Roman love elegy, but none of these works examine the role of mythology in relation to male-female erotic engagement at any length.

Dyson Hejduk’s (2014) translation of the Ars, combined with the Remedia Amoris and the Tristia 2 provides the first book in which the amatory texts and their defence occur in one volume. She provides a comprehensive introduction with detailed notes, offering her reader a view of all aspects of the text, from literature, religion and politics to the sexuality of Augustan society. Her focus is, however, not a detailed analysis of myth.

11 Brunelle (2015) has authored several articles on Ovid and has translated the entire Ars into verse. The focus of his commentary of Book III is on syntax and style, but it provides valuable explanations of elegy and didactic poetry in its introduction. He delineates the social and legal contexts at play and touches on the role of myth within Book III, but he does not provide a detailed analysis of the single myth that Ovid relates at length in the last book of the trilogy.

It is clear from the overview above that no extensive analysis of Ovid’s specific use of the myths within the Ars has been conducted, and certainly not specifically with reference to the structure of male-female amorous relationships. However, to fully comprehend its meaning, and thus appreciate the text, such an analysis is required.

Conclusion

Ovid’s Ars Amatoria is filled with myths, but only nine are told at length. These mythical digressions serve as the primary exempla for his instructions with regard to male-female amorous interactions. Ovid’s use of myth in a didactic text is extensive and inconsistent. This supplies the rationale for this thesis, which will research how Ovid makes use of myth to support his argument. To date, such a systematic study of the function of myths in argumentation and instruction has not been undertaken.

As interest in Ovid grows, so too will the body of available literature. This literary review provides a general indication of the approaches that have been taken thus far. This makes it possible to ascertain whether this study makes a valuable contribution to the existing knowledge base. It is clear from the review provided above that a systematic analysis of the argumentative function of the myths within the Ars Amatoria is lacking. Having made this determination, it becomes necessary to establish a method with which to proceed.

Chapter 2 Methodology

13 Introduction

The primary focus of investigation is the identification and explication of the main mythical digressions in the Ars and their function within Ovid’s argument. In order to accurately solve the research problem, it is necessary to choose and follow an appropriate research method.

Research Method Employed

An approach largely informed from Chandler (2007) is utilised: (a) It will be specified when, for whom, and under what circumstances the Ars Amatoria was written, read and published, and whose social realities it reflected. (b) A working definition of myth is supplied, taken from the standard works like Csapo (2005) and Harris & Platzner (2008). (c) In line with this definition, the main mythical digressions (the myths told in detail and at length) in the text will be identified. (d) Each of the main mythical digressions will then be analysed according to (i) Ovid’s rewriting of the myth compared with the traditional version(s); (ii) Implied information specified, i.e. information presupposed by the text as part of the original readers’ context, be made explicit; (iii) The context in which the myths operate analysed and conclusions drawn as to the didactic, argumentative or other function of each myth. These will be correlated with Dowden (1992), as well as Wolmarans (2000), Csapo (2005), and Harris & Platzner (2008), who all reflect general theories on the way in which myths are used where relevant; (iv) Conclusions drawn as to the way in which Ovid’s use of a specific myth views gender and relationships. This has to do with the rules according to which male-female romantic relationships are or should be structured; and how male and female are profiled; and (v) How these myths relate to the traditional Roman marriage, if applicable.

14 In order to accomplish the above it is imperative that one starts with the text itself, which is the primary approach of this research. Such an intratextual approach ensures we consider the immediate context. I will make use of the normal tools of philological analysis, for example, grammar, syntax, imagery and repetition. In considering the literary composition, analysis serves to establish how a myth functions within a thematic section of the work (for example, places where a lover can be found) and the relevant argument.

Second, it is necessary to review other sources for the myths discussed in the Ars. Intertextuality3 is the presence of another text within a specific text and considers links with other texts. As Ovid uses myths so extensively within the Ars, the likelihood of reference to other texts is increased. Competing with their predecessors (dead or alive) was a strong tradition in Latin poetry (James 2003: 4), thus increasing the likelihood of intertextual references considerably. It is also possible to consult other ancient sources even when no direct citation is made of another author’s work due to the widespread use of myth. An intertextual analysis reveals a variety of approaches to a theme, or myth, thus elucidating the various versions of the myth that would have been known to both Ovid and his audience. It also renders similarities and differences between the texts, thus elucidating the text and its purpose and validity.

Third, an extratextual analysis considers elements such as the socio-historical background which would apply to the text, the literary genre, and concepts such as rape. Ovid was a love poet in Augustan Rome at a time when peace had been secured and moral reforms were the order of the day.

3 The basic work on intertextuality is Kristeva (1969). See also Gillmayer-Bucher (2006).

15 In determining the presumed traditional myth(s), through an analysis of the text and an understanding of the extratextual elements, we are able to ascertain the following about Ovid’s retelling of it: (a) How the traditional myth is related to the version in Ovid’s text (imitated, transformed, parodied); (b) The function of Ovid’s version of the myth: (i) Undermines a traditional perspective, (ii) Supports a traditional perspective, (iii) Proposes an alternative perspective, (iv) Undermines a possible alternative, (v) Entertains the audience, (vi) Establishes Ovid’s own authority.

The function of each myth correlates directly to the author’s point of view, either to support a new perspective, or to extend, strengthen, or undermine existing perspectives. If each traditional myth is considered as if it were an intertextual reference, we can apply Philips’ reasoning with regard to intertextuality. An instance of intertextuality must be assessed to ascertain the way in which it supports a new context or worldview, that is, the author’s perspective (Philips, 2006: 39). Philips (2006: 44) calls this process centripetal, as it “provides a way into the centre—a way to explore the central motifs, sources and influences upon a text,” and centrifugal, in that it “points to a foundationalism of the text in question— it represents what the author thinks is essential knowledge to understand where the text and its own ideology and worldview is coming from.” When each myth is considered with the same approach one would apply to two texts, only this time considering the presumed traditional version alongside Ovid’s version, we are better able to ascertain the function of the myths in the Ars Amatoria.

Structure of Study

This thesis will therefore proceed according to the following structure.

16 The research will be split into three sections. An introductory section will define the problem statement and rationale for the study. A review of secondary literary literature will be included. The methodology will be identified therein also. A socio-historical and literary background will conclude this section.

The analysis section will follow. It will include the identification of the main mythical digressions. A detailed analysis of each identified myth will be provided. Intratextual, intertextual and extratextual facets will be considered.

A concluding section will summarise the argument of Ovid and the way in which the myths function in this argument.

Chapter 3 Socio-Historical Context

18 Introduction

Establishing the social and historical context of a text is a necessary starting point. Without some familiarity with the contemporary audience and historical circumstances affecting the text, it is simply not possible to accurately analyse a literary work. For this reason, some time is taken here to investigate the poet’s own personal history and to identify the moral and legal status of men and women in Augustan Rome. This will allow us to discern the probable audience and explore the function of the myths in this poetic instruction for finding love from an Equestrian elegiac poet of considerable wealth and talent.

Ovid, the Man and the Poet

Publius Ovidius Naso was born into a wealthy equestrian family on the 20th of March in 43 BCE in the town of Sulmo, about 145 km from Rome (Wright 1938: 173). During his early years the civil war transformed Rome from Republic to Empire, but his home-town was luckily not affected and his family life was happy (Wright 1938: 178).

At the age of twelve Ovid was sent to Rome with his brother to complete their formal education. Ovid’s favourite theme of rhetoric was the suasoriae, questions of morals and behaviour that could be treated rhetorically or literarily (Wright 1938: 178). Unless he could examine them from an ethical point of view, Ovid showed no interest in the controversiae, questions of fact treated logically and argumentatively (Wright 1938: 178).

Having completed his studies, Ovid chose not to do the traditional year’s service in the army that was expected of a young Roman man wishing to enter into a public career. He instead went on a tour with another young poet in 25 BCE, which was permitted for those interested in the arts (Wright 1938: 179). On his return to Rome he first took two consecutive legal posts before finally deciding to become a poet.

At that time Virgil and Horace were both in their prime. Both authors wrote what could be considered patriotic works, a natural response from authors who had experienced the civil

19 war. During Ovid’s schooling and his travels Augustus had brought peace and order to Rome. Ovid thus naturally began writing epics and tragedies like the other young poets of the time. One of his first works, and his only tragedy, was Medea. Except for a few surviving lines, Medea is lost.4

Ovid is said to have had many friends with whom he spent days at leisure when he was not writing poetry. According to Wright (1938: 181) he enjoyed the company of women and was popular among the ladies. It was presumably out of these amorous liaisons and social encounters that he began to write the first edition of the Amores.5 It consisted of short poems of 86-106 lines written in elegiac couplets. It is not possible to know how many of these tales of passionate encounters were true and how many were mere stories.

Ovid wrote the Ars Amatoria in 2 and 1 BCE when he was in his early forties (Fränkel 1969: 53). The work displays his natural flair for story-telling (Wright 1938: 218). Michie & Malouf (2002: vi) tell us that it was a very popular handbook, but that it highlighted Ovid’s disregard for Augustus’ moral decrees. Both McKinley (2001: 80) and Kiefer (1950: 310), among others, state that the Ars was one of the reasons for Ovid’s exile. In this series of books he writes about and for the young men and women of his day, who loved clothes and were conscious of their looks and beauty. The Ars was followed by a sequel, the Remedia Amoris, also an elegiac didactic poem. Its subject is the departure from love and its advice addresses how to survive a failed love affair (Fränkel 1969: 67).

4 Quintilian (Inst. 10.1.98.) tells us that Medea shows what Ovid was capable of accomplishing, if he controlled his imagination rather than indulged it. 5 The first edition was published around 25 BCE. A shorter second edition was also published some years later. The surviving edition of the work is dated around 3 BCE (Rodgers 2006: 138).

20 Briefly mentioned in the Ars (III: 205-206), the Medicamina Faciei Femineae, is another of Ovid’s didactic poems written in elegiac verse. Although only a hundred lines survive, it is considered Ovid’s earliest attempt at didactic elegy (Watson 2001: 457). Its subject is the defence of the use of cosmetics by Roman women.

Ovid also wrote a series of epistolary poems, the Heroides. The first fifteen were letters from mythical heroines to their estranged lovers. A further set of six paired epistles includes a response from the male protagonist. Although written in the form of the love elegy, the epistles include dramatic monologues.

Ovid’s Metamorphoses is the longest Roman epic to have been written – made up of 15 books (Wright 1938: 232) and comprising over 250 myths. Like the Ars, the Metamorphoses is also a manual, only this time a manual of mythology from the beginning of time to the deification of Julius Caesar. Unlike Ovid’s other works, it is not written in elegiac couplets, but rather in dactylic hexameter, the traditional metre of epic (Harrison 2006: 87).

Later Ovid wrote the Fasti, an almanac that listed and discussed events in the calendar order in which they occurred, but unfortunately only six books covering the first six months of the year are known to us. The Fasti were published in 8 CE, the year of Ovid’s banishment, which he blames for interrupting the completion of the work (Toohey 2013: 124). No evidence of the remaining six books exists (Fulkerson 2016: 13).

While in exile from Rome Ovid wrote the Tristia and the Epistulae ex Ponto. Both are collections of epistles composed of elegiac couplets. Also written in exile, the Ibis was modelled on a poem of the same title written by Callimachus, the Alexandrian poet. Ovid’s Ibis is a 644-line poetic assault on an unnamed recipient, except for the pseudonym ‘Ibis’. Able to draw on his vast knowledge of myth, the series of elaborate curses “does not make pleasant reading” (Fränkel 1969: 152) as he threatens gruesome fates that had befallen mythical and historical figures.

Aside from the well known works mentioned above, Ovid wrote various lesser known poems also. He is considered by many to have been one of the most talented poets in

21 history (Michie & Malouf 2002: vii). He was able to adopt Greek themes and metres into Latin literature and it is evident that he had a keen interest in social and ethical subjects, and an extensive knowledge of classical myths. The statue alongside - the Statuia lui Ovidiu by Ettore Ferrari - stands in the Romanian town of Constanța (Tomis), in front of the History Museum (former City Hall) in the Ovid Square, the Piața Ovidiu. A duplicate of the statue stands in Sulmona (Sulmo) commemorating Ovid’s birth place. The Romanian town of Ovidiu was so renamed in tribute to Ovid in 1930.

On a more personal note, Ovid was married three times and divorced twice. His first marriage was arranged by his parents and he married very young. He informs us this marriage didn’t last long and describes his wife as neither worthy nor useful (Tr. V: 10.69-70). His second marriage was not as unpleasant as the first, but not fulfilling either (Armstrong 2005: 2). He says very little about his second wife, except that although she was without fault she did not stay with him for long (Tr. IV: 10.71-72). Unlike the previous marriages, his third marriage lasted (Tr. IV: 10.73-74). He praises his wife’s loyalty in his exile poetry (Armstrong 2005: 2), addressing several of his epistles to her in this period. In these he expresses his love for her and also praises her for her competence as the guardian of their property (Wilkinson 1955: 290).

Ovid never returned to Rome and eventually died while still in exile at Tomis, in 18 CE, at the age of sixty (Rose 1954: 326).

The Laws of Augustus

Although we are unable to conclusively say why Ovid was exiled, there is a strong likelihood that it was as a consequence of one of the laws instituted by Augustus to promote moral reform and thus the state.

22 Feeney (1992: 3) describes “Augustanism” as a “disorientating irruption into Roman value- systems” rather than a dogma handed down to a receptive and passive audience. He explains that Romans constructed their world through a series of ideologies formed through discourse and debate, and that one of the primary subjects on which such discourse was centred was that of morals, marriage and adultery.

Marriage was an important element of the state and thus the more formal the arrangement the more support it garnered from Augustus. There were various types of marriage existent in Augustan Rome. Each type of marriage also had its own set of rules and rituals. There were three ways in which a marriage with manus came about. Two formal marriage ceremonies existed: a couple could marry either by confarreatio (sharing of the grain spelt) or coemptio (a pretended sale). The third form included no ceremony. Marriage by usus required one year of continuous cohabitation, after which the wife became subject to her husband’s manus (Pomeroy 1975: 152). If the full year of cohabitation was not fulfilled the marriage remained without manus. Marriage without manus became the most common form of marriage by the end of the Republic (Pomeroy 1975: 155). Marriages with manus were still occasionally found, but marriage without manus was more popular because it did not affect property rights, allowing families to keep their wealth. It also offered the wife more freedom, as she remained under the authority of her father or guardian. It was, however, the tentative nature of marriage without manus that led to a lack of stability (Pomeroy 1975: 155).

As a result of the semi-married status of these couples many women held a position which fell between wife and mistress, a situation detrimental to the existence of the empire. Wright (1938: 210) argues that it incited a desire for pleasure and the resulting lack in Roman family morals. It was this breakdown in the powerful family structure of Roman society, the source of its power, that Augustus wished to remedy. Through its restoration he intended to ensure the survival and power of the vast Roman Empire. To do this Augustus instituted a number of reforms affecting the empire’s finance, administration, army and family structures.

23 In his attempt to regulate the moral sphere of marriage, Augustus instituted certain Leges Iuliae in 18 BCE. He faced the disapproval and resistance of many, as his legislation interfered with the traditional responsibilities of the paterfamilias by rendering a traditionally private matter public (Feeney 1988: 3). These laws restricted women’s expenditure on clothing and jewellery, and inflicted fines on members of the upper classes who chose not marry or married without having children (Wright 1938: 214). The Lex Iulia De Maritandis Ordinibus also promised certain privileges to members of the senatorial and equestrian orders if they married and had children (Holzberg 2002: 43). The Lex Iulia De Adulteriis prohibited adultery by married freewomen, declaring it a public offence only in women (Pomeroy 1975: 159). It was a crime for a man to seduce a married woman or an unmarried Roman freewoman, whether a virgin or a widow (Holzberg 2002: 43). The most severe of these laws allowed the paterfamilias to kill his daughter and her partner if he discovered she was committing adultery and she had not been emancipated from his authority (Pomeroy 1975: 159). Wright (1938: 214) asserts that it also permitted a husband to kill his wife and her partner if he caught them in the act of adultery inside his home. Pomeroy (1975: 159), however, states that the husband was required to divorce his wife and charges were to be brought against her for adultery. If a woman was accused of adultery by an informer, and neither her father nor her husband chose to take action against her, any Roman citizen could prosecute her in a court of law. She was banished for life if convicted (Wright 1938: 214). Although a woman could divorce her husband for adultery she was not required to do so, nor was he criminally liable (Pomeroy 1975: 159). Third party involvement in adultery (such as knowledge thereof) was punished as severely as those actually found guilty of the adultery itself (Wright 1938: 214). In essence, adultery became both a private and a public offence as a result of these laws. However, after demonstrations by the Equites in 9 CE these laws were adapted and reinstituted in a more acceptable form, the Lex Papia Poppaea (Feeney 1988: 3).

It is important to note that the subject of these Leges Iuliae was not prostitution, an industry recognised as part of the old Roman code. Wright (1938: 204) explains that prostitution actually served to protect the virtue of the matrona, and Augustus would thus have had no reason to attack it. From early on in the Republic prostitutes were required to register at the Aedile’s office, where they were issued with a licence in return for a tax they

24 paid. They were required to follow strict laws that dictated that their hair be dyed, or that they wear yellow wigs, and specified distinctive clothing they were to wear. By registering these women gave up certain civil rights and privileges. In addition, once recorded on this register, a woman’s name could never be removed (Wright 1938: 204).

These laws also did not apply to freedwomen (emancipated female slaves). Roman laws were generally created to regulate those things that might threaten their elite institutions (Clarke 2003: 157). Sexual liaisons with freedwomen and slaves were thus not regulated because the children of such liaisons would have no legal right of inheritance against a member of the upper classes. Thus Augustus would not have been offended by poems or actual affairs conducted with freedwomen (Wilkinson 1955: 295). Ovid repeatedly assures his reader that this is the class for whom he writes (AA I: 31-34, AA II: 599-600, AA III: 611-614). Ovid’s reference to hairbands and the border of the stola (AA I: 31-34) are, however, representative of the freeborn married woman. Hairbands can also refer to unmarried women (Holzberg 2002: 111). These are the women to whom the Lex Iulia De Adulteriis Coercendis applied, making adultery a crime if committed with or by them (Hollis 1977: 37). Despite his claims to the contrary, such references to upper class characteristics allows for the poem to also be applied to the wives who were governed by these Leges. Ovid often refers obscurely to a vir who has first claim on the girl of the Ars Amatoria. The ambiguity of the characters in the text allows for uncertainty as to the true intended lover and beloved. Ovid thus treads dangerously on the threshold of defying the law, not because of the sexually explicit nature of the work, but because of the intended recipient student.

Clarke (2003: 157) states that the Romans viewed sex as a pleasurable experience to be pursued, free from the puritanical perspective endowed on it by later Christian morals and literature. In general, even though abstinence was practiced by members of certain philosophies, it was considered as equally unnatural and perverse as the act of emasculating oneself, as practiced by the male followers of Isis (Clarke 2003: 157). Sexual activity and representation viewed as a corrupting influence is a very modern perspective that cannot be applied to Roman attitudes to sex. The wall paintings depicting sexual activity in many upper class homes were both permanent features and intended to be seen by guests. They

25 represented a life of culture and luxury, and serve as evidence of the Roman viewpoint on sex (Clarke 2003: 160). Even the dressing rooms of the Roman suburban baths, frequented by both genders, depicted sexual acts (Clarke 2003: 161). As modern scholars we are exposed to religious, legal and social structures which associate guilt with much of what would have been quite normal and acceptable in Roman society (Clarke 2003: 160).

The subject matter of the Ars did not support the moral code Augustus attempted to enforce. There remains a tendency to attribute this erroneously to their overtly erotic tone. However, the ambiguity of the true intended ‘student-lover’ and ‘girl’ allows for a better argument for an offence against the emperor and possible infringement of the Leges. Publication was nevertheless permitted. It was only after the banishment of the younger Julia, Augustus’ granddaughter, that Ovid’s works were removed from the public libraries. Wright (1938: 215) is one of many authors who maintain it was for their immoral character. As we have no confirmation of the reason for Ovid’s banishment, it is not possible to state this unequivocally. It also seems highly unlikely that this was the reason in view of the Roman attitude toward sex.

In fact, Augustus was himself apparently famous for committing adultery (Armstrong 2005: 111). Suetonius (Aug. 69) reports that not even Augustus’ friends denied that he was an adulterer. Griffin (1985: 22-23) discusses the contents of a letter from Antony appealing to Augustus. In the letter Antony reminds Augustus of pranks and sexual exploits shared at a time when they were friends. Augustus’ own letters address his friends with nicknames and language indicative of uninhibited sexual and adulterous behaviour (Griffin 1985: 23). In light of this, it seems unlikely that the adulterous or sexual content of the Ars played the primary role in Ovid’s banishment.

Sharrock (2012: 82) also states that it was not a question of sexual obscenity, because Roman society retained a lack of inhibition about the representation of sexuality in art, literature and even political opinions. She instead asserts that it was the idea of love, an emotion associated with loss of self-control and outside the norms of the arranged Roman marriage and prostitution. She adds that Augustus’ laws were less about personal sexual values and more about acquiring and maintaining control of middle and upper class society.

26 As such, adultery was considered an offence by a man against his lover’s husband rather than against his wife, and thus an action challenging Augustus’ authority. Sharrock (2012: 82) explains that the didactic mode of the Ars foregrounded problems of authority. The elegiac puella’s ambiguous social status is also brought to the fore because the didactic voice is more direct and thus closer to real life. Ovid is able to create questions around the intended lovers for whom his lessons apply, but he does not disguise his distinct message that this sexual liaison he describes should be characterised by uncontrolled passion and emotion.

James (2003: 5) considers the very definition of the word love as it pertains to the genre of love poetry to be both complex and highly disputed. She asserts that even though the phenomenon of erotic love was acknowledged, it was not always approved of and was even seen as potentially endangering the primary goals of the elite: to control and expand their political and military power. As a result of these goals the private lives of Roman citizens were naturally and always a secondary consideration. She also draws on the work of Cantarella (1987: 127), quoting her statement that “sexual repression of the Roman woman [as] perfectly functional for the purpose of procreation [left] no room [for] love and eroticism”. Although her work carries a strong feminist approach, her assertion, like Sharrock’s, is that it was the idea of personal interest and lack of control that would have offended Augustus rather than the sexually explicit nature of the text.

It is important to note that in the period nearing the end of the Republic and the beginning of the Empire, the Roman upper class married for political alliances and divorced just as quickly and easily (Griffin 1985: 140-141). While very little record is kept of the individual consequences of these nuptial transactions, Suetonius (Tib. 7. 2-3) does provide such an example in his remarks about Tiberius’ suffering when forced by Augustus to divorce his wife, Vipsania, so that he might marry Augustus’ daughter, Julia.

Augustus had married Julia off first at the age of fourteen to his nephew, Marcellus, and shortly thereafter to Agrippa, a great general and statesman many years her senior with whom she bore 5 children. With the death of Agrippa, Augustus married Julia to Tiberius. Julia had numerous affairs with other men (Kiefer 1950: 304) and was said to have been

27 shameless (Kiefer 1950: 306). It is likely Augustus was aware of his daughter’s behaviour for some time and turned a blind eye as long as was possible. Patria potestas permitted him to have her killed for her crimes. He, however, banished her from Rome in 2 BCE for the crime of adultery (Feeney 1992: 6). Her daughter, the younger Julia, was also found guilty of adultery and banished in 9 CE (Kiefer 1950: 309).

Despite the freedoms experienced in her daily life, a Roman woman was legally dominated by a patriarchal system in which traditional forms of Roman marriage served the ideals of the Empire. However, despite legislation and the penalties delivered, the stories of Julia and her daughter demonstrate that there was a great deal of sexual freedom regardless. Wilkinson (1955: 25) makes the statement that Roman wives did not live secluded lives, but would in reality have filled a similar position in society to that of modern women.

It is clear that the laws instituted by Augustus regulated Roman life in an attempt to propagate a moral code that would ensure the survival of Roman power and thus the Empire. It is also only natural that such an attempt would be met by open contempt from various sides, including the poets of love elegy, their friends and audiences.

Ovid’s Audience

In order to determine Ovid’s audience we must look more closely at the actual social positions of men and women in Rome at the time. Roman views of marriage and slavery would have strongly affected social interactions between the classes and the genders (Wright 1938: 204). However, as Wright (1938: 212) notes, the majority of the ruling class of Rome were neither chaste, nor conservative. They indulged in pleasure. And as such, we cannot base our assumptions of who would have experienced Ovid’s poetry on our knowledge of the laws and social mores of the time. We must rather determine his potential audience on a more realistic understanding of social dynamics. Feeney (1992: 4) quite accurately suggests that, despite Augustus’ laws, Roman society was more vocal than normally acknowledged.

28 Ovid was a member of the patrician class and a close friend of Julia, Augustus’ daughter (Fränkel 1969:53). Therefore, had he given a reading of his works Ovid would more than likely have done so at a recitatio (a sort of book launch) among his peers. In addition, much of his work was of a sexual nature, making the more sexually aware and open aristocracy of Rome a more likely audience than the lower classes. Ovid ironically claims to have written the lessons for the poor man, since the rich man has no need of his advice (AA II: 167ff.). Given the greater volume of leisure time available to the aristocracy, and the possibility that as his peers they shared or at least understood some of his perspectives, they were more likely to find relevance in the text than the implied audience. Ovid’s audience thus consisted, at least in part, of the young aristocracy of Rome.

Julia, both a mother and wife, did not allow responsibility to hinder her social calendar, and was seen at the theatre and the circus regularly, often wearing Eastern silks said to have barely covered her body (Wright 1938: 213). She was surrounded by the fashionable young adults of her day. Led by this beautiful and intelligent woman, the younger generation in Rome pursued pleasure.

The actual freedoms experienced by Roman women of the upper classes are evident in examples available to us. Ovid’s audience would therefore certainly have included women, a theory further supported by the later addition of Book III for a female audience. Ovid does not address this advice to prostitutes (Wright 1938: 203) as there would be no point in advising a prostitute on the seduction of a man, let alone the art of keeping him. The intended audience is thus logically deduced as including ordinary women, most likely of the upper classes, as they had access to both education and the work itself, be it in written form or at a reading thereof.

Sellar (1892: 211) explains that in Augustan Rome women played a more important role in society than at any time prior, and that poetry was understandably thus no longer addressed mainly to men. He (1892: 212) asserts that it is also not likely that this female audience were only freedwomen because the taste for pleasure and poetry of pleasure was not confined to this class either. He surmises that Ovid’s readership must have included those of other social ranks openly devoted to a life of pleasure. Literature was no longer

29 written to refine men so they were fit to be senators, but rather taught them to be socially agreeable. Sellar (1892: 336-337) states that the reckless pursuit of pleasure of Augustan Roman society was mirrored and exposed by Ovid’s Ars.

James (2003: 7) also states that women were a natural element of the elegiac audience. She offers as an obvious reason the fact that many poems of the love elegy genre were addressed directly to a fictitious woman who was by assumption able to understand the poem. Elegy also openly states its expectation of female readers, which indicates a likelihood that at least part of the audience would be female. Her concluding justification for female audience members is taken from the poetry itself, which depicts relationships which shift back and forth between conflict and love in the interactions of the male and female players. The poetry relies on the differing male and female perspectives for many of its topoi and arguments to be enjoyed and appreciated.

James (2003: 4) has further defined the typical female audience member as a learned woman, calling her a docta puella. She argues this statement’s validity with the traditions of the genre itself. She explains that elegy is known for its learned composition and concentrated allusion, thus dependent on an educated audience. In order to fulfil the complex composition requirements, writing elegy is as a consequence a slow procedure. For this reason, she asserts that it anticipated a very specific audience. They would have been people the elegist knew personally, and who were educated well enough to understand the poetry; therefore the sophisticated elite.

Despite the strong argument for a female audience, there remains a strong school of thought that supports the theory of an intended male audience. Weiden Boyd (2012: 532) maintains that from the poem’s inception control is a visible and central theme. The initial list of suitable places, the advice about appearance, behaviour and ultimately instructions for sexual satisfaction, place the narrator in control of the subject matter under discussion, she says. His control is declared when he states that his instruction comes not from any muse, but from a skilled poet’s personal experience itself (AA I:29-30). She (2012: 532) states that this masculine identity is important to the role of didactic narrator. She reasons that the narrator’s self-comparison with the masculine heroic figures Typhus, Automedon

30 and Chiron (AA I: 5-18) are indicative thereof. Weiden Boyd (2012: 532) also states that the narrator is the most important character of the book, instructing moderation in love, an oxymoron she takes to be visible evidence of the importance of control within the text. She deduces from this that the audience would have been predominantly male. The vision of love as a military conquest is suggested as further support of this view. She (2012: 532) considers the advice in Book III to be superficial, and possibly more easily understood if considered as a repetition of the previous books from a slightly different point of view. Although Ovid states that it was written for women, she asserts that Ovid describes his female audience in terms most appealing to a male audience. She argues that this implies that Ovid’s audience, intended or in reality, was male. However, by not considering the shift toward depicting women more sympathetically, her argument lacks balance. The long standing tradition of male poets writing poetry for a male audience employed a completely male perspective and voice. Ovid, however, is recognised for the female voice present in his texts, as well as his uncanny ability to describe feminine emotion accurately. Weiden Boyd is correct in her statement that the women of the Ars are described in terminology appealing to the male audience, but this does not mean that a Roman female audience would not or could not have identified with the puella. In addition, as a rule the perspective of Roman authors was male, and a female audience would not have known anything else. Therefore, a male and controlling perspective would not necessarily have excluded a female audience.

Another important element to consider in ascertaining the audience, as mentioned briefly above, is access to the text itself. The two methods of disseminating a text were the circulation of a written text or a reading by the author (Jones & Sidwell 1997: 263). As ancient texts were written predominantly to be heard, they would be read out loud, first by the author (Holzberg 2002: 27). Such a presentation of the literary work to a listening audience could be delivered at a recitatio or at a literary dinner (Jones & Sidwell 1997:264). In Rome, the audience of an authorial reading was thus likely to have been small, selected from the senatorial and equestrian ranks (Holzberg 2002: 29).

The impact of a reading would have been far greater than the silent reading of the text (Holzberg 2002: 29). Later, both before and after they had been published, these works were read aloud by trained freedmen or slaves, known as lectores. The lectores would

31 sometimes entertain a rich gentleman and his guests in this manner. Sometimes the lectores would even perform to large audiences in a theatre (Holzberg 2002: 27). In fact, even when reading a book in private, a Roman would have read it aloud (Holzberg 2002: 28 inter alios).

Feeney (1992: 4) observes that Ovid had numerous audiences, Roman, Italian and International. Holzberg (2002: 28) shares this opinion, asserting that Ovid would have wanted his works to reach a broader audience as quickly as possible. In order to reach larger and further audiences, the author would need to commit to a final written version of his work. The volume of works published by Ovid, and the fact that the Amores is known to have had two editions, support this point of view. However, to produce multiple copies the aid of a bookseller or publisher was enlisted, making books more expensive than the average Roman could afford (Jones & Sidwell 1997: 266).

To have access to Ovid’s work would thus have required an ability to read, the financial ability to purchase his published works or the status to attend a reading of his work, which would have narrowed the potential audience down considerably. The upper classes would have fulfilled these requirements much more easily than members of the lower classes. It is therefore likely that Ovid’s audience consisted predominantly of both men and women of the upper classes.

Conclusion

We can conclude that Ovid wrote for a wealthy, sexually aware and active audience, that would have included women. He was aware of the Leges Iuliae and made every assurance in his work that he was not contravening these complex moral laws, even though we are fully aware his advice would have been most suited to the upper classes who were not permitted to follow his instructions. Although we may not know how much of the instruction given is true to his own beliefs, we can be sure that his socio-political context and personal interest would have played a role in what he wrote about.

32 A friend of Julia, Ovid’s own experience was that of the leisurely wealthy. He clearly had an interest in myths expressing amorous liaisons. He saw an opportunity to reflect and maybe even influence the social transition taking place, which was reflected by both his own life and his works. While Augustan laws attempted to prescribe how marriages should be conducted, the various types of marriage remained a challenge to the emperor’s efforts. It is also clear from Augustus’ own letters and family life that this moral high ground was expedient rather than realistic.

An understanding of the Augustan laws enables one to deliberate the extent to which the true social standing of women and the socio-political opinion of the time were at odds with these laws. Ovid would have experienced this first hand, and so it is only logical to assume that his personality and opinions would have been reflected in the narrator’s voice. Both his own background and the intended audience would certainly have also had an effect on the tone, approach and subject matter of his work. Thus it is obvious that considering the socio- historical elements that might affect a text is an imperative point of departure.

To analyse a text more than just the socio-historic context must be considered. There are also literary elements whose role in the creation and understanding of a text cannot be ignored.

Chapter 4 Literary Background

34 Introduction

A text by its very nature is literary and so it is necessary to review literary elements, such as the didactic nature of the poem. We must define certain terminology, for example myth, in order to explore the reception of the text. The genre of the text also plays a critical role in its interpretation, as is evident by the traditions associated with elegy. The concept of rape must also be considered as it is an integral part of the myths used.

Definitions and Functions of Myth

There are many definitions of myth and legend available, but for the purpose of this study not all are relevant. Ovid’s Ars is a didactic amatory text and this study is interested in the societal function of myth, and more specifically the male-female interaction.

Wolmarans (2001: 14) views myth as either a reaction to our external environment (an attempt to explain or authenticate natural, social, political or religious phenomena before scientific explanation existed) or an attempt to make sense of our internal world (the human mind). Myths therefore are created to maintain or change a status quo on the basis that they reveal supernatural authority, while simultaneously being a creation of the status quo. This circular reasoning results because myth both validates and reflects society.

Myth’s concern with the interpretation and control of our environment rather than with historical facts makes it a valuable literary tool. Dowden (1995: 45) states that myth “can in some ways be more useful than the documentary evidence that we don’t have, if [it is true that] ‘myths illustrate common attitudes more clearly and simply than history’”. He justifies this statement by asserting that history is ideologised and processed, as well as limited by the facts and truth of a matter, while myth has no restrictions and may tell whatever story it likes. A myth might also take place in a timeless past (Kirk 1970: 40). Harris & Platzner (2008: 8) support this view, stating, “myth has a truth of its own that transcends mere fact”. It can, therefore, be expected that an author would expose certain details of the nature of his society through his retelling of myth.

Myths form an integral part of ancient literary tradition (Armstrong 2005: 102). They are some of the oldest known stories and have been retold many times.6 A poet’s treatment of any myth will inevitably interact with the versions of his predecessors. That interaction can simply be the acceptance of the earlier account of the story. Often, though, the poet keeps enough of the traditional narrative so that the myth is still recognisable, but adds a new or distinctive element (Armstrong 2005: 102).

For the purpose of this study stories which explore the actions of heroes, that is men and women with at least one divine parent, will be considered myth. These narratives will share certain common elements. Those which overtly tell stories about divine actors will be included. If they are connected with political aspects, such as the foundation of Rome or Greece and the foundation families, they will be considered relevant. Also to be considered will be narratives which explore sexuality and the relationship between male and female.

Myth within the Ars Amatoria

In myth women could be both passionate and direct, they could experience joy or despair in love, and that love was significant (Griffin 1985: 138). Thus, in elegy the use of myth served a dual purpose. By comparing his beloved to a mythical heroine, the narrator’s love for her acquires both an enduring and authenticating quality. In addition, the mythical element legitimates the work being undertaken both as poem and as amatory text (Armstrong 2005: 95). Ovid, however, does not merely use myth as an adherence to the convention of the elegiac genre. He approaches the topic from rhetorical, literary and psychological angles (Armstrong 2005: 95). Armstrong (2005: 95) states that the existence of a mythical instance

6 Greco-Roman myth maintained a powerful hold on the Greco-Roman world until the acceptance of Christianity (Harris & Platzner 2008: 39).

36 easily confirms the poet’s suggested behaviour as acceptable. Ovid often uses mythical examples as part of or in support of his argument (Armstrong 2005: 95) and the focus of this research will be how he uses myth in the Ars. For example, a myth might be used in a didactic or exemplary manner.

Armstrong (2005: 101) points out that using myth in an exemplary manner can also pose challenges. Sometimes the myths used do not fit easily into a logical pattern, disrupting the flow of the text. A comparison between a modern lover or beloved, and a character of myth is also often not credible. Added to this is the fact that myths have a life of their own, growing and changing with each retelling. It is therefore not possible to determine whether a listener will simply accept the aspect of the myth told in the text with a specific purpose, or if they will draw on other elements of the story they are aware of, even if not mentioned. Armstrong (2005: 102) is, however, of the opinion that Ovid not only is aware of the indefinite nature of myth, but even revels in it.

There are many instances in the Ars that demonstrate both Ovid’s intelligence and dexterity in the variety of ways in which the myths react to their earlier versions, including his own earlier work (Armstrong 2005: 105). He responds not only to the basic story line, but also to the social attitudes and reactions they would invoke. He forms his mythical characters by taking pieces from a mixture of myths about them. Armstrong (2005: 105) states that often the myths serve merely as the scene through which to investigate the psychology of a particular character.

Ovid seems to create themes with his main mythical digressions, of which there are just nine. These are the myths that will be reviewed in this thesis. Most are quite closely linked to the Foundation Myths of Rome. In addition to these nine main myths, many more myths are listed briefly throughout the work. For example, Helen receives numerous mentions in many contexts, while most of the other members of the House of Atreus also make an appearance. Aeneas and the adventures of his journey from Troy to Rome are also incorporated, along with a mention of Romulus and the Sabine Women. Venus naturally makes regular appearances, and her various lovers each play their own role within Ovid’s didactic instruction.

While willing lovers do at times exist, most Greco-Roman mythology generally describes the male-female erotic interaction in terms of violence, control and dominance. These myths therefore often have as their base an element of rape, as women (and men) are often taken against their will. For this reason the concept of rape needs to be delineated and understood within the context.

The Concept of Rape

The appearance of violence and sex alongside each other is a common element of elegy. James (2012: 551) states it is just part of a pattern of violence toward women in the genre. Sometimes they take the form of sexualised violence, and on other occasions suggestions of rape are disguised and can even go unnoticed according to her (James 2012: 551). The duplicitous words used in elegy create these various euphemisms. Violare can be considered as such because of the possible meanings of the word. It can be simply translated as to violate. When referring to a relationship or adultery, it is sometimes read as to interfere (James 2012: 551). It also clearly implies rape in certain texts (AA I: 375). Another word used to imply rape is rapere. The typical euphemistic phraseology thus dulls the reality of rape and rather views it through a male perspective.

Determining when a word is simply a figure of speech and when it indicates actual violence is one of the challenges of reading elegy. At times it can be difficult to determine whether the word means actual force or implies feigned refusal (Sharrock 2012: 193). Pugnare [to fight] and ludere [to play] are examples of such words. Ludere, for example, can imply to deceive, and possibly even to desire. Similarly, the noun vis [force/power] is used in elegy to mean the exercise of physical (masculine) strength to achieve sexual satisfaction (Sharrock 2012: 193). As a result it is sometimes translated as rape. It is also the second person present of the verb velle [to be willing], used in elegy to signify sexual willingness. The subjects of sexual willingness as well as sexual violence, deception and rape cannot be overlooked because they occur frequently in elegy, myth and the Ars.

38 Of first importance is how we define rape. In the modern sense, rape can be defined as a crime of violence and control which is perpetrated through a sexual transgression with a non-consenting victim.7 The same definition can be applied to the act of rape in myth and ancient society. We find differences in the reception of the term then and now. In ancient societies women, children and slaves held a position of subordination to men and perceptions differed vastly. However, the elegiac love genre deals not with social status, but erotic conduct. It is also a medium of entertainment rather than legal literature.

It is therefore important to ascertain whether there is a difference between the reality and the representation of rape. Armstrong (2005: 106) describes a “community of Ovidian heroines whose beauty is unmarred, even enhanced, by their discomfort and distress.” This indicates a prevalence of tormented, but beautiful, women in the works of Ovid. For the most part these characters are the female actors of Greco-Roman mythology, already victims of sexual or other violence and suffering well before Ovid ever addresses their stories. Rape is an integral part of myth. The question which arises is whether Ovid promotes rape, or whether it appears in the Ars merely because it is unavoidable. The importance and challenge of analysing Ovid’s retelling of these mythical exempla lies in the prevalence of violence and stereotypes in the traditional myths and social structures.

In reality there were legal grounds under which rape could be prosecuted. The man under whose authority a woman fell could claim criminal wrong, iniuria, or violence, vis (Pomeroy 1975: 160). The first of these, inuria, resulted in civil rather than criminal penalties (Evans-Grubbs 1989: 69). The act of rape could also be prosecuted as stuprum per vim [illegal sexual intercourse by force], which was a public offence. The Lex Iulia De Vi Publica defined a criminal act, that we today term rape, as forced sex against a boy, a woman or any person (Dig. De Vi Publica 48.6.3.4 and 48.6.5.2; Richlin 1993: 562–563). Under this law the

7 This is my own definition.

39 rapist could be executed if found guilty (Dig. De Vi Publica 48.5.35 [34]; Richlin 1993: 562– 563). Execution was a rare penalty in Roman law and its appearance in the Leges Iuliae marks the importance Augustus placed on the moral code he was trying to enforce.

In light of the harsh punishment possible, a woman was not punished for adultery or stuprum if it was believed that she only yielded through force (Evans-Grubbs 1989: 69). Stuprum was a disgrace viewed similarly to adultery, even though a woman claimed she was unwilling (Armstrong 2005: 129). Stuprum is defined by Pomeroy (1975: 160) as criminal fornication. The women of the upper classes were not permitted to have any sexual relations outside of marriage. Stuprum, however, covers a broader spectrum than just adultery, including acts such as incest and rape. Fantham (2011: 118) explains that to translate the Latin stuprare as “to fornicate” is insufficient. It is a transitive verb and thus requires a direct object, which would be the person who is the object of the transgression, and a male agent, whom she calls the stuprator. In addition, stuprum could only occur among citizens as the legal right to protection from sexual misconduct was only available to citizens (Fantham 2011: 118).

The word used to denote rape in Roman law was violare, while the word rapere appeared for the first time in this sense in the third century in existing legal documents (Evans-Grubbs 1989: 69). Even though the English term rape stems from the Latin word rapere, meaning to seize, abduct or carry away, in Roman law it referred predominantly to abduction (Moses 1993: 50). Therefore, in the rape of the Sabine women myth the primary issue is the kidnapping of the women and the sexual violation becomes a secondary issue. It can simply be defined as bridal abduction. In reality this could occur if a young couple eloped without the bride’s father’s permission to marry. It is in English that the term bore a more criminal, coercive or violent meaning, such as that of stuprum. Only when laws with regard to violence were codified toward the end of the Republic did the legal term raptus ad stuprum emerge, meaning abduction for the purpose of committing a sexual offence (Moses 1993: 50). The term continued to protect only citizens.

Fantham et al. (1994: 217) mention that there is little written evidence that Roman soldiers raped their female captives, although it may have been common practice. The rape of the

40 Sabine women myth, however, combines this concept with guaranteed purity of the first Roman mothers (Fantham et al. 1994: 217). Marriage by capture was also never officially acknowledged in Roman law according to Bremmer & Horsfall (1987: 44). The fact that Emperor Constantine issued an edict in 326 CE severely attacking the practice of abduction marriage or bride theft is, however, evidence of its existence in Roman society (Evans-Grubbs 1989: 59). Constantine’s law was the first unambiguous reference to marriage by abduction in Roman law, although it is clear in Latin literature outside the legal sources that it had been occurring long before Constantine’s rule (Evans-Grubbs 1989: 59) and had simply not been recognised as a criminal offence by Roman jurists and emperors (Evans-Grubbs 1989:67).

If one looks at Greco-Roman myth and culture, female submission and male conquest is typical. Ovid would not have been able to avoid the rape myths in the context in which he wrote, that of male-female sexual liaisons. What we today term rape is also not the same as what was considered rape in ancient Rome, even though it could be prosecuted legally. As an integral part of myth, one therefore has to consider more than simply the fact that rape is present and analyse Ovid’s treatment thereof carefully. One must also be cognisant of the traditions of the Ars’ genre.

The Genre of Roman Love Elegy

Love elegy is a complex genre. Armstrong (2005: 11) describes the characteristics of elegy as “a personal, ‘confessional’ style from the poet and the apparent devotion to one woman of doubtful morals, which alienates him from respectable spheres of society”. This definition can be expanded by James’ (2003: 3) explanation that Roman love elegy seems to express profound emotion in an, at times, autobiographical style, while it is clearly artificial also. She continues that elegy is more interested in poetry than historical accuracy or autobiography as a genre, deeming the poet’s genuine emotion irrelevant. The genre is described by Griffin (1985: 127) as addressing events of an erotic relationship that continues for a period of time but does not conclude with a marriage. He (1985: 127-128) also points out that sexual violence is a theme of elegy generally tackled in less direct ways, ranging from stolen kisses

41 to abduction, and even assault. In addition, he (1985: 137) indicates the prominence of myth in the genre, allowing the poet to juxtapose the unrestricted world of myth with that of Augustan Rome, as well as offering the poet an endless supply of suitable heroines. In essence, love elegy can be described as an overtly emotional expression of desire for a particular woman. Despite appearances, the emotion expressed is very much artificial.

Ovid was, of course, not the only or the first of the elegists. Sellar (1892: 206) states that the elegiac metre was already used in Roman poetry by Ennius. Armstrong (2005: 11), however, advises that Gallus developed the elements of the genre we see in Catullus. Catullus is credited with handing down the subjectivity common to Roman love elegy and which is notably evident in later elegiac texts (Gold 2012: 2). This subjectivity is described by Miller (2007: 413) as “complex, self-reflexive, and multi-temporal consciousness”. Catullus’ importance is acknowledged by the later elegists, either openly or in their use of his lines in their own works (Gold 2012: 2). Many indications of his influence can be found in Ovid’s own writing, for example, in the Ariadne myth (AA I: 531-538). Elegy was designed to be evaluated closely. The references to other poets’ works, in whatever measure, thus often amounted to inherent competition with those poets whether they were still alive or already dead (James 2003: 4).

Ovid’s renowned contemporaries were Propertius and Tibullus. Wilkinson (1955: 25) explains that each of the three elegists’ treatment of their material was unique. He (1955: 26) differentiates their styles as follows: Propertius imbued in his poetry a romantic air, while Tibullus’ text can be described as idyllic in atmosphere. Ovid on the other hand gives a sense of reality to his works and entertains his audience with his wit and artistic form rather than through sentiment.

Elegiac poetry’s visibly rhetorical nature is born out of the education of the Roman elite, exhaustively schooled in the techniques of rhetoric. It was designed to be read out loud despite the perceived intimacy of the poetry. As such, any expectation of spontaneous or sincere emotion is unrealistic. James (2003: 4) asserts it would in fact be inappropriate to the genre. She explains that Roman culture did not place any (positive) value on unrestrained natural behaviour. As a result, what we might today view as romantic

42 spontaneity does not have a place in Roman elegy. As an already established genre, the poetry would also have been constructed out of established images and scenes, topoi, which a poet would engineer for his purpose (Sharrock 2012: 73).

Love elegy traditionally opposed the conventional service of the state. It presented itself rather as a product of personal pleasure and leisure (Sharrock 2012: 73). It is easy to understand then the development of the term militia amantis [warfare or military service of the lover] and the sexual euphemisms contained in formerly military language. In addition, the genre is strewn with the image of the lover as a slave, to love itself, and to his beloved (Sharrock 2012: 75). The elegiac poets, however, go to some lengths to separate their characters from the social reality of slave or soldier. Like his fellow elegists, Ovid made use of these elegiac conventions. Such an example is the poet’s rejection of the glories of war for the “battles of the bedroom” (Sullivan 1976: 61), becoming one of the milites amoris. Holzberg (2002: 100) describes the elegiac concept of servitium amoris [being a servant of love] as a metaphor for the characteristic “anti-establishment” attitude of the learned youth. Perhaps the prevalence of such an attitude stems from the opposition for the controls inflicted on the elite by Augustus’ reforms and thus also the traditional symbolic Roman military ideal. Kennedy (2012: 190) explains that the militia amoris [the warfare of love] and servitium amoris serve to present war, slavery and love in shared terms, thus inviting us to view aggression, domination and submission as aspects of all three.

While the Augustan poets used elegy for love poetry, the initial application of elegy was for epigrams and various other purposes (Sellar 1892: 207). Like other literary and linguistic elements, elegy as a genre grew and developed over time, and by the time Ovid began his career the only use not yet attempted was to use the form and metre of the elegy in didactic, epic and pastoral poetry (Sellar 1892: 210). Ovid tackled this challenge by writing of what clearly interested him and Augustan society: passion and pleasure. Ovid relished the era in which he lived. Sellar (1892: 210-211) states that, even when objective, Ovid’s texts exhibit evidence of a light curiosity rather than an attempt to restore a nobler past.

Ovid’s descriptions of marble colonnades and statues, the hot sulphur-baths of Baiae and their reputation, and the detailed women’s fashion allow us a taste of what Roman life

43 offered (Wilkinson 1955: 140). Ovid exposed that elegy and the social conditions of contemporary Rome were inextricably entangled (James 2003: 197). Even though the poetry could not be assigned to a specific historical woman, it did on occasion address certain realities which affected the women of a specific class, and at times issues which potentially affected women of all classes (James 2003: 9).

Much discussion exists with regard to the voiced perspectives of Roman love elegy. James (2003: 7) asserts that it is overwhelmingly male in voice, but she admits that it also identifies with its desired female object, the docta puella. She explains that this learned girl is able to understand and appreciate the literary strategies of the poem. Without the addition of the docta puella’s voice, the gender-opposition created by the regular and strategically performed conflict and tactics (which the puella and amator of the text partake in to produce their temporary union) would not be possible (James 2003: 7). She (2003: 8) explains that elegy appears to want its male and female participants on the same side, and occasionally allows them to be. However, they cannot remain in harmony, because without this tension elegy could no longer exist. She explains that the tension is created by a “gendered structure of partnered opposition” (James 2003: 8). Love is an elaborate game in which all is fair and exciting for the hunter and hunted alike (Wilkinson 1955: 121). It is this juxtaposition of opposites that is the power of love elegy. Ovid himself states that it is the woman’s objective to make a man fall in love with her (AA I: 611-620), but for the most part he instructs the young male lover in the skills required to make his female counterpart desire him also. Wilkinson (1955: 288) argues that Ovid thinks constantly of the woman’s point of view. He justifies this argument by listing various passages in which Ovid offers advice to men that caters to the female ego, such as helping her to forget her blemishes or advanced age, or ensuring her pleasure equals that of her lover (AA II: 641-666, 682-683; AA III: 793-794). There are many examples of such considerate advice, which is perhaps the root cause of the gendered debates which the genre attracts.

Being Ovid’s first work written in elegiac metre, the Amores begins a series of experiments importing aspects from other genres (Sharrock 2012: 71). Gold (2012: 2) agrees that Ovid’s poems are written in the elegiac metre, but do not strictly fit the traditional definition of elegy. Both Fränkel (1969: 55) and Sharrock (2012: 71) state that Roman elegy already had

44 an erotodidactic (love-teaching) element and was methodical in nature, an example for which can be found in Tibullus 1.4. Ovid would be able to draw from this, developing the genre with an amalgamation of metre, style and subject matter from elegy, combined innovatively with the purpose, conventions, characters and affectation of didactic poetry. Ovid’s didactic works include his Medicamina Faciei Femineae, the Ars Amatoria and the Remedia Amoris.

Didactic poetry has its roots even earlier than elegy, and can be dated back to Hesiod, who wrote around 700 BCE (Armstrong 2005: 16). The didactic poet offered instructions and advice on various subjects, from the significant to the mundane, such as recipes for cures, farming advice or the preparations required for a successful dinner party. The genre was regarded as a kind of epic because it was written in hexameters, the metre of epic, and even when the subject matter was treated with less seriousness than traditional epic, it often conveyed a moral message (Armstrong 2005: 17).

Ovid follows the popular tradition of referencing innovators that was common among didactic writers and poets (Hollis 1977: 52). Such an example occurs in the Ars (I: 101) when Romulus is addressed and accredited with the first games. However, in concluding the passage, which relates the rape of the Sabine women, Romulus is also credited with responsibility for the state of morality at the theatre in modern Rome (AA I: 133-134). This example suddenly seems quite inappropriate in light thereof. However, it serves a dual purpose, both as an opportunity to show off his skill and knowledge of the literary genre, and to add some unexpected humour.

As a poem written in the didactic tradition with an elegiac metre, the Ars displays Ovid’s immense literary abilities. Any solemn intention in the work would have been challenged by Ovid’s choice of metre. Moreover, by approaching the chosen subject matter through a medium of more serious instruction, the burlesque atmosphere of the Ars is generated, a result of which Ovid was probably aware (Wilkinson 1955: 120). The poem also defies many other elements of both the didactic and elegiac traditions and is often referred to as pseudo-didactic. Wilkinson (1955: 120) suggests that a learned audience was more likely to enjoy Ovid’s Ars as satire than as a lover’s guide book.

The Ars does not seem to have had an equivalent predecessor. Wilkinson (1955: 120) asserts that if such a work existed it would have been mentioned by Ovid in his Tristia II. Ovid was the only author to have tackled a didactic poem of this scale and to deal with women in it (Wilkinson 1955: 120). Ovid combines and simultaneously challenges the boundaries of the didactic and elegiac traditions. It is, however, important to remember that elegy is carefully written and intended to be examined. The poet thus intended to demonstrate his skill and not necessarily his opinion, bringing into question the distinction between poet himself (author) and the narrator.

Distinguishing Author from Narrator in Elegy

It is often considered necessary to determine whether the author himself is the narrator, or if they are separate from each other. Whether this is particularly important in a work of such an erotic nature, which potentially defies social rules and possibly even the law, poses a challenge.

Since Ovid writes from a first person perspective, the task of separating author from narrator becomes more difficult, especially when the narrator-teacher offers his own experiences as evidence for an instruction (AA II: 173). Ovid names himself the praeceptor8 Amoris (AA I: 17), the teacher of Love (Cupid). He also makes numerous references to his personal role as teacher within the Ars. He even states inscribat spoliis “NASO MAGISTER ERAT” [Let him inscribe upon his spoils “NASO WAS MY MASTER”] (AA II: 744 & III: 812). Such a daringly blatant claim dangerously threatens his later argument that he is not the narrator of the text.

8 Kennedy (2012: 190) explains that this self-proclaimed title is taken from the verb praecipere, a compound verb of capere, meaning ‘to capture’ - rather humorous in light of the subject matter.

James (2003: 6) states that the male speakers of elegy are as fictional as the female characters. She therefore differentiates between the poet himself and the fictional speaker of the poetry. She follows the practice of referring to the characters of the Ars as such: (i) The first person speaker of the text is designated as praeceptor Amoris [teacher of love] (James 2003: 242), the title Ovid assigns to himself (AA I: 17). (ii) The male speaker, lover or lover-poet is referred at as the amator in elegy as a rule (James 2003: 7). However, she uses the term to refer only to the lover in the Ars. (iii) She refers to the poet by name only when she means the historical person himself.

Holzberg provides distinctions for the text over and above those offered by James, as listed below: (i) The female character can simply be referred to as the puella or amatrix (Holzberg 2002: 113). (ii) The rules of love are classified as praecepta amoris (Holzberg 2002: 96).

Wilkinson (1955: 289) states that the Roman erotic poets did not expect to be judged by the subject of their work. In his Tristia (II: 353-356) and his Ibis (349-352) Ovid claims that, although he is the poet, the words and sentiments in the poem are those of the narrator within the artistic work and not himself. He supports this argument with an extensive list of Greek and Latin authors whose work was not considered to indicate their personality or opinion, nor their subject matter considered distasteful by the authorities (Habinek 1998: 155).

Although some argument for the distinctions defined above has been made, such differentiation is not relevant as it does not contribute to the argument of this study. While the expressions praeceptor, amator, puella, docta puella, and amatrix are used at times for clarity, Ovid will be referred to as both the author and narrator of the poem as the primary objective of this dissertation is the analysis of the use of myth within the Ars, and not the author’s personal perspective.

47 Conclusion

While no differentiation will be made between author and narrator, the instruction given through the main mythical digressions of the Ars is of considerable significance, and this can only be understood by considering certain literary elements and definitions. Ovid’s erotodidactic verse boasts elements of both the elegiac and didactic genres in a text saturated with myth and sexual tension.

In essence, love elegy can be described as an overtly emotional expression of desire for a particular woman which, despite appearances, is very much affected. Didactic poetry on the other hand offers instructions and advice on various subjects, ranging from the significant to the mundane, and shares certain characteristics of epic. A seemingly strange combination, Ovid’s Ars is pleasantly humorous as a consequence of the way in which he combines the genres and incorporates myth as part of his instruction.

Ovid uses myth extensively in the Ars. It is a complex phenomenon to classify, but for the purpose of this study it will be defined simply as a narrative which explores the actions of heroes, that is men and women with at least one divine parent. These narratives will share certain common elements, such as connection with the foundation myths of Rome or an exploration of the sexuality and relationship between male and female.

The extensive reference to sexual violence in myth and elegy calls also for a working definition or explanation of the concept rape. In essence, rape is defined as a crime of violence and control which is perpetrated through a sexual transgression with a non-consenting victim. As an integral part of myth, rape cannot be viewed as an Ovidian construct. Similarly, Ovid’s inclusion of it cannot indicate that he promotes rape. We must therefore review his treatment of it within the context of the poem before drawing any conclusions.

The above are fundamental features that play a pivotal role in reading and understanding the text. When we understand these literary elements, we can determine whether the poet

48 follows convention or breaks from tradition. Combined with a socio-historical context to act as a control, we can learn the meaning of the text.

SECTION B – ANALYSIS OF THE MYTHS RETOLD WITHIN THE ARS AMATORIA

Chapter 5 Delineating the Ars Amatoria

51 Introduction

The Ars Amatoria is a multifaceted text, affected by both the aforementioned literary conventions and socio-historical aspects. Written as a didactic poem in the form of Virgil’s Georgics, but without the solemnity, Ovid’s colourful, evocative and boldly tongue-in-cheek Ars is naturally appealing (Michie & Malouf 2002: xi). Typically Ovidian, it challenges both literary conventions and socio-political customs.

Each of the three books of the Ars is aimed at a specified audience and states a specific intention: instructing an audience in the art of seduction, first the amator (Books I & II) and then the puella (Book III). As an erotodidactic work, the poem’s focus is naturally advice. Interestingly, Book I offers instruction predominantly about the body, while Book II’s success lies in captivating a woman’s mind. Ovid focuses on the arts of courtship and erotic collusion, giving very little attention to the actual sexual act (Hornblower & Spawforth 2003: 1085). It is pertinent that the primary subject matter of the passage is not simply sexual conquest, but, as Ovid states repeatedly, to teach his student-lover an art form.

Initially, however, the work gives the impression that its purpose is dedicated expressly to concluding a sexual encounter as easily as possible (AA I: 453), at any cost, be it deception (AA I: 146) or violence (AA I: 673), and not restricted to just one lover (AA II: 388). In addition, the text speaks considerably about simulated behaviour as the lover refines the skills of this art. As a result one might easily assume that the text does not speak of what we consider sincere love. However, the text exhibits considerable realism in certain aspects and Ovid goes further than the conventions of elegy in exploring the characters’ range of emotional experiences (Sharrock 2012: 76). The idea of making love last (AA I: 38) is also new to conventional elegy, and difficult to develop within the voice of the genre, and considered only by Ovid in any sincerity (Sharrock 2012: 76). As a result, the reader is often torn between feigned emotion and sincerity.

Ovid’s extensive application of humour further complicates matters for his reader. At the beginning of Book I Ovid requests Venus’ assistance with his undertaking. In her replies to

52 him she refers to the task, his Ars, as opus [work] and coeptum [work undertaken], giving the impression of a serious undertaking. Ovid echoes her terminology in his conclusion of Book I: pars superat coepti, pars est exhausta, laboris [part of the undertaken work remains, part is done] (AA II: 770). However, in concluding Book III he takes a different stance, saying lusus habet finem [the game has an end] (AA III: 809). He could have meant to end the Ars on a light note, he could have meant to undermine all he had said up until that line or he could simply have intended the reader to view love as something enjoyable, rewarding and pleasurable. In true Ovidian style, he captivates with contradiction.

In supplying his advice, Ovid makes extensive use of myth in a number of ways: (a) Certain myths are repeated throughout the Ars; (i) sometimes in the same context; (ii) sometimes with a completely contradictory intention; (iii) sometimes they receive a mere mention (a name in a list or a mere phrase in a longer passage), and (iv) sometimes an entire passage is dedicated to their retelling. (b) Certain myths are only mentioned once, (i) usually as a detailed, lengthy retelling of the myth, and (ii) occasionally as a brief mention, ranging from a phrase to a few lines of poetry. (c) Myths are mentioned within their traditional context, and (d) myths are retold and their message reworked, thus remythologised.

Only nine myths are retold at length and in detail, as already mentioned. They are outlined below, separated by book and catalogued in tables. The chapters which follow will investigate each myth catalogued below to determine its argumentative, didactic or other function.

53 Book I Myths Catalogued

Book I introduces Ovid’s ‘Art’ to the world. In the opening lines of the poem he explicitly states his ability and intention to teach the skill of meeting a woman. Ovid summarises the contents to follow as (Hollis 1977: 39): (i) How to find a girl (AA I: 35-36) - advice which spans lines 41-262 of Book I. (ii) How to win her favour (AA I: 37) - the subject which occupies the remainder of Book I, lines 269-770. (iii) How to keep her love (AA I: 38) - the advice that will be covered in Book II.

The four main mythical digressions addressed in Book I are catalogued in the table below:

Didactic Subject Myth Lines Where to find her: The rape (capture and marriage) of 101-134 At the theatre the Sabine women

Women are more passionate than Pasiphaë indulges in her unnatural 289-326 men, in fact quite extreme in their passion for the bull pursuit, so do not doubt your chances of winning her Bacchus is love’s ally Ariadne and Bacchus meet and marry 525-564 (Precedes advice about drinking wine after Theseus abandons her on Dia in moderation at a dinner party) Promises and deception in matters of Unsuspecting Deidamia is raped by 664-718 the heart Achilles while he is hiding from the Trojan war disguised as a princess in her father’s court

At the inception of his advice Ovid explains where to meet the puella. He praises Bacchus and suggests that wine will make his conquest easier. He discusses a woman’s desires as opposed to her duties. In order to capture his lover the young man must then follow certain

54 steps, from befriending her at the right time, to making promises and persisting even when she does not appear interested.

Book II Myths Catalogued

Following on his acquisition advice, Ovid proceeds to educate his audience in the skill of maintaining that which he has acquired, as promised. Numerous authors consider the nature of Book II as evidence that Ovid was giving advice aimed at a more permanent or long-term relationship (Wilkinson 1955: 122).

The four main mythical digressions addressed in Book II are catalogued in the table below:

Didactic Subject Myth Lines Ovid motivates the lover to follow his Daedalus and Icarus’ tragic fate 21-98 advice as only then can he succeed Gifts of the mind supersede beauty - Ulysses charms Calypso 99-144 be learned to be charming Allow her to miss you, but do not stay Menelaus and Helen - what 337-372 away for too long happened? Respect her freedom Mars and Venus exposed by Vulcan 535-600

The advice offered bears similarities to that of Book I. The young lover is assured if he follows Ovid’s advice his lady love’s commitment to him should be assured. All that remains now is to verse women in the art also.

Book III Myths Catalogued

According to Hollis (1977: xiii) the third book was written after the publication of the first two, due to popular demand. Wilkinson (1955: 122) too considers Book III an afterthought. This would account for the instruction of two books being combined into one and the inclusion of only one of the main mythical digressions in this book. That no mention is made

55 of Book III in the summary of the contents given in the prologue (AA I: 34-40), and that Ovid states that the work is half complete as he nears the end of Book I (AA I: 771) gives the distinct impression that he intended to write only two books. When he decided to add Book III he did not make any effort to return to these passages and edit them (Hollis 1977: 149). Whether the third book was an afterthought or not is irrelevant. The female audience had already heard the advice of the first two books and the third served only to contextualise the advice for a female lover.

The final of the main mythical digressions addressed in Book III is catalogued in the following table:

Didactic Subject Myth Lines Beware of false lovers - do not react Procris is killed by Cephalus 667-746 on jealousy

Women are advised on their appearance, their interests, how they should behave, the social circles in which to mingle and where they should be seen to meet a lover. Wright (1938: 201) asserts that Ovid’s inclusion of certain underlying, though serious, ideas caters for a feminist point of view. As Ovid himself put it, he provided the Amazons with arms by writing and publishing the third book (AA III: 1-2). To level the playing field between the sexes such an addition is required, and Ovid does promote equal pleasure for both lovers (AA II: 641-666, 682-683; AA III: 793-794).

Conclusion

Ovid’s Ars is a complex text embodying humour, emotion, instruction, and contradiction among its many facets. Perhaps most well known for its ill repute, the text is a guide for the young Roman lover which uses myths as exempla. The magnitude of myths referenced in the Ars can be quite daunting. By cataloguing the myths to be addressed and delineating the content of each book briefly, it becomes easier to proceed to an analysis of each of the main mythical digressions.

There are nine myths which will be reviewed according to the tabulated summaries of each book. Books I and II each include four of the main mythical digressions, while Book III has only one. They are: 1. The rape of the Sabine women (I: 101-134) 2. Pasiphaë and the bull (I: 289-326) 3. Ariadne and Bacchus (I: 525-564) 4. Deidamia and Achilles (I: 664-718) 5. Daedalus and Icarus (II: 21-98) 6. Ulysses and Calypso (II: 99-144) 7. Menelaus and Helen (II: 337-372) 8. Mars and Venus (II: 535-600) 9. Procris and Cephalus (III: 667-746)

To determine the reception of the text this study will proceed with a detailed analysis of each of these myths.

Chapter 6 The Rape of the Sabine Women (Book I: 101-134)

58 Introduction

Having assured the audience of his capabilities and introduced them to the subject matter of the first book of how to meet the puella [girl], Ovid proceeds with the all important where to meet her. Of course, there is no need to wander beyond the walls of Rome (AA I: 59) and Ovid offers a list of suitable places for such a meeting (AA I: 67-88). The theatre is, however, a must. There the young lover is sure to be rewarded with the object of his desire, he says (AA I: 89-90), whether for the long or short term (AA I: 92).

Ovid associates meeting a woman at the theatre with the rape of the Sabine women myth in the lines that follow. As the first main mythical digression of the poem, it is elevated to a position of importance by its mere location. The fact that it is a Roman foundation myth is also significant. Not only are the Sabine maidens the founding mothers of Rome, but their fate is mimicked in the Roman marriage ceremony through the carrying of the bride over the threshold (Plutarch, Rom. XV: 6) and the parting of the bride’s hair with a spear (Plutarch, Rom. XV: 7). This raises the questions why Ovid chose this myth as his initial exemplary digression and how it functions within a text about erotic liaisons.

Ovid’s argument clearly functions on a number of levels. On the primary level he aims to explain why the theatre is such a good place to meet a puella. To understand how Ovid uses the contemporary theatre in conjunction with the rape of the Sabine women in his instruction we must first look at how the myth functioned traditionally.

Summary of the Presumed Traditional Myth

The rape of the Sabine women myth was told by Livy, Propertius, Cicero and many others, including Dionysius of Halicarnassus (Griffin 1985: 135). It is even mentioned by Ennius (Ann. I: fr. 107). The number of sources is not surprising considering the importance of aetiology for ancient society.

59 Visual depictions of the myth have also been discovered, such as that on the bronze denarius pictured alongside9. The Sabines were believed to be the ancient Romans’ strongest neighbours and their first allies. This coin is one of the few representations of human women on the vast number and variety of Republican coins minted. In addition, the women are shown fully clothed, thus portraying them respectfully (Fantham, et al. 1994: 219). These two factors are strong indicators of the importance of the myth and how it was viewed traditionally.

The story of Romulus and Remus was already well established by the beginning of the 3rd century BCE (Bremmer & Horsfall 1987: 25). Livy’s account of the rape of the Sabine women myth is dated just after 30 BCE, but it is already described as early as 200 BCE by Fabius Pictor (I: fr. 7), whom both Livy (II: 40.10) and Dionysius of Halicarnassus (Ant. Rom. VII: 71.1) describe as Rome’s earliest historian. It is therefore a piece of the older parts of the Roman foundation myth. Rome could not have expanded without families (Bremmer & Horsfall 1987: 43), but the origin of the women need not necessarily always have been Sabine. The myth is very old and not many of the very ancient sources are available, although this element may serve to document the incorporation of the Sabines into the Roman state.

Romulus, the son of the Vestal Virgin, Rhea Silvia, and the god Mars, and thus a typical hero (Morford & Lenardon 1999: 37), is the leader of the founding fathers of Rome. His brother

9 The coin was issued in about 88 BCE (Gardner 1993: 34) by Lucius Titurius Sabinus, a magistrate, whose praenomen and name, L. TITVRI appears on the reverse of the coin (shown) (Stevenson et al. 1964: 794). Its primary importance is as an indicator that Lucius Titurius must have considered his Sabine origin something to be proud of (Fantham et al. 1994: 219).

60 killed and the building of his city completed, Romulus lacked one thing necessary to ensure a future for his people: women to bear children. The perimeter of his city had been made large to allow for expansion and he offered refuge to all outcasts and runaways. They were invited to join his city to increase his numbers quickly (Gardner 1993: 34). However, given the undesirable reputation of his citizens, his envoys were received mockingly by the surrounding cities and tribes when asking for their daughters in marriage. Livy (I: 9) states that this was likely to end in violence and so Romulus decided to choose a suitable place and time to acquire the necessary women. He invited the neighbouring tribes to a celebration in his city. Having welcomed the visitors into their city, the Romans awaited Romulus’ signal. When it was given, they seized the Sabine women and carried them off into their homes, taking them by force.

The Sabines were naturally angered by this show of inhospitality. Sometime later, once the women had borne Roman sons, a battle ensued between the Romans and the Sabines. The women intervened, begging their fathers and their husbands not to kill each other, for the sake of the children that now connected them as family.

Ovid follows the details of the traditional myth for the most part, but he excludes the events following the marriage by capture. Ovid’s is also the only literary reference to the theatre as the venue for the rape when compared with other sources (Armstrong 2005: 129). The abduction traditionally takes place at the chariot-races in the Circus (Hollis 1977: 52). Virgil (Aen. 8.636) speaks of the women gathered in an auditorium, but adds afterwards that they were driven out of the Circus (Armstrong 2005: 129). We are aware from Ovid’s own text (AA I: 101-103) that the rape of the Sabine women took place in the Vallis Murcia, the valley which lay between the Palatine and Aventine Hills. This is also the site of the Circus Maximus in Ovid’s time (Hollis 1977: 52). Ovid is deliberately linking the events of the historical rape to the contemporary context of the theatre.

Ovid accentuates the abduction and rape aspect of the myth that is generally sanitised by other authors. Because the myth explained the origins of the Roman people, the act of rape was not considered in the manner in which we would view it. The interest of the state exceeded personal interest in Roman society, a theme equally present in Virgil’s Aeneid.

61 Armstrong (2005: 129) explains that for the most part the Romans ignored the rape element of the myth. Instead, the Sabine women were regarded as models of chastity and of old Rome, revered for their virtue. In essence, as saviours of the Roman race, they were an especially patriotic symbol - far from the women Ovid proposes as puellae. Ovid’s choice thus appears completely unsuitable at first.

Ovid’s Use of the Myth

The primary argument Ovid makes is quite simply that, of all the possible places to find a puella in Rome, the theatre is the most ideal hunting ground (AA I: 90). He likens the movement of the multitude of people going to and from the theatre to ants and bees. The place is swarming with the most cultivated women, all hurrying to the crowded games (AA. I: 93-98). While the imagery of purposeful bees and ants occurs in both Virgil’s Georgics (IV: 162-9) and Aeneid (I: 430-6), the function differs in the Ars (Hollis 1977: 50-51). Here the simile depicts a vivid image of the hustle and bustle of the modern theatre. The wealth of choice will subdue any doubt his students are experiencing quickly.

Early on we are made aware that these instructions pertain to the fulfilment of desire by the use of the neuter noun votum, meaning both vow or desire (voto AA I: 90; Lewis & Short 1879 s.v. 2B1). This is clearly a reference to the sexual desire of the young male lover, as translated and discussed by Sharrock (2012: 191). It is translated as vow in many earlier translations of the text (for an example see Mozley 1979: 19), bringing to the fore the double meaning which may be present here. Ovid could be referring us back to the earlier pick-up line he advises his student to use on the young lady of his choice, telling her that she is the only one for him (AA I: 42). Ovid also implies that a longer-term relationship may result from such a meeting (AA I: 92). Perhaps it is not even too bold to consider it a mocking reference to marital vows, considering especially that the myth about to follow is closely linked with Roman wedding customs. As a result of Ovid’s penchant for wordplay our introduction of the theatre is laden with sexual innuendo.

62 In addition, the women spectatum veniunt, veniunt spectentur ut ipsae [they come to watch, they come so that they themselves may be watched] (AA I: 99). Ovid ingeniously turns the common argument against making a spectacle of oneself to his advantage (Hollis 1977: 51). This is a crucial line of the poem, introducing a significant element of the puella’s personality - she is a willing participant. That we are told this so early in the poem is crucial to discerning the function of the myths within the text.

Ovid amusingly states that the theatre is a fatal place for virtue (AA I: 100). The play on virtue evokes the Sabine women traditionally viewed as the virtuous matronae of Rome. Simultaneously, the Sabines are contrasted with the modern women of the previous line. Perhaps the pun might be extended also to the institution which the Sabine women10 represent - perhaps marriages are at risk at the theatre, or perhaps even from the Ars itself. Ovid also pre-empts the story of violent abduction he is about to relay.

The sexual desire of Romulus’ men is indicated with Ovid’s euphemistic use of iuvit (AA I: 102), a reminder of the conclusion of the attack, and maybe even a humorous allusion to the portion of the myth he excludes. Iuvit carries a strong patriarchal message, literally meaning to help, only here in the sexual sense. The idea of the female helping the male is not unusual. The role of helper makes her inferior to her male partner. While this is a typically patriarchal view, in these lines it places sexual power and control in the male characters’ hands. This is accentuated by the collective noun in the singular used to describe the women, rapta Sabina (AA I: 102). At this point in the poem and events the women are viewed as a group and are thus faceless, unlike the individuals who each react to their assailants differently later in the passage (AA I: 122-124). Similarly, Ovid’s student will first

10 In the Medicamina Faciei (11-12) the Sabine women are also referenced briefly. They are described as being more interested in cultivating their families’ ancestral lands than caring for their own appearance (Wilkinson 1955: 119).

63 be faced with a multitude of faceless women from which to choose, whereafter his actions will determine their reaction, thus placing the power in his hands. In placing rapta Sabina [seized Sabine women] in between viduos and viros [the unmarried men] (AA I: 102) the word placement mimics the fate of the women, almost as if they were already within the grasp of the men. The forgone conclusion is that the meeting will result in a sexual liaison for the student also, much as it did for Romulus’ men.

The idea that the men are driven by sexual desire is further accentuated with et tacito pectore multa movent) [and in his silent heart many things are moving] (AA I: 110). Ovid supplies the reason for the choice each man made, which he implies is uncontrolled, amorous emotion. This contrasts with the traditional view that the women were abducted in service of the state. Both of the phrases tacito pectore (Aen. I: 502) and multa movent are found in Virgil’s Aeneid (V: 608; with animo added: III: 34 and X: 890). In applying the elegiac tradition of using phrases taken from another author Ovid, however, modifies the context. Multa movent is a phrase which is popular in epic, so there is no specific reference to the Aeneid necessary here, but the use of these phrases assists Ovid in establishing his authority, both as elegiac poet and didactic poet. It also allows him to mock the poetic tradition of the phrases. Instead of indicating piety, in the Ars the phrases embody passionate emotions. Ovid, in so doing, distinguishes the arranged Roman marital concept and the Roman disdain for uncontrolled emotion from the desire experienced by the men and women of the Ars. However, it is the control of this desire, which Romulus’ men fail to exhibit in Ovid’s version of the myth, that Ovid suggests (AA I: 1-10).

Ovid ensures that a contrast between his student and the primitive Roman is unmistakably made in comparing the theatres of past and present (AA I: 103-107), and in describing the appearance (AA I: 108) and actions (AA I: 109-116) of Romulus’ men. Their actions portray the image of a hunt or the preparation for battle. The verbs respiciunt (AA I: 109) and notant (AA I: 109) are evocative of reconnaissance and the historic present has a dramatic effect. Ovid foregrounds the information to follow, indicating that the previous lines were simply background.

64 The scene set, the desires of the Romulean men exposed, Ovid is now able to proceed with the actual events of the assault. The Tuscan flute player provides music11 (AA I: 111). The actor (AA I: 112) reminds us that there is a show underway (both on stage and in the entire pretence of the celebration) as he beats the ground three times with his foot (AA I: 112). Pulsat illustrates an inelegant and vigorous motion, perhaps indicating the end of the play being performed before the Sabine women. Applause follows, but Ovid states that applause then was without art (AA I: 113). Ovid’s use of parenthesis accentuates the lack of ars, reminding us of the primitiveness of the original spectacle. Ovid interjects this little aside into the climax of the signal, juxtaposing gentle sophisticated applause and behaviour, that is conducive to attracting a lover, with the attack which is about to take place. The textual fracture breaks the flow of anticipation created by the preceding list of actions, thereby accentuating the climax and Romulus’ role as king as he gives the signal amidst the applause (AA I: 114). With this signal, made up of a series of both visual and audio components, the women are reduced to praedae (AA I: 114), the spoils of war or prey in a hunt. Ovid hereby underscores the overall simile of a warlike attack or hunt.

The signal and the proceedings leading up to it play an important role in creating atmosphere. The alliteration in these lines is notable (AA I: 111-115), accentuating the series of words with potentially violent connotations: pulsat, praedae and petenda. Pulsat is the third in a series of expressly aggressive words (sollicitos, AA I: 101; rapta, AA I: 102) referring specifically to the triplicate action of the actor stamping the ground with his foot. It is also the third auditory stimulus on the stage, almost marking a countdown to the signal: one,

11 The Etruscans were credited with a number of important cultural introductions in Roman society (Melville & Kenney 1990: 218), among them music, musical instruments, dancing and drama. In addition, the she-wolf was originally an Etruscan motif (Tennant 1988: 82). The Etruscan reference may therefore be an intentional allusion to establish authority on the subject. It is unlikely it serves to promote music in the setting for seduction within this context.

65 two, three, go; a rhythmic sequence preparing the men for the final signal from the king. Music in the background disguises the foot-signal, to which applause adds an increased clamour. Regardless of whether they function as signals for the Romulean men, each of these actions is a signal to Ovid’s reader of the impending rape. Ovid’s sudden interjection in the midst of the noise, stating the lack of artful applause, may be viewed as a moment of quiet for his audience to highlight the antiquated violence of what is about to happen. The clamour is a stark contrast with the blandishments of seduction, and far from conducive to it.

As the king’s signal is given, the men jump up and give a shout as they would do in war, an army breaking forth into battle with a war-cry, rushing on the women. The use of the singular clamore (AA I: 115) implies such a war-cry, a singular onslaught by an army and not a single man; far from intimate. A war-cry was instinctive and its function was to scare the enemy (in a hunt to frighten the prey), to focus the soldiers’ own energy or to incite themselves. The primitiveness of the men is accentuated by this innate action. The women are surrounded by the resulting disorienting noise, increasing the magnitude of their consequent, and similarly intuitive, response: fear.

Ovid incorporates conventional hunting similes (AA I: 117-118) alongside the military element as a reminder of the rustic setting and to accentuate the natural instinct of the women, without dismissing the military elements present. The image of a throng of doves fleeing an eagle (AA I: 117), the symbol of the Roman army, followed by the lamb fleeing the wolf (AA I: 118), the very animal that nurtured Romulus and his brother, are not atypical imagery.12 Ovid, however, uses them to give the elements of the myth added meaning. Taken on their own, the conventional similes would imply that this is part of the natural

12 Doves fleeing eagles is a comparative image found in the Iliad (XXII: 139-40), while a lamb fleeing a wolf is a comparison also used in Theocritus (Idyll II: 24).

66 order and would thus negate any sympathy for the women. The juxtaposition of dove to eagle and lamb to wolf, emphasises the discrepancies in strength and resolution between the women and their attackers (Sharrock 2012: 192). The nominative is used to bring the women to the fore. The singular image for the men illustrates a united and substantial force, further differentiating the women from their attackers. This is compounded by the repetition of the words of flight (fugiunt, AA I: 117; fugit, AA I: 118) and fear (timidissima, AA I: 117; timuere, AA I: 119) that highlight the fear-filled reactions of the women, and in turn the violence of the attack (Sharrock 2012: 192).

The comparison of past primitivism and present grandeur is a potent and obvious element. The modern theatre’s setting of awnings, colour, perfume, music, comfortable seating and restrained applause is conducive to choosing and approaching a woman, as opposed to the completely unsophisticated scene it is contrasted with. Ovid makes a parallel comparison of two different time periods implying certain similarities and certain differences. The technique was applied to create a picture of the present times and their grandeur in opposition to the rural simplicity of the past. Such contrasts were effective as the Romans enjoyed picturing early Rome as primitive and uncivilised, so that they could be both proud of what it had become and be nostalgic about what had passed before them (Hollis 1977: 52). Ovid is not nostalgic in his use, but specifically uses comparison as a tool of separation. He mocks Romulus’ men’s crude entertainment (AA I: 103-107, 111-113) and snickers at their rugged appearance and their outdated hairstyles (AA I: 108). He insults the way in which they stare, each marking which woman he wants (AA I: 109) and deliberating over his plans (Hollis 1977: 53). The contrast implies that Ovid’s student lover is sophisticated. In addition, he seeks not a bride, but a lover.

The elements of Ovid’s modern world are man-made or engineered. For example, the powdered saffron mixed with wine that was sprayed on the stage as a perfume (AA I: 104; Hollis 1977: 53). This modern sophistication opposes the totally natural and rustic resources of the ancient Romans. One can surmise that the love Ovid proposes therefore also requires certain intervention, but is equally more desirable than that of the myth. Planning and preparation are elements of getting the girl then and now, but are not sufficient. Even the ancient Romans employed words of persuasion after seizing the girls (AA I: 129-130).

67 Behaving cum arte is the desirable action promoted and words are an element of that art. Ovid therefore promotes a controlled, well-thought-out seduction rather than physical force.

The behaviour of the modern woman and the primitive Sabine brides also differs quite significantly. We were informed that modern women attend the theatre knowing they will be admired (AA I: 99). Ovid is not just promoting persuasion rather than force, but implying that women are as willing to be seduced as are men to seduce them. Where the traditional reception of the myth does not offer the female participants a voice, Ovid offers even more: willing participation. This is clearly remythologising the traditional perspective of the myth. Rather than simply viewing women as wives and mothers, Ovid places them in the role of willing lover, if just for the asking. They gain not a husband and citizenship from the union, but pleasure. Such a comparison indicates that Ovid viewed Roman marriage and courtship customs as outdated within the context of the Ars.

Not only does Ovid look back in time, but we find the amator and puella engaging the sense of sight also. In fact, Ovid introduces sight as an important theme. Women come to see and to be seen, the men look back at the women at the theatre, each taking in with his own eyes the sight which is before him. Similarly, the Sabine women are made aware of the onslaught by what they see before they are taken. Sight is similarly the first of the senses through which the lovers connect. Sight thus implies an element of desire and willingness, but it is equally relevant in the experience of fear.

As words of military reconnaisance, both respiciunt (AA I: 109) and notant (AA I: 109) are naturally also verbs of sight. Respiciunt (AA I: 109) fufils a dual purpose, referencing the modern theatre without mentioning it. Women were seated separately at the back of the theatre in Augustan times according to numerous sources (Suetonius, Aug. 44; Propertius IV: 8.77; Ovid, Am. II: 7.3-4). Ovid’s inference is, however, that the Augustan separation laws need not act as a hindrance when seeking a puella at the modern theatre (Armstrong 2005: 129). The singular subject, quisque, of the plural verb, notant, transfers the action to the individual men’s eyes (oculis AA I: 109), further accentuating the role of sight. Ovid reminds us that each one of these men is one of many in a group. Oculis implies

68 that these women are marked - a military tactic. With this textual fracture Ovid is able to draw the audience’s attention to the individual’s choice (quisque … velit AA I: 109-110) within a society. In contrast, the singular velit (AA I: 110), with the singular subject quisque (AA I: 109), referring to the singular object puellam (AA I: 109), blatantly references individual desire for a single woman, thus accentuating individual choice. Ovid distinguishes individual from state in order to accentuate the sexual desire of Romulus’ men. This is a distinct deviation from the traditional myth. In addition, the verbs indicate scientific thought (Hollis 1977: 54), allowing the modern audience to identify with the men and further decreasing the traditional justification of the rape.

Until the moment of attack the women were unaware that they were being closely observed. Visos lupos [the seen wolves] (AA I: 118) transmits the sense of sight to the women. Much like the prey they have been compared to, the women have discovered too late that they are being hunted. Despite having gained the sense of sight themselves the women are still being watched, this time by Ovid’s audience, as they react to the onslaught of the men (AA I: 120-124). Their faces lose all colour and Ovid states that although they all fear the same thing, their reactions differ, ranging from stunned silence to wailing and fleeing. Ovid personifies fear, depicting it as a force with a face, facies ... timoris [the face of fear] (AA I: 121). This face (effect) is different, depending on the victim, and it is visible, as much on the faces of the victims as in Ovid’s words. Adjacent repetition of certain adverbs is not uncommon in Latin poetry, nor are inflected forms of words repeated alongside each other (Wills 1996: 392). Ovid, however, often pairs them in consecutive lines to form semantic chiasmus (Wills 1996: 392), as he does here in describing the fear-filled reactions of the Sabines (see also AA I: 99). The double chiasm (altera ... silet, vocat altera and haec queritur, stupet haec) illustrates the twofold effect of fear, on the group and on the individual women: pars laniat crines, pars sine mente sedet; altera maesta silet, frustra uocat altera matrem; haec queritur, stupet haec; haec manet, illa fugit [one part tears their hair, another part sits mindless; one is silent in sadness, in vain another calls her mother;

69 this one laments, that one is stunned; this one remains, that one flees] (AA I: 122-124) While the idea and imagery of fleeing might have been common motifs, Hollis (1977: 55) observes that it is surprising that some of the women do not run. This indicates that Ovid had an understanding of typical female reactions in similar circumstances. These lines also evoke the parallel similes depicting the action of the doves and the inaction of the ewe lamb (AA I: 117-118).

Wilkinson (1955: 123) describes the passage as a “diversely violent scene, depicted with perfect artistic control.” Sharrock (2012: 192) expresses a similar opinion, describing it as “violence associated with desire subjected to a measure of control.” Ovid expresses the violence and fear of the situation in a manner to which his audience can relate, actually sharing in it to some extent, but without losing the highly valued control sought by Roman and poet alike. It would seem that Ovid is purposefully creating sympathy for the victim, as he describes in detail the effect of the attack on the girls. In so doing he introduces the female perspective into the story at the commencement of hostilities, carrying it through the duration of the affront. In this way Ovid gives the women a voice and ensures they are seen, not just objectified.

The Sabine women fulfil the matrona image in both appearance and nature. They are controlled by the men in their lives. They are first mentioned in Ovid’s prologue, where he differentiates between the married women of the past, their needs and desires, in comparison with modern women, for whom he writes (AA I: 31-32). Not only does he already contrast the past and present, but he distinguishes between the Sabine women and contemporary Roman women. In so doing, he can later effectively represent the similarities between the women by depicting their universal fear and thus perspective.

Ovid implies that as different as the Sabine women were to the modern-day puella, perhaps they were not so different. Traditionally, the Sabines were unwilling maidens who became wives and mothers by force, in essence saving and founding Rome. Augustus’ moral laws similarly intended to save Rome by ensuring the family structure endured. Ovid, however, infers that a new woman is required to save the new, modern Rome, his ideal Rome. This

70 woman is a willing lover and participant, in partnership with her mate. Ovid implies that through persuasion she would be willing.

Ovid suggests the kinds of girls his students could choose to lure: someone to love, or to play with, someone to taste just once or someone he might wish to hold onto (AA I: 91-92). Right at the start of his advice Ovid includes the idea of a love which endures, implying a relationship in which the participants choose to be together and are not forced to remain together, as in marriage. It is relevant that at the outset of Ovid’s advice the puella is also objectified (through the use of quod), because this makes them more like the Sabine women (faceless) and allows for the transition that takes place in the lines that follow.

One of the primary factors that defines the differences between the Sabine and contemporary women is their individuality. The puella is a single girl desired by the amator while the Sabine women as a group are an iconic unit. The puella is thus a relatable character, where the Sabine women are not. In Ovid’s treatment of the myth we see a distinctive progression from unrelatable figure to individual woman. The term rapta Sabina (AA I: 102) serves as the audience’s introduction to the Sabine women, a singular collective noun, objectifying the women as a faceless group. However, the plural, virginibus (AA I: 116), indicates both the significance of the individual women, as well as the magnitude of the event. The primitive nature of the attack of Romulus’ men contrasts with Ovid’s modern seduction, where the potential mistress is carefully and individually chosen and seduced.

Earlier the puellae were described as rushing to the theatre like ants and bees (AA I: 93-98). In the attack, the Sabines are likened to doves and lambs fleeing (AA I: 117-118). Both are likened to creatures of the animal kingdom, and even the pastoral image is shared. The Sabine women, strangers in Romulus’ town, rush around without direction or control, overtaken by fear. In contrast, the women of the modern theatre are organised, in control and willing participants in what awaits them. Like ants, they instinctively take what they desire (Sharrock 2012: 192). Like bees, they have a vantage point from which they can look down on what they want, seated in the upper tiers of the theatre (Sharrock 2012: 192). Ovid creates vivid and realistic images in both instances. Sharrock (2012: 192) explains that it is this insect imagery that allows Ovid to describe the women as copia [a force] (AA I: 98),

71 empowering the cultissima modern woman (AA I: 97) to leave the modern lover struck by choice. He contrasts this with the timidissima Sabine woman (AA I: 117), frozen with fear by the sheer force of the male onslaught. It is through an interplay of similarity and difference on a temporal scale that Ovid emphasises the power and control which the modern woman holds. Even if the modern woman can be taken physically by force, her affections cannot be won in that manner, and there is no need.

Ovid includes the marriage conclusion of the rape with a demeaning oxymoron, genialis praeda [bridal plunder] (AA I: 125). We would normally speak of “bridal gifts” or “the spoils of war.” Praeda is again a singular collective noun. It objectifies the women, and does not fit into the traditional view of the Sabine tribe, nor the respectable first matronae of Rome. The phrase genialis praeda is enclosed between the adjective raptae and the noun puellae. This clearly artificial word order highlights the fate of these unwilling women, seized and led away to become brides. The words are clearly placed in opposition to each other, evoking the earlier rapta Sabina (AA I: 102). Because the women themselves are depicted in the plural and are reduced to a collective noun as brides, Ovid’s contempt for marriage cannot be denied. Although Ovid does not divert from the traditional purpose of the act, the acquisition of wives, his repeated emphasis on the men’s sexual arousal successfully destabilises the traditional myth (Armstrong 2005: 130). The Sabine brides are not the willing participants one would meet at the modern theatre. The oxymoron supplies a somewhat darkly humorous basis for extra-marital affairs, in which choice could be exercised.

The theme of persuasion rather than force is introduced with this myth. The resulting willingness of the puella will come to be associated with persuasion because fear is associated with force. To ensure that desire is relevant in both instances, Ovid describes the desires of the men, as already discussed, connecting the amator and the ancient Roman man also. The present tense of the verbs brings the audience and the event into closer relation. The transferred epithet of cupidas … manus (AA I: 116) allows the hands which are thrown onto these women to be longing, when in actual fact it is their owners who long for female companionship. Traditionally inicio (AA I: 116) was used in the context of war or a hunt, accentuating the violence of the scene and indicating force. Instead of sword or spear,

72 the men’s hands are weapons, allowing their primitive attack to be likened to wild animals that pounce on their prey (Holzberg 2002: 95). The emphasis on violence inspires sympathy toward the Sabine maidens, in turn softening the audience’s resolve against Ovid’s perspective. It also serves as a contrast with controlled, refined seduction. Ovid thus undermines the traditional myth by assigning to it the very character which was considered a threat from erotic affairs, unbridled passion.

The elegiac image of the damsel made beautiful by her distress makes its appearance at last in the lines that follow the onslaught of the men. It is humorous that the women described here are the honourable mothers of Rome and mythical characters. They are not the desired puella of Ovid’s student. Ironically, the reference might imply that, in a civilised context, the victim should render herself attractive for the hunt. It was the social custom that a woman should at least pretend that she is not interested to an appropriate extent (Hollis 1977: 56). Decere (AA I: 126) is normally associated with clothing, yet here it is used to decorate the women with fear, as if it were an artificial beauty: potuit multas ipse decere timor [fear itself was capable of adorning many] (AA I: 126). The elegiac topos of fear as attractive is simply that, an elegiac concept. Ovid introduces the actual rape to his audience by using this topos, thus associating the concept with rape and not erotic sex. That Ovid uses it to describe the revered mothers of Rome, and not his puella, undermines the traditional myth further rather than associating the concept with the modern woman.

Ovid states that in an instance where the Sabine bride resisted excessively, she was taken by force: si qua repugnarat nimium comitemque negarat, sublatam cupido uir tulit ipse sinu [if one resisted excessively and refused her companion, | the man himself lifted her up and carried her off, in his desirous embrace] (AA I: 127-128). The adjectival sublatam, the perfect participle of tollo [carry off/lift up], indicates the first violent action: lifting the girl off her feet. The finite form tulit indicates the next phase: the abduction of the girl. Sinus generally refers to any curve or bend, for example bay, lap or bosom (Lewis & Short 1879 s.v. sinus, I, IIA, B; Glare 1968 s.v. sinus 1). Adams (1982: 91) argues for the use of sinus to indicate the sexual organs (female and male). He gives an

73 example from Tibullus (I: 8.36 teneros conserit usque sinus) and from Ovid’s Fasti (V: 256 tangitur et tacto concipit illa sinu). Tibullus (I: 8. 35-36) describes a passionate embrace, but one cannot say explicitly whether Tibullus’ meant for sinus to indicate sexual intercourse. The passage in the Fasti describes Mars’ conception. The goddess Flora impregnates Juno by merely touching her abdomen with a flower from the fields of Olenus (Fasti V: 229-260). A reference to the womb does not necessarily confirm the use of the word for the female sexual organ. However, later examples exist for the use of sinus with muliebris and femininus, and other similar words, indicating a more specific gender distinction and possibly therefore the female vagina (Caelius, Chron. 591; Rufus, Onom. 196; Adams 1982: 91; Gersh 2012: 62). Henderson (1991: 140) states that these medical writers derived their terminology from much earlier texts, even crediting Hippocrates in some instances (Rufus, Onom. 193-195). Adams (1982: 91) also states that the term is used as a means to avoid anatomical accuracy. While we cannot be sure that sinus is used here as a sexual euphemism, indicating the actual rape with sublatam, the audience would have been aware that the Sabine women were taken against their will and later birthed the children of Romulus’ men, conceived through sexual intercourse. Most importantly, this statement implies that not all the women resisted, an unexpected revelation and again a diversion from the traditional myth.

The ancient Roman employs the use of words, but only after the rape, asking why the girl cries when she will become a wife like her own mother (AA I: 129-130). The traditional offer of marriage is made as a correction of the wrong that has been done to the girl, but she has no choice by this time. Her captor thus provides security with his words of persuasion, laying the foundation for Ovid’s promotion of words of persuasion in modern seduction, however mockingly, as the words to be offered by the amator will not be promises of marriage. Ovid retains the diminutive ocellos we see in Catullus (III: 17-18), of Lesbia’s eyes. Ovid combines it with the accepted elegiac adjective tener, popular among the love poets for establishing an amatory tone (Armstrong 2005: 189-190). Ovid revisits the theme of sight, viewing the eyes of the woman as seen through the eyes of her male aggressor, thus accentuating her inferiority in the scene.

74 The concluding promise to Romulus concludes the myth. The audience is brought forward in time to the contemporary Roman army’s recruiting problems (Hollis 1977: 52). Commoda (AA I: 131) is the traditional Roman military term given to the retirement gratuity a soldier received as a bonus on exiting the army (Lewis & Short 1879 s.v. commodus III. Commodum 2b). It would normally have constituted money or land. Here Ovid evokes the genialis praeda (AA I: 125), saying for such spoils he would join the army himself. We are reminded of the earlier play on voto (AA I: 90) as Ovid strikes an ironic bargain with Romulus, to be a soldier (of love), should he be successful in his pursuits at the theatre.

The formal conclusion in lines 133-134 recalls the opening of the passage forming a natural and self-contained thematic unit, denoted as an inclusio. The inclusio is introduced by sollicitos (AA I: 101) and concluded with insidiosa (AA I: 134). Within the inclusio, tunc (AA I: 103) introduces a new section, and a purposeful contrast between the then and the now for effect, concluded with nunc (AA I: 134). The male reader is encouraged not to follow the primitive approaches of ancient times which are sine arte (AA I: 106), but to apply ars when approaching females. Insidiosa (AA I: 134) picks up the earlier sollicitos (AA I: 101) and supplies the final part of the inclusio. Ovid thus ends the story where he started it - at the modern-day theatre. The learned Hellenistic poets concluded their stories with an existing landmark or ceremony (Hollis 1977: 57), a tradition Ovid adheres to here. However, it is not the rape of the Sabine women that is the custom, but rather the behaviour of the theatre attendees that he addresses sollemni more (AA I: 133) (Hollis 1977: 58). Ovid has used the story of Rome’s foundation as a basis to explain how the theatre took on its contemporary role (Sharrock 2012: 191), blaming this so-called immoral behaviour on Romulus. His reference is likely to extra-marital affairs rather than violence, especially if one takes into account the lighter tone of these lines. Insidiosa (AA I: 134) is also much milder than sollicitos (AA I: 101). The shift from fear-filled games to the insidious theatre illustrates a decrease in severity, and allows the tongue-in-cheek promise to Romulus, supplying a basis for the practice of picking up girls at the theatre.

Another prominent theme which surfaces in this myth is the idea that actions of violence in sexual liaisons are sine arte [without art] and sine lege [without law or without custom]. Sine arte (AA I: 106) refers not only to the primitive setting of the original games, but also to the

75 behaviour (AA I: 113) of the men in the myth. The implication is that a more sophisticated setting (place and behaviour) is necessary for Ovid’s ars. Sine lege (AA I: 119), however, carries a stronger implication as the action in question goes against law or custom. The men had no right to do what they did. Traditional Roman marriage entailed an agreement between the parents of the bride and the groom (Bierkan, et. al. 1907: 305), making the seizure of the Sabine women unlawful. The men’s behaviour is therefore not becoming of a true Roman gentleman of noble birth and education, Ovid’s audience, nor is it conducive to the art of love. The structure of line 119 is intentional. Illae and viros are placed on either side of the verb timuere, placing the women and the men in opposition to each other. Timuere is an alternative form of the third person plural, thus drawing one’s attention to it and therefore the two words on either side of it. Ruentes is yet another military term. The last three words of this line, sine lege ruentes [rushing in without agreement], are indicative of violence and are accentuated by their position at the end of the line. The implication is that military behaviour is not acceptable in matters of the heart, equally attacking violence and mocking the elegiac militia amantis concept. The phrase sine lege (AA I: 119) is not used casually. It is a powerful depiction of the horror of the event being described, primarily because of the implicit reference to the Roman ideal of law. Ovid states an unequivocal objection to the actions of the men, and thereby the traditional perspective of the myth. These men do not follow the rules of engagement of the art of love. Thus the behaviour condemned with sine lege can be paralleled with the behaviour which is sine arte (AA I: 106). Both contrast the sophisticated modern Roman conduct against the uncivilised ancient ways. The phrase sine lege also bears a distinctly female perspective within the context of a myth traditionally focused on the formation of the state and thus a predominantly male perspective.

To make an argument from precedent is typically Roman (Armstrong 2005: 129). So too is adhering to the mos maiorum, which makes ancestral customs one of the most powerful social forces in Rome. Ovid emphasises Romulus’ role in instituting (inventing) the sollicitos ludos [fearful games] (AA I: 101) with word placement and choice. Ludos invokes ludere (AA I: 91), looking back on the girls of the modern theatre as we travel back in time to the foundation of Rome. Ovid parodies the ancients’ fixation on inventors with considerable effect (Hollis 1977: 52). Thereafter he offers a sarcastic promise to serve Romulus for similar

76 spoils as those offered to the first Roman men. Armstrong (2005: 129) asserts that by insulting the founder of Rome and his dignity, Ovid compromised the very system his contemporary Roman based their behaviour on.

As the first mythical digression within the Ars the rape of the Sabine women myth inadvertently becomes the foundation myth of Ovid’s Ars also. Much like the wedding cry is thought to have emanated from the rape of the Sabine women myth (Hersch 2010: 148), Ovid uses the rape of the Sabine women as the foundational myth for new types of liaisons rather than the typical Roman family structure. Ovid asserts that he is the teacher of this skill (AA I: 7), the founder of this art. Like Romulus, Ovid proposes that he will institute a new mos at Rome. Much support has been provided for the argument that Ovid has remythologised the rape of the Sabine women myth, bringing to the fore ignored elements which support his argument and undermining the traditional perspective. The instruction is simple: women are innately willing and violence is not a suitable means of seduction. This is the foundation of the Ars Amatoria.

Conclusion

The rape of the Sabine women is the first mythical digression within the Ars. It is thus important that it is a foundation myth, used at a point where Ovid also begins the true foundation of the skill he is teaching. Ovid’s depiction of the events is highly provocative. He does not retell the entire myth. He begins the passage with the games and ends it with the seizure and subsequent rape of the women. Ovid’s treatment of the myth functions on a primary level as a simple instruction that the theatre is the ideal location at which to find women with whom to conduct erotic liaisons. There is a plethora of girls to choose from, and they are willing partners.

On a secondary level, Ovid addresses the concept of uncontrolled passion. He ridicules the first generation of the Roman nation and their antiquated ways, and through comparison shows himself and his contemporaries to be more sophisticated with better opportunities for amorous encounters. We are left with no doubt that Romulus’ men are overtaken by

77 desire and their violent actions are an uncontrolled response to that passion and not in service of the state. The implication of this representation is therefore that the men acted outside the bounds of law, suggesting that the amator should act within a set of rules. Much like the ancient Romans, Ovid’s student experiences desire, but he is sophisticated, and therefore Ovid will teach him to act cum arte, maintaining control and composure.

On a tertiary level, Ovid argues that because women are willing there is no place for violence. An alternate approach is required for this new type of liaison, which he proposes by emphasising the violence of the attack, the helplessness and fear of the Sabine women, and the force of the later actions of the men. Ovid’s ability to evoke the psychology of the human condition is distinctive. In this way Ovid creates sympathy for the Sabine maidens, paving the way for a gentler approach.

Ovid also introduces some key themes in his interpretation of the myth. The first of these is sight. Not only do the characters actually look backward and forward, but as the audience we too look backward and forward in time as Ovid compares past to contemporary Rome. Through comparison the differences and similarities between the Romulean men and modern lovers, and the Sabine maidens and modern puellae, are extricated. Ovid is also able to introduce the themes of sine arte and sine lege, which are imperative to his argument for seduction rather than violence.

Although Ovid initially refers to the games instituted by Romulus, he digresses from tradition by placing the event at the theatre, a location with an immoral reputation in the Augustan era, which he transmits onto the distant events of the myth. This elicits the uncertainty between personal desire and duty, questioning the legitimacy of the mythical custom and allowing Ovid to propose an alternative. Ovid effectively places this myth as the central exemplar around which he creates an entire concept in his poem: that women are themselves willing participants in romantic interludes. He openly undermines the traditional perspective of the myth, proposing an alternative by remythologising it. Not only is the argument of the text transformative, but Ovid rewrites the myth from a totally different perspective to the traditional versions. In this way the first mythical digression of the Ars also becomes the Ars Amatoria’s own foundation myth.

Chapter 7 Pasiphae, the Unfaithful Wife, and the Bull (Book I: 289-326)

79 Introduction

The tale of Pasiphae and her all-consuming lust for the beautiful white bull, with whom she ultimately fathered the Minotaur, is the second mythical digression of the Ars (I: 289-326). Having introduced the willing female lover of the theatre, Ovid naturally progresses to exploring the idea of female passion in his retelling of the Pasiphae myth.13

There are numerous myths encompassing sexual encounters between women and animals, and in some cases the women in a myth are themselves in the animal form (Armstrong 2006: 72). For the most part they tend to be accounts of gods disguised as animals. Pasiphae’s story, however, differs in this sense. The bull of her affections is not a god in disguise. Unlike the other women of these myths who must endure the advances of a male pursuer, Pasiphae actively seeks out her desired companion.

In his treatment of the rape of the Sabine women Ovid informed his pupil that there were ample puellae in Rome and that the theatre especially was an ideal place to meet them, because the women who attend the theatre attend as much to watch the performance as to be admired by the young men of Rome. Ovid offers the story of Pasiphae as support for his statement that his student need not worry that he will not find a puella (I: 269-270) because women enjoy secret liaisons as much as men (I: 278). Like the Sabines, Pasiphae’s abnormal desire does not appear to be a suitable comparison to the desirous women of modern Rome given the circumstances of her love affair. This chapter will investigate this problem by first

13 Verducci (1985: 190) asserts that the progression to exploring deviant aspects of the human psyche and behaviour is characteristic of Ovid. Although his choice of myths may appear to indicate this to a modern audience, in ancient Rome these myths were well known and fulfilled an existing exemplary purpose, explaining the evil woman archetype.

80 determining the traditional functions of the myth and then interpreting it within the framework of Ovid’s retelling.

Summary of the Presumed Traditional Myth

There are many ancient sources which refer to the Pasiphae myth, but she is mentioned only briefly in most Latin poetry, and traditionally represents “the worst excesses of female passion and deceitfulness” (Armstrong 2006: 169). She represented the danger of unchecked female desire. In patriarchal Rome that implied a woman not under the control of a male citizen.

Pasiphae was the daughter of Sol, the sun god, and the wife of King Minos of Crete, with whom she bore several children. Circe was her sister, and Medea, her niece. Traditionally all three possessed a talent for witchcraft (Armstrong 2006: 120). Pasiphae, enraged by his many affairs, put a spell on Minos. This spell caused him to ejaculate snakes, scorpions and millipedes when he was intimate with another woman, thereby killing his consort (Pseudo-Apollodorus, Bibl. III: 197-198).

It was the annual tradition of Minos to sacrifice the most beautiful bull in his herds to Neptune, the god of the sea. When the time came for the sacrifice, there was a white bull in the herd that Minos considered too beautiful and extraordinary to slaughter in the sacrifice. Instead he sacrificed a less magnificent bull to Neptune. Neptune discovered what Minos had done and was infuriated. As punishment he aroused in Pasiphae an unnatural and disgraceful lust, causing her to long for the beautiful bull (Euripides, Kretes; Armstrong 2006: 10 and 75). Not being a cow herself, Pasiphae had no means of gratifying this passion and so instructed Daedalus, a famous inventor from Athens, to help her win the love of the bull. On her instruction, he constructed a wooden cow in which she was enclosed. The bull, deceived by the wooden cow, subsequently had intercourse with Pasiphae. As a result she conceived the Minotaur, who was half man and half bull (Cicero, N. D. III: 19).

81 Pasiphae’s union with the bull represents a perversion of the laws of nature (Armstrong 2006: 80). The child of their union was born a monster rather than a hero. The man-eating Minotaur is a wretched reminder of Pasiphae’s transgression against nature. The perversity of her desire and its unnatural satisfaction are accentuated by the nature and appearance of the Minotaur. That her actions were viewed as unnatural is confirmed by ancient texts, such as that of Hyginus (Fab. 40).

The myth’s primary function was to advise against tricking or defying the gods for fear of punishment. It is ironic that Minos’ punishment was inflicted on his wife, and in turn his punishment was amplified, both by her affair with an animal, and the resulting birth of the Minotaur.

The treatment of such myths was a preoccupation of the Hellenistic poets. What makes this story unique is that the pursuer is a woman and that the animal is not a god in disguise. Wilkinson (1955: 125) states that myths and stories addressing lewd and unnatural acts were not unique psychological phenomena. As such Ovid is not alone in addressing such phenomena.

Hollis (1977: 93) informs us that Ovid’s primary reference was most likely Virgil (Ecl. 6.45ff.), and possibly the poetry of Euripides. Euripides’ Kretes centres on the birth of the Minotaur and Pasiphae’s failure to hide him from her husband. Its focus is the absolute insanity that led to her gratifying an unnatural lust through the deception of both her husband and the bull, and her feelings of shame and embarrassment as she attempts to hide her monstrous newborn (Page 1941: 70-75). Virgil’s treatment of the myth is the only other really significant Augustan poetic account of the myth available to us. Virgil provides his reader with a more subtle, sentimental and even sympathetic description of Queen Pasiphae’s desire for the bull (Armstrong 2006: 169). His Pasiphae is equated more closely with the animal characteristics of the passion which ails her. She is pictured wandering like a grazing animal, sick with love. The idea of a mad lover is also present (Armstrong 2006: 81). He portrays her bestial love rather as a source for fragile and intimate sympathy than melodrama, schoolboy humour or disgust (Armstrong 2006: 1975).

82 Ovid’s Use of the Myth

Ovid’s treatment of Pasiphae is the longest surviving account of the myth in Latin poetry (Armstrong 2006: 178). It describes the reckless lengths to which Pasiphae goes to fulfil her intense and deviant desire. The accounts of nine other mythical women and their lust-driven deeds frame the myth, providing a list of ten archetypal evil women.

In the lines preceding the myth Ovid explains that any woman can be “caught” (AA I: 270). Ovid claims there is a better chance of a series of unnatural events occurring, than of a puella resisting the charms of a young man (AA I: 271-274). He adds that even a girl one thinks might not want to be kissed, does in fact want to be kissed (AA I: 274), because women enjoy stolen love as much as men, but are better able to conceal their desire (AA I: 275-276). Actually, if all men were to stop asking, women would be so affected that they would themselves fulfil the role of protagonist (AA I: 277-278). This statement is key as an introduction to the mythical exempla to be provided, especially that of Pasiphae. It is also crucial to the advice of the Ars as a whole. Ovid has effectively stated that this is not a game for a male lover exclusively. Instead, not only is the female willing, but she is so willing she cannot do without these erotic liaisons, so willing that she would even initiate them. Passion is effectively a completely natural phenomenon, experienced by both genders but the pursuit of which the amator should lead.

Should the audience not be convinced that women experience intense desire, Ovid leaves no doubt: parcior in nobis nec tam furiosa libido: legitimum finem flamma uirilis habet [in us desire is less and not so furious: the manly flame knows a lawful limit] (AA I: 281-282) The opposite is clear: women experience passion more intensely and have less control over it than men do, to the point that they would even transgress laws (of man and nature) to fulfil their passion. Hollis (1977: 90) asserts that Ovid illustrates “the violence of the female

83 passion” with this statement. Furiosa certainly supports that statement, as does flamma. Fire is dangerous, but it is equally something humanity requires for survival - it provides warmth, a means for cooking, and even protection. However, instead of viewing the male flame as uncontrolled, it knows a lawful limit. The play is on the idea that men will act cum lege and cum arte. It also suggests that humans cannot survive without passion.

Ovid is not the only author to address female passion. Virgil (Georgics III) describes lust in nature, placing emphasis on the irrational and inconsistent destructiveness of the procreative compulsion present in humans and animals alike. Where Ovid depicts women’s lust as more threatening than that of men, Virgil shows both genders to be equally uninhibited in their pursuit of love or lust (Armstrong 2006: 84).

In summary, Ovid’s audience is informed that any woman is attainable (AA I: 270) because women too experience desire (AA I: 273-276). Women are better able to conceal it (AA I: 276), but desire is more primitive in them (AA I: 281). Ovid’s description of female passion is contradictory. It can be concealed; therefore women can control how they respond to their emotions, a sign of modern sophistication. Therefore, by logical deduction, the puella can also act within the law and with art. In effect, she is not merely an object of desire, but a partner who will enjoy mutual pleasure in the fulfilling of a secret, erotic affair. Ovid in effect implies that unfulfilled passion has the potential for destruction, but that passion is nevertheless necessary for life.

The list of female exempla which follow once again appear to be misplaced despite the above. However, Ovid’s argument acts a maiore ad minorem. In offering the worst and most excessive examples of the lengths to which these female protagonists will go to satisfy their sexual desires, Ovid advises his amator to pursue the maiden of his desire because he has a better chance of success than he might imagine. Whether he accomplishes this goal is another aspect of the argument.

Byblis (AA I: 283-284) is the first of ten mythical exempla listed in this episode of the Ars. She fell in love with her brother and ultimately hanged herself. Ovid describes her suicide as fortiter, an adverb one would not traditionally associate with this myth. When a masculine

84 trait was associated with a woman it amplified the evil woman image because it was unnatural, but here it is complimentary. Ovid therefore implies Byblis is not a normal woman and that she saw the error in her deeds. The adverb also recalls the masculine act of military pride: falling on one’s sword in proud acceptance of defeat. One almost sympathises with Byblis. Ovid minimises the criminal element of her actions through her atonement for them.

Second on the list is Myrrha (AA I: 285-288). She was in love with her own father, for which she was imprisoned in the bark of a tree. In the traditional myth Myrrha was transformed into the tree, but in Ovid she is imprisoned in the tree, as if she is still being punished for her crime. Ovid once again creates sympathy for his female protaganist. Her tears are said to pour from the tree as sap, which shares her name, Myrrh. It was used as an ointment by the ancients (Kelk 1975: 163). Humorously, Ovid relates that the sap is used as perfume. The uncanny seduction reference and humorous interjection serve once again to undermine the severity of the story.

Pasiphae’s story opens with forte [by chance] (AA I: 289), a common narrative device used to indicate something similar to ‘once upon a time’ (Armstrong 2006: 178). If taken to be anything other than this convention, it can be considered indicative that Ovid denies that Pasiphae’s passion was the result of divine punishment, and rather is simply female lust (AA I: 291-292). In order to assign Pasiphae’s actions as arising from lust, Ovid must establish that they were voluntary (Armstrong 2006: 178). This would on its own undermine the traditional perspective of the myth.

Ovid introduces the glorious white bull in the shaded valley of Ida. He creates a pastoral atmosphere using words such as umbra [shade] (AA I: 289), a word common to Virgil’s Eclogues (Armstrong 2006: 178). Ovid identifies the single black mark between his horns (AA I: 291), which he states to be the only blemish on the bull (AA I: 292). Numerous literary occasions exist where an identifying mark is pointed out (Hollis 1977: 93) and Ovid seems to add the mark as an endearing feature, according to Armstrong (2006: 76). However, any mark would be considered an imperfection on an animal intended for sacrifice, and it would thus be considered unfit (Hollis 1977: 93). This blemish is an explicit digression from the

85 traditional myth. There would be no reason for Neptune to punish Minos for not sacrificing this bull, and, as such, Pasiphae’s passion would not be inflicted on her. Instead, it would be the product of lust.

The combination of forte and the blemish thus immediately undermines the traditional perspective that Pasiphae’s passion was a curse, simultaneously introducing deception, one of the primary themes of this myth.

Ovid later interjects that not even the Cretans, well known as liars, deny the tale (AA I: 297-298). The Cretans were known to be liars (Hollis 1977: 94). The lines are distinctly Callimachean, echoing his famous line, “I sing of nothing unattested” (Hollis 1977: 93-94, Armstrong 2006: 180), thus establishing Ovid’s authority. The stereotype of the Cretans also allows Ovid to introduce the idea of deception. Ovid has purposefully omitted any mention of the traditional divine cause assigned to Pasiphae’s unnatural lust. However, as a Cretan herself, Pasiphae is by association also a liar, further undermining the claimed curse14; her actions, however, do not lie. Ovid is playing with prescribed ideas and beliefs, distorting them. Thus nota cano [I sing well known things] (AA I: 279) carries some humorous significance. The reputation of the Cretans and the myth of Pasiphae may be known, but, as Ovid tells it, we will discover that the Pasiphae of the Ars is in fact not well known (Armstrong 2006: 181).

Ovid’s Pasiphae is not cursed, but lustful. In returning to the bull’s reputation, Ovid shifts from an idyllic bucolic scene to something less gracious. He informs us that the cows of the

14 Pasiphae argues in Euripides’ Kretes that to have committed adultery with a man would have been a sin, but to have sexual relations with a bull could only be divinely inspired madness, justifying her actions (Armstrong 2006: 185). This could be echoed here, and possibly in Ovid’s later suggestion that she should at least choose a man if she must stray from her husband (AA I: 310).

86 Cretan cities of Cnossos and Cydon longed to sustain him on their backs (AA I: 293-294). On their own these words need not have any sexual connotation. However, they provide a distasteful introduction for Pasiphae, who is presented immediately afterwards as sharing their desire (AA I: 295), to such an extent that she both hates and envies the cows (AA I: 296). With this statement Ovid introduces jealousy as an aspect of female sexuality. The cows take on a sort of human air, almost competing between themselves for the affections of the bull (AA I: 293-294), as if they may be competition for Pasiphae. Humorously, it is, however, Pasiphae who wishes she were a cow.

In her attempt to fulfil the role of lover Pasiphae picks leaves for the bull (AA I: 299-300), but she is still dressed in her finest clothes (AA I: 303). She fusses over her appearance in the mirror (AA I: 305), smoothing her hair (AA I: 306). Pasiphae’s attempt to hold onto the status of her wealth and her beauty in the human world, while behaving like one of the herd humorously illuminates the unnaturalness of her behaviour and desire. She wishes to be an adulteress (AA I: 295), calling the bull dominus [master] (AA I: 314) as if they were involved in a normal elegiac affair, and viewing the cows as her rivals (AA I: 321). Ovid mockingly contrasts simple bucolic elements with Pasiphae’s human sophistication. Ovid is transferring modern elements onto the mythical Pasiphae of the past (Armstrong 2005: 98), effectively employing aspects of the temporal comparison we saw in the rape of the Sabine women myth in reverse here. Instead of applying art to her attempts of seduction, her beloved’s character demands a more rustic approach. We are reminded that this is not the ideal proposed in the Ars. Ovid clearly replaces Virgil’s sympathetic stance with a mixture of disapproval and mockery, creating a passage flowing with black humour (Hollis 1977: 93).

Although other versions of the myth might have referred to the menial tasks Pasiphae performed for the bull, we do not have any evidence of this and it is therefore assumed that this is a new invention in Ovid (Armstrong 2006: 182). The joke that Pasiphae is unaccustomed to such labour is accentuated by the traditional reference inferred in fertur. The verb fertur (AA I: 300) sanctions the act of collecting fodder for the bull through tradition, common to Alexandrian style (Armstrong 2006: 181). Pasiphae fulfils the elegiac role of servitium amoris; a role confirmed when the bull is referred to as dominus (AA I: 314). Pasiphae has demoted herself to the more submissive role filled by the elegiac lover,

87 itself a stereotypically feminine position (Armstrong 2006: 182). The humour of the lines is concentrated because Pasiphae is a woman, fulfilling the role of a man (the elegiac lover), who is behaving in a manner appropriate to a woman (submissively to a male, be it an animal). If we add to this her position as queen, the comedy of the image increases. Thus, Ovid’s depiction of Pasiphae as the amatrix and the bull her dominus (AA I: 314) generates the desired tension between the elegiac and mythical worlds in which the story resides (Holzberg 2002: 95). This in turn creates disparity between appearance and reality, allowing Ovid to remythologise the narrative while simultaneously criticising the elegiac tradition of servitude.

Ovid addresses a series of questions directly to Pasiphae (AA I: 303-310). Armstrong (2006: 181) and Hollis (1977: 94) note that Ovid employs the popular neoteric tool of apostrophising a character, employed for variety and vividness in a text. Ovid uses words common to sentimental texts alongside those of tragedy and farce (Armstrong 2006: 181), but rather than sympathetic, his tone is mocking. Ovid’s Pasiphae desires a sophisticated pursuit of adultery with an unsophisticated animal (Armstrong 2006: 180). Depicted as the elegiac puella, attempting to appear attractive on the mountainside, only serves to make herself look even more ridiculous (Armstrong 2006: 184). Ovid creates humour at every opportunity. A reminder to Pasiphae that Minos is her husband and that, should he please her, she should not commit adultery (AA I: 309) appears to emphasise the traditional image of feminine wickedness. Ovid’s allusion to the sentiment that a woman should please her husband and the law that she may not commit adultery is actually tongue-in-cheek. By concluding his apostrophe with the assertion that, if she wishes to betray Minos, she should at least choose a man, Ovid dances precariously but amusingly on the boundaries of political offence. The humour of the conclusion is heightened by our knowledge that the Ars does in fact promote adultery, despite Ovid’s claims to the contrary.

Instead of hearing reason, Ovid says Pasiphae leaves her marriage bed for the woods and fields like a possessed Maenad, aroused by Bacchus (AA I: 311-312). Armstrong (2006: 98) states that Ovid alludes to Ariadne’s future role in the Ars. The irony of Pasiphae’s passion for a bull referenced in relation to her own daughter’s husband, Bacchus, himself a god depicted as a bull, is not only humorous. It too invalidates the possibility of any divine

88 intervention or curse. Ovid uses the idea of Bacchic frenzy to emphasise that her actions are absurd and lacking the control required of the Ovidian lover, yet ironically she is the protagonist. The reference to a Maenad and the image of a woman distraught with passion is conventional in elegy (Hollis 1977: 95), but the frenzy of a Maenad is without reason and intent, completely hysterical. Pasiphae’s slaughter of the cows is intentional and sociopathic rather than uncontrolled.

Ovid’s description of the hate with which Pasiphae looks at and dispatches of the cows in the field is quite disquieting (AA I: 313-322). She satiates this hate by having the cows, her rivals, sacrificed under a false pretext. She holds their entrails in her hands with delight. The commenta sacra [false sacrifice] (AA I: 319) indicates Pasiphae’s intense jealousy. It also provides a comical reminder of the traditional reason for her infliction: a neglected sacrifice. Pasiphae’s jealousy of the cows is typically elegiac in its intensity and the imagined betrayal which accompanies it (Armstrong 2005: 183, 2006: 124). However, her excessive cruelty resembles the actions of a spiteful queen in the tragic genre (Armstrong 2005: 185). The horrific depiction of her gloating over their entrails has a rather gruesome air when the cows are viewed as her paelices [enemies] (AA I: 321), but as soon as the reader remembers that the victims are not human, the horror becomes somewhat farcical.

Ironically, Ovid now turns our attention to two other famous myths about human-bovine affairs. Pasiphae imagines she is Europa, then Io, taken by a bull or turned into a cow (AA I: 323-324). Europa was pursued by Jupiter who had taken the form of a bull (Armstrong 2006: 77). He used this disguise to trick her into crossing the sea with him into Crete (Armstrong 2006: 71). Armstrong (2006: 76) asserts that Europa’s abduction by Jupiter can potentially be viewed as a prelude to Pasiphae’s own bestial story. Europa is after all Minos’ mother, and therefore Pasiphae’s mother-in-law, and it is Minos whose crime is being punished. Io was Europa’s great-grandmother (Armstrong 2006: 71) and was herself a victim of Jupiter. He pursued her, despite her rejections of his advances. Through contrived circumstances he eventually succeeded in his advances. He was, however, forced to change himself into a cloud and transform Io into a cow to escape the notice of his wife, Juno (Armstrong 2006: 83). Another version of the story relates that Io was turned into a cow by Juno to avenge her role in Jupiter’s adultery (Melville & Kenney 1990: 177; Hollis 1977: 96).

Unlike Europa, Pasiphae pursues the bull. Unlike Io, Pasiphae is not a cow, nor does her predicament appear to be a punishment. Both women were victims, which Pasiphae clearly is not. Pasiphae’s pretence that one minute she is Europa and the next that she is Io, further implies that she simply wishes her behaviour was commissioned or even assisted by a god, and that the curse is in fact a ruse. Just as she pretends to be Europa and Io, so too does Ovid imply that Pasiphae is merely pretending that her behaviour is the result of divine manipulation. In reality she is following her own impulses. This is strengthened by the fact that Ovid interprets the frenzy of the Maenads as unbridled sexual desire (AA I: 312). That the myths are listed in descending order might imply a regression in Pasiphae’s behaviour or status as protagonist.

Pasiphae’s indiscretion crossed boundaries which are not easily classified. Her myth challenged civilised with uncivilised behaviour, human and animal limits, concepts of sanity and madness, and, possibly most important to a Roman, the legally prohibited act of adultery (AA I: 295) (Armstrong 2006: 111-112). Considering the subject matter of the Ars itself, Ovid is not concerned with the criminal element of adultery. He focuses rather on the participants in the affair and the humour he can create with his treatment of their behaviour. He is able to do this by addressing Pasiphae’s lust as if she were in love with a human. As a result her character enters into behaviour representative of human seduction (Armstrong 2006: 112). Ovid makes sure it is clear that her love is undesirable. His focus on the adulterous elements of her behaviour almost converts what is in fact bestiality into adultery (Armstrong 2006: 113). Having endowed her with the role of adulteress, he uses her actions to remind us that as the elegiac lover she is inept. He does this with the condescending reproach of the praeceptrix amoris for her preening (Armstrong 2006: 113). He does not advise her on how best to acquire her intended lover, but rather suggests another: a man.

Ovid concludes with the statement that, despite all obstacles, the leader of the herd was deceived and “filled” Pasiphae, the resulting offspring of which betrayed its paternity (AA I: 325-326). Implevit is terminology applied specifically to insemination by a male animal (Adams 1982: 207). It has on occasion been transferred to humans or gods, but for the most

90 part the available examples appear to be dated after the Ars.15 Ovid seems to have been unique in his use of the word in this context. His use of the word here accentuates the bestial nature of the act, perverting Pasiphae’s desire. The climax of the lines is brief, but laden with the language of deception and betrayal (Armstrong 2006: 132). Pasiphae has tricked the bull and the parentage of their offspring will not be possible to hide. The crime is not that Pasiphae’s actions resulted in adultery, but the deception of the bull. Pasiphae embodies the very traits of Romulus’ men that Ovid criticised - she seizes what she desires from an unwilling partner without ars. The deception of the bull can be likened to rape in a sense. In addition, the affair is now revealed and no longer secret, as it should be (AA I: 275).

For a moment Cressa [Cretan] (AA I: 327) leads the audience to expect that it is still Pasiphae that Ovid is discussing, but the mention of Thyestes (AA I: 327) indicates the progression to another Cretan woman. It is perhaps ironic that Aerope is Pasiphae’s own grandaughter. Aerope (AA I: 327-330), wife of Atreus, could not resist her brother-in-law. This resulted in an adulterous affair which we are told ended in crimes so depraved that the Sun hid his face from Mycenae. Having seduced Aerope, Thyestes stole the golden-fleeced lamb from Atreus, the symbol of kingship of Argos. In response Atreus served Thyestes’ own children to him as a meal. In horror the Sun, who had until that time travelled West, reversed his orbit and travelled East (Kelk 1975: 180-182). Ovid’s brief version of the myth is, however, misleading. Aerope’s crimes do not just include adultery; her betrayal was both sexual and political. Ovid avoids the political element of the myth, implying that it was Aerope’s adultery that was enough to send the sun off course. Indirectly this may be true, because her adultery led to her husband’s political downfall and in turn to the death of her brother-

15 Examples exist in Ovid (Met. VI: 111; XI: 265), Lucan (VIII: 409) and Tertullian (Jejun. VII: 6). Ovid’s Metamorphoses is dated after the Ars, Lucan was born well after the Ars was ever written (in 39 CE) and Tertullian was a Christian writer who is thought to have been born around 155 CE.

91 in-law’s children in revenge. Ovid applies the supernatural horror of her husband’s deeds to her adultery. As opposed to his removal of the supernatural element in Pasiphae’s story, he leverages off of it here (Armstrong 2006: 114-115).

Following on after Aerope, Ovid harmonises16 the events surrounding two famous female mythical characters both named Scylla for his fifth exemplum. This combination of the Scyllas occurs also in Propertius (IV: 4.39-42) and in Virgil (Ecl. 6.74-77). However, in the Metamorphoses Ovid keeps them separate. Armstrong (2006: 117) considers this a learned in-joke. Ovid states that Scylla, the daughter of Nisus (AA I: 331-332), stole the purple lock of hairs from her father. She paid for her crime by bearing raving hounds within her womb and loins. In traditional mythology, the daughter of Nisus was in fact punished by her transformation into a Ciris (bird) to be forever pursued by her father, who was himself transformed into an Osprey (bird of prey). Her story differs considerably from that of the sea monster. Virgil’s epyllion, Ciris (48-53), relates that a single lock of purple hair, that grew on Nisus’ head, protected the city of Megara. Scylla is, however, shot by Cupid and falls madly in love with Minos. Her passion drives her to cut the lock from her father’s head and the city falls. The other Scylla, daughter of Phorcys, was transformed into the described sea monster by a jealous Circe (Kelk 1975: 182-183). Glaucus, the sea god, fell in love with Scylla, who was repulsed by him. In an attempt to win her love he approached Circe for a love potion. Circe, however, fell in love with him. When he refused her advances, Circe poured poison into the pool where Scylla was bathing, turning her into a terrifying monster (Ovid, Met. XIV: 25-68). Without mentioning Circe, Ovid is able to evoke her. If Armstrong’s (2006: 98) deduction that the Bacchic elements in the Pasiphae story are, in fact, an evocation of Ariadne, then the same can be said of Circe. Interestingly, not only is she Pasiphae’s sister, but also one of Ulysses’ lovers. It is then ironic that Scylla is also responsible for the death of Ulysses’ men. Perhaps Ovid alludes to the later mythical

16 Hollis (1977: 97) regards it as an error, as does Kelk (1975: 183). To my mind Ovid does it intentionally.

92 digression in which Ulysses features. Minos’ role in the initial Scylla myth is undeniably humorous, considering that, in merging the two Scylla myths, he is once again insignificant, despite being to blame, as he was in the Pasiphae myth.

Ovid quickly moves on to Agamemnon, the son of Atreus (AA I: 333-334). He was killed on his return from the Trojan War by his wife, Clytemnestra, and her lover, Aegisthus. Ovid’s humorous couplet points out that he survived the war only to fall victim to his wife. Of course, in the original myth it was not as simplistic. Agamemnon sacrificed his eldest daughter, Iphigenia, to pursue a war which was not strictly his business and which lasted ten years. In accusing Clytemnestra of Agamemnon’s death, Ovid alludes to Aeschylus’ Oresteia in which she plans his death and awaits his return so she can take the throne and publicly reveal Aegisthus as her lover. Perhaps her most evil characteristic is a desire to replace Agamemnon as ruler. While deceptive, and passionate, Clytemnestra’s reason for killing her husband is not sexual desire or jealousy, but the wrath of a mother which has developed into intense hate. The myth thus describes the intensity of the female flamma, but it is not necessarily relevant to the subject matter of the Ars. Perhaps the irrelevance to Ovid’s art is the reason the myth is included in the list, undermining the image of evil woman specifically in romantic liaisons.

The woeful tale of Medea is addressed with great economy in the lines that follow. Creusa, daughter of King Creon of Corinth, married or was about to marry Jason. Jason had a concubine, Medea, who viciously killed Creusa with a dress which was cursed and burned her flesh away (AA I: 335-336). Ovid describes it vividly as flames. The means of her death is, however, described differently in various sources. In his own Ibis (601) Ovid states it to have been a crown, while in Horace’s Epodes (V: 65) it is a garment. In Seneca’s Medea it is a garment and a chain. In this passage the flamma (AA I: 335) is of more significance than defining what the item itself was. The word is used in a double sense, meaning both the actual flames which consumed Creusa and the flames of passion which burned in Medea. Ovid evokes the earlier statement that intense female passion knows no limits (AA I: 282). When Jason eventually deserted Medea, she became the mother stained with her children’s blood (AA I: 336), slaying them in vengeance (Kelk 1975: 187-188). Again Ovid adapts the myth to support the notion that a woman may go to great lengths, killing her lover’s fiancé

93 or wife, and even her own children, to maintain an affair. This myth relates that a woman’s desire overrides even her natural maternal instincts. Ovid assimilates both of Medea’s crimes of passion in the two short lines he grants her story. Medea plays the role of mistress scorned, but her crime of matricide exceeds anything Pasiphae or the exempla before her have done. Flamma ensures that we are reminded that this is an example of primitive lust, not the ideal of the Ars.

Next, Phoenix, son of Amyntor, lost his eyes at the will of his father’s concubine (AA I: 337), named Phthia (Armstrong 2005: 96). She falsely accused him in order to be able to maintain her affair. Her action was a classic example of isolating her lover from his family. This is the version of the story Ovid selects, and that told in Euripides’ lost tragedy, Phoenix (Collard 2017: 358). Homer’s version, however, relates that Phoenix seduced his father’s concubine at his mother’s request. This led to a violent argument with his father, in which his father cursed him with infertility. Phoenix fled to Thessaly where King Peleus of the Myrmidons made him responsible for the upbringing of his son, Achilles (Homer Il. IX: 492-497). Homer (Il. IX: 220ff.) relates that he accompanied Achilles to Troy and was one of the envoys who tried to reconcile him with Agamemnon after their dispute over Briseis. Phoenix’ role in the Trojan war is confirmed by Virgil in his Aeneid (II: 763-764). Although Ovid tells a different version than Homer, he is able to allude to the version in the Iliad. Ironically, both versions illustrate the influence of a woman over a man, one her lover, the other her son.

Hippolytus suffered a similar fate to Phoenix at the hands of his stepmother, Phaedra (AA I: 338). When he rejected her advances, she told his father, Theseus, that it was actually Hippolytus who had made advances against her virtue. In Euripides’ Hippolytus we learn that Theseus prayed to Neptune to send destruction down on his son. In response Neptune sent a sea-monster to frighten Hippolytus, whose horses ran frantically in crazed terror, upsetting the chariot and killing Hippolytus (Kelk 1975: 190). Again, this anecdote illustrates the lengths to which a woman would go, either to initiate and maintain an affair or to avenge her scorned ego. Humorously, Neptune is once again the avenging god and Phaedra Pasiphae’s own daughter.

94 Ovid concludes his list of exempla with the tale of Idaea (AA I: 339-340). Phineus, king of Thrace, married Cleopatra, daughter of Boreas, and she bore him sons. When he later remarried, those same sons’ eyes were pierced by their own father as a result of false accusations by their stepmother, Idaea. Various versions of the story exist, some stating that he allowed their stepmother to blind them. In these versions her name varies also, as does the punishment Phineus suffered. Virgil (Aen. III: 209) states that Phineus was himself blinded by Boreas for his cruel conduct toward his first two sons. Another source adds that his food was inedible, leaving him forever hungry (Kelk 1975: 191-192). Once again the wickedness of a lustful woman has wrought havoc and suffering on the men in her midst.

That all of these women are Greek and not Roman is an important distinction. Ovid is able to openly insult them without recourse. Ovid clearly addresses numerous social taboos in this section of the poem. Perhaps quite interesting is the negative role played by gratified lust. Although portrayed as a result of the desire of the female protagonists, the consequences affect both genders, both participants in the affairs, their children, and their families. In many of the myths the women are not even responsible for the heinous crimes committed, but the blame is transmitted to their passion. Ultimately, a primitive submission to their base desires, whether male or female, has had dire consequences. Thus rather than condemning the women specifically, Ovid’s criticises a lack of restraint.

With a female subject Ovid is able to address the unacceptable behaviours mentioned within the myths selected. Pasiphae is guilty of bestiality. Hers is one of the worse crimes, but the list includes incest with brothers and fathers, affairs between sons and their stepmothers, paternal betrayal, maiming and even murder. If Ovid had addressed these as crimes by a male character he would not have been able to be quite so candid. Thus a list of evil women permits him to criticise the behaviour depicted in the myths without reproach. Although the accused in these lines is always the woman, the fact that myths are mentioned within which the male character is actually guilty of the crime allows Ovid to extend his criticism to male behaviour of the same nature as well. In the same way criticism is extended to the elegiac amator also, warning him against engaging in such behaviour himself, and effectively ridiculing the traditional concept of the elegiac lover. The theme of

95 artful control over unbridled passion remains in the mind’s eye at all times, superseding any moral argument.

Armstrong (2006: 178) is of the opinion that Ovid’s statements make the important assumption that no matter how overwhelming the female passion may be, women are still to take responsibility for their actions and ultimately the crimes that evolve from that fiery female flame. Armstrong’s approach makes the mistake of moralising the issues. This is, however, not Ovid’s aim. When Ovid uses examples of atonement it is to evoke sympathy. He is not interested in causes and consequences. He wants to illustrate that women are open to affairs, but that it is best for the male partner to fulfil the role of protagonist because his female partner’s passion is much less sophisticated than his. While Ovid does depict consequences for the crimes, not all consequences are inflicted on the female perpetrators. The consequences provide Ovid a platform for displaying his knowledge of mythology. These myths serve to support Ovid’s assurance to his audience that they need have no doubt that they can capture the woman they desire. This assurance is given because if a woman’s frantic passion can drive her to her brother, her father or even a bull, then surely a willing male partner should have no trouble igniting her passion (Hollis 1977: 91, Armstrong 2005: 96). Thus this illustration of a frenzied and very misguided female passion serves as an example of the advantage Ovid’s young pupils have (Kelk 1975: 281). Working a maiore ad minorem Ovid assures the amator that the puella is herself a willing partner in a love affair.

Armstrong (2005: 101) also asserts that the examples given in the mythical digressions to support the arguments made in the Ars seldom actually do so. She gives as substantiation for her statement this section of the poem. This series of examples are extreme instances, and in some cases even depict the epitome of madness. She considers Pasiphae especially an inappropriate example to encourage men, primarily as her lover was a bull. She thus concludes that, if all women are anything like the women in the examples, rather than having a good chance of meeting a woman, men instead have none. James (2003: 316) agrees that women’s inability to control their lust and related emotions should rather have the opposite effect, scaring young men away. Their explanations make some sense, if one is considering the traditional myths. However, it is imperative that we remember the

96 prevalence of irony and humour which Ovid introduces into his texts, whether explicit or disguised. Based on the analyses provided, it is clear that in his retelling Ovid undermines the traditional perspective of the myths. It is my opinion that, in concluding his humorous retelling of the myths, Ovid undermines the negative perception of female desire, making it an advantage for the amator rather than a hazard.

Armstrong (2006: 85) argues that Ovid is influenced by anti-female literature, naming Semonides’ Types of Women17, which she claims to be one of the most misogynistic of the ancient texts. She also compares this passage to Propertius (III: 19). She states that the list of women Ovid provides as examples virtually mirrors that of Propertius. Perhaps the similarity simply indicates an allusion to Propertius’ text. Armstrong (2006: 85) believes their appearance in both lists marks the myths as proverbs and clichés for exposing female lust. She uses in her argument Ovid’s echo of the point of view expressed in Virgil’s Georgics. This, however, also undermines her argument. Ovid emphasises not the wild animal side of Pasiphae, but her lack of sophistication in the matter. He also urges his student forward in his quest to find a puella. Therefore, should this have been a list of proverbial evil women, we can be sure he undermines it. Ovid took advantage of such obsessive and erotic deeds by contrasting them with moral and social conventions (Verducci 1985: 190). Ovid’s Pasiphae is not extraordinary. She is simply the manifestation of the animal passion that can be found in all women. With this list Ovid ensures that she does not stand out as a unique example. In this way, Ovid is able to develop a more complex character than the traditional cliché (Armstrong 2006: 169). Ovid employs every Ovidian excess in these lines, leaving no genre

17 The iambic poet, Semonides of Amorgos (floruit c. 690 BCE), in his Fr. 7 wrote about various types of women (Gerber 1999: 304-313). Nine of these types of women are destructive, and are categorised as animals for the most part. Only one would make a good wife, the bee-type (83-93). In only three cases are there brief references to female lust: the donkey-type (48-49) is promiscuous; the ferret-type (53) is lustful; the mare-type (62) forces a man to be her lover.

97 or poet unchallenged in his retelling of the myth. Yet, despite mocking every emotional response available to the myth, from sympathy to horror, and every literary convention, Ovid draws a picture of Pasiphae unlike any other author (Armstrong 2006: 185-186). Ovid’s Pasiphae is individual and etched forever in the imagination of his reader. Just as easily as Ovid’s text can be viewed as an example of misogyny, so too can it be read as a celebration of women. His rhetoric could easily be used to support both arguments. As such, it is necessary to examine the text from more than one angle. The complexity of Ovid’s works is evident. By examining the mythical extremes that Ovid utilises, it becomes possible to ascertain that he, in fact, does undermine a misogynistic view, among other traditional views of male-female relations. In true Ovidian style the text is convoluted and confusing, causing the reader to question his/her opinion and that of the author at every turn. This passage is no exception, least of all because of its subject matter.

A detailed analysis of Ovid’s retelling of Pasiphae’s story, and even a simple review of what he mentions of the myths listed, yields a clear conclusion that Ovid remythologises the traditional myths. The function of the myths within Ovid’s text is thus to alter the traditional perspective of the male-female relationship. Ovid reverses the roles of male and female. We discover that the laws of nature will be defied before a woman gives up what she covets. We also learn that her desire exceeds a man’s desire in intensity. The ten examples provided serve the purpose of illustrating the above – in an attempt to show the reader that he has no reason to fear the task ahead (Hollis 1977: 91). Hollis (1977: 92) states that the passions of women inspired horror and astonishment in male poets. This explains why the stories all exhibit excesses and the females fulfil the traditional male role, thus behaving unnaturally. Ovid’s satirical treatment undermines the fear of female passion as well the traditional erotic male-female relationship which ignores the benefits of that mutual passion.

Conclusion

The Pasiphae mythical digression clearly serves an argumentative function, questioning the male perception of the female ability for reasonable passion. In telling her story, and that of the other women, Ovid is able to expose the perceptions of male and female in his

98 contemporary society. In turn he is also able to question them. He does this by adapting the content of the myths. At times he excludes elements. At other times he amends an aspect of the myth slightly, imbuing a hue not before considered. Women are presented in this passage as the protagonist amatrix. Ovid brings to the fore as many taboo elements as are possible, addressing and dispatching with them.

A simple mention of Pasiphae makes a statement about the excesses of female passion and deceitfulness. As one of only nine mythical digressions in the Ars, Pasiphae’s unnatural love affair focuses the attention of Ovid’s audience on the modern puella and the character of women. Ovid omits only one aspect of the myth: Neptune’s involvement. Ovid’s Pasiphae experiences lust for the bull. She is not driven mad by a god’s curse. In fact, her passion is so immense (and equally primitive) that she goes to extreme lengths to satisfy her burning desire, slaughtering her rivals and instructing Daedalus to construct a fake wooden cow with which to conceal her identity. Ovid’s Pasiphae is more complex than the evil woman archetype, unlike any other Pasiphae. The further addition of nine other women driven to frenzy by their desire ensures that Ovid’s point is made: the fire of passion certainly burns in the female sex, possibly even more madly, but only because it is more primitive. Ovid’s argument is thus a maiore ad minorem, meaning that should women possess such innately raw passion, the student-lover stands a better chance with the modern woman than he might realise. Men should not be afraid to approach women in pursuit of a sexual liaison. However, the exempla should be a warning against succumbing to artless and lawless behaviour in this pursuit.

The myth therefore operates on a number of levels. Its primary function is as stated, to illustrate that the intense female passion ensures that women welcome amorous liaisons. On a secondary level Ovid questions the prescribed social concepts of gender by manipulating the very elements that would undermine his argument. In essence he argues that the frenzy of female passion is rooted in its lack of ars, and not madness or curses. On a tertiary level, we are made aware that women can control their emotions; hence the perception that they might not be interested even when they are. This control does not, however, equate to ars. With this inference, Ovid is able to shift the mythical criticism of the female protagonist’s behaviour to the elegiac amator, himself overtly excessive in his

99 feminine behaviour. In essence, Ovid mocks the elegiac tradition, proposing his ars as an alternative to the violence and deception typical of the genre. Finally, in describing the passion which men and women experience as a flame, along with the assertion that women would replace men as the protagonist if men were to stop asking, Ovid impresses on his audience that this passion is both natural and necessary, but equally dangerous. Hence, the need for ars in matters of the heart.

Thus, both Ovid and his list of passionate women defy the laws of nature and society. In so doing Ovid unlocks the viability of his own ars for his student. Ovid has, in effect, remythologised Pasiphae and the female archetype, and hence a critical element of the traditional male-female erotic relationship. On a primary level he assures the amator that women desire these liasons as much as men. He uses myth to delineate the female psyche and supplies a rationale for why the male, not the female, should be the hunter. On a secondary level he undermines the use of violence and promotes the use of ars even if it includes deception.

100

Chapter 8 Ariadne and Bacchus (Book I: 525-564)

101 Introduction

Ovid explores Bacchus’ rescue of Ariadne, abandoned on the island of Dia by Theseus (AA I: 525-564), in his third mythical digression of the Ars. The myth is preceded by advice on appearance (AA I: 505-524). The lover is essentially told that he should be clean and neat, neither overly groomed or untidy. The myth is followed by advice for using wine as a tool of seduction at a banquet (AA I: 565-608). In summary, wine is ideal for setting the appropriate atmosphere, but over-indulgence will have the opposite effect. Both the advice given before and after the myth propose restraint.

It is not immediately transparent how the myth and the instructions are related. This chapter will investigate this problem by determining the traditional functions of the myth and interpreting it within the new context that Ovid creates.

Summary of the Presumed Traditional Myth

Ariadne’s abandonment by Theseus is one of the most popular and well known stories in Roman literature (Hollis 1977: 121). Both Virgil (Aetna 21-22) and Catullus (64) are notable among those who have previously told the story. Traditionally, there were, however, many versions of the myth.

Ariadne was the daughter of Minos and Pasiphae. According to the most well known version she fell in love with Theseus when he was sent by his father to convey the tribute of the Athenians to the Minotaur.18 The tribute entailed sending seven men and seven women to

18 One version of the myth tells that Theseus volunteered to be one of the tributes with the intention of killing the Minotaur (Mayerson 2001: 366).

102 Crete every nine years to be consumed by the monstrous Minotaur (Harris & Platzner 2008: 324). To ensure Theseus’ safe return, Ariadne requested Daedalus’ help. Daedalus disclosed to Theseus how to kill the Minotaur. He also told him about the infamous ball of string, by means of which Theseus later found his way out of the labyrinth (Harris & Platzner 2008: 325). Ariadne is generally attributed with giving Theseus the ball of string and a sword (Armstrong 2006: 6). Theseus promised to marry Ariadne in return (Plutarch, Thes. 19; Hyginus, Fab. 42), and so she left for Athens with him. However, ancient versions of the myth diverge on what happened when they arrived on the island of Dia.19

Homer states that Ariadne was married to Bacchus and left him for Theseus (Hollis 1977: 122). He (Od. XI: 325) adds that she was killed on Dia by Diana because of her infidelity.20 Homer evokes yet another account in which Ariadne’s betrothal to Bacchus occurred several generations before, when the god was still wandering the earth and introducing his cult. When he rode into battle against the Argives with his band of sea women, King Perseus accidentally killed Ariadne with a spear meant for Bacchus (Nonnos, Dion. 25. 98-112) and later petrified her with the decapitated head of Medusa (Nonnos, Dion. 47. 664-712). Bacchus’ descent to the underworld through Lerna to bring back his mother, Semele, before ascending to Olympus (Diodorus Siculus, IV: 25.4) is often associated with Ariadne’s resurrection (Ogden 2008: 31).

The more common tradition was that Theseus abandoned Ariadne alive but asleep on Dia (Hyginus, Fab. 43, Ovid, Her. X). Various reasons are given for her abandonment (Plutarch, Thes. 20). Some versions tell that Ariadne’s sister, Phaedra, escaped on the ship with them and that Theseus eloped with her (Harris & Platzner 2008: 343). As a consequence, Ariadne

19 Dia is also identified with Naxos in the Aegean (Murgatroyd 1982: 119). 20 Homer himself indicates that no intercourse had taken place between Theseus and Ariadne (Od. XI: 324), undermining any reason for the virgin goddess, Diana, to kill Ariadne.

103 ended her own life in despair. In another version, Theseus was forced by Bacchus to leave Ariadne (Diodorus Siculus, IV: 61 and V: 51). She was nevertheless saved by Bacchus, who found her beauty remarkable. He made her his wife, raised her among the immortal gods, and placed her crown among the stars21 (Hesiod, Theog. 949; Ovid, Her. IV: 114ff. and Met. VIII: 179-182; Hyginus, Poet. Astr. II: 5).

Traditionally the various versions reflected either a punishment for adultery, the tragic effects of abandonment, or renewal after rejection. The many archetypal elements of the story easily fulfil a political role. Ariadne betrays her father’s position as head of the family by running away from home and choosing her own partner. The consequence of this is her abandonment, easily considered justifiable punishment for her disobedience in patriarchal Roman society. Since Bacchus is a powerful god, he is in a position to forgive her, and her subservience to him can be viewed as further retribution for her father’s loss. She becomes both the loyal wife and follower of Bacchus. In this sense she performs the role of matrona. She is simultaneously the leader of his Maenads, a passionate and uninhibited role, making her just as attractive to the amatory writers.

Ovid’s Use of the Myth

Ariadne’s tale appears in three of Ovid’s other works. She is the heroine of Heroides X, in which she has just been deserted by Theseus and her first-hand lamentations centre around Theseus’ deception. In Fasti III Ariadne has been deserted again, this time by Bacchus. Her story is also briefly addressed in the Metamorphoses (VIII: 172-182). Ovid’s interest in the

21 Nonnus (Dion. 47. 664-712) says her catasterism occurred with her death at the hands of Perseus. In the Fasti (III: 459ff.) Ovid states that the crown was given to atone for Bacchus’ infidelity on returning to her. Another version of the myth relates that Theseus had given the crown to Ariadne, which is also indicated in Ovid’s Metamorphoses (VIII: 179-182).

104 Ars is in the forming of erotic liaisons outside of marriage. At first glance the traditional versions of the myth do not lend themselves easily to such a point of view.

Ovid opens the mythical digression with a depiction of Bacchus, himself struck with the fire of love (AA I: 525-526). According to Murgatroyd (1982: 119) the point of the digression is to turn Bacchus into a lover, who is himself inflamed with passion. If we consider Murgatroyd’s reasoning, we must view Bacchus simply as the student-lover, which is not the case. Ovid clearly presents Bacchus rather as a sort of patron of lovers. The god calls on the assistance of suum vatem [his bard] (AA I: 525-526), so as to assist lovers on their quest to find a puella. Tibullus (III: 4.43-44) relates that Bacchus and Apollo shared the patronage of poetry. It is then not unreasonable to deduce that Ovid invokes Apollo, who does not feature in the traditional myth, as the patron of the arts, and thus artistic skill (Harris & Platzner 2008: 1048). As the god of wine, Bacchus was symbolic of pleasure, thus both gods contribute to Ovid’s method of seduction. That vates means singer and poet suggests a humorous double meaning. As the poet of the Ars, Ovid playfully associates himself with Apollo in skill and role. Adiuvat and favet (AA I: 526) indicate help, specifically in love, and therefore the mighty Bacchus does not rely only on his own power of intoxication to capture his puella. Ovid associates art, skill, and poetry, with wine, as the tools in the undertaking of winning over a puella. The allusion to poetry introduces the idea of words as part of Ovid’s art. In invoking Apollo in the opening lines of the poem, the lover is immediately informed that artfulness goes hand in hand with the other tools of seduction. Through association, Ovid also asserts his authority as praeceptor.

Immediately after the couplet in which we are told that Bacchus burns with passion, Ariadne enters the scene. She is frantic, wandering on the shore of the island calling for cruel Theseus (AA I: 531), crying and striking her chest. She is visibly distraught and vulnerable in Ovid’s lines - barefoot, her hair untied, having just woken (AA I: 528-537). Her actions and reactions are those of a person in obvious distress. Despite the humour which creeps in, subtly at first, and then ultimately dominating Ovid’s retelling of the myth, his introduction of Ariadne is not amusing from the outset (Armstrong 2006: 241).

105 Ovid expresses vividly the emotions of his female character. He adds detail after detail to create an acutely sad image (Murgatroyd 1982: 119). Despite being described as a small island (AA I: 528), Dia was, in fact, the largest of the Cyclades (Murgatroyd 1982: 119; Hornblower & Spawforth 2003: 1031 s.v. Naxos 1). Used in conjunction with aequoreis ... aquis [by the waves/waters of the sea] (AA I: 528), whose meaning is further stressed by their assonance, Ovid is able to emphasise Ariadne’s hopelessness and isolation, lost on a small island in the vast ocean. This, combined with the assonance of the subsequent lines, adds to the mournful tone (Murgatroyd 1982: 119). The couplet in which she calls out for Theseus, only to be drowned out by the waves and her own tears, is especially moving: Thesea crudelem surdas clamabat ad undas, indigno teneras imbre rigante genas [She called for cruel Theseus to the unhearing waves, while an undeserving (shameful) shower (of rain) wet her tender cheeks.] (AA I: 531-532) Theseus is not only described as cruel, but his faithlessness is accentuated by the description of Ariadne’s tears as being unworthy and shameful22, and by her subsequent lamentations. Theseus becomes the archetype of the cruel husband or lover, the ante-type, which supplies an opportunity for the aspirant lover, in this instance Bacchus. The use of imbre [rain] for tears denotes the uncontrollable downpour of tears Ariadne experiences. It enhances the difference between her emotions and those of Bacchus, who exhibits the flamma of desire, illustrating the extreme opposites of desire and heartache. The overwhelming sadness of her cries for Theseus and of her tears is augmented by the idea of loneliness and futility conveyed in surdas ... et undas. Murgatroyd (1982: 120) points out the sad spondees contained in the hexameter. She has only the waves to hear her and they do

22 Indigno goes with imbre, and with rigante in the Ablative Absolute. It has two meanings that are both relevant here: 1. undeserving, unworthy; 2. unbecoming, shameful (Lewis & Short 1879: 935 s.v. indignus I and II).

106 not respond. With teneras Ovid suggests youth and femininity, but the undertone is erotic. Clamabat [she called] (AA I: 533) is repeated at the start of the next line, which then ends with decebat [she was comely]. The verbs are clearly placed for emphasis. Their positions draw attention to the link between her distress and her beauty, which is already suggested in the previous line. Murgatroyd (1982: 120) considers this Ovid’s way of letting his audience know both that he is not so serious and that the lines are not quite as sad as he has depicted, while simultaneously subtly pointing to Bacchus’ interest in Ariadne. It appears Ovid is mockingly using the elegiac tradition of a woman in distress. Through the growing humour and the repetition of clamabat he associates Theseus and the statement of Ariadne’s beauty, perhaps implying he is a fool because this is the willing puella. The verb also brings to mind the maidens’ reaction in Ovid’s version of the rape of the Sabine women, as well as the sine lege aspect of it.

In her anguish, Ariadne beats her mollissima [most tender] chest (AA I: 535) before repeatedly asking what will become of her (AA I: 536-537). Murgatroyd (1982: 120) points out the humour of the superlative, minimising the truth of her sadness, and laying the path for a more willing departure with Bacchus. Ariadne also does not tear at her infamous blonde hair, croceas comas (AA I: 530), a common trait of the epic heroine (Hollis 1977: 122). In the Heroides (X: 145-50) she describes her blonde locks as qui superant [what remains (of them)] illustrating a woman with much of the hair ripped from her head and thus a much less attractive image. Croceas is also an unusual adjective in this context. It is used by numerous authors, and by Ovid himself a number of times, but only here is it used in relation to hair (Armstrong 2006: 242). Catullus (64) uses flavus, the more common adjective for blonde hair, in his description of Ariadne. In making this variation, Ovid draws attention to his deviation from the elegiac tradition of the distraught woman tearing at her hair. In this way Ariadne retains her beauty in a distressed state without the inference of violence.

The depiction of the dishevelled woman is a common archetype of elegiac grief. It allows the poet to emphasise that the grief of the heroine only makes her more beautiful. Verducci (1985: 250) suggests that the untidy hair hinted at the prospective sensual pleasures of the bedroom. Throughout this passage, Ariadne’s beauty is emphasised. However, her

107 heartache and fear are depicted not as part of her beauty, but rather as elements within the setting that have no effect on her beauty. Ovid goes to great lengths to focus on these elements without specifically crediting the fear with her beauty. He states non facta est lacrimis turpior illa suis [she was not made uglier by her tears] (AA I: 534). Perhaps Ovid is simply following traditional techniques, as is believed by many scholars. However, that Ovid’s choice of words is made so carefully and cleverly allows one to consider an alternative. It seems again that Ovid is ridiculing the archetype, questioning the perception of a woman’s beauty in the context of distress.

This passage contains examples of a figure of speech called epanalepsis23 (Wills 1996: 124) which Ovid uses to evoke Catullus 64, a typical elegy exhibiting many examples of the construction (Wills 1996: 132). In general, the construction entailed the repetition of nouns or verbs (Wills 1996: 131), not uncharacteristic of speech, but it is almost exclusively limited to poetry, with only a few more than one hundred examples being known in a corpus that spans over one hundred thousand lines of poetry (Wills 1996: 125)24. Several examples of it exist in Catullus 64 and associate it naturally and decisively with the lament of Ariadne. This literary figure is one of the indicative components of Ovid’s Ariadne passage (I: 531-538) which causes it to be compared with Catullus’ passage (64. 132-133). Clamabat [she called] is the first instance of epanalepsis in Ovid’s lines. The repetition of the phrase that occurs near the end of the first line in the beginning of a subsequent line highlights the tragic circumstances of Ariadne’s predicament. The role of Catullus 64 as an intertextual reference

23 Wills (1996: 124) defines epanalepsis as an expanded gemination with restricted line position, in effect, the repetition of a word from either the beginning or the end of a line at the beginning (or close to it) of the next line. 24 It can be found in Homer and the Hellenistic poets in Greek literature, and in the Latin poetry of the neoteric and Augustan poets. There is no surviving case of epanalepsis in Latin literature before the first century BCE, although it is likely that it would have been found in the lost lines of Ennius (Wills 1996: 130). The poetry of both Virgil and Catullus exhibits a number of examples.

108 evoked by Ovid is indicated also by the use of perfidus (AA I: 536), followed closely by the repetition of the half-verse, “quid mihi fiet?”ait [“what will become of me?” she said] (AA I: 536-537), at the end of the line and at the beginning of the subsequent line (Wills 1996: 134). Armstrong (2006: 241) considers Catullus 64 an important intertext for Ovid, asserting that Ovid offered a condensed version of it. Despite extensive similarities, an equally strong comparison can be drawn for the differences. Ovid retains the Catullan style in the pattern of his repetition, but makes both formal and narrative variations (Wills 1996: 134), effectively establishing his authority as a poet. Where Ovid has stated Thesea crudelem (AA I: 531), Catullus uses perfide (64. 132- 133). Crudelis allows Ovid to appeal to the emotional cruelty of unfeeling Theseus’ actions. Perfidus, on the other hand, addresses the immorality of his actions, as Paestan Red Figure Vase faithless and treacherous. Ariadne herself, however, Painter unknown (ca 370 - 360 BCE) Louvre Museum, Paris refers to Theseus as perfidus ille (AA I: 536)25 a few lines later. The use of both words allows Ovid to allude to Catullus while retaining the humour of the scene. It also allows Ovid to associate the cruel consequences of Theseus’ immoral behaviour with emotional pain and trickery, evoking the idea of sine lege, and drawing a stark contrast with her saviour, Bacchus’, later introduction (AA I: 549-562).

Ovid describes the arrival of Bacchus in terms of traditional vase paintings, such as that pictured alongside. Ovid’s scene consists of Bacchants (Maenads) and the Satyr, Silenus, on a donkey. The presence of both were common in depictions of Bacchus. In the Ars Bacchus rides a chariot led by a team of tigers, which he controls with golden reins (AA I: 549-550). Ovid’s clever use of alliteration (AA I: 538) adds a welcome rhythm to the text through the

25 In his other versions of the story Ovid also elects to use perfide (Ib. 137-138, Fast. III: 473).

109 sounds of the words, as they almost mimic the instruments, the energy, and the movement of the scene (Murgatroyd 1982: 121).

On seeing the Bacchants, rather than being soothed, Ariadne is terrified and faints (AA I: 539-540). Armstrong (2006: 95) observes that, although the Bacchants may be a rescue party, they are also the manifestation of Ariadne’s fears about wild animals and uncontrollable forces which she may face on the island. This observation might make her anguished response more believable. In Ovid’s Heroides (X: 81-88) Ariadne speaks of the animals she fears encountering on the island, including a tiger. This is, however, excluded in the Ars. Armstrong (2006: 94) states that the humour in the Heroides, and the Ars alike, stems from the audience’s knowledge that her animal fears will be realised when Bacchus arrives to save her. The humour in the Ars can perhaps rather be attributed to the evocation again of another aspect of the myth, as well as to Ovid’s syntax, wrought with visual imagery: excidit illa metu, rupitque novissima verba; nullus in exanimi corpore sanguis erat [She fainted with fear, and her very next words were interrupted; no blood was present (remained) in her lifeless body] (AA I: 539-540). The phrase novissima verba is used here for the first time by Ovid, but it is used by Virgil to indicate the first words spoken by or for somebody about to die (Armstrong 2006: 245). By therefore referring to her as lifeless, Ovid plays with the idea that Ariadne has died and is revived by Bacchus and taken as his wife (Armstrong 2005: 104-105). It is a humorous reference to the version of the myth in which Ariadne is rescued from the Underworld, establishing his authority. It may be as simple as a reference to her over-exaggerated fear that the arrival of the Bacchants may well mean her death, simply inducing comedy. Armstrong (2006: 246) asserts that Ovid may be stating that the last words she will say are “Cruel Theseus!” and “What will become of me?” These are, in fact, the last words Ariadne speaks in this passage, but the Bacchants, whose ranks she will join later, will speak later (Armstrong 2006: 97). Thus, this is less likely about the female voice than it is about a transformation of Ariadne from typical elegiac puella to ideal Ovidian puella. Ovid uses the

110 audience’s knowledge of Ariadne’s future role as the leader of Bacchus’ Maenads so that her depiction as fragile, weak and passively attractive is quite amusing.

Rather than an extended monologue, Ovid’s Ariadne just asks for the second time what will become of her and she is answered with the sounds of Bacchus’ procession arriving. The sounds on the beach are almost audible, giving the impression of a modern-day drum roll. These two audio events occur purposely and effectively in one line. As soon as she has asked her question, it is answered, cutting off any opportunity for further extended lamentations. The humour is undeniable. The ancient Roman audience would likely have expected the extended monologue and would have been surprised with this jump to the ending (Murgatroyd 1982: 121). Amusingly, Ariadne’s emotional state has also gradually become more frenzied, leading up to the entrance of the Bacchants. By quoting her in the first person, Ovid makes the situation more current, simultaneously accentuating the arrival of the Bacchants. Her behaviour has effectively become more Bacchant-like as the scene has progressed. Her fearful response to the Bacchants therefore adds further humour to the scene, both because the audience is aware of the ending, and because her fainting seems to be quite an over-exaggerated response to the situation, the arrival of her jovial rescue- party. The imagery creates a distinct contrast between the lamentations of an abandoned Ariadne and the din of the Bacchanal wedding-party, contradicting both the traditional fearful depictions of the scene, and ridiculing the elegiac traditional representation of the distraught lover or puella.

When viewed with the feminine voice in mind, Ovid’s style is questioned by numerous scholars. Ariadne’s lament is condensed into a few lines in the Ars, allowing her only a few spoken words. In comparison, in Catullus Ariadne gives an extended monologue. Armstrong’s (2006: 244) opinion in this regard is that Ariadne’s words are not addressed to Theseus any longer, almost as if she has already accepted that he is gone and that the pain she feels is now a real consideration. Armstrong (2006: 245) considers the swift arrival of Bacchus in response to her question to be one of many examples denying Ariadne’s voice. According to Armstrong (2006: 244), the fact that Ariadne calls and shouts to Theseus over the noise of the waves is indicative of Ovid underplaying both her speaking role within the text, and the importance of what it is she says. In the same sense, we can then consider her

111 direct speech as bringing to the fore exactly those elements of what she does say. Hollis (1977: 122) makes the point that long monologues by the many abandoned heroines of mythology may have become stereotyped. He states that Ovid takes a considerably different approach. It is his opinion that Ovid is not concerned with what Ariadne has to say, nor interested in garnering the audience’s sympathy for her predicament. Hollis (1977: 122) asserts that although she does lament and does ask what will become of her, Ovid’s purpose is to depict her beauty in this condition and provide an answer to her question in the form of Bacchus’ lofty entrance. He (Hollis 1977: 122) excuses Ovid with the statement that within the context it is necessary to concentrate rather on her rescue and less on her actual lamentations, concluding that this alternate approach provides a twist and some additional colour to the tale. While I am in agreement with the assertion that Ovid’s approach is different, I do not agree that Ovid has less interest in her grief. I am inclined to consider this rather as a technique with which Ovid accentuates the traditional female lack of voice. Ovid gives the female a voice by effectively focusing the reader’s attention on the numerous powerful emotions Ariadne experiences. In depicting her emotions realistically, ranging from shouting, to crying, to being speechless or motionless, much like the Sabine brides, Ariadne becomes a real girl. By Ovid’s accentuating that Ariadne is not heard by Theseus as she calls to him, we are reminded of his own trickery. However, Bacchus, the amator, heeds her pleas and comes to her rescue. Before ever laying hands on her he speaks to her, indicating, in fact, that she does have a voice, even if she does not use words in direct speech. The extended monologue in Catullus is a contrived elegiac concept. In defying the tradition Ovid once again questions the elegiac traditions. Similarly, Ovid’s limited use of direct speech, cut off abruptly by Bacchus’ party’s arrival, indicates an end to her role as elegiac puella, and signifies that she will become an Ovidian puella. The later cries of the Bacchants take up the female voice again. They to an extent represent Ariadne’s voice as their future leader. In addition, these women’s voices are celebratory. The implication is that they symbolise many ecstatic women who are experiencing the pleasure of mutually satisfying sexual relationships. Ariadne leaves behind the distress of Theseus’ abandonment with the arrival of her new lover, who, we will see, will use seduction, rather than deception or violence, which will conclude in a mutually pleasurable erotic union.

112 The use of the Macedonian term Mimallonides (AA I: 541) for the Bacchants adds an element of the exotic to the scene, but also once again establishes Ovid’s didactic authority (Hollis 1977: 123). The description of the Bacchants with untidy hair, from throwing it back and forth, was characteristic (Hollis 1977: 123). The similarity in appearance between the Bacchants and Ariadne may be of some relevance. Ovid might be pointing out the similarity between Ariadne’s grief-stricken reaction and the Bacchants’ deranged behaviour, thereby wittily undermining any serious consideration for her anguish. The implication is that as a Bacchant Ariadne is a willing follower of Bacchus. The similarity between the women emphasises the question of the willingness of the puella, an important aspect of the Ars which has already been established.

Ovid digresses to describe drunken Silenus and his failed attempts to catch the Bacchants, almost falling from the mule he rides (AA I: 542-548). Virgil describes Silenus similarly (Ecl. 6.13-17), referring to drunkenness as his usual state, while Catullus simply refers to him with lymphata mente [wine-crazed mind] (64.254). With the focus on Silenus’ drunken behaviour Ovid makes his failed pursuit of the Bacchants more obvious. The women run toward him and then away from him provocatively, allowing the reader to envisage a playful interaction, or even a game. More importantly, the women are willing participants. In fact, they are in control. Ovid’s syntax has a powerful effect on the rhythm of the lines, with alliteration, assonance, repetition, rhyme and word position all playing a vitally energising role, accentuating the excitement of the erotic game. Ovid takes advantage of all the techniques available to him, both within the restraints of the elegiac genre and by inserting components of other genres into his text. The duplicate -que of dum sequitur Bacchas, Bacchae fugiuntque petuntque [While he pursues the Bacchants, the Bacchants run away and toward (him)] (AA I: 545) is redundant but a common occurrence in epic (Murgatroyd 1982: 79). Here it serves to accentuate the repetition of the women’s movements, accentuating the pursuing and fleeing of the participants which makes it a pleasurable game in which both parties are willing participants. The further repetition of the noun Bacchae in modified form (Ovid modifies the noun by changing its case in the two instances), strikingly juxtaposed in two concise half-verses, has a powerful effect. In doing so Ovid is able to maintain continuity of argument, accentuating the role of the female participants in the interaction. The Maenads were known for promiscuity (Murgatroyd 1982: 121) and one can

113 easily deduce that this game of to and fro has a sexual implication. A reference to the impending sexual act between Ariadne and Bacchus could be intended, implying willingness on Ariadne’s part, who already exhibits physical characteristics of the Maenads. Ovid uses arte (AA I: 544) ironically, since Silenus’ desperate grasping at the donkey’s mane is far from artful. The word provides a link, between his interaction with the Maenads, and that of the lover and the subject of his desire. The depiction also serves to intimate the subsequent lesson (AA I: 565-630) warning against the excess of wine, because excess is a deterrent rather than an aide in capturing the girl. It also suggests a comparison with Bacchus’ entry at the end of the procession. Silenus is an archetypal character and his role is to bring humour to the passage. The amusement created by this image of a drunken old man, naked with a horse tail, and falling from a donkey, softens the intense emotion developed by the initial description of Ariadne’s fear. It also separates that sadness from the following lines, ensuring that Ariadne’s reactions to the arrival of Bacchus can be considered ridiculous and inappropriate. The satyrs’ duplicate cry to Silenus, urging him to get back up after he has fallen (AA I: 548), is jestfully reminiscent of the repetitive wedding-cry, which itself appears a few lines later. By placing emphasis on the flirtation of the Bacchants and Silenus, Ovid undermines the importance of the marriage by capture and accentuates the idea of mutual desire through Ariadne and Bacchus’ myth.

This digression in Ovid’s text ensures that his text is infused with a prevailing element of humour. In contrast, Catullus’ description of the procession is more serious and potentially dangerous to Ariadne. He describes the Bacchants as raging with madness, crying out, as they toss their heads. Some of them even throw around the limbs of a dismembered bull or carry snakes around the shoulders. They play cymbals and drums, blowing harsh-sounding horns and barbaric flutes. Catullus creates an image of uncontrolled, overbearing frenzy bordering on violence. Such a scene would certainly warrant a fearful response. Ovid omits these harsh elements so that Ariadne’s later fear seems comical rather than justified. In addition, Ovid’s audience first hear the approach of Bacchus’ retinue (AA I: 537), but the god himself only appears a few lines later when he makes an impressive entrance at the end of the procession (AA I: 549). Unlike Silenus, Bacchus enters with visible purpose and certainly more competence (Hollis 1977: 123). However, Ovid’s Bacchus is not only dignified and composed. He seems to be more affable, tolerating Ariadne’s reaction to him. He is quite

114 unlike Catullus’ Bacchus, who is described as incensus amore [inflamed with love] (64. 253) (Armstrong 2006: 248).

Ovid takes elements of the description of Bacchus’ chariot from various sources. Athenaeus (V: 28) describes a Ptolomaic pageant in which the canopy of Bacchus’ chariot is decorated with vines, ivy and fruit. The vines are symbolic of Bacchus’ association and identification with wine (Seaford 2006: 23). Seaford (2006: 25) makes an enlightening observation about the role wine plays in Bacchus’ character. It is the element which makes humankind unique among the very animalistic elements that make up the Bacchic cult and behaviour. Even though it is grown from the earth, it influences the “consciousness that accompanies the subjection of nature” and the “transformation of human identity” (Seaford 2006: 25). In addition to the clusters of grapes, there is the chariot led by a team of tigers. However, the existence of tigers only became known to the Greco-Roman world in the Hellenistic age (Hollis 1977: 124), and therefore this is possibly a variation from earlier tradition. Reference to Bacchus with tigers is also made by Ovid’s contemporaries (Virgil, Aen. VI: 801-806 and Ecl. 5.27-31; Horace, Carm. III: 3.14). Bacchus is mentioned with tigers, lions, panthers and lynxes in various literary sources (Jácome 2013: 529), but of them the tiger is probably the most exotic and powerful animal, further accentuating the mystery of the scene.

Despite the chariot of tigers, Ariadne’s fearful reaction to Bacchus’ eventual arrival is exaggerated. We are told et color et Theseus et vox abiere puellae [her colour, and Theseus, and her voice, have left the girl] (AA I: 551). The mention here of Theseus again is quite amusing. Theseus has left her once already, even if in a different sense (Hollis 1977: 124). Ovid here means that Ariadne forgets about Theseus in that moment. The placement of Theseus between her colour and her voice indicates that first she lost her colour from shock, then she forgot about Theseus and only then was she left speechless, perhaps by her mighty rescuer or because she had nothing left to say about Theseus. The emotions associated with her elegiac distress are syntactically linked to Theseus and not Bacchus. Her loss of voice and colour can easily be viewed as a reaction of awe (or fear within the traditional myth) as she sees Bacchus. The phrase brings to mind her earlier direct speech, her last words asking what will become of her (AA I: 536-537). This is quite amusing considering that she is about

115 to be rescued, once again answering her question. The line is accentuated by the repetition of the conjunction et three times. This is followed by the duplicate terque (AA I: 552), emphasising the conventional triplicate pattern. Three times she tries to run from him and three times fear holds her back (AA I: 552). It seems strange that fear of Bacchus would hold her back. Instead, it appears to be fear of something else, perhaps being alone on the island again. It is, however, more likely that Ovid mocks the expected show of female rebuff. Although not original or uncommon, Ovid’s use of repetition concisely accentuates Ariadne’s reactions, without losing any of the humour of the lines either. Her fear and powerlessness would be tangible, were it not for the humour.

The comedic scene is continued in the agricultural similes that describe Ariadne’s trembling (AA I: 553-554). Ovid’s rather accurate description of a corn stalk blowing in the wind, and a reed in a marsh, creates an interesting image, almost Bacchant-like. An additional similarity between the corn, the reed, and Ariadne, is that they are all rooted to the ground where they stand (Murgatroyd 1982: 123). There is some debate as to whether steriles (AA I: 553) is correct. Hollis (1977: 124) replaces it with fragiles, which works well within the context as fragile corn. Mozley (1979: 50), similarly, uses graciles [slender corn]. Both fragiles or graciles would evoke the earlier teneras (AA I: 532), perhaps reminding the audience that it is Theseus who caused the actual harm, and certainly ridiculing this emotional response typical of the elegiac genre. Armstrong (2006: 249), however, does not feel there is any need to alter the adjective (which is, in fact, the lectio difficilior), considering that, if not rescued by Bacchus, Ariadne would become a barren crop herself. She considers this an evocation of Catullus’ epithet (48. 5-6). Catullus compares the number of kisses he shares with his lover to tightly-packed dry ears of corn. Ovid uses the reference of corn in the wind in the Heroides also for this moment, as Ariadne says that her body quivers like corn blown by the wind (Her. X: 139). Within the context of the Ars, it is perhaps not too far a stretch to consider that Ariadne may not be trembling with fear, but perhaps sexual excitement. Steriles is also quite witty. The traditional myth will, after all, conclude in a marriage which will result in children. Yet, if we recall Homer (Od. XI: 324), Ariadne had not had any children by this time. If steriles is correct, Ovid not only possibly alludes to Homer’s use, and Catullus in the opposite sense, but also to the idea of the forthcoming betrothal, which multiplies the humour.

116

In response to Ariadne’s fear, Bacchus speaks words of assurance and promises her an impressive wedding gift (AA I: 557). Munus would generally refer to a gift given on a special occasion, such as a wedding (Hollis 1977: 124). The special wedding gift that he promises is a reference to her deification and the placement of her crown among the stars. Ovid’s reference to Ariadne’s crown is cleverly integrated into the moment of their meeting, pre- empting their pending betrothal. In mentioning the crown at this time, Ovid evokes his earlier advice about the giving of gifts (AA I: 395-436). He also specifies that the words of blandishment are taking place prior to, and not after, the sexual gratification. The crown is often viewed as a symbol of the happier conclusion of Ariadne’s life, as the wife of Bacchus and her honouring in the catasterism of her crown. With this reference to her crown Ovid is able to demonstrate his expansive knowledge and skill, and thereby establish his authority as the instructor he claims to be. The audience knows that this is not just a gift promised, but that it will be given. Its placement within the promise, Bacchus’ words of persuasion, creates a powerful allusion to cum arte. If any myth could allude to a happy and successful ending to the attempts to find a puella it would be that of Bacchus and Ariadne, whose relationship was known for its duration and love (Harris & Platzner 2008: 267), which was symbolised by the crown. If we consider the advice that follows the myth, the view that Bacchus’ gift to man is wine (Murgatroyd 1982: 125) validates the inclusion of the gift image. Thus, what appeared merely an allusion showing off Ovid’s knowledge is actually relevant in the argument.

Vulcan is said to have crafted Ariadne’s crown from fiery gold and Indian gems (Eratosthenes Cat. 5; Armstrong 2006: 312). It was either given to her by Bacchus at their wedding, or it was a wedding gift from Venus and the Hours (Armstrong 2006: 312). The catasterism of Ariadne’s crown was a well known myth26. Its importance lies in the

26 Ovid also mentions it in the Metamorphoses (VII: 177-182).

117 aetiological role it plays with regard to the Corona Borealis constellation. Here Ovid appears to combine two versions. The common version relates that the crown became the Corona Borealis constellation (Harris & Platzner 2008: 344). In a rarer version Ariadne is herself raised into the heavens (Hollis 1977: 124). In this version she becomes the Italian goddess, Libera (Fasti III: 509ff., Propertius III: 17.8). Ovid plays with the tension between the idea that Ariadne herself becomes the goddess, and the theory that the crown simply represented her (Armstrong 2006: 315). Ovid in effect merges the two aetiological elements of the constellation, and also associates the crown with seduction. In so doing, he creates the foundation myth of the mutually-rewarding, erotic, male-female relationship by remythologising not only Ariadne and Bacchus’ meeting, but the aetiological elements of the myth also.

Bacchus’ promise of marriage is reminiscent of the words of placation made by Romulus’ men (AA I: 129-130). It is amusing that Bacchus promises Ariadne a gift and not the privilege of renewed honour, as was the case for the Sabines. The echo of the Romulean promise adds to the humour of the passage, and possibly even distinguishes the two myths from each other. There is no marital cry in the lines which describe the seizure of the Sabine women. Where they resist, Ariadne is silent. Where the men speak words of placation only once they have seized their booty, Bacchus makes his promise before taking his bride. It is these slight differences, distinguishable because of the similarities between these Ovidian myths, that accentuate the humour of this passage and ensure that the lesson progresses.

Having made his promise, Bacchus disembarks from his chariot. This immediate action without waiting for a response is a further indicator of Bacchus’ power, according to Murgatroyd (1982: 124). Hollis (1977: 124) explains that the sand parts below Bacchus’ feet because the god is both bigger and heavier than a mortal man. Armstrong (2006: 250) asserts that Bacchus does not see the reason for her fear, jumping down from his chariot too late (Armstrong 2006: 251). To my mind this appears yet again to be a humorous critique of the elegiac tradition. The elegiac puella is meant to act afraid and unwilling, and the elegiac lover is meant to seize her despite this show of emotion. However, Bacchus wishes to make his bride feel a little more at ease before he takes her to his bed. That he addresses her before disembarking accentuates the humour, as disembarking does seem to

118 be an afterthought. The footprints he leaves in the sand accentuate that Bacchus is a god, strong and majestic, yet acting cum arte even though he has the power to simply take her. In the traditional myth Ariadne has neither choice nor power to influence what is about to happen to her. In the Ars she is unable to resist: neque enim pugnare valebat [nor in fact did she have the strength to fight] (AA I: 561). Armstrong (2006: 250) asserts that had Ovid used volebat [wanted to] instead, the line would have clearly indicated that Ariadne was a willing participant. Instead, she is powerless to resist Bacchus. The impression is not expressly that she is unwilling, but unable. Ovid’s use of valebat, meaning also to be healthy, is a play on feigned elegiac illness and a humorous recollection of her earlier fainting. As Bacchus takes Ariadne in his arms and leaves with her, Ovid amusingly says all things are easy for a god. One might consider that Ovid implies that this is not the case for a mortal man, and as such the audience of the Ars, which seems unlikely. Ovid appears to use the phrase mockingly, evoking the use of similar phrases in epic (for example, Homer Il. III: 381 and Livy I: 39.4). Within the context the line is certainly humorous, even if proverbial, and therefore possibly inappropriate (Murgatroyd 1982: 124). The differentiation between man and god does serve a purpose: Ovid would like the audience to follow his advice for men, which they need because they are not gods. It appears then to imply that Bacchus’ charms (wine and his earlier words) have made the task easier.

Their meeting concludes with the sound of the Bacchants’ nuptial cries as Ariadne is carried away. Numerous references are made in ancient literature to the duplicate cry of the Bacchants as in Ovid; pars “Hymenaee” canunt, pars clamant “Euhion, euhoe!” [some sing “Hymenaeus”, some shout “Euhius27, euhoe!”] (AA I: 563). Both Plautus (Men. 835) and Catullus (64.255) are such examples. Even Horace (Odes 2.19.5-8) makes use of the double euhoe exclamation (Wills 1996: 60). Often the nuptial refrains of Hymen28, hymenaee, also

27 Euhius and Hymenaeus are two of the other names given to Bacchus, while euhoe is the cultic shout. 28 The god of marriage.

119 in a pair, are found alongside the paired exclamation of euhoe, the cry of the Bacchants (Murgatroyd 1982: 125). Here Ovid uses hymenaee without the expected Hymen and the cry euhoe only once. We are aware, because Ovid himself states, that the subject of the Ars is not marriage, but rather romantic interludes. Perhaps this is the reason that Ovid chooses not to repeat the nuptial refrain. Perhaps the decision is based on metre. A single nuptial cry might be an allusion to another text. We cannot be sure why he deviates from tradition. It could well have been intended to add emphasis to the Bacchant cry. As much as Ariadne becomes Bacchus’ wife, she becomes a Bacchant also. The use of direct language conveys a similarly vivid element as when Ariadne is questioning her fate on the beach. Ovid highlights the female voice through his carefully positioned and limited use of it. He also connects Ariadne and the Bacchants, as both speak, implying a shared characteristic. Ovid amusingly draws attention to the female voice within the image of marriage with the Bacchants’ wedding cry, thus empowering the puella.

The emotive myth ends abruptly as Ovid dispatches the marriage-rape tradition in a single couplet and transports his audience to a dinner party. Compared with the earlier passage depicting the rape of the Sabine women, Ovid again gives only one couplet to the act of rape that occurs in the traditional myth. Ariadne has been taken by Bacchus to the marital bed (AA I: 563-564). Because there is no comment by Ariadne in the lines preceding, Ovid brings doubt as to whether she, in fact, objects, when it was clear that the Sabine maidens did protest. The scene is also significantly described as a wedding and not as a rape. In making this important distinction Ovid depicts an evolution of the tradition within the Ars by reminding his audience of the tradition that their marriage was long and happy, but more importantly decreasing the violence of the sexual conquest. Ovid’s depiction of Bacchus is as Ariadne’s rescuer. The myth of Ariadne and Bacchus quite literally marries the human with the divine (Armstrong 2006: 313). In so doing it becomes the first mythical digression of the Ars to end in happiness, giving some credence to Ovid’s art of loving, which is not only ordained by Venus, but is now both practiced and assisted by Bacchus.

Verducci (1985: 254) makes an interesting observation that, before Bacchus captures Ariadne as his bride, he is himself captured by her beauty. At the inception of the passage Ovid tells us Bacchus is inflamed with the fire of love (AA I: 526). The sequence of the lines

120 describing the distraught Ariadne’s beauty preceding the arrival of Bacchus supports such an assertion, visually in the lines, as well as in the imagination. However, this idea is typical of elegy, which is in itself pertinent to Ovid’s argument. Although the amator is going to lay eyes on the puella he desires well before she is even aware of him, he can only ignite in her the same flame if he follows an alternate route to that typically suggested in elegy. Ovid’s ideal is mutual pleasure and passion, as is clear from the contents of the Ars until this point.

In the section that follows the myth Ovid will advise the audience how to use wine in a manner conducive to successfully winning the puella’s affections, which is by definition mutually pleasing. Considering the extensive use of imagery, comparison and metaphor in Ovid, his use of the myth in these lines seems to imply that wine can play both a positive and a negative role in the quest for love. This renders a further duality to Bacchus in the myth. Bacchus is himself both amator and the god of wine. Drunkeness may lead to amor sine arte, whilst moderate consumption may lead to success, that is, the conquest of the desired puella. Bacchus’ behaviour in this myth is mirrored in this future advice. The myth thus introduces the audience to the potential of wine in the quest for love and the advice about to be given. Bacchus’ power as the god of wine automatically links him to the concept of the romantic unions. The depiction of Bacchus in the Ars, as an ally of love and an amator himself, means that his gift of wine is one that should be used in a similar manner to the way in which he acts, cum arte. The myth thus acts retrospectively as the student looks back on it while learning to use wine in moderation.

Conclusion

In Ovid’s treatment of the myth Ariadne has awoken abandoned and alone on Dia. Ovid follows the version that indicates that Theseus has broken his word, and in fact had no intention of marrying her. Theseus’ actions typify him as the archetypal male who makes false promises to a woman for his own gain. Bacchus’ subsequent marital rescue allows Ovid to neatly place Bacchus as a positive polar opposite to Theseus. Ovid contrasts Ariadne’s saviour with a scoundrel, elevating Bacchus above the position he already naturally holds as a god. Inflicted with the fire of passion, Bacchus is not a typical, patriarchal groom. He is

121 depicted as the lover considerably more in control of his passion than the god of the other available versions of the myth. While there is frenzy all around him, Bacchus is depicted as calm and in control.

The myth operates on a primary level to introduce the audience to the artful use of wine in the seduction process. Ovid’s perspective that Bacchus and wine go hand in hand with sexual conquest is not original, but the use of myth to support his teaching in this regard is an interesting choice. Ovid’s remythologising ensures the myth supports this argument. There is, however, also a subtext that drunkenness on the part of the male is not cum arte. The subsequent advice will suggest restraint, as excessive consumption of wine is not conducive to erotic liaisons. The myth lays the foundation for its reception. In invoking Apollo, Ovid suggests artfulness and skilful conduct in the seduction process to his audience. The natural association with Bacchus assigns this association also to the use of wine.

On a secondary level, Ovid’s depiction of Ariadne’s typically elegiac reactions mocks her excess, undermining the drama of the elegiac genre as much as that of the puella. Ovid accentuates Ariadne’s fear and her beauty, but does not make one dependent on the other. Rather, her beauty is not affected by her fear, perhaps because it is portrayed both as feigned and as ridiculous, by means of the humour of the passage. Ovid is able to accentuate the comedy of his treatment of the myth by evoking Catullus’ version of the myth. Unlike Ovid, Catullus depicts a fearful scene and his Ariadne is justifiably afraid. Ovid’s Ariadne’s fear is not real. Her responses are seen to be typical female evasive actions for amorous engagements and as Bacchant-like. Similarly, Bacchus acts in a manner that differs from the typical amator. In undermining the traditions of elegy Ovid also denounces sexual violence and abduction.

This myth operates on yet another level to introduce the appropriate use of words in seduction. Apollo evokes the traditional association of poetry with amatory ventures, but his correlation with skill allows Ovid to suggest a different type of word-skill that even the ordinary man can learn. Bacchus uses words to calm Ariadne before disembarking from his chariot to make her more at ease. He does not trick her, like Theseus. His promise results is a long and happy union. In addition, the female voice in Ovid is powerful, relevant and

122 accentuated. Ariadne does not give a long, contrived monologue. Her words are brief but effectual, indicating the end of her role as elegiac puella, and signifying her rebirth as an Ovidian puella, who not only has a voice, but is considered a mutual partner in the quest for pleasure. The birth of the Ovidian puella introduces yet another level to Ovid’s advice, suggesting the mutual and complementary role of partners in an erotic relationship. The rape cannot be avoided as it is a part of the traditional myth, but Ovid depicts it as a wedding rather than as a rape, a very important distinction. While this might be viewed as a sanitisation of the rape, it is an important digression from the traditional myth.

Ovid makes references and even slight changes to other existing versions of the myth. These accounts support his theme in a number of ways. By establishing his own authority, the validity of his teachings is increased. With the mention of Ariadne’s catasterism (AA I: 557) he is able to invoke an entire other story in the lives of Ariadne and Bacchus. The immense power of Bacchus is contrasted with his call for aid from Apollo and his artful action of seduction which follows. Part of Ovid’s earlier seduction advice entails the giving of gifts (I: 395-436), which he again evokes here. In doing so, wine, Bacchus’ gift to the lover, becomes associated rather with skilful seduction than with the traditional image of sexual excess associated with Bacchus. Just as wine can be a powerful tool, so too can any of the other tools of Ovid’s Ars. Ovid clearly remythologises the myth of Bacchus and Ariadne. Theirs is the first erotic liaison to end in a mutually rewarding relationship.

123

Chapter 9 Deidamia and Achilles (Book I: 664-718)

124 Introduction

Ovid focuses his attention on the myth of Deidamia and Achilles (AA I: 664-718) in the fourth and final mythical digression of Book I. Achilles was prophesied to die at Troy. His mother, the sea nymph Thetis, therefore hid him on the island of Scyros, disguised as a girl (Hollis 1977: 138), so that he could not be conscripted for the war against the Trojans. The famous Achilles, dressed as a woman, finds himself opportunely alone with the beautiful princess, Deidamia, and rapes her. They begin a secret relationship, but when Achilles is discovered hiding in Skyros by Ulysses, he leaves for the Trojan war, marrying Deidamia before he departs.

The myth told in the Ars seems to support typical male patriarchal values. In fact, Ovid specifies them (AA I: 664-680). Deidamia, although raped, enjoyed being taken by force, and even begged Achilles to stay (AA I: 699-701). The implication is that she wanted to be won by force. Deidamia’s reactions during the encounter are not addressed at all, but Ovid tells us that she often asked Achilles to stay. This is clearly a play on the idea that a woman who cries to stop and struggles does not really mean it. We are to understand that women are held back by pudor [modesty] (AA I: 705) and thus cannot make the first move, so they feign resistance. If we read Ovid superficially, we may conclude that he is supporting this viewpoint and even promoting amor sine arte. We therefore need to examine the rhetorical context in which Ovid uses the myth.

In this chapter I will review the traditional version(s) of the myth in order to determine how it functioned originally. I will then deconstruct Ovid’s treatment of the myth so as to determine its function within the Ars. As the final mythical digression of the book, it is hoped that the myth will collate and conclude the teachings of Book I.

Summary of the Presumed Traditional Myth

In Homer (Il. XIX: 327ff.) Achilles says that his son, Neoptolemus, is being raised in Scyros for him. There is, however, no mention of Deidamia or how Achilles’ son came to be born.

125 Homer’s reference confirms the likelihood of a myth related to the conception and birth of Achilles’ son, but it does not provide any information about the myth and is not a source for Ovid in this instance. It is notable that Homer does not include this episode of Achilles’ life in his epic. Instead, he relates that Achilles refused to sail with the Greek fleet to Troy, not for fear of dying, but because he disagreed with fighting a war on behalf of an unfaithful wife at the cost of an innocent virgin’s life (Il. I: 367-382). Homer provides a noble, morally laudable reason for Achilles’ initial refusal to fight at Troy.

Both Sophocles and Euripides wrote in the 5th century BCE. Euripides’ Skyrioi (The Scyrians) has only survived in fragmentary form, but Belfiore (2000: 191) provides a synopsis from a papyrus hypothesis. She relates that Thetis hid Achilles in Skyros to protect him from his fated death in the Trojan War. There King Lycomedes raised him with his daughter, Deidamia, whom Achilles impregnated in secret. Deidamia bore Achilles a son named Neoptolemus (or sometimes Pyrrhus) (Hollis 1977: 138). Euripides’ Andromache relates that after the Trojan War, Andromache, wife of Hector, is made a slave and concubine of Neoptolemus, Achilles’ son, but it does not address the myth of his birth in any sense. It does serve to confirm his existence, which indicates a myth would therefore also exist pertaining to his conception. In Sophocles’ Philoctetes (326) Neoptolemus identifies himself as the son of Achilles, born on the island of Scyros. Sophocles Skyrioi is believed to have mentioned that Neoptolemus, son of Achilles and Deidamia, was taken to Troy, but the text has been lost (Belfiore 2000: 191).

The version of the myth as told by Ovid was, therefore, probably already known by the audience. It is likely that other sources may have been lost, because, although no texts are available for the period in between, there are a number of contemporary and later authors who retell the myth. Hyginus mentions the myth in his Fabulae (96), as does Pseudo-Apollodorus (Bibl. III: 13. 8). Pseudo-Apollodorus relates that when Achilles was still a boy, it was prophesied that Troy could not be taken without him, and so Thetis dressed him as a girl and entrusted him into Lycomedes’ care. Achilles was intrigued with Deidamia, and she birthed his son Pyrrhus, who was later renamed Neoptolemus.

126 Statius’ Achilleid (I: 283-960), written in the late first century CE (Lombardo & Heslin 2015: vii), is a later source, but provides the most detailed version of the myth. Statius relates that Achilles resisted Thetis’ idea, but eventually consented once he had seen the beautiful Deidamia (Achil. I: 283-325). Achilles, dressed as a maiden, is introduced by Thetis to the king as her daughter, Achilles’ sister (Achil. I: 349-362). Thetis justifies her request to the king by saying that after an Amazonian-like upbringing her daughter needs to live among ordinary girls and learn femininity to prepare her for marriage in the future. The king accepts this as the truth and welcomes Achilles (Achil. I: 363ff.). Deidamia discovers the truth of Achilles’ gender, but helps him keep the secret hidden, as a consequence of which they spend a lot of time together (Achil. I: 560ff.). As his attraction to Deidamia grows, Achilles finds it increasingly difficult to hide his feelings. When he can no longer bear his passion, or his false gender, Achilles forces himself on Deidamia at a night-time festival in honour of Bacchus, attended only by women (Achil. I: 592ff.). Her screams cannot be heard over the noise of the festival and Achilles consoles her afterwards. Although afraid, Deidamia decides to keep the incident, her resulting pregnancy, and Achilles’ identity a secret (Achil. I: 662ff.). When Ulysses and his men arrive on the island, Achilles is about to reveal himself, but Deidamia stops him (Achil. I: 802). Ulysses nevertheless still discovers his identity through a clever trick. Ulysses offers gifts of jewellery, adornments, musical instruments and also weapons to the king’s daughters (Achil. I: 819ff.). His companions then imitate the noises of an enemy attack on the island, including a trumpet blast. Achilles’ identity is exposed when he picks up a sword to fight back. Deidamia’s tears prompt Achilles to confess to Lycomedes that they have become lovers and have had a child together (Achil. I: 885ff.). They are married and Achilles promises Deidamia that he will return one day, and sails away to battle.

127 As a slightly later version than Ovid, we cannot be certain whether any of the previously unmentioned details already existed or if they are additions of Statius, perhaps even as a consequence of Ovid’s text29.

Ovid’s Use of the Myth

In the case of each of the mythical digressions, Ovid provides a specific set of instructions or theme of advice related to the myth, either before or after it. This myth is preceded by typically elegiac advice. Ovid suggests that the male audience use deception freely in matters of the heart (AA I: 631-657). He says that the periuria [perjuries] (AA I: 633) of a man in love are forgiven by Jupiter. The use of a legal term is quite humorous, as it evokes the legality of the lover’s actions. It speaks of persuasion, the use of words. It does not indicate physical violence in any sense. Ovid states that forgiveness for lies is only allowed for a man in love. Ovid therefore also does not promote trickery, such as that of Theseus, because that is not the action of a man in love. Ovid justifies this forgiveness by explaining that women are themselves deceptive and thus deserving of such a fate. While this might evoke the stereotypical evil women of the Pasiphae mythical digression, Ovid in actual fact anticipates the subsequent social custom he is going to address. Social custom forces women to deceive the amator in the name of proper behaviour. His reader should also not worry about making a woman cry, and should himself cry because this may solicit kisses (AA I: 658-663). Tears can be useful in swaying even the most adamant of women, albeit that the amator needs to dab his eyes with water if he cannot muster real tears (AA I: 659-662). Mixing kisses with blandishments is also a good idea, and, if she resists, the amator is advised to take what she denies, but not too roughly (AA I: 663-668). A woman may resist

29 Statius’ style combines many of the features of Virgil and Ovid (Lombardo & Heslin 2015: viii). Where an element exists in both Ovid and Statius, but we do not have another source for it, we must therefore consider the possibility that Statius may have taken Ovid as his source.

128 but she, in fact, wants to be conquered, which Ovid indicates by using the passive infinitive vinci [to be overcome] (AA I: 666). With this he introduces the question of willingness versus rape that is delineated with the myth of Achilles and Deidamia.

The advice proceeds with oscula qui sumpsit, si non et cetera sumet, | haec quoque, quae data sunt, perdere dignus erit [he who has taken kisses, but does not also take the rest, will deserve to lose all things that have been given] (AA I: 669-670). Ovid clearly addresses the willingness, or lack thereof, of the puella. According to Kennedy (2012: 193) it implies that she is willing to engage in aggression. Considering Ovid’s advice in the previous couplet to be gentle when stealing kisses, it seems unlikely that Ovid depicts such a woman. Murgatroyd (1982: 134) considers the couplet to be outrageous for various reasons. He says, firstly, that it implies that kisses naturally lead to sexual intercourse. Secondly, he states that the resistance to being kissed is token as the kisses move from sumpsit (AA I: 669) to data sunt (AA I: 670). Lastly, he considers the lines to imply that every reader’s goal is sexual intercourse. The first and final critique seem to be examples of a modern moral being applied, rather than considering the contemporary context or the intratextual structure of the original text. Ovid introduces his list of locations to find a girl with the statement that, if his amator yearns for a long-term affair, he will not have one until he’s found the right places to look for a girl (AA I: 49-50). Ovid later suggests that the amator can find both a short- and long-term partner at the theatre (AA I: 91-93). The mythical digressions discussed so far have all made an argument for persuasion rather than violence, as well as an increased female involvement in the erotic liaison. Ovid also does not explicitly state that what would be given is sexual intercourse, even if it may appear to be implied. Ovid has given his reader options for the kind of relationship he can pursue with this skill set, ranging from something playful to something quite serious (AA I: 91-93). Kisses given willingly, as implied with data sunt (AA I: 670), indicate willingness of the female partner. Ovid evokes social convention, which requires that women feign resistance even when they are interested. Therefore, the amator is being instructed to decipher the conditioned social norm from the true desires of his puella, and if he can do so effectively and has the courage to pursue his desire, then he can have the puella. However, should he misread the sign of interest and give up, then he did not even deserve the kisses he did receive. He is not the ideal amator of the Ars because he lacks the sophistication of such a lover.

129

Ovid assigns giving up to rusticitas [lack of refinement] (AA I: 672) rather than modesty, recalling the idea of social convention. The use of rusticitas ties in with the idea of ars. The reader is already aware that rustic equates to lack of sophistication from the mythical digression of the rape of the Sabine women. The implication is that ars is required for success. Ei mihi [Oh my!] (AA II: 672) is an interjection frequent in early comedy, and occasionally also found in epic and tragedy (Hollis 1977: 137). It was intended as an exclamation of pain (Kennedy 2012: 194). The expression is also one Ovid uses often. With it he inserts an element of comedy into the subject matter of the lines. In this case it is a play on the idea that pudor [modesty] (AA II: 672) is a poor excuse for a young man lacking the skill to read the signs that indicated his puella was willing. Pudor, however, also means shame, which can as easily be implied here. Ovid appears to imply that the amator should be ashamed of his lack of skill, which he falsely asserts is modesty. Ovid often contrasts modern sophistication with the past. As such, a comparison can be made between these lines and the prologue of the poem. Ovid uses the word votum both here (AA I: 671) and in the prologue (AA I: 90) to indicate desire, but then contrasts the lover’s rusticitas (AA I: 672) with the cultissima (AA I: 97) modern woman.

Ovid concludes this instruction with the statement: vim licet appelles: grata est vis ista puellis: quod iuvat, invitae saepe dedisse volunt [Although you call it force: that force is pleasing to girls: Which gratifies, to have given unwillingly often what they desire] (AA I: 673-674) The primary meaning of licet is “it is lawful, permitted” (Lewis & Short 1879 s.v. licet I). Followed by an implied ut with the subjunctive apelles: the meaning would be “it is permitted that you/you may call it force”. However, using the transferred meaning of licet as a conjunction, meaning “although” (Lewis & Short 1879 s.v. II); the translation now becomes “although you call it force.” Ovid’s choice of licet is perhaps even more important than the word vis. Ovid uses it ambiguously here, as a conjunction is not required, but makes more sense than the primary meaning within the context. However, if Ovid says it is permitted that you call it force the immediate implication is that Ovid does not consider it

130 force, which becomes clear from the context. The common use of vis in elegy is to depict the (usually) masculine exercise of strength for sexual gratification, which is in some cases clearly rape (Kennedy 2012: 193). On the other hand, velle is the verb used to indicate sexual willingness (Kennedy 2012: 193). Ovid uses both vis and velle in the couplet above, clearly indicating a mixed message, both to the audience, and from the puella. Vis (AA I: 673) implies the enforcement of the amator’s will, just as volunt (AA I: 674) speaks to the wishes of the puella. Ovid thus continues to address the idea of willingness, contrasting it with social convention. Kennedy (2012: 193) investigates the concept and language of willingness, discussing actual aggression versus its appearance in elegiac poetry. He questions how the audience is to know the difference. For example, he asks when one can determine whether a woman’s submission to her lover is truly unwilling. He (2012: 195) explains that vis can be both symbolic and physical in elegy, just as vis and gratus both bear sexual connotations. Ovid clearly uses syntax to indicate willingness and desire. Murgatroyd (1982: 136), however, argues that the pointed repetition of vis heightens the generalisation of puellis (AA I: 673), and in turn the outrageousness of the statement that force pleases girls. However, it is exactly such an outrageous generalisation which brings to the fore its own absurdity. It thus accentuates just how ludicrous the social custom of pretending to be unwilling is, which is in turn depicted in the couplet that follows (AA I: 677-678). Ovid makes use of the perfect infinitive dedisse (AA I: 674), thus adding a temporal element to his explanation of the female’s level of desire. This is typically Ovidian, occurring also in the Amores (Hollis 1977: 137). The line indicates that, although unwilling to give something at the time, in hindsight the puella is pleased to have given it. However, this is a play on whether or not she was, in fact, objecting or pretending. What she is unwilling to give is encompassed in the phrase quod iuvat [what is pleasing] (AA I: 674). The phrase is ambiguous as one cannot know whether what is given is pleasing to the male lover, his female conquest or to both of them (Kennedy 2012: 194). This, in turn, brings into question the willingness of the puella, and the true extent to which force actually occurred. In essence, the lines state the elegiac viewpoint, but the stylistic features, combined with the jest of the previous line and the following couplet, undermine any seriousness in the instructions. Instead, it seems Ovid is implying rather that, when the woman in question is the willing modern puella, all that is required is for the sophisticated male lover to be able to distinguish desire from protest. Through this ambiguity and the humour of the previous

131 couplet Ovid simultaneously criticises the elegiac promotion of force, rather than the alternative.

The following couplet echoes the aforementioned generalisation, claiming that a woman who is taken suddenly and violently is glad (AA I: 675-676). The emphatic gaudet (AA I: 676) softens the sincerity of veneris subita violata rapina [taken in love’s sudden violating plunder] (AA I: 675) (Murgatroyd 1982: 136), again undermining the idea that violence is appropriate. Rapina [booty] recalls the genialis praeda [marital booty] (AA I: 125) of the myth of the rape of the Sabine women, only in this instance there is no recompense for the victim. Ovid accentuates the impropriety of such behaviour with the juxtaposition of inprobitas muneris [wickedness ... of reward] (AA I: 676). The earlier use of the vocative improbe (AA I: 665) in response to the lover’s behaviour, followed later by improbitas (AA I: 676), used to indicate the lover’s behaviour itself, allows Ovid to disparage the lover’s actions in both instances. Ovid’s use of dactyls (a metrical foot made up of a long syllable followed by two short syllables) adds an air of gaiety, which is completely unsuitable given the statement. In this way Ovid undermines the traditional perspective without openly stating his opposition.

Ovid asserts that a woman who escapes such a fate feigns happiness while she is, in fact, saddened (AA I: 677-678). Again Ovid makes a statement that appears to support the elegiac point of view. However, if it is accepted that the female lover was, in fact, willing and her resistance was a show of proper restraint, and not really refusal of her male lover, it can be read to support an argument against the social custom. Ovid’s use of rapta (AA I: 667) in relation to the kisses, but only vis (AA I: 673) in these later lines indicates a decrease in severity, rather than an increase. At the time of kissing it should become apparent whether the puella is feigning resistance or is truly not interested. If she is simply pretending, then Ovid implies that the onus is on the amator to persevere, to fulfil his amatory role as the pursuer. Therefore, failure to distinguish conventional behaviour of resistance from real refusal will cost him the ideal affair with a keen female partner, and both parties will be disappointed, whether the conclusion is sexual intercourse or not. However, should he persist beyond the socially acceptable show of resistance given by an interested puella, both of them will be happy with the result. Ovid promotes the skill of the Ars, but concurrently

132 appears to ridicule the social custom which causes the female perspective to be misunderstood. Ovid also creates a conflicted perspective of the female point of view, although in a different sense. The social custom seeks to hide the possibility of female desire, increasing the occurrence of and justification for sexual violence. Ovid implies female willingness and thus enjoyment of the sexual encounter, and not enjoyment of or need for force, in the process undermining the elegiac and mythical rape traditions.

The rapes of Phoebe and Hilaira introduce the myth of Deidamia and Achilles. Their story is summarised into a single couplet (AA I: 679-680). They were the daughters of Leucippus (Propertius I: 2. 15-16), and were engaged to Lynceus and Idas (Theocritus XXII: 137ff.), but they were taken by force by the brothers, Castor and Pollux. A fight, which ensued after the kidnapping, resulted in the death of Castor (Hollis 1977: 138). Whether Ovid intended to evoke this aspect of the myth or not, that Achilles also dies in battle later is humorous. If intentional, Ovid could be associating violence and death, thereby also implying an equally negative connotation to erotic violence. According to Hollis (1977: 138), the mention of Phoebe and her sister being happy with those who had raped them (AA I: 680) does not occur elsewhere. Murgatroyd (1982: 136) agrees, arguing that this may be a completely Ovidian creation used to support his argument. Like the earlier advice, the syntax of this couplet also contrasts vis and rapta, to add an amusing touch. Vis (AA I: 679) implies that the women enjoyed the sexual encounter (since we are told women like to be taken by force; AA I: 673), but raptae raptor (AA I: 680) indicates that Castor and Pollux’s actions contravened the legal rights of the women’s betrothed. Ovid wittily addresses social customs again. While the myth may seem misplaced, Ovid evokes Pallas Minerva, goddess of weaving, wisdom and war, mentioned later in the passage (AA I: 692), of whom the sisters were priestesses before their capture. Similarly, on a more superficial level, Deidamia, too, will be taken by force, and the traditional myth does tell that she fell in love with her rapist, although, legally, the crime committed was against her father. Such ingenious parallelism is typical of Ovid, occurring even between the mythical digressions of the Ars.

Ovid feigns indifference with his statement that the tale of Deidamia and Achilles is well known, but worth retelling (AA I: 681-682). Murgatroyd (1982: 137) suggests he is teasing

133 the audience so that he can delay telling the amusing and interesting aspects of the story. The style is typical of Hellenistic poets, who relied on the audience’s knowledge of the details of the story and so restricted their narration or reference to a few key words, often without stating names (Hollis 1977: 139). Since Homer excludes any explanation for the birth of Neoptolemus, this story is technically not well known in his famous works, the Iliad and the Odyssey. Should Ovid be alluding to this aspect of Homer’s text, the humour created by the line is no longer just a result of the fact that Ovid could have summarised such a well known story in a single line. Whether or not the myth was well known is uncertain, but when compared to the previous three mythical digressions, this is probably the least famous of them, yet it is the only one in which Ovid makes such a statement.

Ovid digresses, within the digression, humorously reminding us of a myth that is actually well known, but not the one we were told was well known, thus a play on words. Venus bribed Paris so that he would cast his vote in her favour in a beauty competition between the three goddesses, Juno, Minerva and herself, which in turn caused the Trojan War (AA I: 683-688). Ovid excludes the reason for the contest, again imitating the Hellenistic poets’ reliance on the knowledge of the reader. The goddess of discord, Discordia, was not invited to the wedding of Peleus and Thetis, Achilles’ parents. In retaliation she threw a golden apple among the goddesses, with the inscription “For the fairest,” and the three above-mentioned goddesses all claimed it (Pseudo-Apollodorus, Epit. III: 2).

Venus’ mala praemia [evil bribe] (AA I: 683) was the most beautiful woman in the world, who happened to be Helen, wife of Menelaus, the adjective mala creating a pun implying the evil woman stereotype evoked earlier. Ovid states that a Greek wife came to live within the walls of Troy, accentuating that Helen and Paris are partaking in an extra-marital affair. Ovid describes Menelaus as an injured husband to whom all swore an oath (AA I: 687), and thus one man’s pain became a public cause (AA I: 688). The Iliad (II: 286ff.) relates that, before departing from Aulis, the Greeks swore not to return until they had sacked Troy. Such an oath was not unusual. A Roman soldier would bind himself to his commander with an oath of loyalty (Hollis 1977: 139). The recollection of the Trojan War and the oath of the soldiers clearly serves to evoke a military image, and specifically provides a reminder that Achilles was, in fact, one of the most famous soldiers of this war. Perhaps this serves simply

134 to influence the myth, but it also reminds us that Achilles was a soldier, not a true amator, so, of course, his direction (force) should not be followed. In thus highlighting the extreme reaction to an extra-marital affair Ovid is mocking it. It recalls the sine lege sentiment, but in association with marriage, and thus scornfully within the context of passion, indicating a lack of support for the Augustan laws. That Ovid states the location of the beauty contest on Mount Ida is not accidental. There are two sacred mountains called Mount Ida, one in Crete and one in Troy. The mountain in Troy is the location given in the traditional myth (Pseudo-Apollodorus, Epit. III: 2), but used here it evokes the Pasiphae myth, whose Mount Ida is located in Crete. Ovid not only alludes to Homer, but reminds the audience of the earlier advice that indicated the extent to which women experience desire.

Ovid abruptly refers to Achilles’ shameful disguise as a woman (AA I: 689-690), which is even more disgraceful in light of the fact that he is hiding while an oath is being fulfilled by the other Greek soldiers. Ovid mentions that he did this at his mother’s request, but tribuisset [he had yielded] (AA I: 689) accentuates the shame. Not only is his feminine garb inappropriate, but so too is his submission to his mother’s wishes, not to mention that he is not soldiering (the skill for which he is known). Ovid’s use of the epic-style patronymic Aeacide [grandson of Aeacus] (AA I: 691) heightens the contrast between his current occupation (weaving) and what he should be doing (fighting) (Hollis 1977: 140). Ovid continues his insults with repeated and derogatory references to wool spinning in the subsequent lines (AA I: 691-695, 702). First, he informs Achilles that spinning is not his work (AA I: 691). He calls on Achilles to seek dignity by practicing the other skills of Pallas (Minerva) (AA I: 692), known for being the patron of spinning, but also a warrior goddess (Hollis 1977: 140). Ovid then refers to the baskets that the washed wool would be carried in before it was spun (Hollis 1977: 140), chastising Achilles for using his arm for carrying a basket when it should be wielding a shield (AA I: 693). Ovid asks why the hand that will kill Hector is holding the wool weighed out for spinning in a day’s work (pensa) (AA I: 694). The

135 implication that women provide a service is indicated by pensa, which recalls muneris (AA I: 676). Ovid’s questions are concluded with an imperative as he instructs Achilles to refuse the spindles covered with worked wool (AA I: 695) and reminds him of his spear, cut from Mount Pelion30 and only able to be brandished by his hand (AA I: 696). The euphemism is unmistakably phallic, reminding Achilles he is a man and that his weapon is his penis. Ovid clearly undermines Achilles’ masculinity. Ovid can safely insult a mythical figure, especially a Greek hero, and takes full advantage of this scope. Ovid chastises Achilles for dressing and behaving as a woman when he is a man and a soldier.

Persuasion and deception are very similar in nature, but ars, or the lack thereof, is the defining differentiator between them. A lack of skill is not the only factor which determines that the amator acts sine arte. The appropriate use of art or skill is equally important in the seduction process. Achilles’ skill as a soldier and his feminine disguise are both inappropriate and deceptive, rather than suggesting the charming amator which the recommended behaviour of the Ars promotes. Comically accentuating Achilles’ military nature highlights the male role of pursuer, conqueror and lover; roles at which Achilles cannot succeed when impersonating a woman. In this way Ovid undermines the typical heroic pattern and specifically the heroic image of Achilles. Armstrong (2005: 181) notes a similarity between this passage and the opening lines of the Ars. In both passages Ovid places emphasis on Achilles’ hands. Chiron punishes Achilles by hitting him on the hands (AA I: 15-16), showing the great warrior in a weaker, softer, more subdued and subservient light. Similarly, in this passage his hands are shown holding the implements of a feminine task, detracting from his masculinity and heroic image. In the opening lines of the poem, Achilles was compared with Cupid, a wild and uncontrollable child. Although depicted in a weaker sense, punishment from his teacher is not quite as unnatural as a soldier weaving and

30 A reference to Achilles’ homeland, accentuating his shame while simultaneously establishing Ovid’s authority.

136 fulfilling other tasks associated with women. In highlighting this digression from the natural order, Ovid associates the rest of Achilles’ behaviour as unnatural. Hence, using skill appropriately when seducing a woman is natural. This is a clear contrast to social tradition.

Elegy openly opposes the military, replacing it with its own militia amantis. Ovid’s audience would have been well aware of this. Ovid’s distinct representation of Achilles’ military role brings into question the soldier of love concept and how it differs from the military soldier, since both employ violence in conquest of their booty, in contrast to Ovid’s persuasive amator. Achilles does not take the instruction of Ovid himself, which instructs that he dress in a simple manly fashion (AA I: 505-524) and he does not follow Ovid’s preferred method of deception (AA I: 631-658) (Davis 2012: 455). Instead, he approaches Deidamia as a woman and resorts to rape to conquer her, or so we are to believe (AA I: 699). Ovid undermines the whole epic tradition, making fun of Achilles as an extreme example of how one should not behave. This myth could thus be read as an injunction of typical elegiac aggression and deception.

Ovid’s depiction of Deidamia’s rape and her reactions is the longest of the first book (AA I: 697-706). We are told that she and Achilles find themselves in the same room, forte [by chance] (AA I: 697). Forte is quite obviously both inappropriate and intentional. It implies that an opportunity arose and Achilles used it. However, the audience is aware that Achilles and Deidamia were not in the same room by chance. The traditional myth relates that Achilles was raised among the princesses, so the audience could easily have deduced that he would therefore have had access to Deidamia’s quarters anyway. The traditional myth also relates that the rape took place in the woods during a festival of Bacchus and not in her bedroom. Ovid therefore insinuates that the lover should find a suitable opportunity and location for his conquest. Achilles did not find himself in the same location as Deidamia by chance. He was not supposed to be there - he was only able to be there because he was disguised as a woman. Achilles attended a festival of Bacchus at night not intended for male worshippers. In changing, and thus highlighting, the scene, Ovid reminds us of the earlier advice pertaining to locations to win girls, which was addressed in the first mythical digression in the myth of the rape of the Sabine women (AA I: 101-131). Ovid also uses forte (AA I: 289) in the introduction of Pasiphae’s affair with the white bull who fathered the

137 Minotaur (AA I: 289-326). In repeating it here, Ovid is able to evoke also the second mythical digression of the Ars. Pasiphae’s desires embody the worst excesses of the female character. Achilles’ transformation into a woman can be likened to Pasiphae’s disguise as a heifer. The association is extremely insulting, associating the evil woman archetype with Achilles and his subsequent rape of Deidamia while disguised as a woman. Such critique is a powerful argument for alternative behaviour. Although Ovid does not mention Bacchus here, the audience is aware the rape in the traditional myth took place at a festival of Bacchus. In changing the location Ovid wittingly evokes the advice of the previous mythical digression (AA I: 525-564) in which Bacchus rescues Ariadne from Dia. Bacchus is depicted as a lover in control of his passion and names him an ally of love. It also introduces Ovid’s advice that the lover should practice restraint in the consumption of wine. This evocation highlights that Achilles is not in control of his passion; he is not Ovid’s ideal amator.

The lines describing Achilles and Deidamia’s sexual encounter are laden with stylistic features. Ovid uses extensive alliteration of the consonantal u (v) when questioning whether it was truly rape: viribus illa quidem victa est, ita credere oportet: sed voluit vinci viribus illa tamen [That she was truly won by force, so we ought to believe: but she nevertheless wanted to be won by force] (AA I: 699-700) The increased alliteration in the line accentuates voluit, thus highlighting the role of desire within the context. The interjection of ita credere oportet (AA I: 699) places instant doubt on the details of the myth. The phrase implies that perhaps Deidamia was not taken by force, rather that she was a willing participant. This implication is supported by saepe ‘mane!’ dixit [often she said “stay!”] (AA I: 701). Although Ovid says at the beginning of this instruction that women want to be won by force, the implication is that the amator should persist when he knows the puella is willing, as mentioned. Ovid contrasts the elegiac sentiment mocked in that earlier statement by questioning both where that force is now (AA I: 703) and Deidamia’s unwillingness to allow the auctorem stupri [perpetrator of her rape] to leave for war (AA I: 704). This questioning informs the audience that they, too, should question whether women are willing participants whose behaviour is simply dictated by social rules,

138 which themselves can be overcome, and women easily won, if approached with appropriate art and skill.

Ovid mocks Deidamia as well, to accentuate the absence of a rape and replace it with consensual intercourse with a willing puella. The aforementioned questioning (AA I: 703-704) implies that Deidamia has actually deceived us and that it was not rape, which levels the playing-field between the lovers. Ovid also gives Deidamia a voice by questioning her. He ensures she is an equal participant in the affair. After all, she tells Achilles to stay. The imperative mane (AA I: 701) to an extent places her in a position of control. It is notable that the only direct speech of this section of the poem is spoken by women. Both Ovid’s questions and Deidamia’s instruction to Achilles create humour. Murgatroyd (1982: 135) points out that Ovid is as interested in the comedy and incongruity of the myth as he is in promoting his point. As a result the lines are funny without dispensing with his skilful and neat composition. He increases the humour of the lines by addressing the character of the lovers with what Murgatroyd (1982: 140) terms a “mock- solemn” rhythm. In doing so, Ovid is able to use the myth argumentatively. Instead of being a victim, Ovid’s Deidamia is portrayed as a willing partner, calling for her lover to remain with her. This is the primary aspect in which this retelling differs from the other mythical digressions Ovid has related thus far.

As a pivotal part of the traditional myth it is necessary that Ovid address the rape. With the act of raping Deidamia, Achilles’ masculinity is restored despite his cross-dressing (Armstrong 2005: 97). He returns to the role of male sexual initiator, the amator. With his metamorphosis Deidamia is now also able to fulfil the role of willing Ovidian puella. Forte wittily undermines the rape, introducing a new location for the supposed rape, Deidamia’s bedroom. Ovid’s interjection that we are supposed to believe it was rape supports the argument for a willing puella in the encounter. We are to consider that somehow, despite Achilles’ female disguise, Deidamia is willing to engage in sexual intercourse with him. Ovid perhaps implies that Deidamia knew Achilles was a man.

Weiden Boyd (2012: 533) asserts that Ovid’s advice involves a reversal of gender roles, for which she considers this myth the perfect example. This myth addresses both the reversal of

139 gender and the success of Achilles’ deception and his natural heroic masculinity (Weiden Boyd 2012: 533). She (2012: 533) asserts that Ovid’s lesson is that male force and persuasion will prevail over female reluctance because that reluctance is as much a part of the game as the male lover’s pseudo-sensitivity. However, it is clear from the syntax itself that Ovid does not promote actual force. However, the myth does promote appropriate roles for the genders, and Ovid uses it to illustrate this point.

Ovid’s style relies heavily on ambiguity. Such an example can be found in the word arma (AA I: 702). On the surface it can be taken to simply mean military arms for the battle at Troy. However, these it is these arma that release Achilles from femininity. Therefore, in the spirit of the militia amantis, we must consider whether the word might also euphemistically signify male sexual organs. Adams (1982: 21 & 224) argues that Ovid makes use of arma for anatomical entendres. Holzberg (2002: 9) also considers that arma could metaphorically mean Achilles’ penis, stating that evidence for this use of the word occurs in several passages. Following Holzberg’s reasoning, arma could also be considered a pun. Just as Deidamia discovers Achilles is a man through their sexual encounter, similarly Achilles was tricked by Ulysses into revealing his true identity with armour. Holzberg (2002: 9) also considers an alternate meaning for mane, asserting that it could mean wait rather than stay, which he states would indicate Deidamia’s desire to reach sexual climax with Achilles. This would serve as an example of a woman already practicing the ars with which Ovid concludes Book II (725-728). Adams (1982: 178) cites various uses of mane in which context the implication is stay the night (Lewis & Short 1879 s.v. maneo: B.1: to tarry, pass the night). Generally the references are related to prostitution; however, the fact that their occurrence precedes Ovid supports the viability that Deidamia may use the term with a sexual implication, and not just simply as a wish that Achilles not leave for war. It is in the ambiguity of Ovid’s lines that we face the dilemma of deciphering its meaning. Even if we take the arma to mean military arms, the inclusion of the spinning tool, referred to as a weapon itself (AA I: 702), adds the necessary element of jest to clarify Ovid’s objection to violence in such interactions.

This myth is typical of Ovid’s approach. He circumvents a topic, stating the accepted view but creating thought with jest, syntax and stylistic elements. Without disagreeing outright

140 with the accepted view, he manipulates the elements of the myth to create a new viewpoint. In the concluding lines of the rape description Ovid defines his stance: scilicet ut pudor est quaedam coepisse priorem, | sic alio gratum est incipiente pati [Naturally, as there’s a sense of shame in having started first, so it’s pleasant to bear what someone else has started] (AA I: 705-706). The ambiguity of pati [to permit, suffer, tolerate and even experience] suits the context of the passage (James 2003: 315). Women are traditionally expected to feel shame for making advances (Hollis 1977: 141), but benefit from the advances of their male counterparts. Any man who would consider the target of his desires any different will be disappointed (AA I: 707-708 & 713-714). Ovid instructs his male audience to use words and to approach first (AA I: 709). All that is needed is to ask (AA I: 711-712). Ovid is suggesting that the male lover take the lead in order to initiate a mutually pleasing interaction.

In case the request goes unanswered, Ovid’s concluding lines instruct the members of his audience how to respond. If their advances are rejected, they should repay the gesture, as women want what it is they cannot have (AA I: 715-719). This is clear evidence that he does not advocate rape. In doing so he arms the reader with yet another weapon of psychological conquest and the context in which to use it. Kennedy (2012: 195) makes an interesting observation about these lines, stating Socrates’ explanation that desire in all instances is for that which we cannot have and do not have. This is a sentiment still echoed in modern psychoanalytic opinions, which Kennedy (2012: 195) takes to support the argument that desire and language are “inextricably intertwined” (Kennedy 2012: 195). This is certainly true for Ovid’s text and his argument. Ovid argues for the puella to be willing, which to some extent contradicts the argument that we want what we cannot have. However, because of this innate characteristic, the amator can use it in his seduction of the puella.

James (2003: 196), however, holds the view that this passage promotes rape, and allows a woman no means of refusal as the grounds have been laid, arguing deceptiveness on her part, and thus authorising and encouraging rape. This amounts to the lover’s reward for what he has suffered, the indignity and his prior services. She argues that it is stated so boldly that it lacks the usual euphemisms, elegiac periphrases and epic exempla, as a result of which she considers it rather shocking. She also argues that it reveals the praeceptor’s

141 animus towards women. At first sight it is easy to expect these lines to mean that violence is not always unwelcome to the victim, as claimed by Wilkinson (1955: 127). Holzberg (2002: 8) shares a similar perspective. He asserts that the lines teach the lesson that, when courting a woman, the lover can count on a positive result, even if he needs to resort to force to achieve these ends. It is clear from the analysis of the text that Ovid is not reinforcing the stereotype that women want to be raped or enjoy rape.

In summary, Ovid advises his amator to approach the object of his desire. He advises against violence (AA I: 667-668). Her lips must not be bruised and she should not afterwards complain that her lover was harsh. The first step is to persuade her to kiss him (AA I: 669). He also has to realise that a woman will feign resistance. He is mistaken in assuming that a woman is put off by inprobitas [a sexual advance] (AA I: 676), in this case words used by a suitor to initiate a sexual affair. In fact, a woman who has permitted a kiss will be disappointed if her suitor does not pursue it further. It is modesty (pudor) that prevents a woman from initiating this encounter. Therefore the man must start first by asking her, using verba precantia [words of entreaty] (AA I: 709). He should also use words of flattery, blandas preces [flattering entreaties] (AA I: 710). Included in these words should be the details of his desire for her, as well as causam voti principiumque tui [the cause and the beginning of your longing] (AA I: 712). Ovid also warns that the female may reject him (AA I: 715) and advises him that he is to yield (AA I: 716), for his disinterest may then fuel her desire (AA I: 717-718). Ovid decisively undermines the traditional perspective. He essentially argues that women cannot act on their sexual desires because of socially- dictated modesty, and thus a man should initiate the interaction. However, Ovid replaces physical force with persuasive words. Women like to be overcome, not by force but by words of flattery and desire. A woman may still protest, but will be overcome by words. This inadvertently also promotes a more suitable view of women than the male audience may have. Ovid gives an insight into female sexuality and thoughts, and in so doing undermines typical male opinions in this regard.

Just as Ovid promotes ars to the young lover, so too does he display his skill in the lines of the poem itself. Murgatroyd (1982: 135) points out that the passage is neatly broken down into sections of 4 lines. These sections open with a general introduction (AA I: 681-688),

142 followed by a description of Achilles (AA I: 689-692) and his disguise (AA I: 693-696). Then follows Ovid’s illustration of Deidamia and the force used on her (AA I: 697-700). Ovid’s lessons for this passage are also carefully presented. Lesson 1 explains that the audience need not believe that what they thought was rape really was rape. Rather, they should consider that, due to social stereotypes, women are prevented from making their desires clear. He supports this view with the statement that the youth thinks too much of his appearance, if he thinks a woman will approach him (AA I: 707). Lesson 2 explains that even if the amator seems less masculine than expected, his virility will be proved with his victory, that is getting the puella into bed (Armstrong 2005: 97). He need not use force to seem manly, but rather receive the success which ars yields. He will succeed by simply speaking to the puella he desires. The traditional myth tells us Deidamia was raped by Achilles, who used strength against her. Ovid tells us that is what we are led to believe, but that she actually wanted to be conquered (AA I: 699-700); in other words, she desired Achilles equally. In essence, although Ovid mocks Achilles’ disguise as a woman, he gains a certain advantage over the ordinary amator. He has the opportunity to speak with Deidamia for a considerable period of time prior to the sexual development in their relationship. The length of time for which Achilles desires Deidamia indicates a long-term amorous relationship, and perhaps even an evolution in the feelings shared ‒ somewhat relatable for a modern audience.

Conclusion

The problems we face when reading the myth of Deidamia and Achilles are as follows. We must ascertain what the retelling of the myth advocates. Ovid essentially tells the lover he should not bruise his puella, but he should persist, if he is able to ascertain that her resistance is not real and that she is only following the dictated social customs. In this way Ovid uses myth to delineate the psyche of the puella, and thus to support this argument. The myth addresses the conditioning of women within society, which dictates that respectable women are expected to show resistance, even if they are willing to engage in a sexual liaison. The lover must therefore pursue his desire using the appropriate skill. If it is clear that a woman is not interested, then he should simply leave her alone. Ovid does not

143 promote violence. Ovid’s retelling of the myth successfully raises doubt with regard to whether a woman’s rejection is, in fact, real or feigned, thus undermining the social custom and elegiac tradition that women like to be taken by force.

As he nears the end of Book I Ovid has established himself as generally knowledgeable and as an authority in affairs of the heart. Ovid argues quite simply that a man should still be the protagonist, but that he has other weapons at his disposal, which are far more effective than force. Should he use these, he can reap better rewards. Ovid’s retelling of the myth differs from the traditional perspective primarily in that it questions whether it was in fact rape. Instead, it implies that Deidamia was a willing partner of Achilles from the outset and that her desire for him was not a consequence of force. Ovid effectively argues that amorous relationships are not a public service. They are pleasing for both individuals involved and a level of sophistication in the art of love is required to determine and satisfy that need. The concluding advice which follows the mythical digression contradicts the view of the traditional myth, supporting an argument that the myth in Ovid does not function to support rape or violence. Instead, Ovid illustrates the female perspective, which is generally disguised by social custom. He teaches that words of flattery and persuasion offer a greater reward than force, but, when even those fail, the amator should concede defeat. This contradicts typical heroic behaviour, undermining also the usual male opinions of female sexuality.

Ovid has once again ridiculed the accepted mores and converted force to a less violent and more effective alternative. It is evident that he proposes a rethinking of the male-female erotic relationship. He suggests that women are willing participants, but cannot express their willingness, despite the prevalence of the female voice (and opinion) within the text. It is thus necessary to communicate with the puella of your desire, which will likely result in what you desire with less effort and more pleasure than force. Instead, Ovid promotes control over unbridled passion. The myth of Deidamia and Achilles is thus a fitting final mythical digression for Book I, arguing a maiore ad minorem for seduction as opposed to force.

144

Chapter 10 Daedalus and Icarus (Book II: 21-98)

145 Introduction

Book II introduces the task at hand as the art of keeping love’s conquest. Ovid quickly reminds his reader that, just as he captured the object of his desire through his (Ovid’s) art, he, too, can keep her by using the same artful skill (AA II: 12).

In comparing the nature of love and Love himself (Cupid), Ovid uses the imagery of flight, adding that Cupid is therefore hard to pin down. Through this comparison Ovid assigns a level of difficulty to the task ahead, commanding discipline and adherence to his advice from the outset, much like in Book I. Ovid wants to emphasise how difficult it is to maintain control over a relationship based on erotic love. In doing this he simultaneously points out the magnitude of his skill. He states that it is difficult to control the winged Cupid (AA II: 15-20), comparing it with Icarus’ fated flight (AA II: 21ff.).

The myth of the flight of Daedalus and Icarus from Crete is the first mythical digression of Book II and the fifth within the Ars. The similarity between Icarus and Cupid makes a comparison between them ideal. Both are young, wilful, and undisciplined young men, and both can fly (the god with true wings, the mortals with a man-made contraption). Daedalus’ fame for being a skilled craftsman (Hornblower & Spawforth 2003: 425; Mayerson 2001: 319) indicates that his placement at the beginning of this book is thus no accident. It is clear the myth speaks of great skill, but the role of this myth within a manual of love is unclear at first, since it does not address any particular amorous lesson.

Each of the mythical digressions thus far has explored a particular mythical sexual encounter and has been used to structure male and female roles within romantic relationships. The natural assumption would be that the same would also apply in this instance. However, this does not appear to be the case. In this chapter I will determine the traditional role of this myth in order to delineate its function within the Ars as a whole and as the first mythical digression of Book II.

146 Summary of the Presumed Traditional Myth

Homer (Il. XVIII: 590) is the earliest available text to mention Daedalus and he credits him with constructing a wide dancefloor for Ariadne. He is mentioned by many ancient authors for his role as an inventor, but Pseudo-Apollodorus (Epit. I: 12-13) is the oldest written source we have for the flight of Daedalus and Icarus (Ide 2011: 28). However, one of the earliest visual references of the story of Daedalus and Icarus is a depiction on an Etruscan gold bulla (a child’s amulet) dated around 470 BCE (Ide 2011: 51). Available sources for the story include Diodorus Siculus (IV: 77.8-77.9), Hyginus (Fab. 40), Horace (Od. I: 3; II: 20; IV: 2) and Virgil (Aen. VI: 14ff.).

Pseudo-Apollodorus (Epit. I: 12-13) appears to be the only source to name Icarus’ mother; Naucrate, a slave of Minos. He briefly mentions the daring escape on wings made by Daedalus, which resulted in Icarus’ death. Minos’ anger is caused by Daedalus’ role in Theseus’ escape. Diodorus Siculus (IV: 77.5-77.9), on the other hand, gives various accounts of the story, including the flight on wings and the escape by sea with Pasiphae’s assistance. Hyginus (Fab. 40) also recounts the myth, following Pasiphae’s illustrious affair and the resulting birth of the Minotaur. His version of the myth relates that Minos punished Daedalus for his part in the Minotaur’s conception. He is not mentioned in Theseus’ escape. Horace (Od. I: 3; II: 20; IV: 2) discusses the myth in terms of the risks of creating art, in his case poetry, mentioning it very briefly in each of the poems. Virgil (Aen. VI: 14ff.) similarly discusses Daedalus’ skill in relation to the arts. Aeneas visits the temple of Apollo, the doors of which Daedalus has decorated with various myths.

Seneca (the Younger) mentions the myth in passing in two of his tragedies (Herc. Oet. 675; Oedip. 892). The prevalence of brief references to the myth shows that the myth was popular in the period. It also indicates that poets found it of value as a comparative myth for discussing their art form. Ovid relates the myth not only here, but also in the Metamorphoses (VIII:183–235) and in his exile poetry (Tr. III: 4a. 21-26) (Williams 1994: 132).

147 Daedalus was exiled from Athens for the murder of his nephew (Diodorus Siculus, IV: 76.4-7; Armstrong 2006: 124). Minos offered him sanctuary in Crete, in return for which he worked for Minos (Diodorus Siculus, IV: 77.1). Daedalus was a skilled craftsman and artist. He was the architect of the labyrinth that housed the Minotaur (Sharrock 1994: 88), whose conception was made possible by the wooden cow he, too, constructed (Diodorus Siculus, IV: 77.1). Daedalus is said to have provided Theseus with the sword with which he killed the Minotaur and the ball of string that helped him find his way out of the labyrinth afterwards (Pseudo-Apollodorus, Epit. I: 9).

After his role in saving Theseus, or constructing the wooden cow, it is said that Minos was angry with Daedalus and so locked him in the Labrynth with his son Icarus (Pseudo-Apollodorus, Epit. I: 12; Mayerson 2001: 319). Ovid’s account in the Metamorphoses (VIII: 183ff.) differs in that it states Daedalus was shut up in a tower to prevent his knowledge of the labyrinth becoming public knowledge. King Minos kept a strict watch on all ships. Each vessel was only permitted to sail from Crete once it had been carefully searched. Regardless of where they were imprisoned, and whether by Minos himself, or just marooned on the island while Minos searched for them, preventing their escape by land and sea (Diodorus Siculus, IV: 77.7), Daedalus and Icarus were prisoners on Crete.

Ovid’s Metamorphoses (VIII: 183ff.) offers the most detailed description of the construction of the wings and the subsequent escape. Since Minos controlled the land and sea routes, Daedalus saw only one escape route - by air. He set to work making wings for himself and his young son, Icarus. He tied feathers together, from smallest to largest. He secured the feathers with string in the middle and with wax at the base to give his wings a gentle curvature, like that of a bird’s wing. Having completed the task, Daedalus was able to ascend into the air and remain hovering. He prepared wings for Icarus in the same way and taught his son to fly. Once they were both prepared for their flight, Daedalus warned Icarus to fly neither too high, nor too low. Should he fly too high the heat of the sun would melt the wax. If he were, however, to fly too low, the moisture from the waves would soak the feathers.

148 The story relates that they had passed a number of islands, when Icarus carelessly began soaring up toward the sun. The scorching heat of the sun softened the wax holding the feathers together and they began to fall off. Unable to fly any longer, Icarus fell and drowned in the sea. Daedalus was unable to save him and cried for the loss of his son, cursing his own art for his fate. Daedalus flew on to Sicily, where he performed funeral rites for Icarus and built a temple in honour of Apollo (Virgil Aen. VI: 14ff.). He subsequently named the land near where Icarus fell Icaria. The Icarian Sea also gets its name from this myth (Pseudo-Apollodorus, Epit. I: 13; Diodorus Siculus, IV: 77.6).

In some more euhemerised31 versions of the story, Pasiphae is said to have aided Daedalus (Diodorus Siculus, IV: 77.5; Mayerson 2001: 319). These versions consider the wings of the traditional version rather to have been a symbol for the invention of sails (Smith 1867: 559). Icarus is said to have fallen overboard and drowned while disembarking (Diodorus Siculus, IV: 77.5).

Ovid’s Use of the Myth

Ovid instructs his reader to shout “oi Paean!” three times in celebration of the girl he has caught through the instruction of Book I (AA II: 1). Ovid tells us the happy lover bestows the palma [palm] (AA I: 3) on his poems for their triumph. This is clearly the victory cry of Apollo which Ovid has assigned to himself, rather arrogantly implying he is the Apollo of the Art of Love. Ovid informs us already in Book I that he teaches from experience and does not receive his skill from Apollo (AA I: 25-26; I: 29). Ovid once again invokes Apollo’s accepted

31 The term “euhemerised”, after the Greek writer Euhemerus, explains the reality behind myth. Euhemerus associated the gods more closely with real people and provided more realistically possible versions of the myths. His approach did not draw a clear line between gods and men, making ruler-cults more believable (Hornblower & Spawforth 2003: 567).

149 patronage of poetry (Tibullus III: 4.43-44) to assert the level of his own expertise, appropriate to the difficulty of the task that lies ahead (AA I: 9-14). We are humorously reminded of the opening couplet of the Ariadne and Bacchus myth (AA I: 525), where Bacchus summons his bard.

In similar fashion to the proem of Book I, Ovid calls again on Venus to aid him in his task (AA II: 15). He also calls on Cupid and the Muse Erato (AA II: 15-16), the latter’s name echoing the Greek Eros and thus having love in it (Murgatroyd 1982: 149). His choice of Erato as a muse is clearly intentional. The erotic association of Erato can also be found in Apollonius Rhodius’ Argonautica (III: 1-5). The didactic style is again reminiscent of Virgil’s Georgics (III: 294 and IV: 6ff.), despite the frivolous subject matter. In calling on more assistance than in the first book, Ovid amplifies the difficulty of the task faced in Book II. An imitation of Virgil lends itself to a pseudo-serious air. Whether or not Ovid takes his subject matter seriously is not indicated by the lines. The primary stylistic tool employed throughout the Ars is humour, and thus any attempt at creating a serious atmosphere would be in vain, and is thus unlikely to be the intended tone.

The focus is clearly on accentuating the difficulty of the task ahead. Ovid repeats the word ars in numerous forms in the opening lines of Book II. He tells his audience that, just as the girl has been caught by his art, so too will she be kept by his art (AA II: 12). While finding the girl can be accredited to chance, this task is artis opus [a work of art] (AA II: 14), so Ovid’s task of sharing what arts will make Love stay is therefore also considerable (AA II: 17). The intentional repetition of ars accentuates the word itself, which in turn highlights the skill it represents. It is likely also a play on the name of the poem (Murgatroyd 1982: 149).

Having called on Cupid, as puer [boy] (AA II: 15), for assistance in the task ahead, the god is once again cast in another role. He is the subject of the lines that follow, Amor (AA II: 17ff.), the boy who wanders the world; a boy with wings who is difficult to keep in one place. Ovid depicts Cupid as irresponsible, unpredictable and mischievous like a boy, shooting his arrows randomly and arbitrarily at unsuspecting victims. Similarly, newfound love is fickle and difficult to control. Ovid also links Cupid with Icarus through his reference to a “winged”

150 boy. Introducing the myth of Daedalus and Icarus and their flight from Crete in the very next line reinforces this suggestion.

As the introductory mythical digression of the book, the flight of Daedalus and Icarus lays the ground rules for the book’s advice: how to keep the puella. Daedalus’ fame as an inventor is in itself a founding role. If its placement at the beginning of the book is not enough to indicate its importance, it is notably the longest mythical digression in the work, with seventy-six lines being dedicated to the tale. In addition, it falls within the middle book of the work, and the middle of the advice for men, which often marks a turning-point in a poetic work. As the second proem of the Ars, the passage plays a reflexive role, reflecting both on the previous book’s subject matter and its poetry (Sharrock 1994: 90) and impressing that reflection on the following lines.

Ovid compares the difficulty of his task with that of Daedalus, a guest unable to leave by any route: hospitis effugio praestruxerat omnia Minos: | audacem pinnis repperit ille viam [Minos blocked every means of escape for his guest, but he (Daedalus) devised a bold path by means of wings] (AA II: 21-22). Ovid appears to digress, relating that Daedalus had completed the Minotaur’s labyrinth and now begged Minos for his freedom. Daedalus’ role in helping Theseus escape the labyrinth is not mentioned, indicating that Ovid has elected to recall the lesser-known version of the traditional myth, as told by Hyginus and Diodorus Siculus (Sharrock 1994: 190). This version claims Minos was angered by Daedalus’ role in Pasiphae’s adultery with the bull. The contrast of the Minotaur’s prison with hospitis accentuates Daedalus’ predicament and justifies a bold attempt such as flight. One cannot help but recall the myth of Pasiphae, and Daedalus’ role in defining his own fate by building the wooden cow. Ovid likely evokes Pasiphae’s role in Daedalus’ escape from the labyrinth in an alternative version of the myth (Diodorus Siculus, IV: 77.5), a comedic reversal of roles in which Pasiphae comes to Daedalus’ aid. There is an element of desperation mirrored in the two myths—just as Pasiphase went to great lengths to acquire the object of her desire, the bull, so too was Daedalus attempting flight to gain his freedom, the one thing he desires most. Similarly, the two halves of the pentameter describing the Minotaur are almost identical. In fact, Ovid uses the exact same words, but interchanges the position of the nouns: semibovemque virum semivirumque bovem [the man half-bull, the bull half-man] (AA

151 II: 24). Just as the two halves of the line contain the same body parts, so too do the two halves of the body contain the same line parts, begging the question whether they differ or are the same (Wills 1996: 416). While not a strictly Ovidian construction, the power of the line remains undisputed. The effective use of chiasm illustrates the hybrid nature of the half-man-half-beast Minotaur (Wills 1996: 436), showing off Ovid’s skill in a myth all about skilled craftsmanship.

Daedalus can be viewed humorously both as the inventor of the labyrinth and of the Minotaur, in light of the part he played in its conception. The sin is, however, viewed as that of its mother (crimine matris, AA II: 23) and the building of the labyrinth as the repentance of the inventor (clausit, AA II: 23). In building the wooden cow Daedalus aided the amatrix in her conquest; so, much like Ovid, he aids lovers, however disastrous the results - the consequence of misplaced skill, much like Achilles’ initial behaviour in the previous mythical digression. The humour of such a comparison between Ovid and Daedalus is undeniable, but also allows Ovid to declare that he is even better than the most famous of all craftsmen. In referring to Minos as iustissime [the most just] (AA II: 25) Ovid recalls Minos’ role as judge of the damned in Horace (Od. IV: 7.21-22). The placement of exilio in the same line, separated only by dixit, suggests Daedalus’ original crime of killing his nephew, and the reason he is even in Crete. This is contrasted with iustissime, implying that Minos has judged Daedalus as one of the damned.

Despite his extended pleas, Minos denies Daedalus his freedom. This elevates the desperate urgency for escape. The reference is obviously not reverent of Minos’ role of judge of the damned. Instead, he simply appears unyielding. The lines might be considered a critique of the immovable Augustan morality and laws hindering both Ovid and his amator. Daedalus’ entreaties (AA II: 25-30) seem almost honourable. The audience would have been aware of

152 the reason for Daedalus’ exile32 from his homeland, yet here the blame falls on Minos for keeping him from returning. Daedalus concludes his request with: da reditum puero, senis est si gratia vilis; si non vis puero parcere, parce seni [give the boy a return, if the old man’s favour is low; if you do not wish to spare the boy, spare the old man] A common syntagm33 that occurs in conditional instructions places a verb in a condition, which is then repeated as an imperative or subjunctive (Wills 1996: 304). In placing parcere before parce, Ovid reverses the traditional placement of the verbs. Although there are examples which proceed Ovid, Wills (1996: 304) informs us this was a construction Ovid “made his own,” specifically in pentameters. Considering the prevalent theme of ars, such a skilful construction clearly serves to show Ovid’s skills. However, the similarity in style between this line and the description of the Minotaur (AA II: 24) highlights the ironic similarities between these two sons’ fates. Like the Minotaur, Icarus, too, will die. Ironically, Icarus will die while escaping, and Daedalus will be spared, just as he predicts (AA II: 30).

Nunc nunc followed by the vocative o Daedale (AA II: 33) creates a textual fracture, calling attention to Daedalus’ great skill (AA II: 34). The urgency of the phrase accentuates the aforementioned desperation also. Here again Ovid shows his understanding of the human psyche. The need for freedom even exceeds that of self-preservation (Harris & Platzner 2008: 46). Daedalus will risk his life and that of his son to escape Minos’

32 In considering Sharrock’s argument that Ovid aligns himself with Daedalus, it is perhaps bitter-sweet that Ovid was not aware at the time of writing these lines that he, too, would share Daedalus’ fate of exile from his homeland. It is perhaps even more ironic that both men’s artistic skill is the source of their undesired fate. 33 A linguistic unit that consists of a set of two or more linguistic forms (such as phonemes, words, or phrases) that occur in sequence.

153 imprisonment. It is desperation that drives Daedalus, but Ovid retains the audience’s focus on the skill required for such a feat.

Just as Ovid calls on Venus, Daedalus calls on Jupiter to favour his plan (AA II: 38). Daedalus’ words reiterate the hopelessness of his situation. Minos controls the land and the sea (AA II: 35), and the only route that remains is the sky (AA II: 37). Daedalus does not wish to touch the stars (AA II: 39), he says, but there is no other way to escape, he repeats (AA II: 40). He would even consider the River Styx, if it offered him a route of escape (AA II: 41). Ironically, this is the route Icarus will ultimately travel, again a prediction of Icarus’ death, only this time in Daedalus’ words to himself. Daedalus is left with no option but to change the laws of nature through his skill (AA II: 42). Ovid once again questions the natural order, contrasting it with the idea of skill and sophistication. As a consequence, on a secondary level, Ovid argues that sophisticated Romans should not be driven by what is considered the norm, but should endeavour to accomplish something greater by defying the boundaries dictated by the norm. The use of mala (AA II: 43) in an erotic sense refers to the despair caused by unrequited love, that causes the lover to act (Sharrock 1994: 147). Here Ovid uses it to indicate the distress which has driven Daedalus to the skies, creating a clear link between Daedalus and erotic poetry, and thus himself. One might then consider the contemporary state of erotic affairs to be the mala that has prompted Ovid to write a didactic poem teaching a new approach. Alternatively, we might consider that the constraints of classic subjective elegy have forced Ovid to step outside its restraints, and therefore to use didactic elegy (Sharrock 1994: 135). Similarly, the modelling of wax is a metaphor for teaching, used also by Cicero (De Or. III: 177) to describe the formation of literature with words (Sharrock 1994: 145). Ovid reiterates that difficulty often results in a solution one would not have thought of otherwise (AA II: 43-44). To ensure that Daedalus’ skill is viewed with awe, Ovid indulges in his description of Daedalus’ seemingly impossible task (AA II: 45-48), calling the completed wings labor artis [a work of art] (AA II: 48). Disponere (AA II: 45) is a technical term used also for the organisation of material in the context of rhetoric or poetry (Lewis & Short 1879 s.v. dispono II; Sharrock 1994: 142). In the same way that Daedalus lays out the wings, Ovid lays down the words of the Ars. Novae (AA II: 48) indicates the originality of the invention, alluding equally to Ovid’s own art. Daedalus is thus the machinist described in the lines, and Ovid is the machinist of the lines.

154

In a similar fashion that the young lover or Cupid might laugh at Ovid’s advice, Icarus laughed, holding the wings in his hands (AA II: 49). The wings are described as ceramque ... penasque [wax and feathers] (AA II: 49), because they are not yet wings in the eyes of his son. Arma (AA II: 50) [tools/implements] indicates the wings in the following line. Ironically the tool of Icarus’ escape is also the weapon of his downfall (Janka 1997: 77), implying that the same might apply for the lover. It also brings to mind the previous mythical digression which concluded Book I (AA I: 702). The story of Deidamia and Achilles addressed the appropriate use of skill, with reference to Achilles’ arma, which won the girl. The wings are equated with the tools of the lover. Despite his laughter, the wings did allow Icarus to fly, and thus it is implied that the use of Ovid’s ars will be equally successful. His impetuosity is what cost him his life , and in this instance Icarus is identified with the impulsive lover. In the end it is Daedalus, the artisan and teacher, who is successful, because he has utilised his skill and followed the steps required to accomplish such a feat. Just as Minos cannot block the skies from Daedalus, Ovid’s art will not be deterred, regardless of the laws.

Repetition is a common element of this passage. Daedalus tells Icarus that the wings he is working on are the art that will take them home and the creation that will allow them to escape Minos, who blocks all other routes except the sky (AA II: 51-54). Although composed differently, Daedalus repeats the opening lines of his earlier monologue. The repetition of the statement that Minos prevents all means of escape from Crete justifies Daedalus’ extreme response. Ovid, however, evokes the euhemerised version which relates that Pasiphae provided a ship for their escape (Diodorus Siculus, IV: 77.5), thus describing their flight in naval terms. Sharrock (1994: 191-192) considers this demythologising statement to be a self-referential joke; inferring that claims of keeping one’s lover with the lessons of elegy would be derided in the same manner as claims of flight. There is no evidence for such an inference; however, Ovid would likely have been establishing his authority as the poet and teacher.

Daedalus’ instructions to Icarus commence with a warning. There is humour in Ovid’s Daedalus only later warning his son against the heat of the sun and the moisture of the waves. He warns him first to avoid the Ursa Maior or Great Bear constellation, evoking the

155 fate of Callisto, who was turned into a bear by jealous Juno as a consequence of Jupiter’s lust. When she was almost killed by her own son, Jupiter turned him into a bear as well and placed them both in the sky, forming the constellations Ursa Maior (Callisto) and Ursa Minor (Arcas). Mentioned in the Odyssey as the only constellation that does not go below the horizon, it was naturally used to navigate (Homer, Od. V: 273). Two other constellations are also mentioned, Boötes (Homer, Od. V: 272) and Orion (Homer, Od. V: 283, III: 27.18; Virgil, Aen. I: 535). Ovid clearly alludes to Homer’s Odyssey, in which all three constellations appear. The primary subject of the Odyssey is a journey by sea. Since Daedalus and Icarus will sail through the sky, the natural assumption would be to navigate conventionally by the constellations. Daedalus, however, instructs his son not to follow traditional methods of navigation. He should follow his father’s lead instead, should he wish to travel safely (AA I: 57-58). The assertion is that a less traditional means of navigation should be followed: the guidance of the teacher and artist. Ovid places Orion and Boötes alongside each other in his description; however, it is Boötes and Arcas which are co-located (Sharrock 1994: 151). Orion is rising as Boötes is setting, so they are quite far apart (Sharrock 1994: 152). The inaccurate location is likely intentional and tongue-in-cheek, questioning the reliability of traditional methods.

Ovid parallels his advice with that of Daedalus. Both men are instructing against tradition. The use of particular verbs and their tense, as well as the inclusion of the personal pronoun, shows this clearly. Daedalus says, me pinnis sectare datis; ego praevius ibo: | sit tua cura sequi; me duce tutus eris [Fly behind me with the wings I have given you: I’ll go in front: your job’s to follow: you’ll be safe where I lead] (AA II: 57-58). Daedalus has provided the tools and now he should be followed in order for them to function optimally. Sequi (AA II: 57) suggests that Icarus may not take a route other than that of his father (Sharrock 1994: 154). Me ... ego praevius ... me duce indicates that Daedalus actively leads. Icarus is expected to follow his father’s instruction and person passively, as indicated in the sequence of the words: me ... sectare ... ego praeuius ... tua cura ... me duce ... tutus eris (Sharrock 1994: 154). Similarly, the amator has been given the tools with which to capture the girl; now he will follow Ovid through Book II to acquire what it is he desires from those tools, a long-term love affair (as also instructed by Ovid). The tense difference between what is given and what will be is notable. The tone of the imperatives in these lines gives the impression that

156 following this advice is non-negotiable. It states, follow Ovid’s way, however untraditional, or fail in the art of love. Just like flight, taking on Ovid’s art of seduction is an unprecedented journey.

There are many dangers which face Icarus: the sun, the sea, even the breeze. If he flies too close to the sun, it will melt the wax that binds his wings (AA II: 59-60). If he flies too low, the salty water will soak his wings, weighing him down, and causing him to fall from the sky (AA II: 61-62). Similarly, even if he flies carefully between the sun and the sea, the wind poses a threat, which he can only navigate by following where it allows (AA II: 63-64). The wind is a third and previously unmentioned element. In light of the comparison between Daedalus and Ovid, and Icarus and the amator, it seems likely that the wind represents the puella. The earlier argument for the willingness of the puella and mutuality of such a relationship made in Book I supports such a deduction. Just as Ovid has added the female perspective and willingness to the process of finding and keeping a lover, so too has he added the wind to the threats which Icarus faces.

Despite the parallels drawn thus far, Ovid describes a father teaching and instructing his son in the movement of flight, where to fly and where it is not safe. Daedalus’ speech is didactic in nature, reminiscent of the didactic tradition of giving advice to sons (Sharrock 1994: 147). He describes their journey and the emotions of a father and of his son. While he gives his warnings, Daedalus fits the wings to his son and shows him how they work (AA II: 65-66). Ovid likens Daedalus to a mother bird teaching her babies to fly (AA II: 66). Such a feminine reference might be viewed as insulting, but this is unlikely. The poet’s profession was sometimes viewed as effeminate, and perhaps that is evoked. Mentioning the mother bird, however, also accentuates Daedalus’ skill and role. Daedalus fits his own wings, and takes a moment to compose himself for this strange and unnatural adventure they are about to undertake (AA II: 67-68). Daedalus cries as he kisses his son and they take flight (AA II: 69- 70). The description of Daedalus’ tears is both suitably moving and an accurate response since we are told that Icarus is a small boy (AA II: 69). Daedalus’ tears are almost premonitory, adding a powerful emotional element to the lines, accentuated also in the lines that follow. They take off from little more than a hill (AA II: 71), from which data sunt miserae corpora bina fugae [both their bodies were given to the miserable flight] (AA II: 72).

157 Ovid cannot resist a witticism, despite the seriousness of the proem and the myth itself. He purposely inserts the pun fugae, assigning one word to both the physical flight into the sky and the flight from Minos.

In contrast to Daedalus’ discipline and vigilance, Icarus delights in his journey. Forgetting his fear, he flies more daringly and with skill (AA II: 76). At first it seems surprising that Ovid chooses to use arte here. However, the indication is that the amator need not be fearful of the art of love, and should use it boldly, but should not deviate from the plan or act too rashly. Initially, as Icarus embraces his flight, a man catching fish is so shocked to see men flying that he drops his rod (AA II: 77-78). A list of islands follows (AA II: 79-82; Sharrock 1994: 188), indicating a plan initially unfolding as intended. Daedalus’ approach to the flight is extremely cautious, even fearful (Sharrock 1994: 155). Icarus, on the other hand, revels in the thrill of the flight. It is only when Icarus deviates from the plan that things go wrong. Cum (AA II: 83) indicates the change in Icarus’ fate and the detour from the plan. Icarus is overcome by his youthful nature and disobeys his father, soaring higher and sealing his fate as the wax holding his wings together melts (AA II: 85 and 89). This is an obvious reference to the danger of uncontrolled acts of passion. The lover who acts without art and thought is in essence self-destructive.

Ovid embellishes his description of Icarus’ fall, including detailed descriptions of the physical and emotional elements of the episode. First the knots give way, then the wax melts (AA II: 85), recalling the earlier melting of the wax to make the wings. Icarus’ flailing arms are unable to hold onto air (AA II: 86). Terrified, Icarus looks down on the ocean from the sky (AA II: 87). A darkness born of fear clouds his eyes (AA II: 88). Again we are told the wax dissolves and, despite thrashing his arms, he has nothing to support him (AA II: 89-90). At last, Icarus falls and as he falls, he calls for his father (AA II: 91). As he calls out, the sea closes over his mouth (AA II: 92), swallowing both Icarus and his words. Ovid underscores the fear of Icarus, much like he did that of Daedalus earlier. He prolongs the description of the associated feelings and actions. In this case something that would have taken split- seconds in reality, spans nine lines (AA II: 87-95). Unlike the earlier lines in which Daedalus delays their departure with elaborate warnings, here Icarus has no control. The image of Icarus soaring has become inelegant, also creating a hint of comedy. Unlike Icarus, the poet

158 does retain control, and he takes full advantage of it. The lines are laden with imagery and details. Not only is the boy’s reaction dealt with, but the actual physical attributes of his fall are described for the audience. When compared with the teacher and lover, Daedalus gives detailed instructions, while we see Icarus’ words swallowed by the ocean. Words are thus useless when the direction of the teacher is not followed. Icarus cannot hold onto the air because he did not heed his father’s warnings, a fate that awaits the lover who does not follow the advice Ovid offers. Sharrock (1994: 144) argues that while the breeze may be thin (AA II: 86), it has carried Icarus until now, and similarly, however weak the argument of the poem might seem, it has held the audience and the puella captive thus far, and will continue to do so.

The repetition in the lines describing the interaction between father and son as Icarus falls is notable. The lines are included below in their linear format as the visual placement of the words is significant: Decidit, atque cadens “pater, o pater, auferor!” inquit, Clauserunt virides ora loquentis aquae. At pater infelix, nec iam pater, “Icare!” clamat, “Icare,” clamat “ubi es, quoque sub axe volas?” “Icare” clamabat, pinnas aspexit in undis. 95 He falls, and falling cries: “Father, O father, I’m being carried away!” The green waters closed over his mouth as he spoke. But now his unhappy father, no longer a father, shouts “Icarus!” “Icarus”, he calls, “where are you, under what part of the sky are you flying?” He kept calling “Icarus”, he saw the feathers on the waves. (AA II: 91-95) Ovid repeats the noun pater as Icarus desperately calls for Daedalus as he falls (AA II: 91). Ovid, however, diminishes Icarus’ desperation with the verb inquit (AA II: 91), relying on the repetition to create the urgency of the lines. The use of inquit gives prominence to the later repetition of the verb clamare. Inquit also assigns a lower volume to the calls of Icarus when compared with those of Daedalus. The sea water covering Icarus’ open mouth (AA II: 92) as he calls out further silences his pleas. The noun pater is repeated again as Daedalus is about to call for his son (AA II: 93). The repetition of the vocative Icare by Daedalus as he calls for

159 his son is intensified by the earlier repetition of pater. Similarly, pater is accentuated by the subsequent repetition. The triplicate repetition of Icare evokes the funerary rights which Daedalus will perform, yet he is still hoping to find him alive, highlighting the element of sadness (Dyson Hejduk 2014: 97). The father, also the teacher, is clearly the more powerful and authoritative voice. Accordingly, Ovid’s skill is glaringly obvious in these lines. He successfully combines a fifth-foot and first-foot repetition (5/1) (AA II: 92-93) with a first- foot and first-foot repetition (1/1) (AA II: 93-94) of the vocative noun Icare. Although the latter initial-line repetition is more common (Wills 1996: 57), Ovid’s use of fifth-foot, first- foot epanalepsis is notable for its limited occurrence and restriction to poetry (as mentioned previously).

Ovid uses a similar repetition of the verb clamare in his retelling of Ariadne’s fate (AA I: 531-533). The similarity reminds the audience that Daedalus’ fate is inextricably interwoven with that of the members of the House of Minos. Armstrong (2006: 125) describes Daedalus’ relationship to the Cretan women, Pasiphae and Ariadne, as important but complicated. His role in their fates and the consequential role this plays in his own fate cannot be separated. Furthermore, both Theseus and Icarus departed Crete from the same shore (Wills 1996: 137). Wills (1996: 137) considers the 5/1 and 1/1 repetition in these lines to be an echo also of Aegeus’ speech in Catullus 64. Aegeus opens with the repetition of the imperative gnate in a 1/1 position (Catullus 64: 215-216), while Ariadne repeats perfide in a 5/1 position (Catullus 64: 132-133). Ovid combines both speeches to Theseus, replacing perfide (Ariadne) and gnate (Aegeus) with Icare (Wills 1996: 137)34. Ovid echoes the opening repetition of both speeches, associating the characteristics of a hysterical female (Ariadne)

34 Wills (1996: 138) points out that the extensive use of 5/1 expansion in Ariadne’s lament in Catullus 64 became so closely related with her speech that any repetition in that form was enough to create an allusion of the passage. Similarly, 1/1 expansion became associated with Aegeus’ mourning for his son, that it became the Leitmotiv for mourning a child (Wills 1996: 138).

160 and a distraught father (Aegeus). Daedalus becomes multi-faceted. The echo of a female character and the earlier bird-metaphor makes a strong argument for a female presence within a myth that contains no women. Ovid clearly plays on the archetypal association of emotion with the female, undermining it and the negative connotations associated with it. In likening Daedalus to a woman, Ovid is better able to justify the primary comparison between himself and Daedalus. Ovid and his amator will escape the traps of social mores with his poetry, much like Daedalus will escape Minos with his wings.

Whether it is intentional or not, a parallel between Daedalus and the puella also exists. The prisoner, Daedalus, escapes and so too will the unwilling puella. She is not legally bound to her lover by marriage. She cannot be held captive against her will, as Daedalus was unjustly imprisoned by Minos. For this reason, to keep her she must be willing, and that mutual involvement in the relationship can only be fostered through art.

The comparative energy of the lines operates on a number of levels. The implied subtext is that Ovid, like the sun, can conquer the wings of the boy Cupid. The inference would be that Ovid’s art is superior to Cupid and can effectively control love, traditionally perceived as an uncontrollable force of nature. In comparing poet and poetry with inventor and inventions, Ovid effectively uses one myth to remythologise another. Ovid is able to do what not even Bacchus can do to Cupid: he is able to ground him and control him (AA I: 231ff.). Icarus supports the argument for following the praeceptor’s advice to the letter. The lover fails because he cannot conquer love without the instruction of the teacher.

Wilkinson (1955: 127), however, takes this passage to mean that the poet questions how he is to be expected to be able to keep winged Love under control when even Minos could not keep Daedalus and Icarus captive. Wilkinson equates Ovid with Minos, which seems an unlikely comparison. Ovid much more likely equates himself with his fellow artist, Daedalus. He will control the boy, Cupid, and thus love itself. If Ovid questions his ability to keep Love under control, it is certainly not in equating himself with Minos. Daedalus himself failed to keep Icarus under control—a much more likely comparison than Minos’ inability to control the artist and the boy. Even though the comparisons within these lines are complex and convoluted, an association of the poet with Minos would not fit in with the theme of mutual

161 willingness he has created with Book I. One therefore needs to consider in what sense such a comparison would work within the context of the lines. Unlike Minos, Daedalus is an archetype for art and creation, being described in this manner as early as Homer (Mayerson 2001: 319). In fact, his name, daidolos [one who works cunningly], was used as a common noun or adjective meaning artistic. Daedalus is also the artist accredited with moving statues, depicting open eyes and separating the arms from body in sculpture (Mayerson 2001: 319). Just as Daedalus can be viewed as the creator of hybrids, such as the Minotaur and a flying man and boy, Ovid himself created the Ars Amatoria in a hybrid form of poetry, fusing elegiac and didactic genres (Sharrock 1994: 90). A comparison made between the two artists is thus easily justified. Ovid uses numerous parallels in his introduction and later telling of the myth which support this argument. Daedalus created the wings, just as Ovid has devised his art of love. Minos was unable to keep Daedalus captive (AA II: 21). Similarly both Daedalus and Ovid faces an immense challenge (AA II: 20). Minos’ failure is finite, where Daedalus succeeded even though Icarus did not, and Ovid’s struggle cannot be concluded as a failure yet. Instead, success can be assured through the employ of artful skill. In addition, Ovid would be ceding to an inability to keep love captive, which is in direct contrast with his stated ability. If a comparison between Ovid and Minos was intended, it would serve only to accentuate the difficulty of the task ahead even further. It is therefore unlikely that Ovid compares himself to Minos. Minos is rather more likely to represent tradition and social mores.

While Ovid compares Icarus with the lover, another parallel evident in the lines is that of Cupid with Icarus. Icarus is the son of Daedalus and Cupid is the charge of Ovid, within the context of the poem. Both are young and irresponsible—a threat to the quest that faces each of their masters. The consequence of such youthful impulsiveness is failure in a disciplined art form, thus drawing a further parallel. Likewise, arrogance and disregard for mature guidance will lead to failure in love. Ovid uses the myth to signify the power of his art over Cupid, the young and rebellious Love. Icarus’ fall can be attributed to his failure to obey his father, but also to his impetuous nature. Cupid is similarly difficult to control, but Ovid will nevertheless command him through his art (AA I: 15-20).

162 Yet another parallel can be drawn between falling in love and flying. Icarus is able to fly, but falls from the sky when he is distracted from the skill required to stay aloft. Similarly, a love affair will not be sustained without applying Ovid’s art of keeping the puella, which Book II is about to teach the audience. Ovid thus uses the myth to emphasise the importance of the craftsman and his instruction. However, perhaps more important, is the fact that love is an art form that can be taught.

Sharrock (1994: 87) considers the myth to be a strategic didactic exemplum illustrating both the difficulty and the importance of the task ahead. Despite the stated task being to keep a girl, Sharrock is of the opinion that it is in fact to keep the reader. She provides an extensive study of how the passage can be considered a comparison between Daedalus’ skill and the artistry of Ovid’s poetry (Sharrock 1994: 88ff.). Given how often Ovid speaks of ars, or lack thereof, one cannot deny that Ovid places considerable significance on the concept. The fact that poetry was considered a form of art which the poet worked at allows Ovid to make a comparison between the art of love, that of Daedalus, and the art that is poetry. Such a comparison cannot be discounted. Sharrock (1994: 87) explains that at first glance the passage can be easily considered a “pure case of excess, irrelevance, narcissism, self- indulgence, vacuity”, all of which are accusations commonly made against Ovid. In light of its length and seeming irrelevance, some scholars consider this and other mythical digressions to have very little bearing on the text as a whole. They consider them rather as examples of Ovid indulging in a little fun and disregarding the purpose and proportion of didactic poetry (Sharrock 1994: 89). Sharrock (1994: 90), on the other hand, considers this to be a deliberate statement with regard to the nature of art, and specifically the poet’s own work within this poem. She (1994: 94) considers both what Daedalus makes (wings) and what he does (flies) to be metaphors for the artistic process. In ancient times all forms of art were considered under the same banner, placing poetry and sculpture within the same comparative category, and thus making Sharrock’s perspective feasible. Virgil employs much the same technique in his retelling of Daedalus’ story in the Aeneid (VI: 14-33), an embellished digression with a predominantly decorative purpose (Sharrock 1994: 107), which highlights the role of the artist. Daedalus is an invaluable character for both poets because he embodies both the artist and art itself within a mythical context. He both makes the wings and takes flight himself. Virgil describes the frieze on the temple doors of Apollo,

163 carved by Daedalus himself to tell his own story. It is possibly the only occurrence in ancient literature where the work of art described is both created by and about the artist himself (Fitzgerald 1984: 53). This can be likened to what both Ovid and Virgil have undertaken in retelling the story of Daedalus. Both have spoken about themselves as artist and their art form within their own work. Ovid, however, claims that his skill comes not from a god, but from personal experience (AA I: 25ff.).

There are other similarities between Ovid’s text and that of Virgil (Aen. VI). In both texts Daedalus dares to undertake a novel path and artform. Virgil says of Daedalus’ daring, ausus se credere caelo [daring to trust himself to the sky] (Aen. VI: 15). Ovid tell us first audacem pinnis repperit ille viam [he devised a daring path on wings] (AA II: 22), and then also caelo temptabimus ire [we will attempt to go by the heavens] (AA II: 37). Virgil expresses the novelty of the attempt to fly with insuetum per iter [by an unusual path] (Aen. VI: 16), while Ovid offers three phrases for the innovation of the task. First Daedalus tells the reader sunt mihi naturae iura novanda meae [the laws of my nature are to be made new by me] (AA II: 42). Later the flight is described by the narrator as nouae ... artis [of the new art] (AA II: 48) and nouum ... iter [the new journey] (AA II: 75). In addition to these similarities, both authors use a metaphor of oars to portray the wings. Virgil’s lines read tibi, Phoebe, sacravit | remigium alarum [he dedicated to you, Apollo, the oarage of his wings] (Aen. VI: 18-19). Ovid states remigium volucrum [oarage of birds] (AA II: 45), which is undeniably a paraphrase of Virgil’s text. These similarities indicate that Virgil’s text was certainly a referential intertext used by Ovid. However, Ovid clearly attempts to improve Virgil’s version, with novae (AA II: 48) indicating an innovation in the field. In Ovid, Daedalus is himself the mother bird (AA II: 69). Similarly, Ovid is the experienced lover as well as the poet. Even more relevant is the implication that the love affair Ovid teaches is new. It is like human flight, revolutionary. All avenues for the fulfilment of a pleasurable erotic affair are blocked by the Augustan moral reforms, forcing the lover to find new ways to fulfil such an affair.

Sharrock (1994: 96) makes an interesting observation that after amor, ars is the most common cardinal word in the book, appearing 23 times. This excludes the synonyms used for the two words. The common occurrence of amor, and various forms or synonyms for it,

164 is not surprising given the subject matter. She considers the prevalence of the word ars to serve as a reminder from Ovid to his audience both that the poem is art and that it is about art. Flight is commonly used as a metaphor for poetry, occurring twice in Horace (Odes II: 20 and IV: 2) and also in Pindar (Ol. II: 86-88), Bacchilydes (V: 16), and others (Sharrock 1994: 97). In the prologue of his Georgics III (8-9), Virgil makes a rare authorial interjection in which he says a path must be sought by which he is able to rise up from the earth victoriously and fly over the lips of men. Daedalus (and thus Ovid) echoes this sentiment (AA II: 37). Their mutual placement within a prologue of the respective didactic works would seem significant. Flight is after all a journey, as is the experience of the reader and the poet alike.

Journey is a common theme in the mythical digression. Paris travels by ship back to Troy with Helen, and Pelops won Hippodamia’s hand in marriage in a chariot race against her father (AA II: 5-8). Both ships and chariots are traditional forms of travel within the Roman context. One can thus deduce that the amator will take a journey through the lines of the Ars and his love affair. Ovid mentions both ships and chariots also in the proem of Book I, overtly linking the art of controlling a ship and chariot with that of controlling Love (AA I: 3ff.). Daedalus himself describes the wings as the carinis [the keels] (AA II: 51) by which they will escape Minos, providing a metaphorical link between their wings and travel by ship. There are numerous words indicating movement in this passage, which is not unexpected in a story about a journey. However, their volume is notable.

In addition to an excessive use of words of movement, Ovid also uses words of repression and enclosure to oppose the mobility depicted. For example, Minos blocks every path of escape. When Icarus falls from the sky and he is enclosed by the water, he too is restrained. All that remains are the feathers from his wings. Sharrock (1994: 100) asserts that this contrast serves to indicate attempts to repress art, based on the parallels she has drawn. This myth illustrates the difficulty of restraining winged Cupid, of keeping the puella’s love ignited and the challenge of writing erotodidactic poetry (Sharrock 1994: 192), which is foregrounded in the closing couplet. Conpescere [restrain] and detinuisse [hold down] (AA II: 97-98) contrast strongly with the freedom of flight. Sharrock (1994: 194) argues that Ovid is holding the reader, the lover and the puella, even love, and in so doing he keeps

165 them in suspense to intensify interest in the subject. However, the archetypal image that love embraces lack of control, which was the greatest Roman objection to passionate relationships, is contrasted here. Instead, Ovid argues that love can be controlled with certain skill. The humour of the final couplet is also undeniable, because Ovid compares his control of Cupid with Minos’ attempt to imprison Daedalus. Minos fails because he forces Daedalus to stay. He lacks the skill that ensured Daedalus’ success. It is clear that Ovid assimilated himself with Daedalus and not Minos, thus undermining the impossibility of grounding Cupid. Instead, Ovid uses his artistic skills to woo the puella, and the audience, which he predicts will result in success.

Once again Ovid argues a maiore ad minorem, using the extremity of flight to describe the undertaking of himself, the poet, and of the lover. It grabs the audience’s attention, much like the story of Pasiphae’s affair with the bull. In arguing a much more excessive case, his case is more easily made.

Conclusion

The first mythical digression of Book II, and also the longest of the entire Ars, is not a love story. It is the story of a great inventor who makes wings in a desperate attempt to escape his imprisonment by Minos. Despite Daedalus’ great skill, his son impetuously ignores his advice and flies too close to the sun, causing the wax which holds his wings together to melt. He falls to his death and is consumed by the ocean. The myth accentuates the importance of restraint in matters of flight and, through comparison, seduction. It highlights the importance of following the direction of the praeceptor. In essence, the myth fulfils a didactic function.

Ovid elects the lesser-known traditional version of the myth which relates that Minos’ anger was caused by Daedalus’ role in the Minotaur’s conception, rather than any role in the death of the Minotaur or Theseus’ escape. In this way Ovid evokes the mythical digressions and lessons of Book I, as a reminder of the task accomplished thus far and that which awaits the lover: acquiring the skills that will allow him to keep the puella.

166

Ovid also draws numerous parallels between the characters in the myth and those of his erotodidactic task. Daedalus, the inventor, and Ovid, the poet, are likened to each other in the greatness of their artistic skill. Icarus and Cupid are likened in their arrogance and impetuosity, and like Icarus, Cupid too will be grounded by the artist’s creation. Icarus is also likened to the amator, who fails if he does not follow the guidance of the teacher. Minos represents the limitations inflicted on love affairs both by the law and social mores. Flight comes to represent the love affair, passionate and pleasurable, but in need of control if pleasure should be maintained. The wind is a variable introduced by Ovid, and is likely the puella and her influence as mutual partner in the romance. Naturally the wings are compared with the Ars itself. Despite their formation, if not used correctly, the wings will fail.

Although many emotions are conjured up in the myth, Daedalus is able to resist going too close to the sun or the water, maintaining his flight to safety. Icarus does not follow his father’s guidance, submitting to his desires rather than maintaining control over them, and so he does not fly to safety, but falls mid-flight. Similarly, Ovid guides the amator to a long- term pleasurable affair, should he follow instructions correctly. Should he not continue to take Ovid’s guidance, he too will fall from the sky; the flight in itself he has only accomplished as a result of Book I. Ideally, the lover should follow Ovid’s advice to the letter, while simultaneously keeping a check on himself so that he does not lose control, and thus also his desired puella.

Ovid undeniably implies a rethinking of the traditional Roman erotic relationship. A long- term erotic affair is not only possible, but it is not the uncontrolled excess that social mores dictate. Instead, it requires hard work and restraint. Similarly, the work of a poet is both challenging and relevant.

167

Chapter 11 Ulysses and the Sea Goddesses (Book II: 99-144)

168 Introduction

Daedalus’ skilled craftsmanship could not be conquered by Minos, nor will Ovid’s art be deterred (AA II: 97-98). Having confirmed to his audience his determination and skill, Ovid begins his instruction (AA II: 99ff.). First Ovid warns against the use of magic and love potions. He follows this with the advice that one should develop one’s intellect, because beauty fades and cannot be relied upon in erotic affairs. In the next mythical digression, Ulysses tells Calypso the tale of Rhesus’ fall in the Trojan War repeatedly, at her request, and each time with variation (AA II: 127-128). Ovid states that eloquence is more beneficial in seduction than appearance (AA II: 123-124).

The problem faced by the amator of the Ars is keeping the girl he has already caught. Ovid uses the mythical exemplum of Ulysses, held captive, first by Circe and then by Calypso, because they were so enamoured of him. Circe receives only a passing mention, although magic, for which she is most well known, takes centre stage in the opening lines of the advice. The portion of the myth depicted in this section of the Ars does not address the events before and after Ulysses’ capture on the island of Calypso. Instead, a very small period of time is covered, within which another period of Ulysses’ adventure is illustrated, namely the killing of King Rhesus. In this mythical digression, the sixth of the work and the second of Book II, Ovid evokes three different myths, all associated with one central figure. Why these myths are used and how they function can be determined by considering the preceding instruction for which they are given as exempla. In addition, it is necessary to consider the traditional versions of the myth in comparison with Ovid’s retelling of it.

Summary of the Presumed Traditional Myth

The Greek king of Ithaca, Odysseus, known by the Romans as Ulysses, was one of the central heroes of Homer’s Iliad and Odyssey. Ulysses was married to Penelope and they had a son named Telemachus. Known for his cunning and versatility, Ulysses is most famous for the (mis)adventures of his ten-year long journey home after the Trojan War. The Iliad describes the ten years of the Trojan War. It was followed by the Odyssey, in which Homer tells of the

169 obstacles that kept Ulysses from home for a further ten years. These hindrances included Calypso and Circe, both women who were infatuated with him. In fact, almost every stage of Ulysses’ journey back home is notably affected by a woman or goddess, who initially hinders and then later helps him (Harris & Platzner 2008: 459). Homer is the primary and oldest source for the myths of Ulysses, Calypso and Circe. The Odyssey, eponymously named, obviously addresses both of these affairs, as well as Ulysses’ other experiences during the period after the war.

Homer’s Ulysses himself tells many stories of his experiences in the Odyssey, including that of his entrapment on Circe’s island, Aeaea (Od. X: 135ff.). Hesiod’s Theogony (1011ff.) speaks only of the children born of Ulysses and Circe’s union, claiming they ruled over the Tyrrhenians together. Pseudo-Apollodorus (Epit. VII: 14-19) and Lycophron (Alex. 672ff.), however, both follow the same tradition as Homer.

Circe was depicted in Greek mythology as a goddess of magic, and sometimes also as a nymph, a witch (Homer, Od. X: 43), an enchantress or a sorceress. She was notorious for her extensive knowledge of potions and herbs (Diodorus Siculus, IV: 45.1), and a habit of turning her enemies or those who offended her into animals with her potions and a wand or staff (Homer, Od. X: 20). Most accounts relate that she was the daughter of Sol, the Sun, and the sea nymph, Perse (Homer, Od. X: 135). She had three siblings: her brothers, Perses and Aeetes (keeper of the Golden Fleece), and her sister, the infamous Pasiphae. Some versions relate that her mother was actually Trivia, the goddess of witchcraft (Diodorus Siculus, IV: 45.1; Grimal 1996: 104). It is said that Circe was exiled to the solitary island of Aeaea by her subjects and her father for ending the life of her husband, the prince of Colchis (Diodorus Siculus, IV: 45.1; Monaghan 2014: 233).

After a battle with the cannibalistic Laestrygonians, Ulysses’ ship is the only vessel to escape (Od. X: 87ff.). He sails to Aeaea (Od. X: 133ff.), where Circe turns half his men into pigs by feeding them cheese and wine. Mercury had, however, warned Ulysses about Circe and given him a herb, called moly, to resist her magic. This resistance only makes him more attractive and Circe falls in love with him and thus releases his men. Ulysses and his men remain on her island for one year, feasting and drinking, until his men finally convince him it

170 is time to depart for Ithaca. After leaving Circe, Ulysses encounters further challenges before he washes up on the shore of Ogygia as the result of thunderstorm. All of his men die in the shipwreck.

Homer indicates that for seven years Ulysses is trapped on Calypso’s island, Ogygia. In fact, right at the start of the Odyssey, the audience becomes aware of Ulysses’ predicament (Od. I: 14ff.), but it is only later addressed at length (Od. V: 76ff. & VII: 243ff.). According to Homer (Od. V: 1-144), Minerva is concerned about Ulysses and at a convening of their council requests the intervention of the other gods. Jupiter sends Mercury to carry the message from the council to Calypso, instructing her to release him.

Generally, the story in Homer is followed, but there are some exceptions. Hesiod (Cat. fr. 40A) states that Calypso detained Odysseus for Poseidon. Pseudo-Apollodorus (Epit. VII: 23-24) states that Ulysses only remained on the island for five years and that they had a son together. Propertius (I: 15) addresses Calypso’s sad reaction to Ulysses’ departure, after a long happy time together, he claims. Hyginus (Fab. 125) confirms that Calypso’s passion was a consequence of Ulysses handsome form, but he states that she kept him captive for only a year.

Before the Odyssey, Ulysses was considered one of the most influential of the Greek heroes of the Trojan War (Harris & Platzner 2008: 362) ― the archetypal hero. He remained always steadfast to the cause once the war had begun, despite an initial desire not to leave his home (Harris & Platzner 2008: 362). Unlike Achilles, whose temper is short and disruptive, Ulysses is depicted in the Iliad as diplomatic and self-restrained, a masterful speaker and the intelligent Greek soldier behind the Greeks’ most astute, daring and successful plots. Homer relates many of Ulysses’ accomplishments, including devising the plan which ended the war with the Trojan Horse. Of these feats, Ovid mentions one told in the Iliad: Ulysses’ involvement in the death of King Rhesus of Thrace.

Rhesus was an ally of the Trojans, who was killed on the night of his arrival (March 2014: 430). Hector called for a volunteer, and one of the Trojans, Dolon, agreed to spy on the Greek camp at night, if he could have Achilles’ famous horses as his reward, once

171 they were captured (Il. X: 299ff.). However, on his way to the Greek camp he was caught by Ulysses and Diomedes, who were on their own night-time reconnaissance mission. After he revealed details of the Trojans and their allies, they killed him to prevent him returning to spy on the Greek camp again (Il. X: 390ff.). Homer (Il. X: 432-514) relates that, during a raid on the Trojan camp that night, Diomedes killed the Thracians, including Rhesus, while Ulysses stole his majestic white horses. The story of Rhesus is also told in a play of the same name, Rhesus, attributed to Euripides. The details of the tragedy are very similar to those supplied by Homer for this episode of the story (Rhes. 610ff.). The focus of the play is on Rhesus himself and the reactions of his men when he is killed. Euripides does, however, relate that Ulysses and Diomedes originally intended to kill Hector and were guided by Minerva to kill Rhesus.

Virgil also tells of Rhesus’ death in the Aeneid (I: 469-473). Although not mentioned at all in Homer or Euripides, Aeneas mistakenly thinks that Diomedes stole Rhesus’ horses, because he was familiar with a prophecy which told that, if his horses drank from the Scamander River or ate grass from its banks, Troy would be unconquerable (March 2014: 430; Thompson 1997: 47; Heslin 2015: 269).

Ovid’s Use of the Myth

The bold and implausible supposition that Ovid can control Cupid through skill concludes the Daedalus and Icarus story. Ovid’s instructions commence by denouncing the use of magic and herbs in the art of love. Those who resort to magic will fail (AA II: 99). Rather than keeping the lover, magic and potions will actually do harm (AA II: 106). These harsh words of criticism suggest the reason for Circe’s failed romantic interlude with Ulysses was her use of magic rather than ars. Instead, Homer’s (Od. X: 480ff.) account relates that Ulysses remained until his men asked to go home, and states that she did not deter him when he decided to leave, but instead helped him with supplies and advice.

Ovid cleverly refers to magic as the Haemonian arts, drawing it into contrast with his own amatory arts. The reference is to Thessaly, poetically called Haemonia and known for the

172 practice of magic (Murgatroyd 1982: 150). Ovid uses the geographical reference to establish his authority on the matter. He speaks also of the hippomanes, a growth on the head of a foal when it is born. The mare would normally bite it off immediately after dropping the foal (Mozley 1979: 73). It was, however, also a well known love charm used in love potions (Pliny, H.N. VII: 165). Ovid (AA II: 100) undoubtedly echoes Virgil’s Aeneid (IV: 515-516), sharing much of the same syntax as Dido’s lament at the impending departure of Aeneas, while preparing a love spell herself. Clearly the use of love potions was neither unheard of nor uncommon at the time.

Just as magic fails, so too are Medea’s herbs not able to keep love alive (AA II: 101). Medea is the niece of Circe; so her mention here and her relationship to Circe are by no means a co- incidence. This is typically Ovidian. In telling the audience herbs are unable to keep love alive, Ovid is referring to Medea’s inability to stop Jason from leaving her. Medea was, however, one of the most skilled and most well known sorceresses in myth and her herbs were said to be extremely potent (Murgatroyd 1982: 150). If such a powerful witch were unable to prevent her own lover from leaving her, then Ovid expects his audience to suppose that all magic, potions and trickery will be ineffectual. Ovid also brings to mind his earlier treatment of this myth as part of the second mythical digression of the Ars (AA I: 335- 336). Medea is not only mentioned in the second mythical digression of both books, but the formats of the mythical digressions mirror each other. As in Book I, a series of myths with a similar theme, for the most part perpetuated by women, is listed.

Like Medea’s herbs, Marsian songs mixed with magical chants (AA II: 102) are also ineffective. The Marsi, a people of the mountain district in central Italy, were also known as powerful magicians, much like the Thessalonians. Ovid mentions their chants, nenia Marsa [Marsian chants] (AA II: 102), which included both specific words and indistinguishable noises, as well as animal sounds such as howling (Murgatroyd 1982: 150). Here Ovid most likely paraphrases Horace’s Epode (XVII: 29), in which the poet narrator begs the witch Canidia to release him from her spells, portraying a very negative image of the consequences of magic.

173 To ensure that his point is not overlooked or misunderstood, Ovid states that, if incantations were able to enslave love, then Jason would still be with Medea and Circe would still have a hold on Ulysses (AA II: 103-104). Both women are, humorously, not only Colchian, but share familial ties. In addition, they share a verb, tenuisset (AA II: 103), adding to the humour of the line. Ovid takes full advantage of the opportunity for brevity. He uses Phasias (AA II: 103) as a noun, representing Medea by the Phasis River in Colchis. Jason is referred to by his father’s name, with a Greek form of the accusative, Aesoniden [son of Aeson] (AA II: 103). Ovid cleverly returns the reader to the previous couplet in which Medea is actually named, reminding us that she is a witch and highlighting the failure of her herbs. Circe and Ulysses are mentioned by name. Notably, in this line Ovid uses the Roman Ulysses rather than the Greek Odysseus, despite the use of the Greek accusative ending applied to Jason. The line appears simply to be an opportunity for the poet to boast his skill, but like the subsequent fluency in linguas ... duas [two languages] (AA II: 122) that will be suggested to the lover, Ovid employs two languages in telling the story. There seems to have been no other reason to include Circe, except as a reference for witchcraft’s shortcomings in love affairs. As a result of her failed magical meddling Ulysses is delayed but not captivated. However, the relevance of Circe’s failed attempt to ensnare Ulysses becomes clear in the following lines, in which Ulysses is the primary actor.

Although all of the perpetrators in his list have been women, Ovid humorously concludes that one should not give a girl a love-potion as these concoctions damage the mind and can cause madness (AA II: 105-106). This indicates, firstly, that not only women are guilty of using potions and charms, and secondly, that the gender of the protagonist is no longer female. Such a blatant statement accentuates an aspect of the female character normally not promoted, namely her mind, which in turn also allows for her behaviour to be eloquent. This, combined with the statement that women can be driven mad, undermines the excessive evil woman archetypal image. The mention of madness induced by a potion is

174 indicative of the fact that such a belief or knowledge existed35. Ovid states that such things are nefas [unlawful or sinful] (AA II: 107). The noun is a powerful condemnation of the use of love potions. At the same time it is a reminder of the sine lege (AA I: 119) and sine arte (AA I: 106) elements of earlier myths. This theme of with art versus without art resonates throughout the Ars.

With this contrast a cum arte method by which to meet and keep a lover is suggested. Ovid suggests ut ameris, amabilis esto [so that you will be loved, you must yourself be lovable] (AA II: 107). This on its own is a difficult concept to perceive or act upon without explanation. To be lovable cannot be attained through an attractive face and body alone (AA II: 108). Rather, a lover can be kept by adding gifts of the mind to the body (AA II: 112). In simple terms, one requires skill and sophistication in order to retain the puella because youth and beauty are fleeting. The latter was a common theme in both Greek and Roman literature (Sharrock 1994: 41). It was normally employed to suggest that the puella (or puer [boy]) submit to the pursuing lover before they became too old or unattractive to be desirable (Murgatroyd 1982: 153). Here Ovid uses it in an uncommon manner for an amatory text (Murgatroyd 1982: 153). Ovid is promoting the idea that the lover acquire skill rather than relying on his appearance. There is also a secondary variation from the norm here. Not only is the intention of the advice different, but also the recipient is the lover and not the puella. Thus the responsibility sits with the lover to be desirable. The placement of this statement immediately after nefas (AA II: 107) implies that it is the opposite thereof, so

35 The poet Lucretius was said to have been driven mad by a love potion (See the testimonia on Lucretius (attached below); Murgatroyd 1982: 151). As one of his predecessors, Ovid would have been aware of this. Jerome, in his revision of Eusebius’ Chronicle, under the year 94/3 writes: “Titus Lucretius poeta ... postea amatorio poculo in furorem versus, cum aliquot libros per intervalla insaniae conscripsissset ...” A prefix to the Venice edition of 1495 reports: “T. Lucretius Carus ... noxio tandem improbae feminae poculo in furias actus sibi necem conscivit ...”

175 it is criminal in Ovid’s eyes for the lover not to improve his skills and become more sophisticated.

In support of this statement Ovid mentions two myths. That of Nireus, “loved by Homer” (AA II: 109), and of Hylas, raped by the Naiades (AA II: 110). Nireus was the king of Syme and one of the Achaean leaders during the Trojan war. He was himself one of Helen’s suitors and is as a result mentioned in Homer’s Iliad. Several sources name him the second most beautiful man in the Greek camp, after Achilles (Hyginus, Fab. 270; Euripides, IA 204ff.; Homer, Il. II: 673-674). Homer (Il. II: 672ff.) tells us that he commanded three ships in the campaign against Troy, stating Nireus’ lineage with some grandeur. In reality, three ships are not an extremely significant contribution to the ten-year war which would be waged. Homer does not mention Nireus again, but by repeating his name three times he, according to Aristotle (Rh. III: 12.4), endows Nireus with a level of importance and ensures he will be remembered. Homer’s favouring of Nireus spurns Ovid’s statement that Nireus was loved by Homer. In both Homer and Ovid’s texts Nireus is mentioned for his handsomeness.

Similarly, Hylas is included for his youthful appearance. He was one of Hercules’ many lovers (Pseudo-Apollodorus, Bibl. I: 117). Theocritus (Id. XIII: 1-15) relates that Hercules appreciated Hylas’ beauty, that he loved the boy, and so took him onto the Argo with him as one of the Argonauts so that he could groom him. During their travels, the Argo stopped on the island of Mysia, and Hylas was sent to fetch fresh water. His beauty overwhelmed the Naiades and they pulled him into the water and he was never seen again (Theocritus, Id. XIII: 45). Naiades is the Greek name given to the nymphs found in bodies of fresh water ranging from fountains and wells, to streams and springs.36 Ovid once again uses the Greek name, pre-empting the impending advice. Hercules was so upset by Hylas’ disappearance

36 In some variations of the story, a particular nymph is said to have fallen in love with him and taken him as her husband (Apollonius Rhodius, Argon. I: 1225ff.).

176 that he remained behind on the island, searching for him even after the Argo had sailed off (Smith 1867: 536). The story is well known and its mere mention is all that would be required to evoke the details of the myth. Even Virgil (Georg. III: 6ff.) asks who of the poets has not told the story of the boy Hylas.

In both instances, Ovid speaks of the lover-beloved relationship between two men. The men are very good looking and desired for their youth or appearance. In the first, there is no actual relationship, but rather an implied infatuation of author with his subject. In the latter, an actual homosexual relationship is accepted in the traditional myth. Both are Greek myths. Interestingly, neither of the relationships ends because the love affair has failed. Nireus is merely an unattainable lover for Homer, almost mockingly mentioned as an unworthy object of desire. Hylas, on the other hand, is taken from Hercules by the nymphs who also fall in love with him for his beauty. In both myths, neither the puer nor the lover loses his youth or beauty, but the lover does lose the puer. Homer does not mention Nireus again and Hercules never sees Hylas again. As a result, both myths seem inappropriate in the context. Ovid is not promoting homosexual relationships (AA II: 684) and these examples may serve to secure that point of view. However, they may simply be included for humour. As mentioned, Ovid reverses the traditional idea of aging and fading beauty, applying it to the lover and not the puella. Here the puella is replaced by a puer and the fading beauty is once again that of the puer, as per tradition. In these myths we have a lover, the object of desire and beauty which does not last. In the first exemplum Homer is the lover, Nireus is the object of love, and their love is not brought to fruition. Ironically, Nireus lives forever in the Iliad (II: 673-674), and Homer, too, is remembered for all eternity for his skill as a writer, but Ovid laughs at Nireus’ short-lived beauty (of two lines only) and his inconsequential role in the Trojan War.

In the second exemplum Hercules is the lover and Hylas the object of his love. However, their love affair is ended when Hylas is seized by the nymphs because of his beauty. Ovid makes a joke that beauty does not last because Hylas is never seen again. The underlying but mischievous argument of both myths is that beauty alone does not guarantee a lasting relationship. Since the stated purpose of the book is to teach the lover how to keep his puella (AA I: 12), exchanging her for a puer in these instances indicates Ovid’s condemnation

177 of such affairs (AA II: 684). In both myths the audience knows the lovers’ affairs are doomed to fail, accentuating the mocking suggestion that the lover not expose himself to the marvel of finding himself abandoned (AA II: 111) by having more to offer than just youth and beauty (AA II: 112). However, Ovid might use these same-gender myths to create some ambiguity, as he once again focuses on the appearance of the lover. Hercules is here purposely not presented as handsome, although he is known for his physical strength and appearance. Perhaps the implication is that the most handsome Hercules could not keep his lover, but perhaps it highlights misplaced affections, as Homer, too, could never fulfil an affair with an ancient mythical character. None of the mythical characters are still beautiful in appearance, but they are remembered through the skill of the writers who recorded their myths. Ovid thus shows that beauty is ephemeral, which he contrasts with skill.

A vivid description of the frailty of beauty follows (AA II: 113-118). Beauty decreases as time passes. Violets do not bloom forever, nor lilies (AA II: 115). When the roses have died the bush is a stark, thorny sight to behold (AA II: 116). Similarly, the youthful lover will acquire grey hairs and wrinkles to distort the body’s shape (AA II: 117-118). Ovid emphasises the binary nature of these elegiac couplets (AA II: 116-119) by maintaining anaphora within couplets but changing the repetends37 between couplets, forming sequential pairs (AABB) (Wills 1996: 412). In this way he is able to accentuate the comparison between the stark flower, past its bloom, and the aging lover. Murgatroyd (1982: 153) considers the analogies to be mock-didactic, because the illustrative use of flowers within this context was proverbial, as was the idea that aging decreased beauty. The natural similes used cannot be denied, and so, too, is the truth of aging indisputable. In stating the irrefutable facts, Ovid suggests to the audience that his advice is plausible. Only a nourished mind lasts and enhances beauty (AA II: 119). He adds that only this endures to the grave (AA II: 120). Ovid thus instructs his reader to cultivate his mind with art and even to learn two languages (AA

37 A recurring word or phrase, or a refrain, which is a line or a few lines of a poem or song which are repeated.

178 II: 121-122), which he has shown himself to be adept at with his earlier examples. Flaunting Ovid’s own eloquence further, these lines are filled with fluid alliteration which introduces Ulysses.

According to Ovid, Ulysses was not good looking but eloquent (AA II: 123). Nor is the traditional mythical character of Ulysses the archetypal hero. He is born of two human parents and relies on Minerva to make him appear taller and better looking (Harris & Platzner 2008: 454). Ovid would have us believe that it is his eloquence that drove the sea goddesses to fall in love with him (AA II: 123-124). Ulysses was renowned for his way with words, but in this instance it is not cunning but the skill of storytelling for which that expertise is used (Armstrong 2005: 103). So powerful is the learned mind that a passion for Ulysses plagued the deas [goddesses] (AA II: 124). Ovid chooses the very strong verb torsit [it plagued] (AA II: 124). It describes the amorous effect that Ulysses’ eloquence had on the goddesses as if it were a force they could not control. The plural goddesses serves to remind us of the earlier-mentioned Circe, and introduces Calypso (AA II: 126). While Circe kept Ulysses prisoner on her island for merely a year, Calypso kept him captive for seven years. Ovid mentions Circe only briefly, but discusses Calypso’s relationship with Ulysses in a considerably longer passage. The relative similarity between the duration of their relationships with Ulysses and the retelling thereof is a learned joke. The author assumes audience knowledge of the traditional perspective in order for the humour to be effective.

Ovid draws our attention to Calypso’s desire for Ulysses (AA II: 125-142), itself filled with duality. Although Calypso keeps Ulysses captive on her island, Ovid indicates that Ulysses is the lover, whose skill with words inspires the passion in Calypso. Ulysses tells Calypso stories of the Trojan War, which do not rely on magic and beauty, but rather utilise the ability of an agile mind. Amusingly, Calypso was known for using magic, but Ulysses’ mind is unaffected. Instead, Calypso persuades him to tell her the same story over and over again, appealing to his ego to delay his departure. Similarly, she is charmed by his eloquence.

Ovid himself tells two stories with one passage: that of the murder of Rhesus and that of Ulysses’ extended stay with Calypso. Armstrong (2005: 103) states that Ovid includes two of Homer’s episodes, that of Ulysses’ affair with Calypso (Od. V: 76ff.) and the story of the sack

179 of Troy and the Trojan horse, which Ulysses asks the bard, Demodocus, to perform (Od. VIII: 482ff.). Martelli (2013: 101), however, credits the reference to the account of the death of King Rhesus (Il. X: 432ff.). It is clear that Ovid evokes Homer, who he has already claimed to be better than in the opening of the book (AA II: 4). Ovid also draws on Virgil’s Aeneid (I: 748-756 & IV: 77-79), where Dido begs Aeneas to tell his version of the story of Troy over and over again, and falls more in love with him each time he does so (Armstrong 2005: 103). Calypso also begs the retelling of the fall of Troy from her lover Ulysses (AA II: 127). Intertextual allusions serve to validate a writer’s subject matter and assert his authorial knowledge. In this instance, they fulfil the additional purpose of aligning Ovid’s actions with those of the eloquent Ulysses, in that he is also retelling the familiar stories of Ulysses and Troy, with small variations and eloquence. Therefore, just as Ulysses captivated Calypso with his tales, so too will verbal agility, both utilised and taught by Ovid, make the young lover irresistible to his beloved (Armstrong 205: 103). Ovid adds a variation to the idea of seduction with the repetition of this story. It is not enough to have seduced her once; to keep her the lover must be skilled at repeating the act of persuasion.

Janka (1997: 129-130) points out that in Homer’s Odyssey, Ulysses is not keen to repeat a story he has already told (Od. XII: 452-453). He nevertheless does repeat himself on his arrival home in Ithaca, with the variations of a good storyteller as described in this passage. This element of the myth has relevance also in Ovid’s text. Ovid is suggesting not only that the lover be able to tell stories, but that he be able to do so with fluency. An element of duality is woven subtly into the text. Dexterity is necessary if he is retelling a story numerous times, which will itself result in others wishing to hear the story again. Ovid creates a new type of hero and Ulysses is the ideal mythical figure with which to do this. He already differs

180 from other heroes because he rejects the immortality offered by Calypso38 and chooses humanity, which will naturally result in aging and death (Harris & Platzner 2008: 464). That this decision is influenced by his loyalty to Penelope, at least in part, adds to his appeal as a committed amator of the Ars whose quest is to keep the puella.

In stating that the storyteller must be able to tell the story numerous times and with different elements each time, Ovid also creates an opportunity for reinterpretation of the myth he tells. Ovid’s focus is the story-telling skill of Ulysses. All he says of their relationship is that Calypso mourned Ulysses’ haste to leave and repeatedly denied that the waves were safe for departure (AA II: 125-126). However, she does frequently ask him to tell her of the fall of Troy, which he becomes accustomed to doing and does so distinctively each time (AA II: 127-128). This seems to be an invention of Ovid as there is no mention of Ulysses telling Calypso stories in Homer, or other texts preceding Ovid. He does, however, tell the story of his time on Ogygia and his capture by Calypso on a few occasions through the Odyssey (VII: 260; IX: 29; XXIII: 333), so his reputation as storyteller is established. The eloquent, storytelling Ulysses reflects the author and his own art, telling myths of old in a different way. Ulysses narrates his stories to Calypso, captivating her, just as Ovid retells myths to support his concept of art in matters of love. However, the lover will also need to fulfil the role of narrator to his puella, adding another to the many elements of duality in the text. The fact that Calypso, the nymph who held him captive longest, is the consort which fills the role of puella is also significant, given that the purpose of Book II is to keep the puella.

Sharrock (1994: 81) asserts that Ovid has set his scene in the last few days of Calypso and Ulysses’ relationship (Homer, Od. V: 76ff.). Calypso has been instructed to release Ulysses,

38 Homer relates that Calypso asked Ulysses to stay and be her husband, which he refused. Even when she had been instructed to release him, she made him a final offer of immortality as her spouse, which he refused yet again (Homer, Od. V: 204-210).

181 but she still hopes to keep him, at least for a little longer. In Homer, time passes quickly, but in Ovid words such as o quotiens [how often] (AA II: 125), iterumque iterumque [again and again] (AA II: 127) and ille referre aliter saepe solebat idem [he was accustomed to tell the same story often in different ways] (AA II: 128) indicate an extended period of time (Sharrock 1994: 81). They also supply some of the imagery of reiteration of the passage, in line with the theme of duality. There is humour in the notion that, whereas Ulysses is traditionally known as skilled and crafty, it is Calypso who skilfully manipulates his love of telling stories to delay his departure (Sharrock 1994: 81). This alludes to other versions of the myth, which do not agree that he was held captive but rather suggest he remained willingly (Pseudo-Apollodorus, Epit. VII: 23-24). If this perspective is accepted, one must question who is actually charming whom. In the dual nature of the text it is possible to view Ulysses as the primary skilled lover, while simultaneously accepting that the puella may herself have the skill and certainly the desire of the lover. This fits in with Ovid’s earlier assertions that all the lover need do is ask and he may find a willing partner in the girl he desires (AA I: 711-712). We are to believe that Ulysses’ cleverness helps him to get the girl he wants, which Ovid implies is Calypso, his mistress, and not Penelope, his wife. Ovid clearly remythologises, transferring Ulysses’ desire to his captor, when traditionally he longed to return home. The apparatus of this seduction is words. If we accept Ovid’s assertion that words have the power to draw in the lover, then why not the author’s audience also? Sharrock (1994: 82) asserts that if Calypso is seducing Ulysses, she represents both Ovid the poet seducing his audience, as well as the girl seducing her lover. Ovid makes a powerful argument for the role of persuasion in the acquisition of a lover, as well as the willing role of the female lover. Even though he may think he is controlling the game, the male lover is equally charmed by the female lover. This is a humorous play on the purpose of Book II, whose intention it is to teach the lover how to keep the girl. Yet in this myth the tables are turned. The girl is attempting to keep the lover, who himself wishes to leave. In other words, Ulysses’ eloquence has captured her heart and she in turn does not wish him to leave. Ovid manipulates the myth to illustrate the power of charm by taking advantage of the primary element of the myth: Calypso’s desire for Ulysses. He does not discount her role in the myth, but merely supplies the reason for her passion.

182 As they walk on the beach, the beautiful Calypso insists on hearing the cruel fate of the Thracian leader, King Rhesus (AA II: 129-140), which Ulysses illustrates in the sand with a twig or rod,39 as Ovid tells it. It seems this particular conquest was chosen by Ovid in part for the opportunity it offered for Ulysses’ illustrations in the sand. The twofold oral and visual narrative methods employed by Ulysses demonstrate immense storytelling skill (Martelli 2013: 101). He draws images in the sand, illustrating the story with added clarity while he recounts it verbally. This ability corresponds with the suggested bilingualism in preceding lines (AA II: 121-122). It is also likely to be highlighting the reference to the narrative skill of repetition made earlier (Martelli 2013: 101). The image of this great warrior drawing in the sand allows Ovid to subtly undermine the sword with the pen, promoting his argument for eloquence and supporting the theme of persuasion as opposed to violence. Once again multiple inferences are implied.

Virga [twig or rod] (AA II: 131) also indicates an intertextual reference. Ovid imitates the lines of Virgil’s Aeneid (XII: 206-207). Ovid’s Ulysses uses a stick to draw in the sand as he tells Calypso once again about the capture of Rhesus’ horses. This is the same scene which followed Hector’s oath in Virgil’s Aeneid. The similarity of the wording employed is indicative of a redaction of Virgil’s text in Ovid. Virgil reads: ut sceptrum hoc (dextra sceptrum nam forte gerebat) numquam fronde levi fundet virgulta nec umbras [just as this sceptre (for by chance in his right hand he bore a sceptre), will never bear thickets nor shade from youthful foliage] (Aen. XII: 206-207)

39 Sharrock (1994: 81) argues that Ovid refers to Ulysses’ building his raft with a virga [twig] (AA II: 131). She states that the stick represents his efforts to build the raft, which are deterred by Calypso’s request to be told the story of Rhesus. I am not convinced that this was Ovid’s suggestion.

183 The applicable lines in Ovid are separated by three lines, but the relationship between the texts is undeniable: ille levi virga (virgam nam forte tenebat) [He, with a light twig (for by chance he was already holding a twig)] (AA II: 131) “... campus erat” (campumque facit), “quem caede Dolonis | sparsimus ... ” [“This was the field,” (he drew the field), “that we bespattered with Dolon’s blood”] (AA II: 135-136). The substitution of sceptrum with uirga is an intentional deviation (AA II: 131). With this reflexive allusion Ovid cleverly gives the branch the power of a sceptre. Wills (1996: 338- 339) asserts that this allusion allows Ovid to focus on a single, new branch to allude to the tree of poetry, also an underlying image in Virgil. If not the tree of poetry, perhaps Ovid’s reference is to poetry being kept alive by new and inventive poets and writing styles. Ovid also includes Virgil’s parenthesis, identically placed in the first instance (AA II: 131). The repetition of the parenthesis a few lines later (AA II: 135) serves as a reminder that the content of the two authors corresponds here. In Virgil’s text Hector swears a reward to Dolon with the sceptre in his hand. Virgil’s duplication of the sceptre in this instance is itself an allusion to Homer’s Iliad (X: 328), perhaps a further motivation for this stylistic choice. In Ovid’s text, however, the duplication occurs in both lines; only the duplicated word differs. In the earlier duplication Ovid replaces weapons of war with a branch, contrasting both the power of war, and accentuating Ulysses’ eloquence with such an unsophisticated tool. The image is reminiscent of Romulus’ men and their unsophisticated tools, but, unlike them, Ulysses has the skill to use the tools available to him. Ovid’s later line returns us to the content of Virgil’s lines, the story of Dolon. Where Virgil gives the details of Dolon’s fate, Ovid merely speaks of the field stained with his blood, relying on the Virgilian text to supply the context for the audience.

Furthermore, virga introduces a textual fracture, highlighting the word and the object within the text. On the surface it is a mere stick, used as a writing tool, with the power of a sceptre, because it wields the visual language (imagery) that supports the words being spoken. It seems then viable that in an amatory text the word could also be a euphemistic representation of the penis. The virga empowers Ulysses’ spoken words, representing even

184 more impressive eloquence. This could euphemistically indicate impressive male sexual prowess. The association of a wordsmith’s eloquence with male sexual conquest aligns with the overall theme of the Ars that using words as one’s means of persuasion rather than strength and violence is the ideal (AA I: 711-712).

Ulysses is the ultimate example for the appeal offered by eloquence, and Ovid takes every opportunity to showcase the skills which make him quite so desirable. The narrative skill of Ovid’s Ulysses is demonstrated with the setting of the scene. He describes first the Greek camp at Troy (AA II: 133-134), illustrating the location of Troy, and drawing its walls in the sand while he speaks. Ovid highlights the duality of telling verbally and visually by placing muros in litore fecit [he made the walls in the sand] (AA II: 133) in parenthesis. This is followed by an instruction to imagine his camp on the other side of the Simois River. The Simois is a river near Troy and is the one aspect of Ulysses’ drawing that does not occur in Homer (Murgatroyd 1982: 155). It is included to impress the reader with Ovid’s geographical knowledge. Similarly, the inclusion of Dolon demonstrates concisely but clearly the details of the story. Ulysses draws the field where he says Dolon died, while desiring the horses of Achilles as he spied on the Greeks (AA II: 135-136). He shows Calypso the location of the tents of Rhesus (AA II: 137) and then depicts himself riding the captured horses of Rhesus back to the Greek camp (AA II: 138). Before he is able to draw anymore a wave interrupts his story.

Although the story itself seems to be of less importance than the telling of it, its elements play a considerable role in depicting a sophisticated hero. Just as Ulysses is drawing and speaking simultaneously, Ovid is also using words to create pictures. The description of Dolon’s death is itself quite visual. Ovid says of the field quem caede Dolonis | sparsimus [which we bespattered with the blood of Dolon] (AA II: 135-136). Caedes is a powerful noun, meaning not only blood but also slaughter. Followed by the relatively unemphatic verb, spargo [sprinkle, wet, bestrew, bespatter], caede ... sparsimus forms an oxymoron which Ovid uses to highlight the relative lack of importance of the story itself. Both Rhesus and Dolon ultimately played very small and ineffectual roles in the Trojan War. In Ovid’s lines they are effectively demoted to less than heroic positions. The same is true for Diomedes, who undertook this task with Ulysses. Thompson (1997: 47) states that Ulysses makes no

185 mention of Diomedes’ role in this undertaking, which is not completely correct. The third person plural form of sparsimus indicates the presence of Diomedes in the passage. The weakness of the verb diminishes any accolades Diomedes might receive in Greek literature. The relegation of Diomedes is accentuated with Ulysses’ words hac ego sum captis nocte revectus equis [here I am riding back the captured horses at night] (AA II: 138). With sparsimus Ovid shows his knowledge of the traditional myth, but discounts the traditional myth with the later singular victory assigned to Ulysses. When Ulysses takes all the credit for himself, we are reminded that he is utilising the proposed storytelling skill, depicting himself as the desirable hero of the story and returning us to the idea of duae linguae and deception. Ovid thus uses stories of war to undermine the warrior image when compared with the lover. The beauty of war does not lie in the actions of the men, but in the telling of the story and in consistently changing its content.

Despite Ulysses’ skill and charm, despite his ability to return the horses of Rhesus to the Greek camp unaided, he is unable to prevent a wave suddenly washing away his story. Ovid reminds us that there are elements out of the lover’s control with which he will have to contend. We are also reminded of the conventional idea that youth is brief. Sharrock (1994: 231) asserts that this is indicated by the suddenness of the wave. The impermanent drawings in the sand, easily washed away, also serve to suggest this idea. Sharrock (1994: 231) states that subitus (AA II: 139) has a double meaning, perhaps offering a change in direction. It does bring Ulysses’ story to a halt, and allows Calypso an opportunity to offer her opinion. It accentuates the temporal element of Ulysses’ own story and a component of unpredictability, which is always relevant in matters of the heart. Subitus also serves as a textual fracture, returning us to the myth of the storyteller himself and removing from our immediate thoughts the mythical story that he is telling. Ulysses is a war hero, which Ovid does not conceal. In this passage Ulysses has been praised for his intelligence as it manifests in his storytelling skills, rather than in his military conquests. This implies a critique of the military, perhaps illustrating it in a less worthy light than the quest of love.

As his drawings are washed away by the waves, Calypso warns him against his intended departure by sea, asking him why he would trust such a force to help him on his way when the waves have just destroyed such great names (AA II: 141-142). Instead of sand-drawn

186 pictures, the names (nomina, AA II: 142), and as such, words are depicted in these lines. Ovid returns us once again to the idea of bilingualism, as the visual medium is transformed into a verbal one. Calypso’s interjection once again illustrates her love for Ulysses. Her concern for his potential destruction reminds us that he was, in fact, shipwrecked after leaving her island, although he survives once again (Murgatroyd 1982: 156). In the spirit of bilingualism, just as Ulysses will survive his future shipwreck, so too can the eloquent lover survive a romantic disaster. Similarly, just as the ocean is unreliable and can spell disaster, similarly a reliance on an appealing appearance will cost the lover the conquest of his puella, as confide [rely on] (AA II: 143) picks up on fidas [trust] (AA II: 141) (Murgatroyd 1982: 156). The words of Calypso provide the female partner with a voice, but simultaneously remind the audience of the traditional myth. Calypso is, in fact, the protagonist in the original story, and she is instructed by the word of Jupiter to release Ulysses. Ovid therefore contrasts the two versions with her words. She attempts once again to dissuade Ulysses with an offer of marriage and immortality, after Jupiter’s command in the traditional myth. In the Ars she warns him of the danger of the waves only, relevant both in the traditional myth and for the lover in the Augustan milieu. The amator faces the stringent laws and wrath of Augustan morality, but he also faces the fickle nature of love, which itself had the power to destroy him. The image of Icarus being swallowed by the sea is recalled, reminding the amator that following Ovid’s guidance is imperative in the treacherous sea of love, through a warning given by the puella. Ovid once again contrasts tradition, implying a natural fulfilment of desire through seduction, rather than magic by referring only to her words, thus undermining the traditional perspective which viewed Calypso as the wicked witch and Ulysses as an unwilling victim.

As we have seen in the text, there are many forms of the bilingualism suggested. Ovid shows his ability to create visual pictures with words. Similarly, he is able to take the words of another and incorporate them into his own. Although this intertextuality is a common element of poetry, Ovid demonstrates with this passage his ability to evoke more than one author or passage within just one of the stories in this work. Martelli (2013: 102), for example, surmises that as Ulysses is drawing the walls in the sand with a stick, their identity is for a moment ambiguous. She asserts that the lines could evoke the walls being built by the Greeks in Iliad VII. She supports this argument with the later reference to the sketched

187 walls being washed away by the waves (AA II: 139-140). It is her deduction that Ovid is this time evoking the Iliad XII, in which Homer depicts the Greek fortifications destroyed by floods sent by Apollo and Neptune (Martelli 2013: 102). However, the great heroes of Troy were also destroyed in the floods. The dual evocation of the Greeks is quite comical. In the Ars it is the walls of Troy which fall, and in the Iliad it is the city of Troy which falls. By evoking this particular passage Ovid is able to suggest the image of Greek walls falling and in this way is suggesting that every man’s beauty and youth will fade. Ovid is able to express not only his skill, but also the elegiac contempt for the military. Martelli (2013: 103) also draws a parallel with this passage. Once again, more than one story is suggested, in line with the theme of duality. Much like the walls of Troy, a lover’s relationship can be lost due to factors outside of his control. If considered in this light, Ovid is almost adding a caveat to his lessons. However, there is no other reference for Ovid’s depiction of Ulysses telling stories to Calypso, and the walls washed away in Ovid’s lines therefore do not exist. They are themselves a deception, undermining any relevance one might wish to assign to the actual story Ulysses relays, focussing the accent on the skill with which it is told. This simultaneously draws attention to the poet’s skill and also to some extent undermines the traditional perspective of the myth.

Sharrock (1994: 50) explains that not only must the student read the poem, he must also know the languages of Greek and Latin well enough in order to navigate the “subliminal twists” through which it will lead him. In this passage the language of Latin and that of seduction are present, as in the rest of the poem, but various other bilingualisms are added to them. There are the Greek and Roman versions of the story, and the opposing seductions of Ulysses by Calypso and of Calypso by Ulysses. There is a dual purpose to the text, to give an example of the effectiveness of eloquence in matters of the heart, while also making a joke about seduction for the reader. Sharrock (1994: 50) asserts that the final language at play here is a “covert signifier of the seductive deception of the passage and poem” and just as the duae linguae means two tongues it can be shown to mean deceitfulness. The latter seems unlikely. Ovid promotes seduction and persuasion, which by nature would involve some deception, but Ovid opposes malicious intent, as is evident in his treatment of Theseus (AA I: 536). In light of the duality present throughout the passage, I think that the phrase may also be seen as a play on the words themselves. Not only must the lover have

188 the intellectual skill of literacy, but he should open himself up to the all-important language of love. This amatory language differs from other languages in that it is multifaceted and complex, yet plays only a role in the sphere of amorous relationships.

Ovid cleverly concludes the passage with a warning not to rely on fallax figura [deceptive beauty] (AA II: 143), reminding us of the durability of the mind (AA II: 119) and its own beauty, as well as the beauty of his own lines. Quisquis (AA II: 144) stylistically concludes the advice of lines 99-144, which was introduced with siquis (AA II: 99). Both words refer us to the student being addressed, and through their lack of specificity accentuate the blurred positions of seducer and seduced (Sharrock: 1994: 79). The couplets are further linked by the predominant theme of deception, indicated with fallitur [is deceived] (AA II: 99), opening the passage and the fallaci [deceptive] figure (AA II: 143) in the conclusion. In foregrounding the theme of deception Ovid brings into question deception as a negative versus deception as seduction. While beauty may deceive the lover, words are not necessarily true, but Ovid promotes them as a means of seduction. Ovid also alters the meaning and content of his myth to sway his audience’s support for his art of love. This typical didactic arrangement allows Ovid to open, present and conclude the mythical interlude and its intended instruction as a complete whole (Sharrock 1994: 80).

Sharrock (1994: 82-83) assigns the term fallax figura [deceptive beauty] (AA II: 143) to the work as a whole. Figura refers also to a figure of speech. In this sense Ulysses and Calypso are both deceived by his words, as is Ovid’s audience. She states that the author subliminally informs his reader not to trust the teachings of the Ars itself. At face value the line tells the student not to rely on his good looks in keeping a girl as this will fade. Just as the drawings in the sand were washed away by the sea, so too is that beauty going to be washed away with time. As powerful as the waves are, so treacherous is that same reliance on beauty. Thus, if Sharrock’s inferences are followed, Ovid warns of the dangers of his subject, experiencing passionate love. I do not agree that he warns against the validity of his own advice or passion itself, but rather clarifies that this is not a strictly defined art form.

The audience is not provided with clarity by the passage, but perhaps from the moral, if they are inclined to believe it after the double meaning of the lines which precede it. The

189 traditional perspective of the stories of Ulysses that we encounter were intended to describe the heroic ideal. Ulysses was traditionally not deceived by female seduction. Had he been, he would also have been turned into a pig like the rest of his men. Homer gives examples of how a man should behave in the heroic tradition. The typical hero uses women for his own ends, which are always subservient to the ideals of war. Ovid takes this tradition and reverses it, creating a sort of anti-hero. The traditional handsome hero is no longer irresistible. Instead, a man who has more facets than those traditionally prized in a hero, is the lover Ovid suggests. In this way Ovid undermines the heroic ideal. Ulysses is the ideal combination of both strength and intelligence. That intellect sets Ulysses apart from the traditional hero. Ovid also selects these myths because they connect magic with beauty. The women in Ulysses’ story help him willingly, not by force. Instead, it is they who imprison him, with magic, so that he does not leave them. Despite their beauty and the spells they cast, they are unable to win his love. Ovid’s choice of myth is thus perfectly suited to the subject of the lines.

Conclusion

The lover will learn to keep his puella through the lessons of the Ars. Preceded immediately by the mythical digression retelling the story of Daedalus and Icarus’ flight, the story of Ulysses’ entrapment on Calypso’s island appears very early in Book II and is associated with the first lessons of the book. Ovid discourages the use of magic and potions to secure the object of one’s desire (AA II: 99ff.). Next, he explains that beauty is ephemeral (AA II: 108ff.). Ulysses’ tale argues that eloquence is the key to success, compared with the suggestion that neither beauty nor potions are effective. In a loving relationship, pleasure is more than physical.

In each of the shorter myths mentioned before, there are some consistent elements. Ovid includes a lover and the object of desire, as well as the means of seduction. In the first two examples, the lover is a woman and she uses magic to acquire her lover. In the second two examples, the lover and his beloved are both men. However, in each instance the lover is unsuccessful. Potions, we are told, should not be used on women because it only damages

190 the mind, reversing the traditional gender role and accentuating an aspect of the female character normally not promoted, her mind. The association of beauty with male protagonists and the puer contradicts the traditional view that the female should submit to a man’s advances before she ages and her beauty fades, much like the floral images Ovid supplies (AA II: 113-116). Ovid thus transfers the responsibility for appearances to the male protagonist. But beauty and magic are not effective in keeping the puella, and so an alternative is suggested. The style of the passage is similar to that of the Pasiphae digression, much like its placement as the second mythical digression of the book in which it appears. However, this list shows a progression toward a more equal gender ratio and a decrease in malevolence in the examples offered. Ovid clearly promotes movement, much like the prevalent naval imagery.

Ulysses traditionally spent seven years as a captive on Calypso’s island, longing to leave and return to his wife, Penelope. Ovid does not mention this, but instead assigns to Ulysses the role of the skilled amator, whose story-telling skills (not his good looks) captivate Calypso, the puella. Ovid thus reverses the traditional roles of the myth but not those of elegy. Ovid simultaneously evokes the story of Ulysses’ one year delay on Circe’s island and that of King Rhesus’ death. Circe plays the role of the counter-example. As the lover, she tricks Ulysses into staying with her against his will, using magic. The story of Rhesus, on the other hand, merely provides Ulysses with material for his eloquent seduction of Calypso. Not only should the lover be skilled in more than one language, but he should be able to tell a story in varying ways. Ulysses depicts the story in the sand as well as retelling it over and over again and still retaining Calypso’s interest. Aside from depicting an eloquent lover, Ovid is able to suggest similarities between Ulysses and himself. Ovid, too, tells well known stories to his audience in a different way to the tradition, and each time he repeats them, and his audience is captivated by his skill.

The passage is filled with duality. Roles and meanings are reversed, more than one myth is evoked at a time, and the arguments made are not traditional. Ovid clearly remythologises the story of Ulysses and Calypso, making both lovers willing and restructuring Ulysses cunning into eloquence. In essence, Ovid’s Ulysses is a new kind of hero, a hero of the Ars Amatoria. Ovid effectively argues that eloquence is an ideal form of seduction with a

191 mythical character known for his intelligence and cunning in military manoeuvres. With Ulysses’ repetition of the same story, Ovid suggests that the lover will have to seduce his lover again and again should he wish to keep her.

192

Chapter 12 Menelaus and Helen (Book II: 337-372)

193 Introduction

Ovid opens Book II with two mythical digressions, retold one after the other, and then he waits almost another 200 lines before he again offers the reader another mythical digression. In between he offers advice of gentle words rather than the arguments of husbands and wives, because lovers lie together by choice (AA II: 149-176). Be persistent, but yield when she resists. To disarm her resistance agree with her and do her bidding without delay, even if it places you in peril (AA II: 177-250). Win over her slaves, as you will need their favour in time (AA II: 251-260). Give her gifts, but small gifts chosen carefully, including poems (AA II: 261-286). Allow her to feel she herself has the power of persuasion over your decisions (AA II: 287-294). Be sure to compliment her regardless of her appearance, convincing her of your desire for her, but do not let her discover you are pretending (AA II: 295-314). When she is ill, ensure you are present and that you fret over her health (AA II: 315-336).

In the series of tactics offered for success, Ovid suggests letting your lover miss you. This is only possible once the foundations of such a love affair have been laid by the almost consistent presence of the lover (AA II: 347-348). If you follow these steps, they will ensure that, when you part her company, she will long for you (AA II: 349-352). There is a caveat, though. Keep the absence brief, for extended absences cause love to fade rather than grow, and a new lover will replace the absent one (AA II: 357-358). Ovid demonstrates this with the infamous tale of Helen’s infidelity under the roof of her husband, Menelaus.

Ovid’s choice of Helen for the role of puella is somewhat daring. She epitomises the archetypal opposite of the good wife, which is in essence what makes her the perfect puella. However, that is in itself a risky admission in the contemporary political climate. Ovid clearly elects a discussion of Helen and her culpability because it offers such a rich mythical context, from Paris’ judgement in the Golden Apple myth to the Trojan War. However, to supply an answer to how the myth functions within the Ars, it is necessary to determine whether and, if so, how Ovid adapts the myth from tradition. This will allow a conclusion as

194 to the way in which Ovid’s use of the myth structures male-female romantic relationships, in turn illuminating what he considers acceptable and what not.

Summary of the Presumed Traditional Myth

The fall of Troy is perhaps one of the most famous stories of all time, thanks to Homer’s great epics, the Iliad and Odyssey. Helen plays a key role in this epic tale and so naturally there are numerous sources which mention her. The judgement of Paris and Venus’ promised gift of the most beautiful woman in the world is perhaps what she is most famous for. She is mentioned in the poetry of the Epic Cycle (Greek epic composed in the seventh and sixth centuries BCE). Homer is the oldest and most comprehensive source. She is naturally also mentioned by Virgil in his Aeneid. She is a favourite of Ovid, appearing often in the Ars as well as his other works, especially the Heroides. Sources for Helen and Paris include, among others, Sappho, Gorgias, Euripides, Pseudo-Apollodorus, Hyginus and Statius.

Known to us as Helen of Troy, Helen was the daughter of Jupiter and Leda, the queen of Sparta (Homer Il. III: 426). Raped by Jupiter in the guise of a swan, Leda laid either one or two eggs, out of which Helen and her siblings hatched (Homer, Od. XI: 298). Her siblings are the twins, Castor and Pollux, and Clytemnestra (Pseudo-Apollodorus, Bibl. III: 10.7; Hyginus, Fab. 77 & 240).

Helen is generally viewed as the opposite of the matrona, the ideal wife, mother and upper- class woman of Greek and Roman society. She was the most beautiful woman in the world (Diodorus Siculus, IV: 63.2; Ovid, Her. XVI: 82-83), promised to the Trojan prince, Paris, by Venus. She made him this promise for naming her the most beautiful of three goddesses in a competition for the golden apple on which was engraved “For the fairest”. The apple was thrown among the goddesses at the wedding of Achilles’ parents, Thetis and Peleus, by Discordia, because she was the only goddess who had not been invited by Jupiter (Hyginus, Fab. 92; Pseudo-Apollodorus, Epit. III: 2). This was part of Iustitia and Jupiter’s plan to start the Trojan War (Pseudo-Apollodorus, Epit. III: 1; Hesiod, Cat. fr. 68; Stasinus of Cyprus, fr. 1).

195 Juno, Minerva and Venus all claimed it was intended for them so each goddess offered Paris a bribe for his vote. Juno promised to make him king of all men, while Minerva offered him victory in war (Pseudo-Apollodorus, Epit. III: 2). Venus’ bribe promised him the most beautiful woman in the world, who happened to be Helen, wife of the Spartan king, Menelaus (Pseudo-Apollodorus, Epit. III: 2; Ovid, Her. XVI: 82ff.).

Having cast his vote for Venus, Paris sailed to Sparta. On his arrival he was entertained by Menelaus. However, Menelaus is said to have left Sparta for Crete during the latter part of Paris’ stay to attend the funeral of his maternal grandfather, Catreus (Pseudo-Apollodorus, Epit. III: 3). Paris and Helen leave the island under the cover of night (Pseudo-Apollodorus, Epit. III: 2).

Stories vary radically with regard to Helen’s willingness to leave Sparta with Paris. In some versions she is abducted and in others she leaves of her own accord. Sappho (fr. 16) argues that the most beautiful thing in the world is whatever one desires, using Helen as her mythical exemplum. She states that Helen sailed away with Paris, leaving behind her husband, without a thought for her parents or daughter. Gorgias’ Encomium of Helen, written circa 414 BCE, offers potential reasons for her actions. In these he considers the possibility she might have fallen in love, that she may have been ravished by force or even the possibility that she acted under divine influence. The majority of texts hypothesise about the likelihood that she may have been persuaded by speech and language, thus proposing her innocence. Ovid would certainly have had access to Gorgias’ text and there are certainly echoes of Gorgias’ sentiment that Helen is not solely responsible for her actions in the argument made in the Ars. Herodotus (II: 113-115) argues that Helen was abducted by Paris and was actually in Egypt for the duration of the Trojan War, discounting much of Homer’s account. Euripides’ Helen also tells that Helen has been in Egypt for the duration of the war and sees her happily reunited with Menelaus. Pseudo-Apollodorus (Epit. III: 3) says that Paris convinced Helen to leave with him. Statius (Achil. II: 55ff.) asserts that Helen was willingly abducted.

196 Ovid’s Use of the Myth

Ovid follows the school of thought that states Helen willingly committed adultery with Paris, blaming Menelaus rather than Helen (AA II: 357-372). From the outset of the story, Ovid paints a very different picture of Helen than that of the traditional myth. Helen no longer represents a beautiful but untrustworthy wife. Instead, she is depicted as a wife left at home alone with a handsome male guest by a careless and absent husband (AA II: 371-372). Ovid thus simultaneously and immediately places the social views of adultery and socially accepted gender-related views and behaviour under examination.

It is clear from his earlier critique (AA II: 153-155) of how married spouses quarrel that he separates the experience he speaks of from the marital bond. He openly blames marriage for the unhappiness of wives and husbands in these earlier lines. However, with his approach to Helen he introduces another aspect to the topic of marriage and the ars that he is teaching. With Helen he infers blame for adultery on the patriarchal marriage system, and so calls into question the very foundation of the great Roman state. But he does this in such a manner that the blame is disguised by a Greek patsy, Menelaus. Marriage is not the result of anything which Ovid prescribes. A woman’s marital role was that of political prize or currency. Ovid undermines the military establishment on more than one occasion in the Ars, which is typically elegiac. The patriarchal structure of Roman society ensured its survival and strength. Rome was, however, at its strongest under the rule of Augustus, perhaps bringing into question whether patriarchy any longer served a purpose. Ovid is not quite as daring as to question patriarchy on a direct political level. He makes his political insult through questioning one of the foundations of patriarchal Roman society: marital traditions. We are aware from Julia’s freedoms and licentious behaviour that she lived a fairly emancipated lifestyle which did not conform to traditional social mores or the laws of the time. It makes sense that such inconsistency would cause a poet to bring into question the social customs and laws. The use of a Greek mythical patsy would allow him to do so safely.

Ovid opens the passage with sailing imagery, explaining that the wind used to leave the shore should not be used once in open seas (AA II: 337-338). He indicates that different

197 techniques should be applied to keep a girl, than those used to capture her. He explains that in its infancy love wanders, but through practice it gathers strength (AA II: 339). Novus likens the new love to a child, and novus amor makes a strong connection with the boy Cupid (Murgatroyd 1982: 172). The image is that of a child as it stumbles, but masters skills through repeated attempts. He adds that if nurtured, love will grow strong (AA II: 340), and includes a series of nature exempla to illustrate this. The feared bull that was once a calf (AA II: 341), identifies with the intensity of the passion Ovid promotes, feared by Roman society and embodied in Cupid’s arrow. The sapling which becomes a tree offering shade (AA II: 342), depicts love as a natural development. Similarly, as a river starts small but grows over time as waters flow into it (AA II: 343-344), so too does love grow stronger over time (AA II: 340). The advice suggests that you strengthen love through time spent together (AA II: 345- 348).

The puella’s love is weak and small initially, like the calf, the sapling and the stream. These exempla grow into a bull, a tree and a river, depicted as both strong and substantial, with deep roots and stability. A similar fate awaits the puella’s love with the correct nourishment. These images therefore equate love to a life force, which is in itself quite an alternative view from that of the contemporary Augustan Roman perspective. Ovid instructs his amator to ensure the puella becomes used to his presence (AA II: 345-346). The instructions that follow in this regard, are, furthermore, given in triplicate. Make sure she sees you always, offering her your ear and showing your face day and night (AA II: 347-348). As is evident, Ovid employs numerous techniques to depict the potential power of passion. Imagery taken from nature supports the argument that passion grows through nurturing. The combination of the themes of repetition and a duration of time, recalls the previous mythical digression in which Ulysses spent seven years on Ogygia with Calypso before returning to Ithaca (also evoked in the opening lines of this mythical digression). Just as the lover is here instructed to be always present, he is advised to be seen, and to listen and speak as well. The combination of speaking and listening implies the mutuality of the relationship, a critical element for long-term success.

Only when you are sure the relationship is secure and that your presence will be missed, should you take a leave of absence (AA II: 345-351). Ovid explains that the fields, when

198 rested, repay the loan, and parched earth drinks the heavenly rain (AA II: 351-352). He mimics the advice given by Virgil (Geor. I: 71ff.) (Murgatroyd 1982: 174). The nature imagery employed is both beautiful and effective. Ovid likens the renewed contact between lovers with parched soil drinking up rain (AA II: 352). The implication is that the time apart will have a positive effect on the relationship, bringing to mind the adage, “absence makes the heart grow fonder”. Despite being a beautiful image, Murgatroyd (1982: 175) considers the comparison to be humorous in that it is both clinical and unflattering to women. The likelihood that Ovid employs a double entendre is also quite possible. A reference to the sexual act in agricultural metaphors is not uncommon (Adams 1982: 24). The retelling of the myth that follows has a clearly explicit sexual tone, increasing the likelihood that the same can be said of this metaphor.

Ovid adds very brief references to three mythical relationships which benefitted from absence. In each of these instances the absence is not brief and the women are also wives, like Helen—only their passion is for their husbands and not an illicit lover. Ironically, all these husbands are Greek soldiers who fought in the Trojan War.

The first mythical exemplum given is the story of Phyllis and Demophoon (AA II: 353 -354). Ovid tells us that her passion for Demophoon was quite tempered, until he set sail for Greece. Traditional Greek mythology relates that she was the daughter of a Thracian king. Demophoon was the king of Athens, the son of Theseus and Phaedra. He stopped in Thrace on his way home from the Trojan War, where he married Phyllis (Pseudo-Apollodorus, Epit. IV: 6.16). Demophoon, forced by his duty to return to Greece and his father, leaves Phyllis behind. She sends Demophoon with a coffin with the sacrament of Rhea and asks him to open it only when there is no hope that he might return to her. At this point the story varies. One version tells us that Phyllis, realising he will never return, commits suicide by hanging herself from a tree. On the site of her burial an almond tree grows. Virgil (Ecl. 5.10) relates that when Demophoon returns to her, the tree blossoms. In another version of the story, we are told that Demophoon opens the casket and is horrified by what he sees. In response he races off, but his horse stumbles and he accidentally falls onto his own sword (Pseudo-Apollodorus, Epit. IV: 6.16). Ovid clearly refers to the version in which Phyllis takes her own life out of longing for her lover. Phyllis is said to have returned to the shore nine

199 times in anticipation of Demophoon’s return (Hyginus, Fab. 59). However, she has already given him the coffin before he has even departed. The tragic end to their relationship suggests madness in response to love lost. It is then perhaps ironic that it is Demophoon who returned Helen to Sparta after the Trojan War (Pseudo-Apollodorus, Epit. IV: 5.22)—yet he himself is unable to return to his own wife. They remain forever apart, separated by the death of one of them and not an affair. Demophoon’s role in Helen’s fate points to the forthcoming digression.

The second mythical exemplum is that of Penelope and Ulysses (AA II: 355). Penelope is depicted by Homer (in various references throughout the Odyssey) as an intelligent woman and faithful wife, despite many suitors. Telemachus, her son, counts one hundred and eight suitors (Homer, Od. XVI: 245-254). Her love and longing for Ulysses drive her to avoid remarriage. Penelope is the epitome of the faithful wife, and the exact opposite of the puella Ovid suggests to his young student. One would naturally wonder why such a contradictory reference is included. Perhaps for the irony. Perhaps Ovid evokes the many affairs Ulysses has over the twenty years he spends away from her, first fighting in the Trojan War and then on his adventurous return home. The previous mythical digression which recounted two of those affairs, is also evoked with this reference. Although Penelope does not kill herself, she does sacrifice twenty years of her life waiting for Ulysses, which is both unbelievable and perhaps also an example of a woman prepared to go to desperate lengths for lost love.

The final mythical exemplum which precedes the tale of Helen and Paris, is that of Laodamia and Protesilaus. Ovid tells us only that Laodamia was tortured by the absence of Protesilaus (AA II: 356), sharing the verb assigned to Penelope in the previous line. The audience’s knowledge of the Trojan War is assumed and provides the context. Protesilaus was one of the suitors of Helen (Hyginus, Fab. 97; Pseudo-Apollodorus, Bibl. III: 10.8 ) and was thus obliged to join the Trojan War. A prophecy had told that the first man to set foot on the shore after disembarking a ship in the Trojan War, would also be the first to die (Hyginus, Fab. 103). Protesilaus was that man who was brave enough to jump first from his ship, when the Greeks landed on the Trojan shore. Hyginus (Fab. 114) relates that he killed four men and then was himself killed by Hector. Taking pity on his wife, Laodamia, the gods

200 allow him to visit her from Hades. They had just married and he was permitted to return from the Underworld for just three hours. Some sources say that when he left, she killed herself rather than live without him (Pseudo-Apollodorus, Epit. IV: 3.30). Hyginus (Fab. 104) tells it a little differently. His version says that after Protesilaus’ return to Hades, Laodamia placed a bronze statue of him in her room, supposedly for sacred rites. Through a crack in the door a servant saw her holding the likeness and kissing it. Mistaking it for a lover he informed her father, Acastus, who rushed into the room, and discovered the statue. To bring his daughter’s suffering to an end, he had the statue and sacred offerings burned on a pyre, but in her inconsolable grief, Loadamia threw herself onto the pyre and died in the flames.

All three women provide examples of excessive and passionate reactions to longing for their loved one. The first and last commit suicide, while Penelope remains faithful for twenty years. Perhaps this extreme devotion serves to accentuate the power of building a strong relationship versus Helen’s infidelity, due to a lack thereof. Ovid seems already to lay the foundation for Menelaus’ culpability in Helen’s infidelity. Ironically, Helen is traditionally blamed for the war that affected each of these relationships in some way, and she is the one person each of these men has in common.

In all three of these exempla a long period of absence is applicable, and in two of them the relationships end in tragedy. Penelope is the exception, and so she should be as the archetypal matrona figure. She is starkly contrasted with her exemplary counterparts and with Helen. The lesson is perhaps that, even though the puella is no Penelope, even she must have been in love to have waited that long. Their tales are followed by the caveat of the advice, that one should not stray too long. Penelope fulfils a secondary role as well, indicating that because no puella is quite so committed, you must possess the skill required to time your absence perfectly.

Sed (AA II: 337) introduced the preceding advice that, once a relationship is strong, a lover should leave to incite passion in his puella. True to Ovid’s style, he introduces the contrary advice, that absence should be limited, also with sed (AA II: 357). While on one hand absence has a positive effect on a relationship, on the other an extended absence has the

201 opposite effect. The purpose of this repetition is to accentuate the careful, practiced art required to draw the line between enough and too much absence. The repetition itself confirms that the Ulysses mythical digression is evoked in this passage. In addition, exactly twenty lines were given to the previous section of advice, the very length of time for which Ulysses was away from Penelope. In a passage addressing time a syntactical clue like this cannot be discounted.

Having distinguished the preceding lines from the current advice with sed, Ovid states that old love will fade with time and be replaced with new love (AA II: 357-358). Wittily, amor is written only once in the line, but serves as both the old and the new love. However different, they are much the same. We are again reminded that any man can become the lover and that any woman is attainable; it is all in the skill. He clarifies that Helen lay with Paris when Menelaus had left (AA II: 359-360). Again the mythical reference is rather ironic, as Menelaus’ absence was not an extended one. Ovid’s irony plays a critical role in the text. It alludes to a subtext, exposing the shortcomings of patriarchal marriage and asks what stupidity would make a man leave his wife alone under the same roof with a guest, another man (AA II: 361). Typical patriarchal rules would restrict a woman’s social interactions with a man other than her husband, but that was not the reality of contemporary social exchanges.

Ovid supports his accusations of Menelaus with a series of typical images from nature. He asks: Accipitri timidas credis, furiose, columbas? Plenum montano credis ovile lupo? [Madman, do you trust timid doves to a hawk? Do you trust the full fold to a mountain wolf?] (AA II: 363-364) Menelaus is contrasted with the women in the previous mythical exempla, whose behaviour is indicative of some level of madness. The juxtaposition of ovile lupo evokes a proverbial expression found in Cicero (Phil. III: 27) (Murgatroyd 1982: 175), establishing Ovid’s authority. It also underlines the stupor of Menelaus’ behaviour and places the accent on the vulnerability of the female in such a situation, emphasised by timidas. The repetition of credis questions the credibility of Menelaus’ innocence, blaming Helen and Paris when he

202 must have known that something would happen in the given situation. The plural of columbas and the adjective plenum create an image of increased temptation (Murgatroyd 1982: 176). Together, these images make the assertion that adultery is a natural reaction to certain circumstances, where there is opportunity. The similarity to the imagery in the rape of the Sabine women is notable. So too is the fact that these metaphors are used for a different purpose here, even though the picture they depict of men and women is similar. The Sabines were victims under physical attack, but Helen is being depicted as a woman innocent of any crime. Ovid parallels the two concepts, accentuating their differences. On the other hand, the hawk and the wolf are predators, neither of which inspires an idea of innocence. Doves were sacred to Venus, and were associated with love (Murgatroyd 1982: 176). The doves provide a link between Venus and Helen, which already exists, as it is Venus herself who promised Helen to Paris in the infamous beauty contest that he judged ― a subtle reminder of Ovid’s knowledge of the myths. More important to the lines, though, Ovid implies that Helen is innocent by comparing her with the helpless doves and sheep. It is perhaps significant that the eagle was the military symbol of the Roman army, displayed proudly on their standards, and that Paris (a distant Roman ancestor) is likened first to an eagle, and then to a wolf (reminding us of Romulus and Remus). There is certainly some humorous significance in the comparison, since Paris is depicted as weak in the Iliad (III: 30ff.), but here in the Ars he is the predatory lover. Just as Helen is depicted in a different light to her traditional image, Ovid also offers Paris a make-over. In creating this image in which the male is depicted as the predator and the female as the innocent victim, Ovid subtly undermines the traditional perspective. Helen and her lover are therefore free of sin (AA II: 365), both because their behaviour is quite natural and because Menelaus’ stupidity provided the time and place for the adultery (AA II: 367).

Should the audience not be satisfied with Ovid’s justification for Helen and Paris’ adulterous behaviour, Ovid addresses human nature as well. In saying quod tu, quod faceret quilibet, ille facit [what you, what anyone would do, he did] (AA II: 366), Ovid reminds us of the renowned lewd behaviour of the contemporary Roman elite. This conduct had not only inspired Augustus’ laws, but also provided an avenue for Ovid’s advice. The statement is nevertheless blatantly offensive, disrespecting Menelaus as much as it disrespects the Lex Iulia de Adulteriis. It alludes to a subtext that when a man neglects his wife, he provides

203 another man with an opportunity, and thus providing justification for adultery. Ovid goes further by asking Menelaus what Helen did beside employing his council (AA II: 368). What was she to do? Her husband was not there, but instead, a non rusticus hospes [a civilised guest] (AA II: 369) was accommodated under her roof when she was afraid to sleep alone in her empty bed (AA II: 370). We are reminded of Helen’s earlier implied hospitality when hospitis est tepido nocte recepta sinu [she was received by the warm embrace of the guest at night] (AA II: 360). Ovid also takes us back to his description of the timidas columbas (AA II: 363), again playing on the female position of helplessness and fear. Quid faciat? [What should she to do?] (AA II: 369) seems almost sympathetic to Helen’s fate (Murgatroyd 1982: 176), but also reaffirms her lack of options. Ovid comically appears to support the patriarchal value that a man is in charge of a woman. As in the opening exempla, the picture is of a woman who cannot survive without a man. Not being in control over her own actions, and the implied fulfilling of the social obligations of hospitality, allow Helen to be depicted as innocent of any crime, placing the blame on the male participants. Interestingly, despite Ovid’s claim of Paris’ innocence (AA II: 365), he is simultaneously depicted as the wolf or hawk (AA II: 363-364). The irony is extremely humorous. True to Ovidian style, the reader is left with a contradictory conundrum to decipher. Paris is not guilty of any crime in committing adultery, but he remains the predator in order that Helen may remain completely innocent. Both he and Helen are, in fact, excused by the fact that they acted naturally. Without Helen’s depiction of innocence, Ovid is unable to place any blame on Menelaus, and so this aspect of her character in this passage plays an exceptionally important role in Ovid’s remythologising of this famous myth. In the traditional myth, Paris is depicted as weak and Helen as adulterous. In lieu of the oath made to Tyndareus to protect Helen, Ovid is also able to ridicule the Augustan laws and social mores. Ovid thus alters two aspects of the traditional depiction: the characteristics of the main actors and the responsibility for the affair, and the war.

Ovid does not linger on the details of the myth. The story is well known; it is only his diversion of blame that differs from the traditional elements addressed. The majority of the passage is spent supporting the accusations levied against Menelaus. The humour in the lines is tangible. The author-narrator’s insulting string of exaggerated questions weaved with equally extravagant accusations, ensures that Menelaus is depicted both as stupid and

204 responsible for his own fate. The contempt in the voice of the cynical love expert is made clear in the vocative furiose [madman] (AA II: 363), which far exceeds stupor [stupidity] (AA II: 161) (Murgatroyd 1982: 175). Ovid’s chastisements add to the humour of the lines. This in turn undermines the patriarchal version of the myth in which Paris abused the hospitality of his host and took possession of another man’s property. The implication is the downfall of the female role as currency in an arranged marriage. Despite the blatant disregard for Augustus’ views and laws on adultery in the lines, Menelaus serves as the perfect patsy for the author to claim that this was not the intent. Menelaus is a Greek enemy and a mythical character. In addition, the blame for the Trojan War remains that of the Greeks. A rather weak defence of the author’s true intent, perhaps, but nevertheless safer and funnier than using a Roman example.

Ovid concludes the passage quite boldly. He calls on the son of Atreus, namely Menelaus, to see the truth of who is to blame for what has happened. Viderit Atrides [let the son of Atreus see] (AA II: 371) is the perfect subjunctive in the jussive, which is not commonly used in the third person (Murgatroyd 1982: 176), highlighting the concluding couplet. Helenen is also the Greek form of the accusative. This evokes the eloquence of Ulysses and accentuates the poet’s skill, which reminds the amator that a skill is being taught with this myth. We are once again reminded that this is a Greek myth, so that Ovid can deny any implied insult to the Roman way of life. This is a necessary precaution in light of what is about to follow. The author-narrator himself acquits Helen of any crime on account that she merely took advantage of her husband’s courtesy (AA II: 371-372). The sarcasm of humani [gentle/obliging] (AA II: 372) is concentrated, implying that Menelaus facilitated the adultery, even if only through his own shortcomings of stupidity and absence. There is considerable audacity in the statement: Helenen ego crimine solvo [I absolve Helen of a crime] (AA II: 371). With the first person present indicative tense of the verb, accentuated by the pronoun, the author-narrator asserts full autonomy over and responsibility for the statement. Ovid in effect not only blames Menelaus solely for the adultery between Paris and Helen, but infers also that Helen is not responsible for the Trojan War. Ovid also blatantly contradicts the moral reforms in place in Rome. The reference to Menelaus as the son of Atreus allows Ovid to infer blame on his brother, Agamemnon, too. Throughout the Iliad many examples exist where Agamemnon is referred to as Atreus’ son, which Ovid

205 evokes with Atrides. The ambiguity allows one to consider that the blame belongs to Menelaus for the affair, but to Agamemnon for the war. This change of perspective is an extremely important point. Ovid is not just questioning Augustus’ laws, but the very foundation of Roman society.

Ovid suggests that it is better to spend time with one’s lover than with other men, as was the norm. Ovid proposes that an affair offers fulfilment, to a woman as much as to a man. His mythical argumentation turns tradition on its head and culminates in this line, which by its very proclamation undermines traditional patriarchal structures. There are many lines in the Ars Amatoria that may have resulted in Ovid’s banishment, but if one passage were to deserve the honour, it would be this one.

Ovid depicts women as willing partners in romantic interludes, especially when they are not appreciated in the relationships in which they find themselves. Ovid argues two points. Firstly, that women are also willing lovers and, secondly, that their loyalty requires some maintenance. That maintenance is the primary purpose of Book II of the Ars. As much as Ovid’s text might be considered an exercise in rhetoric, the primary argument is the techniques required to keep the puella, which in this mythical digression was the skill of using absence to increase the puella’s desire for the lover.

Conclusion

Brief absence is best (AA II: 357), but only once the relationship is established (AA II: 349- 351). It is important to note the number of lines allocated to supporting the argument that relationships should be developed by time spent together. The focus seems to be more on the mutual support and interaction of the lovers than the actual physical act of sexual intercourse. Another aspect to the skill which Ovid is teaching is an understanding of the puella and her desire. A lover with this knowledge would know when he can safely take a leave of absence from his lover. Ovid does emphasise that a brief absence serves to ignite a flame. However, even a brief absence is a risk for an unskilled lover, such as Menelaus. And so, this passage further accentuates the role of the lover’s art in keeping a woman. It is the

206 errors that Menelaus made which cost him his wife, Helen; he was absent too long. The same loss will be suffered by any of Ovid’s students who does not master the skill.

Ovid makes clever use of nature imagery in both the retelling of the myth and the preceding lines. This imagery is especially effective in the contrasting advice explaining the importance of absence, but also of its limit. Without the natural metaphors employed Ovid would not have been able to make his blame of Menelaus quite so credible. The image of Helen as the helpless dove, left alone with an eagle, has powerful consequences for the myth and its actors. Traditionally, Helen was viewed as the femme fatale and Paris the un-gentlemanly guest who abuses the hospitality of his host. Ovid turns this portrayal on its head. Helen is the deserted wife, left alone and afraid by her husband. Paris is the gentlemanly guest who offers her solace. Their actions are a natural response to the situation they find themselves in, a situation of Menelaus’ own making. Menelaus is the stupid husband who has acted without thought and should not blame anyone else for his misfortune except himself.

Ovid does much more than insult Menelaus. He makes a number of bold statements. Traditional patriarchal marriage does not work, nor does it promote the type of relationship Ovid’s readers are looking for. Therefore, by implication, if a marriage does not work and a woman and a man find in each other’s company something they do not find with their spouse, then they are not to blame. This is an extremely daring inference to make in light of the Augustus’ reformative laws, which governed Ovid as well. These laws were viewed contemptuously by many citizens, because they absorbed many of the powers previously possessed by the paterfamilas. Ovid, however, takes his disapproval to an extreme. He offers no judgement for the act of adultery, even promoting it.

In supporting Helen’s affair with Paris, Ovid promotes a passionate relationship over the arranged marriage in which she is trapped with Menelaus. Ovid thereby implicitly criticises the idea of a woman being used as currency in male military and political alliances. A connection can be found with the idea of the wave wiping out stories of military exploits in the retelling of Ulysses and Calypso’s affair, which also questions traditionally Roman ways. As Ovid progresses through the Ars Amatoria, he becomes very critical of his society and modern in his views.

207

The function of the myth of Helen and Paris is clearly didactic, but simultaneously argumentative. Ovid visibly adapts the myth to restructure male and female roles within both marital and erotic relationships. He openly attacks institutionalised behaviour presenting it as unacceptable. Ovid transfers responsibility for adultery onto the husband and the traditional Roman marriage culture.

208

Chapter 13 Mars and Venus Exposed (Book II: 535-600)

209 Introduction

The final mythical digression of Book II and the eighth in the work is the myth of Venus and Mars ensnared in Vulcan’s inescapable, invisible web. As the final mythical digression of the book, it incurs the responsibility of summing up the advice of the book. However, it also concludes the advice for men. There is only one mythical digression included in Book III, and should one follow the hypothesis that the advice for women was an afterthought, then this would have been intended also as the final mythical digression of the work as a whole.

The preceding mythical digression appeared almost 200 lines earlier, just before the middle of the book. It addressed Helen’s affair with Paris, assigning blame to Menelaus for his physical absence and lack of common sense, enabling the lovers’ affair. In this mythical digression the extramarital affair of Venus is examined. Broadly speaking, Ovid’s retelling of the myth includes the following elements. He provides as the context of his argument the advice to the amator that he should not be jealous, and if he is inflicted with jealousy, he must not act on that jealousy. He gives as his reason that jealousy leads to investigation, and that knowledge in itself is hurtful to the amator. However, should further action lead to the exposure of his lover’s infidelity, that will in turn cost him his puella. Ovid once again argues a maiore ad minorem, using the myth of Venus and Mars’ exposure to the gods, by her husband, Vulcan, to support his argument.

Vulcan is the jealous husband, but he also embodies the jealous amator within the context. Similarly, Venus, the wife and mistress in the scene, is the puella. Mars represents the other lover. In this situation, the illicit lovers are quite literally caught in flagrante delicto. On being ensnared, initially Mars and Venus are embarrassed, but with nothing more to fear, they continue conducting their once secret affair in the open. Vulcan’s jealous plan backfires, as Ovid says will be the case for the amator. He chastises the Sun for revealing the lovers’ secret, and Vulcan for his cunning scheme. These aspects of the story bring to the fore themes, including the inappropriate use of skill, shame and modesty versus pleasure, and, possibly most importantly, marriage, adultery and the social mores of Ovid’s own social milieu. The theme of female willingness is also naturally an element of the lesson.

210

How and whether the myth is adapted from tradition will be considered so that the myth’s function in the Ars is explicated. Ovid’s argument is often stated to the audience, as in the introduction to this myth. The problem faced is to ascertain whether his retelling of the myth agrees with the statements made. This, in turn, exposes how Ovid structures male and female roles and expected behaviour in erotic relationships. As the final myth in the advice to men it is imperative that the reader ascertain whether Ovid critiques or supports existing traditions with regard to Roman marriage and male-female erotic relationships.

Summary of the Presumed Traditional Myth

Venus is the goddess Ovid claims has instructed him to write the Ars (I: 7) and the lead female character in this myth. She was the goddess of love, including sexual desire and seduction. Venus was also the mother of Aeneas, by the mortal Anchises, and thus the mother of Rome (Homer, Il. II: 820; Hesiod, Theog. 1008; Hyginus, Fab. 94; Ovid, Met. XIII: 624). Her husband was Vulcan (Od. VIII: 267ff.), but she had many affairs with mortals and gods, one of which was with Mars.

Mars was the embodiment of virility, which was viewed in terms of vis [life force] or virtus [virtue] (Onians 1951: 470-471). Varro (L.L. V: 63) states an etymological relationship between vis and vita [life]: vis est vita, vides, vis nos facere omnia cogit [Life is force, you see, force compels us to do all things]. In essence, vis is viewed as a driving force of life, it is associated with virtue, and, even more importantly, it is associated with virility, generating a relationship between Mars and male virility (Lewis & Short 1879 s.vv. virtus, vis).

In contrast, Vulcan, was a cripple. The source of his affliction is discussed in various myths. One version relates that Vulcan was born from Juno by parthenogenesis (conception without male sperm) and thus deformed (Harris & Platzner 2008: 184). Another version relates that when he was born a small, ugly baby, Juno in horror threw him off the top of Mount Olympus (Homer, Il. XVIII: 136ff.). He is said to have fallen for a day and a night before he landed in the sea (Homer, Il. I: 568ff.). One of his legs broke as he hit the water

211 and so could never develop properly, leaving him with a limp. He sank to the bottom of the ocean where he was saved by the sea-nymph Thetis, who raised him as her own son (Pseudo-Apollodorus, Bibl. I: 19). Yet another version relates that it was Jupiter who threw him from Mount Olympus for taking Juno’s side in an argument between them (Pseudo-Apollodorus, Bibl. I: 19; Homer, Il. I: 586-594). He is said to have been left limp by the fall. He was, however, known for being the most skilled craftsman of all in the heavens (Hesiod, Theog. 924ff.).

The primary source for the tale of Mars and Venus’ affair and subsequent entrapment by Vulcan is Homer (Od. VIII: 256ff.). Hyginus (Fab. 148) recounts the story briefly, but he depicts Vulcan’s trap as a consequence of his inability to challenge Mars’ strength. He states that Mars was frightened off by his shame, but Venus’ punishment was enacted on the child born of their affair, Concordia, who was destined to be forever ill-fated. Virgil (Geor. IV: 345ff.) and Cicero (N.D. II: 21) merely mention the myth, but do not discuss it. Ovid, however, retells the myth in the Metamorphoses (IV: 170ff.) as well, where he does not deviate from the facts in Homer’s version.

Homer (Od. VIII: 256ff.) relates that Venus and Mars were caught in an invisible trap prepared by Vulcan, who ensnared them and then exposed them to the other Olympian gods. Venus and Mars’ deception began in Vulcan’s own house. Venus received many gifts from Mars, who in turn defiled Vulcan’s marriage bed. The Sun saw what they were doing and told Vulcan, who was very angry. Using his great anvil and his smithing skills, he forged chains which no-one would be able to break or loosen. They were so fine that not even a god could see them. He covered the bed posts with these chains, like cobwebs. He also hung some from the bedroom ceiling. Vulcan then pretended to be leaving for Lemnos, which was known to be his favourite place. As soon as Mars saw him leaving, he hurried to his house because he burned with desire for Venus. Mars took her hand and beckoned her to join him on Vulcan’s bed, telling her Vulcan had departed for Lemnos. Venus willingly went with him to the bed where they were caught in Vulcan’s cunning trap. They could not get up or move any of their limbs, discovering too late that they had been trapped.

212 Vulcan returned, having been informed by the Sun what was happening. Himself inflamed by a furious passion, he stood in the vestibule, making a terrible noise as he shouted to all the gods to come and see the ridiculous and disgraceful sight he had to show them. He added that Venus was always dishonouring him because he was lame. Now she was in love with Mars, who was handsome and well built. Their affection for each other infuriated him, but he doubted they would sleep much or lie there for longer than they could help, but that they would lie there until her father, Jupiter, had repaid him the sum he had paid for his daughter, who was beautiful but not honest.

The gods gathered at Vulcan’s house, among them Neptune, Mercury and Apollo. However, all the goddesses stayed at home out of modesty. The gods roared with inextinguishable laughter on seeing how cunning Vulcan had been. They commented to each other that such crimes did not pay, but that strong and fleet-footed Mars would be paying the fine for his adultery, because he had been caught by the weak, limp Vulcan. A conversation between Apollo and Mercury ensued, in which Apollo asked Mercury if he would care how strong the chains were, if he could sleep with Venus. Mercury answered that, if only he might get such a chance, he would endure three times as many chains and even all the gods staring at him. This was met by a further outburst of laughter from the gods.

Only Neptune took this situation seriously, imploring Vulcan to set Mars free. Neptune even undertook to ensure that Mars repaid all reasonable damages as determined by the immortal gods. Vulcan, however, questioned what remedy he would have if Mars did not fulfil his debt without his chains, arguing that his word could not be trusted. In response, Neptune offered to pay the debt himself if Mars reneged on his responsibility. This was an offer Vulcan could not refuse and so he loosened the bonds with which the two were bound. As soon as they were freed, Homer tells us, they rushed off - Mars to Thrace and Venus to Paphos on Cyprus, where she had a grove and an altar. There she was bathed by the Graces, anointed with oil of ambrosia and dressed in clothing of exquisite beauty.

The traditional myth concludes with the escape of the lovers and the nursing of Venus back to her role as beautiful goddess of love. The myth was told predominantly as a warning against lewd behaviour and extra-marital affairs. Ovid appeals to his audience’s fascination

213 with the idea that an ugly cripple would be able to triumph over the handsome and powerful war god to draw them in.

Ovid’s Use of the Myth

The opening lines of Ovid’s passage ring of prophecy and idiom. He tells us he sings of great things and demands the attention of his audience (AA II: 536). ardua molimur, sed nulla, nisi ardua, virtus difficilis nostra poscitur arte labor [We undertake hard things, but there is no virtue if (it is) not hard, difficult labour is demanded by our art] (AA II: 537-538). The impudent idiom introduces a pseudo-serious air to the lines with the implication that what the amator undertakes is virtuous. It echoes Horace (Carm. I: 2; Sat. I: 9.59ff.) with its proverbial ring. Labor also evokes Virgil’s Georgics (II: 256ff.). It also evokes the opening lines of Book II, in which Daedalus undertakes the overwhelming task of flight (AA II: 37) and Ovid tells the audience that they, too, commence a difficult task (AA II: 14). Ovid proposes a mutually pleasurable relationship, and in the subsequent advice he suggests that restraining one’s jealousy is in itself a very difficult task. The humorous audacity of the line is acquired to a great extent by the use of virtus in reference to keeping a lover. The play on virtus is accentuated by the nature of the advice, because restraint of emotion was prized in Roman society, yet here Ovid proposes it in a situation in which the Augustan moral laws are contested, thus undermining any serious virtue in the task.

Ovid foretells the victory of his student in the subsequent couplet (AA II: 539-540), evoking the impending appearance of Mars (AA I: 562). The amator is pictured in a glorious triumph ascending Jupiter’s hill (AA II: 540). The image is that of a victorious general’s triumphal procession through the city and up to the Capitoline hill (Arce Iovis), where he would enter Jupiter’s temple and dedicate his insignia to the god and partake in a sacrifice (Murgatroyd 1982: 189). The comparison of an amatory conquest with a traditional Roman military triumph suggests the militia amantis theme. It is, however, humorous in that it is also a

214 brazen display of disrespect for the conservative Roman military traditions and Augustus. There is a further implication for the student, suggesting that, should he not follow Ovid’s advice, his defeat is assured. He tells the amator he should accept this as the truth, because it is no man who says this (AA II: 541). Ovid once again usurps Apollo’s role as patron of the arts, much like he did in the earlier mythical digressions of Daedalus (AA II: 1-3) and Bacchus (AA I: 525). With this he asserts that his advice has the power to keep the puella (Sharrock 1994: 229). The inference may also be to Venus’ support for the poem and author, thus evoking also her future role in this advice (AA I: 562). In light of the skills taught thus far, Ovid may offer a Ulyssian duality and invoke both gods.

Ovid has reminded his audience that this task is hard work, but will not be in vain (AA II: 535-541). Ovid states his instructions plainly: endure her flirtations with others (AA II: 543); let her write letters in secret and do not touch them (AA II: 543); allow her the freedom to come and go where she pleases (AA II: 544). The general implication is that the lover should turn a blind eye to any signs of an affair between his puella and another, be it an additional lover or her husband. This would include other forms of interaction between lovers not mentioned here. For example, nods and sign-language were common in elegy, often occurring when the puella is with her boyfriend or husband, and largely at dinner parties (Murgatroyd 1982: 74).

A humorous interjection that his student should not be jealous of her husband when he kisses her is concluded with his own experience of such things (AA II: 545-554). Ovid professes that he himself finds this particular task difficult, and states that he is himself minor [less than] (AA II: 548) his counsel. The admission is quite sudden and unexpected, making it a humorous interjection as the master admits his lack of mastery. The deliberative subjunctive in quid faciam? [what am I to do?] (AA II: 548) accentuates the expert’s inability (Murgatroyd 1982: 189). It simultaneously evokes Ovid’s similar statement in defence of Helen: quid faciat? [what should she to do?] (AA II: 369). In the case of Helen, he argues that her behaviour was natural and thus acquits her of her crime. Here, the amator is aware that jealousy is the natural response, but Ovid is suggesting sophistication instead of succumbing to innate emotion. The admission of fallibility accentuates just how difficult the task at hand is. It is characteristic of didactic poetry to state personal experience (Murgatroyd 1982: 64),

215 and so this interjection would not have been unexpected in that sense, but rather in the disclosure that the author has himself not mastered the skill he is currently imparting. Memini (AA II: 551) seems to point to a past situation, perhaps implying that Ovid is no longer that unsophisticated lover unable to follow the advice he gives here, despite his claims to the contrary. Ovid continues the joke with doctior ille [he who is wiser] (AA II: 553), stating that he who has learned to accept these indiscretions is wiser than the man who has not. In this way Ovid separates the poet-lover from the poet-teacher (Armstrong 2005: 34). This does not discredit his teachings, but instead reassures his students that the poet, too, is fallible, but that he has nevertheless mastered the skill over time. This reassurance that the difficult task at hand can be accomplished even by an imperfect individual is the intention of the statement. The frequency indicated by non semel [not once] (AA II: 553) implies not only more than one affair, but that the master has experience and in this way he has learned. Therefore, if the student fails, he may attempt it again. It is these combined elements that create the subtle humour of the lines.

Ovid’s states that once a couple has been caught having an affair, they will continue with the act which has brought them embarrassment (AA II: 559-560). This is the reason for the emphasis placed on the amator’s restraint of his jealousy. This couplet effectively summarises the moral of the myth. When lovers are exposed, Ovid explains that the guilty pair feels the bond of shared shame and so continue their liaison and their love for each other grows with this mutual experience. Now that their illicit affair has been exposed and that they have been shamed, there remains nothing to hide. Shame no longer serves as a deterrent. In addition, the implication of damni (AA II: 560) is a ruined reputation, and in effect no need to be discreet as there is nothing to protect anymore. However, the word also calls to mind the extreme punishments of the Leges Iuliae, including banishment and death. The student lover is therefore at greater risk of losing the puella if he exposes her other affair(s). There are, however, other unsaid aspects at play. The lover who behaves jealously, does not have that right. If anyone does, it is perhaps her husband (AA II: 597- 598). This is Ovid’s way of subtly reminding his student that he is himself subject to the same judgement as he, too, is an adulterer. The comment is therefore specifically on the morality of the participants. Contemporary Roman society would question the morals of a woman for simply conducting an affair, while a different standard would apply to her male

216 lover. In defining the ideal puella, Ovid thus questions the morality of Roman society rather than that of the lovers, which is perhaps his reason for so wittily accentuating the double standard at play with the concept of questionable female morals.

From the advice given so far, on a primary level the argument of the passage is that the amator should not be jealous, and, when he is, he should oppress his reaction because if he exposes his puella, she will have no need to continue hiding her other affair. Ovid says this is the most important advice he has offered yet (AA I: 542) and as such, the implication is that his mythical exemplum offered as support of this proposed inaction is equally important. This is confirmed both by the fact that it is the final exemplum, and that it is related without the mention of any other myths immediately before or after it.

He proceeds with the comment that the story is well known throughout the heavens (AA II: 561), thus confirming both an element of the myth and inferring its popularity among his contemporaries. The introductory couplet (AA II: 561-562) has both an appropriate tone and emphasis. The rhythm and sounds of the hexameter (AA II: 561) give it an air of seriousness, which is immediately dispelled by the next line in which the myth is revealed. Murgatroyd (1982: 191) notes that the juxtaposition of Marsque Venusque [Mars and Venus] (AA II: 562) amusingly suggests an actual physical connection between Mars and Venus, a sneak preview of the lovers as they lie entangled in Vulcan’s net. He asserts that Ovid ensures their loss of dignity from the outset. While the duplicate -que is not necessary, its use is relatively common in epic (Murgatroyd 1982: 79). Here it accentuates how entangled the lovers are, while offering Ovid an opportunity to establish his authority as skilled poet.

Ovid uses the phrase Mars pater [Father Mars] (AA II: 563). The term pater is often used as a term of respect for gods (Lewis & Short 1879 s.v. pater IID, especially of Jupiter; Glare 1968 s.v. 6b: of Mars: Cato, Agr. 141.3). It could also be a reference to Mars’ role as father of Romulus and Remus, and thus Rome (Murgatroyd 1982: 191). Venus, as mother of Aeneas, is herself also the mother of Rome. In the opening lines of Lucretius’ De rerum natura (I: 1- 44), Venus and Mars are also represented as both lovers and parents of the Romans. The audience would have been aware of the foundation myths of Rome and would easily have made such an inference. In addition, Mars is also the father of Cupid, another agent of love.

217 However, any respect implied by the term is dissipated when Ovid describes Mars’ desire for Venus as maddening (AA II: 563), and concludes that as a result of this a terrible warrior was transformed into a lover (AA II: 564). Insano [insane or raging] and turbatus [disturbed] (AA II: 563) accentuate the violence of Mars’ passion, contradicting the reverence in the term pater. Ovid’s description of warrior turned lover is similarly incongruous with the respectful image of the war god and therefore humorous. Both of these aspects are absent in Homer’s depiction of the story (Murgatroyd 1982: 191). It is Ovid’s intent to depict Mars in a less than dignified role, undermining his military role by imagining him as engaged in the militia amantis.

Venus, too, did not resist Mars, because there is, of course, no more loving a goddess than the goddess of love (AA II: 565-566). Venus is also depicted humorously through the use of contradictory terminology, again not found in Homer (Murgatroyd 1982: 191). Venus is described as nec ... rustica [not unsophisticated] and nec ... difficilis [not difficult] (AA II: 566). The idea that she might be either is quite amusing. Mollior [more amorous] (AA II: 565) is also somewhat witty, in that it is a comparative adjective applied to the goddess of love herself, who should be the most amorous. The adjective mollis is often used to describe love or those associated with it (Murgatroyd 1982: 191), and it is this common use that accentuates how different the two lovers are. Venus and Mars illustrate the union of love and war, possibly demonstrating a certain magnetism between opposites. Just as Cupid is the product of this union of love and war, ironically so too is Rome.

Ovid quickly returns to the purpose of the passage. Sed [but] (AA II: 571) indicates that this playful image is over and another will take its place. Ovid tells us that at first they used to hide their adultery (AA II: 571), because plena verecundi culpa pudoris erat [it was a crime filled with blushing shame] (AA II: 572). The lesson of the passage is defined by concubitus ... primos [initial sleeping together] (AA II: 571), indicating that the concealment is now in the past. Who can hide from the Sun, he asks, the Sun who made his wife’s actions known to Vulcan (AA II: 573-574). The Sun passed over the whole world, high in his chariot, and seeing and hearing everything, so it was believed no deceit could be hidden from him (Murgatroyd 1982: 192). The same Sun sets a bad example (AA II: 575), by Ovid’s standards, because he exposed the lovers. Ovid argues the Sun could himself have had what she would

218 give, if he simply kept quiet (AA II: 576). This is another aspect that is not present in Homer’s version. Ovid cleverly refers to Venus’ reputation for extra-marital affairs (Harris & Platzner 2008: 204). Ovid slows the narrative for comic effect. The implication that the Sun could himself have been one of her lovers is offered as justification for keeping Venus’ secret. Ovid relates the Sun’s response to his student, through which he offers an alternative reaction. Ovid suggests that the amator can also use such a situation to his advantage, should such an indiscretion become known to him.

From here Ovid quickens the pace, again returning to the matter at hand. He does this by accentuating both the invisibility of the net (obscuros [hidden] and lumina fallit opus [a work that deceives the eye]), and how completely it covers the bed (lectum circaque superque [around and over the bed]), in a single couplet (AA II: 577-578) (Murgatroyd 1982: 193). In his description of the net, Homer speaks of an exquisitely crafted string (Od. VIII: 282). In contrast, Ovid provides a less complimentary description of the invisible trap set by Vulcan, using a very similar description to that of Homer. Ovid uses opus [work] (AA II: 578) rather than ars for what is a true work of art. He cannot describe it as sine arte, as Vulcan was certainly skilled, but by simply offering the noun opus, Ovid shows his disdain for the trap. He also uses the poetic word lumina in place of oculos (Lewis & Short 1879 s.v. lumen IB5 and 6; Glare 1968 s.v. 9). This is not done simply for metre, but is a deliberate enhancement. Lumina’s alternative meaning of lights is interesting, considering the role of the Sun in the exposure of the lovers. Fallit itself can mean to deceive or conceal, ensuring that all three words offer a note of contempt on Ovid’s part. Vulcan’s reputation for being a skilled craftsman was well known and the artistic skill of his net is depicted in the Homeric version. Vulcan is also known for his cunning, yet Ovid chastises him for his deceit by his superior craftsmanship, just after he has suggested the use of deception to the Sun. An unmistakable humour is thus born of Ovid’s inconsistency, both within the digression and with tradition.

Ovid gives a vivid account of the exposure of the lovers. Vulcan, having set his trap, pretends to be leaving for Lemnos. Ovid uses the Greek form of the accusative Lemnon (AA II: 579). While not uncommon in the Ars, and especially Book II, the use of the Greek accusative establishes Ovid’s authority in his most important mythical digression of the work. It also evokes Homer’s account, in which we are told that Lemnos was Vulcan’s favourite place on

219 earth (Homer, Od. VIII: 284). The Greek accusative serves as one of many references to Homer’s text which the audience would most certainly have noticed. These allusions serve to highlight the differences between them and to evoke information in Homer’s text which Ovid excludes. Ovid also calls Vulcan by one of his epithets, Mulciber (AA II: 577), also with the intent of invoking a particular aspect of Vulcan’s personality. Vulcan was the god of fire and was one of the oldest gods in Roman religion (Merriam-Webster 1995: 1175). The name Mulciber means smelter or softener, referring to his ability to soften metals. When called on to subdue fires, he was called Mulciber (Merriam-Webster 1995: 1175). Mulciber is not a commonly used name for Vulcan. It recalls the skill required to smelt the metal required to set the trap that awaits the lovers. However, it is quite likely to have been used ironically. Instead of putting out the fire in Mars and Venus’ hearts, Vulcan’s actions would set that very flame alight even brighter.

In the very same line where Vulcan leaves, the lovers come together (AA II: 579). To describe their meeting, Ovid uses the term foedus [treaty or alliance]40, the primary meaning of which is a treaty in the context of warfare. Its use in an amatory sense does occur elsewhere.41 Here, however, it is a play on the fact that Mars is the god of war, accentuating his virility. It may also serve to accentuate the humour of the god of war being involved in the militia amantis. It certainly implies a contract, which indicates that both gods were complicit in this crime. This is a very important perspective for the overall advice of the Ars, which teaches that women can be willing partners in a love affair. This military inference gives Vulcan’s actions the air of a tactical move, which acts against the treaty between Mars and Venus. The image created in the lines that follow is that of a successful military manoeuvre that wins the aggressor his intended prisoners. The temporal

40 Foedus also refers to a law (Lewis & Short 1879 s.v. foedus IIB), but it is unlikely that it is intended to evoke Augustus’ laws mockingly. 41 Lewis & Short 1879 s.v. foedus II and Glare 1968 s.v. 2.

220 implication of the line is equally important. Ovid implies that they came together without even waiting for Vulcan to be a safe distance away. The verb fingit [he pretends] (AA II: 579), allocated to Vulcan, appears at the front of the hexameter. The verb veniunt [they come] (AA II: 579), applied to the lovers in the hexameter, is also placed at the beginning of the second clause. This placement of the second verb helps to indicate how quickly the lovers came together. Their placement almost aligns the two parties both in the line structure and temporally. The verbs also indicate a degree of separation. Vulcan is separate from the lovers, excluded from the affair, but he is not far enough away at the same time. Vulcan’s trap is activated by the union of the lovers: impliciti laqueis nudus uterque iacent [entangled in the snares they both lie naked] (AA II: 580). Together the lovers lie trapped, exposed and possibly confused, an alternative meaning for implicitus. The use of the plural laqueis [in traps or snares] alongside the singular adjective nudus [naked] and uterque [both] assigned to the couple, ensures that the reader views the couple as victims. The singular has a belittling effect while their nudity accentuates the undignified circumstance the lovers find themselves in. The plural similarly emphasises the extent of the trap, and perhaps even the far-reaching effects it will have. The pentameter opens with the participle impliciti [caught] and concludes with the verb iacent [they lie together], visually depicting the physical predicament of the lovers in the syntax itself. Iacēre is a rather universal euphemism for sexual relations found in both prose and poetry (OLD s.v. iaceo 2b; Adams 1982: 177). It generally meant to sleep together with someone in the same bed, which was also an indication of married status. In the marital context the expression could indicate the conjugal right without suggesting intercourse (Adams 1982: 177). Although euphemistic, Ovid’s application of this common term might allude to the marriage bed in which they lie, but it might simply make their actions quite ordinary and human.

Vulcan’s preparation spanned the previous couplet and part of this one. Only a line and a half of this couplet are given to cover both the act of the lovers coming together in bed and being trapped in the net. The speed of the lines ensures that the surprise of the lovers is tenable. Some of the speed of the lines is created by skimming through the details. We are basically told they rushed to be together in adultery and were caught as quickly. In contrast, the consequence will, however, be more drawn-out. Vulcan calls the gods together to expose the lovers publicly. The line concludes with praebent spectacula capti [the captives

221 present a spectacle] (AA II: 581). The plural spectacula intensifies the singular spectaculum. Ovid uses the plural capti to indicate that the sentence applies to the predicament of the pair of lovers. Spectacula also magnifies the betrayal and embarrassment the captive lovers are subjected to.

In opposition to Vulcan’s actions, Ovid ensures that his audience is aware of Venus’ distress. He describes her, in the opinion of the onlookers, as barely able to restrain her tears (AA II: 582). In using an indirect statement to depict Venus’ distress, the lovers’ helplessness and exposure within the situation is emphasised. Interestingly, this is once again a point not present in Homer (Murgatroyd 1982: 193), and a clear variation from the traditional version.

Ovid heightens the depiction of the lovers’ discomfort further with the description of their inability to hide their faces or cover their private parts with their hands (AA II: 583-584). Ovid again slows the narrative so that the embarrassment of the lovers is accentuated. The natural need to conceal one’s genitalia is another Ovidian addition. Homer simply tells us they were unable to move or raise a limb (Od. VIII: 298). Ovid, on the other hand, places a distinct emphasis on the distress and embarrassment of the lovers. A final and humorous emphasis is placed on their humiliation with the laughter of one of the gods (who remains unnamed). The god offers to take bravest (fortissime) Mars’ place in the restraints. The impudence of the offer is stressed by the superlative fortissime. The superlative also reminds us that, despite being the most virile, strong and attractive of the gods, Mars finds himself in a precarious situation. The reminder is in itself humorous, since the strongest god is helpless in the trap of his polar opposite, a crippled and unattractive god. Again, a comic reminder to Ovid’s student that good looks are not everything, but that, instead, the skilful use of art is. However, the use of art in the wrong manner is still at question. If it was not, Vulcan would by now have been depicted in a more favourable light. Instead, dishonesty is contrasted with betrayal. In the traditional version, Venus and Mars are the transgressors. Their dishonesty is never questioned. On the other hand, both Vulcan and the Sun are in the Ars accused of betrayal. It is clear from the suffering that the lovers endure, that Ovid intends Vulcan and the Sun to fulfil the role of transgressors (Armstrong 2005: 128). The reversal of these roles within the story indicates a clear and intentional remythologising.

222 Ovid summarises Neptune’s role in the liberation of the lovers from the infamous net. In one couplet he says that they were freed, thanks to Neptune’s pleas, and that the lovers fled, Venus to Paphos and Mars to Thrace (AA II: 587-588). Notably, Ovid once again uses the Greek accusative forms, Thracen and Paphon, when naming the places to which the lovers flee. While these statements coincide with Homer’s version of events, the Greek accusative again evokes the additional details provided by Homer. According to Harris & Platzner (2008: 211), in both the traditional version by Homer, and here in Ovid, neither of the adulterous lovers is punished. However, this is somewhat inaccurate. In Homer, Vulcan demands the return of his dowry, which Neptune promises to pay himself, if Mars reneges on his promise to compensate Vulcan for the transgression. This element of recompense is excluded from the Ovidian retelling. It may be alluded to in the evocation of Homer, but there is a strong case for its exclusion from Ovid’s argument. Vulcan may have caught the lovers in his trap, but the reader will soon be told that as a consequence they carry on their affair in the open. The latter indicates failure by the amator, and thus would not warrant compensation. Ironically, the opposite is true. Vulcan endures the punishment of actually seeing the two lovers openly together, which is even worse than the knowledge thereof. This is indicated by Vulcan’s regret after the success of his trickery (AA I: 591-592). Simultaneously, Ovid recalls the earlier statement that knowledge is worse than ignorance (AA I: 555), implying that had Vulcan let Venus and Mars be, the consequence of the common knowledge of their affair would not be applicable. In a sense, this also calls to mind the chastising of the Sun for sharing that knowledge with Vulcan (AA I: 573). In transferring the culpability to the exposure of the affair, rather than the conduct thereof, Ovid negates any need for compensation.

The narrative clearly speeds up again here. Suddenly events progress quickly and are only briefly mentioned again. Both lovers leave the scene of their disgrace with great speed, indicated vividly in the swiftness of the lines. Homer concludes his story at this point. Ovid does not. Perhaps the Greek is used here also to indicate that, although they do not differ in conclusion, there is more to the story than Homer offers. The speed of the lines once again draws the audience’s attention to the reaction of the lovers. The act of fleeing is a direct response to the shaming they have been subjected to, just as is their later open conduct of their affair, according to Ovid’s argument.

223

Ovid concludes his myth with his advice to the amator about the dangers of meddling in his puella’s other affairs. Vulcan’s cunning was more than ineffectual; in fact, it back-fired. Instead of deterring Venus and Mars, Vulcan’s actions have prompted them to continue their affair in the open with greater intensity than previously. Vulcan is depicted as an interfering fool. Ovid implies that Vulcan should have been complacent, even though this is a case of infidelity in a marriage. This statement is in direct contravention to Augustus’ laws and would not have been popular with the conservative Romans of the period (Murgatroyd 1982: 188). This concluding advice informs the audience of the reason the myth is retold. It completely differs from the function of the traditional myth, which served as a warning against adultery. Ovid’s version implies that adultery is common and in its retelling he draws a distinction between deception and betrayal, completely altering the function of the myth.

On a secondary level, Ovid deconstructs the gender bias which allows the male lover to commit adultery while the amatrix is viewed as shameful and guilty. Many examples exist for male gods being caught out for affairs, but they are not vilified. For example, despite Jupiter’s many affairs, Juno inflicts her rage on his rape victims. Io, for example, in some versions, is said to have been turned into a cow by Juno herself (e.g. Aeschylus, Supp. 291). Ovid argues for a certain level of female equality with men in this regard. He does not support the view that the female passion should be controlled by a man.

The puella’s indiscretion is referred to as a vitium [fault] (AA II: 553), parodying the traditional judgement levied on the female participant in amorous liaisons. Ovid is questioning the commonly held view of questionable female morality, undermining the double standard applied to the genders. The image of women in Ovid differs dramatically from that portrayed by Homer, who tells us the goddesses stayed home out of modesty (Od. VIII: 64-65). Ovid’s statement that one is better off not knowing, unless her shameful mouth tells it (AA II: 555-556), again mocks the archetypal blame of the puella. The advice is in itself contra-indicative, telling the student that it is not the actions of his lover, but rather the knowledge of them that hurts him. Ovid reinforces his advice to let her be when she is not with you (AA II: 543ff.), promoting the much-needed freedom of movement for the puella to participate in erotic interludes. Ovid accentuates the misplaced contempt for the puella,

224 who has been depicted as an active and willing participant in the two previous mythical digressions of Book II. The verb fuit (AA II: 555) is in the gnomic perfect, a form often used to indicate a general truth, either of what has happened or what is accustomed to happen. Ovid is perhaps echoing Virgil’s use of the gnomic perfect (for example, Geor. I: 287) (Murgatroyd 1982: 190). In this way, Ovid implies this to be the typical behaviour of (some) women, that is, to participate willingly in the game that is seduction. It is also reminiscent of a similar statement in the Pasiphae mythical digression, indicating the universal reputation of the Cretans to be liars (AA I: 288). The audience is already aware that the amator is already the mistress’ lover and not her husband, on whom she is already cheating. It is very funny that the lover is jealous of the husband against whom he is himself committing an injustice, and is himself injured by the very act he is himself committing against her husband when she takes another lover. It is in Ovid’s humour that the female participant’s image is transformed.

Ovid seizes the opportunity for comedy presented when the adultery is committed by the puella, taking full advantage of the reversal of gender of the lover. Because the infidelity is traditionally committed by Venus, it is viewed as shameful (Murgatroyd 1982: 187). Deception on both sides, however, complicates the relationship, as is the case with Mars and Venus. Although Venus is generally depicted as beautiful, elegant and desirable, Ovid shows us a different aspect of her character. Ovid tells that Venus often laughed at her husband’s limp (AA II: 567), and at his hands hardened by his igne ... arte [fiery art] (AA II: 568), jestfully imitating Vulcan in Mars’ presence (AA II: 569). Murgatroyd (1982: 192) points out that the couplets appear to develop Vulcan’s complaints in the Odyssey (VIII: 308-311) that Venus despises him because he is lame and instead loves Mars because of his good looks and physical form. In comparison, Ovid’s Venus enacts Vulcan’s very complaint. We are told this became her (AA II: 569), combined with her great beauty and charm (AA II: 570). Ovid describes Venus as lasciva [playful, licentious] (AA II: 567), implying she is a mischievous goddess. It seems a more appropriate adjective for Cupid, and thus is almost demeaning. In one respect she is ridiculing Vulcan, but in another she is playing the fool. The latter might be considered attractive, but the former ensures that it is not. The adjective also simultaneously portrays Venus as playful and active, in contrast to the description of Vulcan as a cripple with tough hands. Ovid places emphasis on Vulcan’s hands and

225 associates them with his limp as an undesirable trait. His hands are the tools of his skill, of his art form. This already indicates that there is a fault associated with this art in the following lines. The fact that the reference to his skill as a negative aspect is made by his wife, the puella of the myth, is also relevant. It serves as a comment to the male audience that inappropriate use of skill is both unattractive and ineffective. Similarly, Venus is depicted in an unattractive light in respect of her treatment of Vulcan, but yet we are told that she is attractive. This can be compared with the similar inappropriate descriptions of women and their behaviour. For example, in both the rape of the Sabine women and the story of Ariadne and Bacchus, the women are said to be made attractive by their fear. The women’s behaviour in all of these instances is not appealing to a decent man or person. Instead, this raises the question as to whether Ovid might simultaneously be commenting on the quality of man who would, in fact, find such behaviour attractive. While this may be the case, it seems more likely that he groups the various female reactions together and raises in his amator the question of what is, in fact, attractive. He has discounted the theory that fear is attractive, so perhaps the playful puella is attractive, not physically, but to the mind. Humour is certainly created by the image of a woman behaving badly. On a subtle level Ovid undermines marriage, showing Venus and Mars enjoying each other’s company, as well as desiring each other sexually. The similarities between this and the myth of Paris and Helen cannot be ignored. In both instances, Ovid blames the husband for the affair. Vulcan is not traditionally considered a symbol of a good marriage, but as the captor he personifies both the trap of marriage and the restrictive Augustan laws. It is no longer possible to deny that Ovid is questioning both the tradition of Roman marriage and the restrictive laws of Augustus.

In his typical contradictory style, Ovid depicts Vulcan’s inappropriate use of his skill as the reason for his failure as the amator. The suitable application of skill is an important aspect of Ovid’s argument, both supporting the instruction preceding the myth, and on a tertiary level addressing the prevalent theme of ars. Vulcan used his skill of smithing to trap Venus and Mars in the act of adultery - a misuse of skill as Ovid views it. Ovid is teaching a series of skills, which, when used correctly, become the art of loving. These skills could be used for less noble conquests, however, and perhaps this is the reason for the accent on misuse of skill. Although renowned for his appearance, a cripple and not good looking, Vulcan is the

226 husband of the goddess of love, but not the man she loves. The implication is that he could be, if he learned and used Ovid’s lessons. However, he instead utilises the skill he does possess and creates a cunning trap which will ensnare his wife and her lover, so that he may expose and embarrass them. It becomes evident later in the retelling of the myth that Ovid views marriage as a trap (AA II: 597-598).

Ovid addresses Vulcan, assigning blame to him for Venus and Mars’ subsequent unhidden conduct of their affair, because no shame remains after what he has done to them (AA II: 589-590). Liberius and abest (AA II: 590) are placed intentionally at the beginning and the end of the line. Their placement accentuates the freedom the lovers experience, both from shame and in their experience of love. They are no longer trapped by either shame, the net or Venus’ marriage. In addition, any hope Vulcan may have had is gone with their shame. Not only did Vulcan shame all parties involved by publicly airing their dirty laundry, but by removing the fear of discovery, he made it possible that the affair could be conducted more easily and openly (Armstrong 2005: 75). Instead of receiving the justice he desired, Vulcan is maddened by the product of his actions and often confesses he made a mistake for which he suffers regret (AA II: 591-592). In a further insult, accentuating his inadequacy, Ovid calls Vulcan a demens [mad man] (AA II: 591), who often confesses that he acted with stupidity. Menelaus received the same insults for his part in his wife’s affair with Paris (AA I: 371-372). The placement of saepe at the start of the line serves to accentuate the magnitude of Vulcan’s mistake with the prevalence of his regret (Murgatroyd 1982: 192). The juxtaposition of demens and stulte makes a powerful connection between the actor and action, imparting to Vulcan the traits of both stupidity and madness. Ovid’s tone is visibly indignant toward Vulcan. This statement of blame clarifies that it is Vulcan whom he chastises and not the lovers. It is here, in the midst of a derogatory accusation, that Ovid describes Vulcan’s cunning actions for the first time with the phrase artis ... tuae [of your art] (AA II: 592). The term artis refers to Vulcan’s trickery, the construction and placement of his expertly-made net. The pronoun tuae quite powerfully accentuates the blame placed on the addressee, Vulcan, offering a strong verbal deterrent to the audience member who might think of acting with jealousy. It also accentuates that it is you who will suffer the consequence of your actions. The use of artis within the context of Vulcan’s failure serves as a warning to Ovid’s audience to use the skill he is imparting on them appropriately and

227 carefully so that it does not become their downfall. Ovid humorously also evokes Daedalus and the difference between the two skilled artisans. Daedalus applies his skill to the task at hand when escaping Minos (AA II: 21ff.), and as a result is able to fly away successfully. The audience is, however, aware that Daedalus has in the past used his skill inappropriately, for example in assisting Pasiphae, which in turn resulted in the birth of the Minotaur. Vulcan applies his skill to shaming Venus rather than to wooing her, and thus fails at his attempts to deter her affair. Ovid also contrasts Daedalus’ humanity with Vulcan’s divinity, implying that the human was better able to accomplish the task than the god was. In this way, Ovid’s likely success as a lover and a teacher of the art required to be a successful lover is more believable too.

Similarly, in its simplest sense the reference is to a failed attempt to capture the desired puella. In a more realistic sense, the young lover’s adulterous actions could literally lead to his potential social and political ruin under the Augustan laws. However, Ovid’s promotion of passionate (and extra-marital) affairs directly opposes Augustus’ laws, which could themselves be embodied in Vulcan’s actions against the lovers. When considered in this light, it is perhaps Vulcan’s portrayed failure that would be considered the greatest insult. The implication is that the laws are not just ineffectual, but, in fact, kindle the very behaviour they wish to extinguish. There is, however, an underlying caveat for the audience also - a sort of small print that protects the author against the claim that his skill is all the young lover needs to successfully entice the woman he desires.

Holzberg (2002: 102) states that the reason given here for turning a blind eye to his lover’s indiscretions is new. Instead of doing this to avoid the pain of knowing, here the new motivation is to prevent the beloved from continuing her affair openly. While this may seem a rather strange reason at the outset, by this point Ovid’s depiction of Vulcan’s failed attempt to shame his wife and its consequences have illustrated Ovid’s argument. He deters the lover from exposing others partaking in adulterous affairs. The impression is created that the lover can be on both sides of this love triangle, and perhaps even that the lover can himself be a husband. Ovid wishes to protect the amator rather than the husband or undeserving lover. And a lover who would betray his puella is certainly undeserving. Again, Ovid calls on the application of a skill which embodies the ideal amator, namely discretion.

228 The actions of Vulcan (and inadvertently the all-seeing Sun) not only expose the lovers, but in Ovid they expose the failed amator to ridicule.

If avoiding losing his lover was not motivation enough, Ovid concludes the lesson by informing his pupils that they are forbidden to do such things, as Venus does not allow it, having been tricked herself (AA II: 593-596). We are reminded of Venus’ moment of embarrassment and the resulting feeling of shame in this statement. Ovid also cleverly criticises the Leges Iuliae. These laws considered persons as being complicit in the affair, if they kept it a secret. Ovid’s advice is in direct contravention of the law. This is not mentioned in the standard commentaries, but this analysis assists one in understanding how Ovid interacts with the Leges Iuliae. In a pseudo-serious air, the use of the perfect participle vetiti with the imperative este in hoc vetiti vos este [be warned off by this] (AA I: 593) accentuates Ovid’s warning. Ovid refers to Venus as Dione, her mother, whose name was sometimes used to indicate Venus (Murgatroyd 1982: 195). This establishes his authority in the midst of a bold warning to his audience. The amator’s trap, laqueos disponite (AA II: 595), evokes Vulcan’s own trap, disponit laqueos (AA II: 578). The warning repeats the opening advice that the amator should not interfere with the puella’s other affairs, but that he should leave that to her husband. If husbands think their wives need to be captured in the act, then that is their right (AA II: 597-598). The statement is humorous in light of the treatment of the myth, the evocation of Vulcan’s own net, and the fact that the amator was most likely himself a husband. The advice almost appears to be given in jest, suggesting that the husband who does not actually love his wife, has no place for jealousy, even if he has the legal right. It accentuates Ovid’s reprehension of marriage, but it also introduces the opportunity to add the comment which follows and protects Ovid from the Leges Iuliae. Ovid assures his audience that he speaks not of any such unlawful relations and that no virtuous woman is pursued by his jokes (AA II: 599-600), in the process evoking the numerous times he has made this claim, as well as his earlier comment that he was jealous of his own puella’s husband (AA I: 551). As a result, this is another protestation of innocence unlikely to be believed. In addition, vir, like puella, is an ambiguous term which moves easily between meaning husband or simply man (Sharrock 2012: 83). Instead of the virtuous image of the husband, Ovid uses the ridicule of Vulcan to imply that traditional husbands are fools who do not know the art of love (Sharrock 2012: 83). In this manner, Ovid disregards rather

229 than respects the restrictions placed on the sexual freedom of married women by the Leges Iuliae (Holzberg 2002: 111).

The advice which follows and thus concludes the book, continues the theme of discretion and keeping secrets, not asking a woman’s age and similar counsel, and ultimately leading to the pleasure of the sexual act towards which all this trouble and labour have been directed. And finally, in conquest the student should thank the master, whose female audience now begs his advice.

The Ars has come full circle, returning to the advice given at the onset of the passage, the book, and the work as a whole. The amator is instructed to choose the appropriate puella and to focus his efforts and arts on catching her and keeping her. The rest is for the unskilled and undeserving amator.

Conclusion

In the final mythical digression of Book II and the advice for men, Ovid tells the myth of Venus and Mars trapped and ridiculed by Vulcan in order to support his argument that the amator should not be jealous. The advice, however. centres more on the restraint of jealousy.

Vulcan represents both the jealous husband and the jealous amator. Venus represents the puella and Mars the other lover. When trapped in a craftily-made, invisible net, Mars and Venus are quite literally caught in flagrante delicto and shamed. Initially they flee the situation, but with nothing else to lose, they continue their affair openly. Vulcan’s plan backfires. As a consequence he receives, not restitution, as included in the traditional myth of Homer, but a form of self-inflicted punishment.

On a primary level, Ovid argues that the amator should not be jealous and should not investigate his suspicions of another illicit affair, as this will lead to the exposure of the puella and her other lover, which in turn will lead to her alienation.

230

On a secondary level, Ovid also addresses the social predisposition to judge women more harshly than men for partaking in extra-marital affairs. Traditionally, not only was restitution due, as in the traditional myth, but the ancient belief was that the female fidelity protected the gene pool of the paterfamilias. This naturally meant the consequences of a woman’s infidelity might be greater, because she might become pregnant with her lover’s child and he or she would become a member of her husband’s family. Ovid, however, argues for mutual participation and willingness in his ideal affairs. He does not support the traditional argument that female passion, when not controlled by man, would go wild. Instead, he depicts Vulcan’s behaviour in these terms. Ovid essentially turns the perspective around, depicting a lover who is jealous when a female acts like a man, seducing another in secret. This gives a voice to females, while undermining the marriage view in which a female is voiceless and dominated. Ovid criticises the differing rules for male and female citizens of the Leges Iuliae, predominantly through humour. In reality, if affairs are taking place, they naturally include a woman’s participation. The laws were intended to end extra-marital affairs, but instead promoted more careful fulfilment thereof. Much like Venus and Mars go their separate ways on initially being discovered, they come together again as a consequence. In this way, Ovid is able to show up the dysfunctions of arranged patriarchal marriages. It is relevant that Ovid concludes Book II with a myth where the female lover is equal to her male counterpart—a fitting introduction for the advice of Book III.

On a tertiary level, Ovid addresses the application of skill. Regardless of how skilled the amator might be, if he applies that skill to the ars amatoria inappropriately, he will fail. Ovid gives Vulcan as his primary example. A skilled craftsman, he makes an invisible, inescapable net in which to trap Venus and Mars. Within a fitting context this would have been marvelled at as an amazing feat of craftsmanship, but within the amatory context it opposes the lessons Ovid teaches. However, the actions of the Sun can also be viewed in this light. The Sun is all-knowing and thus could have lain with Venus himself, but because he chose to expose the lovers, he aided Vulcan in fuelling their passion. This touches on the advice that the amator should mind his own business and leave the puella to conduct her own affairs.

231 Ovid for the most part uses the Homeric version of the myth. He does, however, eliminate certain elements and accentuate others. For example, he excludes Vulcan’s claim of restitution from Mars and Jupiter. He also chastises Vulcan and the Sun, where Homer simply has the gods laughing at the sight of the lovers trapped in the net, and at Vulcan. Venus’ embarrassment is accentuated in the Ars, evoking sympathy for her. At the conclusion of the myth, she is depicted again as the goddess of love, instructing Ovid’s audience that they are not permitted to expose others’ love affairs as she forbids it, because she has suffered that fate herself. Venus, as the goddess of love itself, is after all the ultimate puella. Mars, god of war and symbol of the male and virility, is a fitting lover. They also epitomise the extremes of the passions deterred by Augustus’ laws and Roman social traditions. In placing blame for the affair once again on the husband in a marriage not resultant from a love affair, Ovid successfully remythologises the story of Venus, Mars and Vulcan’s love triangle. He shifts the focus to passion and desire over service to the state or one’s marriage. He wishes to point out the failings of traditional Roman marriage and gender-based social interactions. He wishes to critique Augustus’ stance on these matters. He wishes to inspire a rethinking of the male-female erotic relationship. The conviction with which Ovid spreads his message of respecting women’s desires, bodies and feelings, is a testament to his true intention. Ovid wishes for a freedom in matters of the heart that cannot be a reality in the political climate of Augustan Rome. The alternative is extra-marital affairs which embody the mutual respects and pleasures he proposes, and so he promotes the only relationships that offer the solution. While not acceptable by traditional Roman standards, they are the only means by which a relationship can function ideally.

Ovid uses the myth of Venus and Mars’ love affair to promote an alternative to the traditional Roman male-female relationship. He suggests a relationship between those who share a passion for each other. He suggests that the unloved party not be jealous, nor act on those feelings if he feels them. He implies that lovers should be able to share their passion publicly rather than hide it. He places blame for the unsatisfactory state of male-female relationships on undeserving husbands and the marriage tradition. This is clearly a rethinking of traditional Roman marriage and male-female erotic relationships.

232

Chapter 14 Procris and Cephalus (Book III: 683 - 746)

233 Introduction

In Book III, the longest of the trilogy, Ovid teaches his female audience the art of acquiring and keeping the lover of their choice. The advice runs parallel with that of Books I and II, offering women guidance along similar lines to that given to men. Perhaps the most prominent difference from the earlier books is the proposed audience. However, equally noteworthy is that there is only one mythical digression in Book III, where each of the former books includes four mythical digressions. Each mythical exemplum has been connected with a particular theme of advice and has covered many shared themes. A female perspective and voice echoes loudly throughout the Ars. One might argue that the earlier myths have fulfilled the exemplary role(s) required for the advisory concepts discussed, and thus there is little need for myths in the women’s advice to be told at any length. If so, then there should be no need for the story of Procris and Cephalus either. On a primary level, it addresses overreacting in the throes of jealousy, much like the story of Venus and Mars that concluded Book II—only this time the protagonist is a woman. There are many mythical exempla describing the deeds of jealous women and goddesses. Juno and Discordia come to mind, but their jealousy was inflicted on others and did not change their circumstances. However, in the case of Procris, both parties suffer the dire consequences of her mistrustful actions.

In the advice preceding the myth the puella is advised to feign jealousy when her lover is late, so that he might believe she is passionately in love with him, but she must ignore any insinuation that there may really be another. However, while pretending to be stricken with jealously in his presence, she must also ignore any real feelings of this nature and she must most certainly not act on them. As a warning, Ovid tells of Procris’ misconception that Cephalus was having an adulterous love affair and the consequence of her jealous reaction to the perceived threat.

Procris plays the role of the jealous lover. Cephalus, the husband-lover, is the perceived deceiver, while Aurora is the presumed mistress. Procris is told by an unnamed source that he has overheard Cephalus calling to Aura in the woods. Procris first faints, then rushes into

234 the woods alone, where she sees Cephalus lying under a tree and hears him calling for the wind to cool him after the hunt. She realises her mistake and is overjoyed. However, Cephalus hears a movement in the bush where she is hiding, and accidently kills her with his spear, having mistaken her for a wild animal. He is overcome with grief as Procris dies in his arms.

On a primary level, Ovid argues that the puella should not too hastily believe that her lover has a mistress, and warns against acting on those assumptions. There are considerable similarities between the advice and the details of this myth and the myth of Vulcan’s exposure of Venus and Mars, which concludes Book II. It is therefore unclear exactly how the myth functions within the text and what value it offers to the argument of the work as the only and final mythical digression of the work.

Summary of the Presumed Traditional Myth

Many variations of the myth exist. Procris was the daughter of the mythical Athenian king, Erechtheus (Hornblower & Spawforth 2003: 1251; Brunelle 2015: 112), one of the founding kings of Athens (Hornblower & Spawforth 2003: 554; Kearns 1989: 170). She married Cephalus, who was the son of Deion, ruler of Phocis in Central Greece (Pseudo-Apollodorus, Bibl. III: 15.1; Rimmell 2006: 98) and the great-grandfather of Ulysses (Homer, Il. II: 631).

Hesiod’s Theogony (984ff.) relates that Cephalus was abducted by Aurora and that she bore him a son named Phaethon. It makes no mention of Procris. Cephalus being seized by Aurora appears regularly on Attic vase-paintings. This confirms that the myth was both well known and popular. Lefkowitz (2002: 326) asserts that Athenian audiences found the story of Cephalus’ abduction especially appealing because he was a boy of local origins.

Pherecydes (fr. 34) gives the earliest known account of the myth of Procris and Cephalus’ relationship. He relates that Cephalus remains away from home for eight years to test Procris. On his return, he seduces her while disguised, despite which they reconcile. Because he is often away hunting, Procris suspects he has a lover. When a servant tells her that he called Nubes (a cloud nymph) to come to him, she follows him when next he goes hunting.

235 When she hears him calling to Nubes again, she jumps out of the bush where she is hiding, thus startling him. Thinking she is a wild animal, he shoots her with an arrow killing her.

Pseudo-Apollodorus tells of Procris’ infidelity (Bibl. III: 15.1), saying that with the bribe of a golden crown she lay with Pteleus, where she was discovered by Cephalus. She fled to Minos, who fell in love with her and attempted to seduce her. Minos had, however, been cursed by his own wife, Pasiphae, for his numerous affairs with other women. If he were to sleep with another woman, he would ejaculate wild beasts and the woman would die. Procris agreed to have sexual intercourse with him in exchange for the gifts of a swift dog and an arrow that always flew straight. Laelaps was a Greek mythical dog who always caught what she was hunting (Ovid, Met. VII: 771). She cured him with a potion made from the Circaean root so that she would not be harmed, but thereafter fled to Athens in fear of Pasiphae’s wrath. There she and Cephalus reconciled and they went hunting together—an activity they both enjoyed. While she was in a bush in pursuit, Cephalus threw a dart not knowing she was there and accidently killed her. We are told he was tried by the Council of the Areopagus in Athens and sentenced to perpetual banishment.

Hyginus (Fab. 189) relates a different version of the affair. He states that Cephalus and Procris were bound by a mutual love and had promised never to be untrue. Cephalus was fond of hunting and while in the mountain, Aurora fell passionately in love with him and begged him to be with her. When he refused because of his promise to Procris, Aurora told him she did not want him to break his promise unless Procris had done so first. She changed his appearance so that he would appear to be a stranger and gave him gifts to give to Procris. On receipt of the gifts, Procris slept with him and his identity was revealed. Seeing it was Cephalus, Procris realised Aurora had tricked her and she fled to Crete. There she met Diana, who would not hunt with her because she was not a virgin. Feeling pity for her misfortune, Diana gave her a javelin which no one was able to avoid and Laelaps, the dog which no wild animal could escape, and sent her back to Cephalus dressed as a young man and with her hair cut. Procris challenged and outdid him in the hunt. Desiring the javelin and dog he asked her to sell them to him, not knowing she was his wife. She refused, even when he offered to share his kingdom with her. Instead, she asked that he grant that which boys grant, to which he agreed. In the bedchamber, she revealed her gender and identity and

236 they reconciled. Remaining fearful that Aurora would again interfere in their relationship, Procris followed him one day. Cephalus saw the bushes stir and threw the unavoidable spear, killing her accidentally while she hid there.

There are clearly many variations of the myth, from the reason for the affair, who it was conducted with, and even the weapon, but all involve marital infidelity on some level (Brunelle 2015: 111).

Ovid’s Use of the Myth

The advice that precedes the tragic death of Procris warns the puella-turned-amatrix against believing too easily that her lover has been unfaithful and instructs her to restrain her response to feelings of jealous rage and distress. Ovid’s primary advice to women is quite similar to that offered to the amator at the end of Book II, and is even given in comparative terms. Ovid suggests to the female reader that she feign jealousy (AA III: 677-678) to keep her lover captivated. He also tells the puella she should not believe everything she hears, nor overreact (AA III: 683-685), stating the fate of Procris as an example of the potential consequence (AA III: 686). It was considered to be conventional wisdom that one should not believe everything one hears (Gibson 2003: 361). Ovid has, however, argued against the validity of tradition and social mores in earlier myths already, and again brings the subject to the fore. The assertion appears to be that not all men are necessarily having affairs. However, in light of the socio-historical context and the subject matter of the book, there is equally as much chance that her suspicions are valid. Ovid humorously evokes the myth of Cephalus’ capture by Aurora (Hesiod, Theog. 984ff.). Ovid also alludes to much of his earlier advice to men. In earlier advice given to men, the amator is told that when no threat of a rival exists, then passion dwindles, whether the rival is real or imagined (AA II: 435-436). The advice continues that a lover should wish to provoke jealousy and aggression in his mistress. Ovid concludes with the desired reaction of the mistress: she should pale and ultimately faint hearing what it is she actually does not wish to know (AA II: 447-450). The suggestion that the lover would be better off not knowing (AA II: 555) was reiterated in the final

237 mythical digression of Book II. Rimmell (2006: 98) remarks on the parallels with Procris’ notably similar reaction.

In essence, we are to understand that there is value to be obtained from feigned dolor [grief] (AA III: 677), but the real emotion is dangerous (Gibson 2003: 360). This is one of the many contradictions within the Ars. Here we do not want real feelings to develop; yet the opposite is suggested in response to the lover’s feigned love in Book I (AA I: 615ff.), which Ovid hopes will develop into real passion. Similarly ironic is the contrast between puella and wife. It is not uncommon for wives to be advised to ignore their husbands’ sexual liaisons with prostitutes (for examples see Plautus, Men. 787ff.; Plutarch, Mor. 140b) (Gibson 2003: 361). However, in this context Ovid is giving to the puellae advice meant for wives. The puella is asked to manage her response as if it were not a real emotion, but part of the tools of her ars. However, in associating the skills of the puella with the subdued emotions of the matrona, Ovid introduces a secondary level to his argument in which he addresses real issues experienced by Augustan women. They played the precarious dual role of puella and wife themselves as a natural part of the social freedoms they experienced.

Ovid begins the story by first setting the scene (AA III: 687-694). We find ourselves near a sacred fountain on a slope of the purple-coloured Hymettus mountain. All around us there is green and luscious foliage and grass, symbolic of life (Brunelle 2015: 112). A warm, unthreatening wind blows through the scene (AA III: 693). Ovid describes the aroma and movement of the plethora of plants and trees, integrating the audience into a rich sensory experience. Brunelle (2015: 112) suggests this was reminiscent of the Roman bedroom, often scented with flowers, herbs and spices; there is thus maybe an amorous subtext. In the midst of the natural mountainside setting, we also have hints of a garden. The pine tree (AA III: 692) was often used ornamentally in gardens (Brunelle 2015: 113) and is described by Ovid as culta [cultivated]. The tree certainly seems to be out of place in such a natural environment. Gibson (2003: 364) raises the question whether anything can be naturally beautiful within the Ars III without cultus. Perhaps it serves to indicate that Procris did not belong in the wood, certainly not on that day. The adjective culta is reminiscent of the young ladies rushing to be seen at the theatre (AA I: 97), contrasted with the rustic

238 Romulean men and scene. We are again faced with the cum arte versus sine arte argument, even if masked by the beauty of the natural imagery.

The scene that follows is one of Cephalus resting under the shade of a tree, where he calls for aura to cool him (AA III: 695-698). We are told this is his preferred resting place (AA III: 695), which makes it more believable that Procris later knew exactly where to find him in her frantic state (Gibson 2003: 363). His words allow one to presume he speaks to a woman, but do not emphatically confirm that this is the case. Gibson (2003: 365) and Brunelle (2015: 113) both state that similar language is used when speaking of relieving the heat of physical exercise and that of passion. Cantare [to sing] might suggest the yearning for a lover, as when Corydon sings canto quae solitus, si quando armenta vocabat | Amphion Dircaeus in Actaeo Aracyntho [I sing what Amphion of Dicte usually did whenever he called his flocks on Actaean Aracynthus] (Virgil, Ecl. 2. 23-24; Gibson 2003: 365). Similarly, both the breeze and a woman might be taken into one’s breast. Mobilis, too, may describe the wind, but, according to Brunelle (2015: 113) it may also carry a sexual allusion. In this way Ovid creates enough innuendo to blur the lines of reality and perception in his depiction of the pastoral locus amoenus.

Cephalus’ words are overheard and the witness quickly reports to Procris word for word what he has heard (AA III: 699-700). In erotic poetry the informer was a familiar and unpopular character (Gibson 2003: 365-366). However, young women were traditionally associated with gossip, especially scandal (Bjelland Kartzow 2009: 91 & 206), and here the masculine aliquis [someone] (AA III: 699) is used to indicate the person who rushes to tell Procris the bad news. Ovid clearly undermines the gender stereotype associated with gossiping. Ovid evokes the previous mythical digression with this reference also. Just as the Sun told Vulcan of Venus and Mars, someone tells Procris that her husband is heard calling aura to cool him after the hunt. The word means breeze but is mistaken to be the name of the goddess of the wind, Aurora. Procris assumes that he is calling on the personification of the wind, the goddess, with whom she also assumes he is having an affair (AA III: 701). As we know from Hesiod’s account, Cephalus had, in fact, been abducted by Aurora and had been intimate with her, giving Procris good cause for concern. This traditional myth is conspicuously omitted. Ovid intentionally creates confusion between the wind and the

239 goddess with aura, which can very easily be associated with Aurora. Verducci (1985: 172) asserts that Ovid’s treatment of the Procris and Cephalus episode offers sufficient evidence that he was adequately aware of the boundaries of decorum in the use of personification and also when he trespassed on them. Gibson (2003: 365), on the other hand, states that the witness simply repeats Cephalus’ words to Procris without interpreting them. While this may be true, the simple fact that he tells her what he has heard insinuates that her informer suspected Cephalus of wrongdoing. Procris is not totally to blame for considering that Cephalus may be unfaithful. She is, however, responsible for her response to what she has heard, and therefore ultimately her fate, which is after all that which Ovid warns against.

Ovid describes Procris’ state at length (AA III: 702-706). Fainting, she is effectively left mute by the revelation of her lover’s infidelity (AA III: 702). As the opening verb of the line, excidit [she faints] (AA III: 702) has a resounding effect. Fainting is a conventional response to bad news, established since Homer (Il. XXII: 466-469, where Andromache sees Hector’s body being dragged before the wall of Troy; Od. IV: 703-704, where Penelope faints on hearing that the suitors plan to kill Telemachus). Earlier Ovid also considers such a reaction to infidelity evidence of the puella’s passion (AA II: 446ff.) but here there is no lover to witness and thus no benefit from the emotional response (Gibson 2003: 366). The reality of the emotion is contrasted with the contrived response. As is common in Ovid, the text is embellished with multiple similes for Procris’ complexion. These once again delay the narrative, and simultaneously maintain the luscious, pastoral impression of the opening lines (Gibson 2003: 366). Such expressive flora similes are often found in epic (Gibson 2003: 367), imparting an air of tragedy to the events. The effect on Procris (AA III: 703ff.) of her informer’s account is likened to that of winter on vine leaves after the harvest: both are left colourless and lifeless. The pale quinces continue this image, but are also known to be native to the Cretan town of Cydonia (Gibson 2003: 367). It is likely they serve as a subtle reminder of the alternative version of the myth in which Procris runs off to Minos, because Ovid also alludes to Pasiphae. The noun paelex is used both here (AA III: 701) and in the Pasiphae mythical digression (AA I: 320) for their rivals. Although typical to elegy, the term seems initially to have indicated a husband’s mistress (Gibson 2003: 366). While misplaced in the Pasiphae myth because she considers cows in this light, the term is equally and humorously incorrect here, because, even though Procris is a wife, no rival actually exists.

240 Equally comical is that both women go into a natural setting and away from the expected, sophisticated environment.

When Procris recovers from the initial shock, we are told she regains her animus [spirit] (AA III: 707). No mention is made of her mens, which only returns once she realises Cephalus is calling the wind and not the goddess (AA III: 730). Her reaction is characterised by the phrase nec mora [at once] (AA III: 709)—an existing narrative formula which here again accentuates the haste with which she suspects Cephalus. The phrase is found in elegy, but is especially frequent in the Aeneid (Gibson 2003: 368). Given that her reaction is like that of Dido (Aen. IV: 300-303), the phrase probably echoes Virgil. Driven by uncontrolled jealousy, Procris, too, rushes along the streets (AA III: 710), through a valley (AA III: 711), and finally into the woods (AA III: 712) in the hope of catching her husband with his lover. She is also likened to a Bacchant (AA III: 710ff.). This comparison is particularly significant here because Procris leaves her home and enters a place where women do not usually go and, like a Bacchant, her actions create disorder (Gibson 2003: 368). Pasiphae’s behaviour is also described as Bacchant-like (AA III: 311-312). The tragic tale of Pentheus (Euripides’ Bacchantes), mistaken for a wild animal and killed in a wild frenzy while intending to spy on the sexual activities of Bacchants, also comes to mind (Gibson 2003: 368).

As she enters the woods alone and quietly, quite the opposite of her frantic race to the woods, she hides nearby (AA III: 712). A respectable heroine is, however, expected to have companions (Homer, Il. XXII: 461; Gibson 2003: 368). Procris’ behaviour instead indicates that she acts with a definite purpose, perhaps even hints at the erotic liaisons of a mistress (Gibson 2003: 368). Ovid appears to adapt Tibullus’ description (I: 10.34) of the silent approach of death, ironically so, as this is just the fate that awaits her. The echo accentuates the danger she has placed herself in by entering a place where she is not expected.

Ovid then addresses Procris, a feature of narrative style which he has also used in the previous mythical digressions. This provides him with an opportunity to show off his skill, establishing his authority once again. The style is associated with lyric and Hellenistic narrative in general, and is quite frequently used in the works of the neoteric poets, with examples existing in both Catullus and Virgil (Gibson 2003: 369). One such example occurs in

241 the Aeneid (IV: 408-415) when Virgil addresses Dido, questioning her about her reaction to Aeneas’ departure. The association between the two women is drawn once again, reminding us of the imminent misfortune that awaits Procris. We are also reminded of Procris’ mental state: mentis inops. In addressing Procris, Ovid is able to show an insight into her thoughts, first desperately waiting for evidence of her greatest fears and then regretting that she might find out a truth she does not wish to know (AA III: 713ff.). Again Ovid delays the narrative, creating tension, until suddenly Cephalus enters the scene. Although Ovid does not indicate the end of his apostrophe, when Cephalus speaks the textual fracture breaks the author’s own address. Ovid’s apostrophe evokes the skilled storyteller we met in the Ulysses’ digression (AA II: 123ff.) as Ovid tells two stories simultaneously, one to his audience and one to Procris.

Cephalus repeats his invocation of aura (AA III: 728). Again the passage is littered with sexual innuendo. Rimmell (2006: 98) wonders if aura is perhaps a stutter, as advised in earlier advice (AA I: 598), or if the full name of the goddess is cut off by the wind to prevent the true word being heard. If this were an address to the goddess, then it might even be a lover’s nickname. Perhaps the earlier advice that a man hide his approach with ambiguity (AA I: 489-490) is applicable. Ovid has before used the wind as a metaphor for sexual pleasure (AA II: 725). The role of the wind is, however, unpredictable in the Ars. At times, it aids the lover and sometimes it acts against him. It threatens Icarus in flight; it delays Ulysses; and ultimately the wind costs Procris her life and Cephalus the woman he loves (Rimmell 2006: 103). The intended sexual entendre is further motivated when one considers that the grove was already breezy (AA III: 693-694) and so there was no need to call on the breeze. There is a clear play on the words which denote a breeze or wind. Ovid depicts the winds (zephyris auraque) as salubri [healthy] (AA III: 693) which is sadly ironic. While a breeze, and Zephyr in particular, was typical of idyllic landscapes, Ovid uses a full couplet (AA III: 693-694) for his description in anticipation of the crucial role aura will play in the next lines (Gibson 2003: 364). Cephalus’ initial apostrophe of the wind differs slightly from what Procris hears. He first says, “accipienda sinu, mobilis aura, veni” [“come to me, changeable breeze, being received in my breast”] (AA III: 698), and is overheard by someone. When Procris overhears him from her hiding place nearby, he says, “zephyri molles auraque ... ades” [“come gentle west-wind and breeze”] (AA III: 728). The pairing of

242 the zephyrs with aura reveals to Procris her mistake (Gibson 2003: 364), but also echoes the positive image of the warm wind blowing through the woods (AA III: 693-694), undermining any argument for the reference to Aurora.

Ovid states both in his Ars and in his Metamorphoses (VII: 665-863) that Cephalus invokes aura [the breeze]. In doing so, he replaces Nubes with Aurora, whose counterpart is Eos, the Greek goddess of the dawn. Homer makes frequent reference to the beautiful Eos, describing her in a saffron-coloured robe (Il. XIX: 1) and often referring to her as rosy- fingered (Il. XXIV: 776; Od. XII: 8). Early in Book III, Ovid invokes Aurora with the Homeric epithet roseae deae [rose-coloured goddess] (AA III: 84), referring to the version of the myth in which Cephalus was loved and abducted by the goddess (also Met. VII: 704). Cephalus is a character known for his infidelity (Rimmell 2006: 99) and Aurora is depicted as a goddess of great beauty. This increases the tension between the two versions of the myth within this mythical digression, because one version is mentioned and one is emphatically excluded.

However, Ovid argues that there is no goddess present. Over and above the definite allusion to the earlier myth, there are several signs of the gods in the surrounding landscape. In the pentameter of the first couplet of the digression we are told there is a fons sacer [sacred fountain] (AA III: 688) on the slopes of the Hymettus. In addition, Ovid lists a series of fragrant plants (AA III: 690), of which the laurus [laurel] and myrtus [myrtle] are sacred to Apollo and Venus respectively (Brunelle 2015: 112). They are often mentioned together (Virgil, Ecl. 2.54 & 7.62; Horace, Carm. III: 18-19 Brunelle 2015: 112), but here Ovid evokes the common phraseology to create a humorous tension. The insinuation might be that the goddess is, in fact, present on the mountainside. However, it could equally intimate that the symbol of a god is not the god, or both Venus and Apollo might well also be on the hillside. That Venus has commissioned Ovid to write the Ars and that Ovid compares himself to Apollo, remind us that there are no gods teaching this art, but only an experienced old amator. He and his patron, in the form of their ars, could not be on that hillside or things would have turned out better for Procris.

Despite the sexual entendre Ovid has intentionally created, he assures us there is no affair (AA III: 729). Just as Procris instinctively questions Cephalus’ fidelity, she naturally reacts

243 with joy at discovering there is no affair, bursting from her hiding place and running toward him (AA III: 730ff.). Cephalus’ equally instinctive reaction to the rustling of the bushes (AA III: 733ff.) is a mirror of his wife’s instinctive suspicions. Both mistake nature and man: Procris suspecting the wind of being her husband’s lover and Cephalus assuming the noise was made by an animal. Mistaking appearances for reality thus has cruel consequences for both characters. Cephalus throws his spear, killing Procris and discovering his mistake too late. In some respects, we could consider that they both discover their mistake too late. Had Procris not acted on her doubt, she would not have been there in the first place. Had Cephalus been certain of his target before throwing the spear, he would not have killed his wife. Thus Procris’ mistaken assumption and actions, first spying on Cephalus and then rushing at him, are punished by a Cephalus’ error when he mistakes her for a wild animal, killing her (Rimmell 2006: 142).

Even in describing her death, Ovid is able to maintain the sexual entendre. There is an insinuation of sexual union with in amplexus ire [to go into his embrace] (AA III: 732), often used in this sense (Lewis & Short 1879 s.v. amplexus IIA; Glare 1968 s.v. 1a; Gibson 2003: 374). Procris has run towards Cephalus with the intention of a lovers’ embrace—an image Ovid completes with the description of her death. We must ask whether Procris’ reaction is contrived or natural. She does not appear to play the suggested role of the female lover (AA III: 677). We are aware from the other versions of the myth that she was herself an avid hunter, and so she would have been fully aware of the danger her reaction posed, had she been in her right mind. Her earlier fainting spell was also not for effect - her beloved was not present and so it would have served no purpose in Ovid’s art. The implication is that both reactions were thus the natural and honest emotions of a woman out of her mind with heartache. Rimmell (2006: 102) asks why Cephalus then missed the opportunity of sexual union when Procris’ hysteria was indicative of her adoration, questioning whether Ovid’s advice is, in fact, incorrect or a trap for women. However, in Ovid Cephalus is not aware of Procris’ hysteria preceding the moment that she leaps from the bushes. He acts without thinking, and perhaps this reiterates Ovid’s advice to men also, to act within the bounds of the ars amatoria.

244 In Procris’ final moments Cephalus kisses her, absorbing into himself her final breath and her spirit (AA III: 745-746). The scene could be viewed in the light of a traditional elegiac revenge or reconciliation, which typically consisted of a violent union and a dramatic kiss (Rimmell 2006: 102). The myth certainly provides a climactic final digression so close to the end of the trilogy, but throughout the Ars we have seen Ovid mock the elegiac traditions and this myth is no exception. Cephalus’ loss is as great as is that of Procris. It is certainly not triumphant. Instead, we see two lovers who both lose when their love affair fails. In this moment Ovid accentuates that a love affair is experienced by two people; it is not a one- sided experience.

Rimmell (2006: 99) states that the myth constantly foregrounds a theme of mutual distrust, competition and misunderstanding between the lovers and that this is the reason for its climactic placement at the end of the Ars. There are no innocent parties. Both Procris and Cephalus are guilty of suspicion and infidelity and so both pay the price. This is true of the traditional versions of the myth. Ovid ensures that we suspect Cephalus of adultery and reminds us of his capture by Aurora. We are, however, not told about any of Procris’ indiscretions anywhere in all three books of the Ars. The ancient audience would have been aware of the myth in which she cured Minos and had coitus with him for the infamous hunting dog and spear (also in Ovid. Rem. 463), and of the myth that she accepted money to be intimate with her own husband, who had come to her in disguise as a merchant (Ovid, Met VII: 715-740; Hyginus, Fab. 189: 2-3). However, Ovid here intentionally omits all elements of her own affairs. As a result, Cephalus does not have any reason to suspect her, or to feel any anger toward her. As such, her death is truly an accident in Ovid. When Cephalus kills her, Ovid is able to pit a series of natural, uncontrolled reactions up against each other and also contrast them with the controlled actions of the Ars’ ideal lover.

The mistakes made by the lovers can be viewed as actions sine arte. In the earlier myths, we also saw that Ovid contrasted cum arte with sine arte. Despite his great skill as an inventor, Ovid informs us that it is Daedalus who is to blame for the conception of the Minotaur through misapplication of his skills (AA I: 289ff.). It is, however, also Daedalus who escapes Minos on wings (AA II: 21ff.). Similarly, Vulcan, for example, despite being a very skilled smith, lacks the art required to woo or keep Venus (AA II: 535ff.). It is in this way that Ovid

245 argues for the use of his ars. For example, had Vulcan simply followed Ovid’s advice of not exposing Venus’ love affair, he might not have fuelled the flame between her and Mars. Similarly, had Procris simply followed Ovid’s advice, she would still be alive. Procris, however, makes an additional mistake, based again on sudden reaction to her emotions, when she runs to Cephalus. Ovid depicts another emotional lapse of judgement, an action sine arte, which ensure the dire consequence of this interaction.

Procris’ death by Cephalus’ spear is not an invention of Ovid. It is rather ironic that the spear belonging to Cephalus was once possessed by Minos, one of Procris’ own lovers. Although also not an addition by Ovid, this connection is accentuated with the erotic circumstances of her death. The spear is a symbol of military prowess and hunting, thus easily associated as a phallic symbol indicating male superiority. In killing her, the spear’s penetration of her body can be likened to rape, seizing from Procris her beauty, her ability to be a willing lover, and ultimately her life. There is also, perhaps, a similarity with Cupid piercing hearts. Love controlled by Cupid is painful, but when ars is applied the lover can control Love. However, the final tragic ending of this myth acts also as a disclaimer for Ovid’s art - in essence he indicates there are no guarantees, but good odds, if the amator follows his lead.

Verducci (1985: 107) considers the placement of the myth at the end of Book III to be relevant. It is told near the end of the book, just prior to Ovid’s indication that he will soon conclude the work. The myth serves as a warning against the “lethal consequences of mistaking appearances for reality” (Verducci 1985: 107) just before the end of a work filled with numerous illusions. Rimmell (2006: 71), too, comments that this is an ideal concluding story for an instruction marked by contradictory stances and unbelievable advice42. If

42 For examples confirming this statement within the text refer to, among others, quis credere possit? [who could believe it?] (AA I: 79), and, vix mihi credetis, sed credite [you will hardly believe me, but believe (me)!] (AA III: 439).

246 nothing else is clear from the preceding chapters, we can be sure that in Ovid’s Ars every literary component employed is carefully considered and intentional. We must therefore keep in mind that the tale of Procris and Cephalus is more than just a warning about overreacting to an unconfirmed threat of adultery.

Ovid raises many questions with his final myth, but he also addresses them. The audience is reminded that this is a game of extreme skill and self-control, in which the stakes are very high, especially in light of the very real risk of death when conducting an extra-marital affair in Augustan Rome. There is clearly a final push away from violence as we see Cephalus’ own suffering at the loss of his beloved. Perhaps most important is that Ovid implies that communication, the primary element of persuasion, should be foremost in matters of the heart. Cephalus speaks to the breeze, and Procris to herself. Procris is also addressed by someone who tells her of the affair. Ovid, however, addresses both Procris and Cephalus, but they never speak to one another. Only at the end of the digression does Procris address Cephalus, once he has injured her. She expresses to him that he has pierced her heart with a spear now, but he has pierced it so many times before. The sexual entendre is unmistakable. Procris’ implies an uncontrollable amorous desire similar to what might have been inflicted by Cupid. The knowledge that he loves her is consolation in her dying moments. However, despite the mutual love shared by the couple, as is evident from Cephalus’ reaction, their relationship fails due to a lack of ars on the part of both parties.

Uxor (AA III: 732) is another notable deviation from tradition. Although we are aware that Procris is Cephalus’ wife, the use of the noun for wife was not used in epic, but mostly as the legal term in a marriage contract, with coniunx being the word used among poets of various genres (Lewis & Short 1879 and Hammon & Scullard 1970 s.v. uxor; Gibson 2003: 374). Although the word occurs quite commonly in elegy, that Ovid uses it in a myth is unusual (Gibson 2003: 374). Perhaps even more relevant is its use in a moment of desire, accentuating that the puella, who is the amatrix, is also a wife. This statement critically undermines the Augustan moral reforms and traditional arranged Roman marriage. In a passage of imagined goddesses and animals, Ovid foregrounds the reality that Procris is a wife. Ovid questions the role of the wife, the puella and the amatrix, making them all inextricably interconnected.

247

The secondary level of the argument that reconsiders the truth of the image and role of women in the Ars and society, is visible in many elements of this mythical digression. One is reminded of the much earlier statement that a woman should be allowed to feel the pain she has inflicted (AA I: 658). It might be considered as an argument that women should be punished for their deception—thus promoting the Ovidian declaration that Procris died by her own actions. Throughout the Ars, we see the puella referred to in terms of hunted prey. Her hunter is often an armed man, reminiscent of Cupid’s bow and arrow. In this myth Cephalus suffers as a result of the hunt, and Procris dies at peace. Ovid is likely implying, not that the puella deserves to be punished, but that she deserves to share in the ars and the amor too, as mutual lovers. The assertion is tongue-in-cheek.

Ovid also brings to the fore the role of women in the landscape of love in setting the romantic hillside scene (AA III: 687-694). Although Ovid follows the conventions of the pastoral locus amoenus, typical of epic (Brunelle 2015: 112), Verducci (1985: 172) asserts that it is turned locus vilis by a woman, mentis inops [lacking reason] (AA III: 684). Gibson (2003: 361) tells us that Ovid is the first source in which we find the phrase mentis inops, although Virgil (Aen. IV: 300-301) used a variation (inops animi) when describing Dido’s reaction to the departure of Aeneas. Like Dido, Procris’ behaviour is that of a frenzied Bacchant (bacchatur). Procris’ half-mad mind as she enters the wood (AA III: 713ff.) and her exclamatory monologue to Cephalus (AA III: 737ff.) are also reminiscent of Dido’s reactions. There is considerable emphasis placed on Procris’ later reactions, which contrast considerably with this idyllic natural scene, yet ironically we know from Ovid’s own words that hers is, in fact, quite a natural reaction. He himself struggles with containing his own jealousy, which has done him harm (AA II: 547-553), as it will Procris. Ironically, Procris’ fate also seems quite natural by this earlier logic. Traditionally, the setting of such a tranquil scene provides the background for a subsequent scene of violence or rape (Gibson 2003: 362). This in turn also amplifies the violence that follows (Brunelle 2015: 112). Ovid creates heightened angst with his warning that Procris’ story is an exemplum ... non leve [not-trivial example] (AA III: 686), which is followed by the scenic imagery which in turn slows the narrative (Gibson 2003: 362) and enhances the threat which lies ahead.

248 The similarities between this scene and the opening lines of the rape of the Sabine women myth are also worth noting. Similar colour palettes are used and the fragrances enhanced, such as purpureos [purple/crimson] (AA III: 687) of the flowers imbuing their shade onto the slope of Hymettus and the crimson saffron sprayed onto the stage (AA I: 104). In this way Ovid contrasts the natural, rustic setting with the sophisticated modern Rome and the opportunities it offers. Ovid mirrors much of the scenery from the earlier myth of the rape of the Sabine women, even using some of the same vocabulary. For example, humus [ground] (AA I: 112, AA III: 688) and caespes [turf/grassy ground] (AA I: 107, AA III: 688). These similarities do not end with the setting of the scene itself, but litter the entire story of Procris and Cephalus. For example, sinu [lap/breast] (AA I: 128), which describes the actual moment of the rape of the Sabines, taken into the laps of their captors, is repeated here more than once. It is first used when Cephalus calls to aura to enter his breast and relieve his heat (AA III: 698). The second use of the word describes the fast beating of Procris’ heart in her breast as she sees the indentation of the grass where Cephalus normally lies (AA III: 722). It is used once more to describe Cephalus’ embrace as he holds his dying wife in his arms (AA III: 743). Once the word is used in relation to aura, and twice in relation to Procris. Mentis inops [lacking rational thought] (AA III: 684) associates Procris’ mental state with that of the sine mente [without mind] (AA I: 122) Sabines. Ovid also asks what went on in her mind (AA III: 713) as she hid in the woods. This heightens the lack of logic and control in the back-and-forth questions rushing through her mind as she awaits Cephalus’ appearance. The earlier lack of reason distinctly contrasts the later return of Procris’ senses (AA III: 730) when she discovers her love has not been betrayed. The stories of the Sabine women and Procris are in some respect quite similar. In both instances the women experience intense emotion in response to (real or assumed) treacherous male behaviour. Both myths also end in a manner which constitutes a sine lege action, in the form of rape and impalement respectively. In light of these similarities Ovid appears to follow the literary tradition, beginning and concluding his work with the same theme or statement. In this case it is his argument which has come full circle.

Another relevant aspect in this myth, relatable to the numerous occurrences in the other mythical digressions, is the prevalence of the senses of hearing and sight. First, Cephalus is overheard calling to aura by someone who relates what he has heard to Procris. Without

249 witnessing Cephalus herself, she has only the repeated words to guide her. Ovid tells Procris she entered the woods so that she might discover who the mistress is, and see the indiscretion tuis oculis [with your own eyes] (AA III: 716). When Procris later sees him and then hears his actual words, she discovers her erroneous assumption. Cephalus, however, hears her movement in the bushes before seeing her, and the consequence is disastrous. In her monologue she requests that Cephalus close her eyes with his hands (AA III: 742). Closing the eyes of the deceased was part of the Roman funerary rights, which Ovid evokes here in a premonitory manner (Brunelle 2015: 118). Ovid also perhaps evokes Achilles, with his specific reference to the hands of Cephalus. There is significant focus on how Achilles uses his hands in the concluding myth of Book I (AA I: 681ff.) which summarised Ovid’s advice for catching the puella. The use of lumina (AA III: 742) for eyes occurs also in the myth of Mars and Venus (AA II: 578). Since Ovid uses oculis earlier in this myth, the use of lumina is clearly intentional. It is likely an evocation of the previous mythical digression, where sight was so prevalent. As the concluding mythical digression for Book II (AA II: 561), the myth consolidates the advice given for keeping the puella. Ovid thus evokes these myths as an indication that with the current myth he is doing the same thing, illustrating the consolidated advice for the female.

As in earlier passages, Ovid contrasts the conventional lover’s characteristics with those with which he endows his own amator, undermining elegiac tradition on the tertiary level of his argument. While at times he should feign illness or heartache, Ovid also instructs his lover that there is a clear set of guidelines to adhere to so that he might apply this technique correctly. Ovid in this way undermines the wretched lover depicted in other elegy. This is a view also supported by Verducci. She (1985: 173) calls Cephalus’ killing of Procris his “pathetic mistake”. She explains that, although the passage “has moments of pathos and true dolor incongruous with the Ars Amatoria, it also seems to incorporate a witty reminder of the dangers in a too liberal indulgence of the pathetic fallacy”. Despite the mistakes made by Procris in bringing about her fate, the depiction of Cephalus is similarly quite pitiable, making him less than worthy of fulfilling the status of Ovid’s amator. This role is reserved for one who has acquired the skills Ovid has taught.

250 The myth ends quite abruptly, but rather symbolically, as Cephalus takes Procris’ spirit into himself with a kiss. The soul was believed to leave the body when the last breath was taken. In essence, Ovid unites Procris and Cephalus even in death. The audience is returned to the playful energy of Ovid and the Ars through naval imagery. Some straightforward advice for women follows in a fast-paced guideline.

Conclusion

Ovid clearly draws a number of the elements from Pherecydes. Among the aspects that differ is the conspicuous use of the goddess Aurora, as in Hesiod’s earlier Theogony, rather than Nubes. In Ovid’s version, Cephalus is also innocent of any adulterous wrong doing, innocently calling for the wind to cool him. Instead, Procris loses her life because she jumped to the incorrect conclusion that her husband was having an affair in reaction to her own jealousy.

On a primary level Ovid argues that the puella should not rush to believe that her lover has a mistress, and certainly should not act hastily on those assumptions. Someone tells Procris that he has heard Cephalus calling to Aura in the woods, much like the Sun who told Vulcan about Mars and Venus. In this case the affair is imagined, because of the interference of a third party, implying it plays an equally important role in bringing about the events that follow. The audience is aware of the version of the myth in which Cephalus’ affair is not a figment of Procris’ imagination, as it is mentioned in the beginning of the book (AA III: 84). This, coupled with the similarity of the mistresses’ names in both versions (aura and Aurora), generates an unmistakable tension between reality and delusion. In Ovid’s retelling of the myth Cephalus is not having an affair, but calling to the wind; and in the traditional myth he had been abducted by Aurora. Procris is herself innocent of any indiscretions, despite the allusions to the versions of the traditional myth in which she obtains Laelaps and the very spear which kills her. Ovid plays on the mistaken assumption that aura is Aurora, to put into question the truth of the traditional versions of the myth.

251 On a secondary level, Ovid questions the archetypal views of male and female. He evokes numerous previous mythical digressions and their advice. For example, the scene of the tragic death of Procris is likened to that of the rape of the Sabine women, as well as the bucolic setting in which Pasiphae attempts to seduce the bull. In this way we are reminded that Procris is not only a willing puella, but her emotions are accentuated. The Sun is evoked when someone tells Procris of Cephalus’ presumed affair, evoking Ovid’s chastisement of the Sun. The informer is clearly male, undermining the association of gossiping with women. Ovid simultaneously allocates a portion of guilt to this third party, decreasing the fault of Procris. Her elegiac response to the news is notable. First Procris faints and then she runs into the woods, much like a Bacchant. The implication is that she does not belong there. This is, however, undermined by the knowledge that she was herself a hunter and that the Bacchants conducted their festivals in the woods. In addition, in setting the scene, Ovid has included garden plants and even the adjective cultus implying the woods were not as wild and inappropriate as the audience presumes. Procris is also a wife, not a mistress. Ovid brings into question the traditional marriage view in his indication of Procris’ relief and passionate reaction when she learns the affair is not real. The implication is that wives, too, can be lovers of their husbands. This not only proposes a restructure of male-female erotic liaisons. It undermines the traditional Roman marriage and patriarchal family structure.

On a tertiary level Ovid once again undermines elegiac tradition. Procris’ emotions are typical of those of the elegiac puella, but the on-looking amator is missing, so there is no need to faint or react dramatically, implying the sadness is real. Similarly, in the moments preceding her death, Cephalus expresses sincere loss, crying and taking her soul into his own body with one last kiss. Ovid, in essence, ridicules feigned elegiac behaviour. The fact that the failed love affair results in death further stresses a suggestion to move away from elegiac tradition. Ovid instead proposes communication as seduction. He speaks to both lovers, but only in the final scene does Procris speak to Cephalus, by which time it is too late.

The message of the final and concluding myth of the Ars Amatoria is ultimately quite simple: The protagonists must be both taken in by the artistry and aware of the illusions to reach the desired victorious end of the game being played in order to succeed.

252

SECTION C – CONCLUSION

Chapter 15 Conclusion

254 Problem Statement and Method

Ovid’s Ars Amatoria is a three-book manual teaching the art of love. Books I and II address the amator, teaching him where and how to meet a puella (AA I) and keep her (AA II). Book III addresses the puella, or amatrix, giving her advice that aligns with that given to the amator. Ovid makes extensive use of mythical exempla throughout the work. Most myths are alluded to or mentioned quite briefly, but nine are told more comprehensively, forming mythical digressions. Therefore, the problem which this thesis addresses is the manner in which Ovid uses myth to support his argument. Two primary aspects have been considered: (i) The argument of Ovid and (ii) the way in which myths function in this argument, specifically with reference to the way in which Ovid restructures male-female amorous relationships. A review of secondary literature shows that this has been a neglected area of research and that, to date, no such systematic study has been undertaken.

The method used to address the problem statement was to work from the general to the specific. Firstly, the socio-historical context in which Ovid wrote his books was determined, including his biography, the Leges Iuliae of Augustus, the audience for which Ovid wrote, and the way in which his ideas were circulated. Secondly, the literary context within which the Ars Amatoria functioned was established. Working definitions of the concepts of myth and rape were supplied. The genre of Roman love elegy was explored, as well as that of didactic poetry, since Ovid drew on both to create a new genre of erotodidactic poetry. Thirdly, the mythical digressions were identified. Finally, each mythical digression was analysed by establishing its traditional content (an intertextual endeavour) and perspective compared with Ovid’s retelling of each myth which would indicate his stance and viewpoint. In this intratextual undertaking, the normal tools of philological analyses were applied, such as grammar and syntax, the use of imagery, and literary composition. These were then interpreted within their extratextual contexts, namely the Leges Iuliae, as well as the literary genre of Roman love elegy.

255 Socio-Historical and Literary Context

Ovid’s biography assisted us in arriving at a greater understanding of the Ars Amatoria. He was not interested in a military career and therefore focused more on the concept of being a soldier of love, and a poet. Having been married three times and divorced twice before the age of thirty, his experience of traditional marriage shaped his views on male-female relationships. His first marriage was arranged by his parents and it failed. His second marriage ended when his wife left him. His third marriage was fulfilling and lasted until he died. This did not preclude him from having affairs, typical of the leisurely lifestyle of the elite of his time. He wrote the Ars Amatoria while in his forties. His vast knowledge of myths is exhibited in his Metamorphoses and his mastery of the retelling of these myths is illustrated in the Ars Amatoria. Furthermore, he was skilled in Roman love elegy.

The Leges Iuliae were clearly intended to regulate marriage of the upper classes in order to maintain the social fabric of the Roman Empire. Adultery was prohibited, but was practised discretely within the upper classes, even by the Emperor Augustus himself. Ovid therefore pretends that his advice is aimed at the lower classes, the poor, in order to appear not to be in opposition to and in contravention of the Leges Iuliae. In effect, however, his audience was the young and the restless, males and females, of the upper classes who accepted the existence of extra-marital affairs. The Ars Amatoria probably came into existence at readings (recitationes) or dinners attended by members of the patrician classes. His books were later published for a wider audience.

In his Ars Amatoria, Ovid combined features of epic, love elegy and didactic poetry to create a new genre of erotodidactic poetry. Myth is defined as a story which involves the activities of heroes, that is, men and women with at least one divine parent. Myths reflect attempts to come to terms with the external (social) and internal (psychological) environment of human beings. In both myth and elegy, there are extensive references to sexual violence. Rape is defined as an act of sexual violence and control (mostly by a male), perpetuated through a sexual transgression with a non-consenting victim (mostly a female). These references are part and parcel of the stories available to Ovid to make his point. It was

256 therefore not uncritically accepted that, where Ovid retold these stories, he agreed with their perspectives, including that women would enjoy rape and violence and that their opposition to these is feigned.

Analyses of Mythical Digressions

The following nine mythical digressions were identified:

1. The rape of the Sabine women (AA I: 101-134) 2. Pasiphae and the bull (AA I: 289-326) 3. Ariadne and Bacchus (AA I: 525-564) 4. Deidamia and Achilles (AA I: 664-718) 5. Daedalus and Icarus (AA II: 21-98) 6. Ulysses and Calypso (AA II: 99-144) 7. Menelaus and Helen (AA II: 337-372) 8. Mars and Venus caught by Vulcan in flagrante delicto (AA II: 535-600) 9. Procris and Cephalus (AA III: 667-746)

The results of the analysis of these myths are tabulated below:

257 Myth Ovid’s Reworking of Traditional Argument Myths Primary Secondary Tertiary Book I The rape of the The events of the myth are There are many places to Do not use violence, force Ovid establishes his own Sabine women relocated from the circus to the meet a puella, but the or rape, that is sine lege and authority as a didactic AA I: 101-134 theatre. number of women who sine arte, since the puella is mythographer. The Romuleans employ words of frequent the theatre willing and can be endearment to soothe their new makes it the most ideal persuaded by an artful brides. location. The myth acts as approach. Ovid accentuates the female a charter myth. reaction to the men’s onslaught to highlight the negative effects of violence. Romulus is credited with being the founder for lewd behaviour at theatre, rather than the foundation of Rome. Pasiphae and the The curse is replaced by lust, Women are open to extra- When women behave like Ovid establishes his own bull implying that desire is a natural marital affairs; they too men, the hunters, it is authority as a didactic AA I: 289-326 part of the female psyche. experience desire and are because of a lack of art on mythographer.

258 Myth Ovid’s Reworking of Traditional Argument Myths Primary Secondary Tertiary Pasiphae’s jealousy is accentuated willing lovers. The myth the men’s part, and the by her perception of the heifers as addresses the female women’s own misplaced her competition. psyche. The argument skill. Modern women can Ovid connects the Pasiphae myth moves a maiore ad actually control their with nine other mythical examples minorem. emotions. A male of unrequited female desire with protagonist with a new dire consequences. approach is required for success, because marriage is not fulfilling, and so an outlet is needed for female desire also. Ariadne and The traditional violence of the Practice restraint in your Feigning unwillingness is Ovid undermines the Bacchus procession is replaced with conduct in an amorous part of the social elegiac perspective that AA I: 525-564 humour. liaison. Do not employ conditioning of female women can be Ovid speaks of a marriage rather trickery and violence. modesty. controlled by violence. than rape. The myth is a charter He introduces the role of Bacchus is in control of himself and myth, questioning the words in seduction, his emotions. association of a lack of placing persuasion

259 Myth Ovid’s Reworking of Traditional Argument Myths Primary Secondary Tertiary control with erotic before any physical passion. action. Ovid also establishes his authority as the Apollo of the Ars Amatoria.

Deidamia and Achilles is depicted as weaving, Resistance is often Be a soldier of love: Marriage should be Achilles creating a feminine association of feigned. Appropriate roles persuasion may include based on love. AA I: 664-718 Achilles to accentuate the anima and actions apply for both deception, but not violence. aspect of the male. partners—just as Achilles Achilles dressed as a The location of the ‘rape’ is pretended to be a woman, women for the love of a Deidamia’s bedroom, not in the so Deidamia pretended to woman. Love is a worthier woods, and she isn’t screaming. be raped. This myth acts pursuit than war. If she This implies that she is a willing as a charter myth, and is truly resists your attempts partner. used as an exemplum for at seduction, step back and male behaviour. pretend to be her friend— companionship works.

260 Myth Ovid’s Reworking of Traditional Argument Myths Primary Secondary Tertiary Book II Daedalus and Ovid chooses the lesser known Keeping the girl requires Don’t get swept up in the The poet is equated with Icarus version that says Minos found out art, skill, and discipline; excitement of a passionate the inventor, AA II: 21-98 about Daedalus role in Pasiphae’s not only moments of affair. There is more establishing Ovid’s indiscretion. Theseus’ escape is not excitement. fulfilment in a long-term authority as a didactic cited as the reason for Daedalus’ Daedalus is not controlled relationship. mythographer. He imprisonment. by his emotions—he motivates the lover to Daedalus’ emotions are remains in control. The follow his advice as only accentuated. myth is chartering a long- then can he succeed in term relationship in keeping the girl. opposition to one based Anything else will result on short term pleasure. in failure.

Ulysses and Calypso does not play the Gifts of the mind Repeat your words of Elegiac and social gender Calypso traditional role of captor, nor does supersede beauty. Be persuasion regularly to roles are undermined, AA II: 99-144 she use magic or potions. Ulysses’ learned to be charming as maintain a long-term such as that of the confinement does not appear to be brute force does not relationship. conniving, evil woman. forced, but rather he stays because belong in romance, and The amator’s strategy is Ovid suggests mutual

261 Myth Ovid’s Reworking of Traditional Argument Myths Primary Secondary Tertiary he is persuaded by Calypso. neither do magic potions. redefined. Despite similar seduction and desire. Ulysses is depicted as the amator. Practice duality on many advice, there is a distinct Traditional elegy falls In Homer’s Odysseus Ulysses tells levels—learn two difference from Book I, short because it isn’t many stories, however, not to languages, develop skills because the girl has already focused on mutual Calypso, as in the Ars. of the mind and body. This been wooed; now that duties to maintain the charter myth undermines flame must remain alight. affair. the importance of physical Similarly, Ovid underpins beauty, arguing that to the consequences for keep the girl requires a marriage and love affairs keen mind. due to the male preoccupation with fulfilling his political duty.

Menelaus and The blame is shifted from Helen to To keep the girl be there Ovid undermines traditional The myth undermines Helen Menelaus. constantly initially so that marriage for its lack of violence and jealousy. AA II: 337-372 Ovid chooses the perspective that you develop an fulfilment. This results in a Much like Pasiphae’s, tells Helen was a willing puella. attachment. Take short need to look outside of Menelaus’ reaction is

262 Myth Ovid’s Reworking of Traditional Argument Myths Primary Secondary Tertiary Paris is depicted as the ideal absences thereafter, marriage. In essence it excessive and amator. allowing her to miss you, becomes the husband’s unreasonable. Violence but do not stay away for fault when his wife strays, is not about love, but too long. This myth acts as implying that ensuring a male pride. The honour a charter myth and fulfilling marriage is part of and shame code of functions as an exemplum. his role. Ovid thus behaviour amongst men undermines the fulfilment is deconstructed. of one’s duties to the state through marriage.

Mars and Venus Ovid accentuates Venus’ emotions Restrain your jealousy: Ovid promotes the Traditional marriage is exposed by Vulcan of painful betrayal as a Respect her freedom. Do appropriate use of skill. undermined for pairing AA II: 535-600 consequence of her shaming. not expose her affairs Vulcan uses an partners not suited to He reinterprets the moral of the because she will just inappropriate skill for the each other. myth. Rather than using it as a continue them in the open task at hand, ending his Ovid plays on the warning against affairs, Ovid says and you will gain nothing. wife’s affair. conventional disdain for they carry on their affair without This myth explores the the informer to shame as a result. female psyche, but also challenge marriage laws,

263 Myth Ovid’s Reworking of Traditional Argument Myths Primary Secondary Tertiary acts as a charter for which perpetuate controlling jealousy in a unhappy partnerships. relationship. An element Ovid simultaneously of gender equality appears destabilises the honour- in the argument. shame code.

Book III Procris and Ovid excludes but alludes to both Don’t overreact to Marriage is criticised for the Ovid criticises the elegiac Cephalus Procris and Cephalus’ previous jealousy, whether it is real honour and shame culture. tradition. Procris’ AA III: 667-746 affairs. or imagined. This myth The puella and matrona are emotions are not elegiac, The perspective of traditional myth acts as a charter for likened, bringing into but real—witnessed only also changed. It warned against avoiding uncontrolled question traditional female by the omniscient third adultery, but Ovid warns against jealousy and behaviour, roles. Ovid also argues that person narrator. Ovid jealousy. which spells disaster. It affairs in the past should be also highlights the Traditionally Procris hunted with also examines the female forgotten, and not allowed effects of the advice of Cephalus, but she isn’t depicted as psyche. The argument to influence the present. Book I to pretend you a hunter. moves a maiore ad are having an affair, Cephalus’ innocence is clarified minorem. arguing against trickery

264 Myth Ovid’s Reworking of Traditional Argument Myths Primary Secondary Tertiary with regard to an affair with in the long term. This Aurora. bring to the fore again the importance of the appropriate use of skill— do not test the puella. The danger of listening to informants appears again, proposing communication between the lovers instead.

265 Conclusion

These results indicate that Ovid utilised myths mainly to charter male-female relationships, arguing sometimes a maiore ad minorem, and at other times simply using these myths as exempla for successful behaviour.

He criticises traditional marriage because it was arranged to create political ties and offspring who could fulfil roles within the Roman Empire. As a result, it brought together two ill-suited people. Although he pretends to address the lower classes, it is clear that Ovid addresses the upper classes, who would have been affected by the Leges Iuliae. The typical matrona was expected to be satisfied with her role of service to the pater familias. He, in turn, was supposed to arrange his life as a servant and guardian of the virtues required by the state. Ovid criticises the pater familias’ failure to fulfil his responsibility. His failure is equally relevant in the moral sphere as is the matrona’s dissatisfaction and search for a fulfilling relationship. Ovid therefore legitimises affairs outside of the bounds of marriage. We know they occurred, because the law was implemented and because we have records confirming that both Julias were exiled. Ovid argues that these affairs should be conducted on the basis of mutual fulfilment, made up not only of erotic pleasure, but also that of the mind and agreeable company.

Ovid also addresses the honour- and shame-culture of male-female relationships, visibly present in marriage and myth. The behaviour’s function was to maintain female subservience through male and female shame. Ovid argues against entrapment, indicating that the appropriate use of skill should be applied to build a relationship based on real feelings of attachment.

Ovid destabilised typical views embedded in social beliefs pertaining to male-female relationships, including extra-marital affairs:

266 (i) Women needed to be deceived and controlled by men, and the use of violence was needed. Ovid, however, argues for deception in the form of persuasion through the artful use of words, as opposed to trickery. (ii) Women liked to be raped. Ovid denies this on every level of his use of the myths. He argues that rape is sine lege and sine arte. (iii) Desire in women was abnormal and excessive and therefore needed to be under male control. Ovid argues that women experience desire on both an erotic level and on a more general level of fulfilment. Women hide their desire behind modesty, and Ovid’s amator should be the protagonist who is able to distinguish this desire from true disinterest. (iv) The amator possessed physical beauty, prowess and forcefulness. Ovid suggests, instead, the ideals of the militia amantis: the use of words, story-telling, understanding of the female psyche, effort and repetition of his seduction to maintain a relationship. He moves away from uncontrolled passion, be it that of lust or jealousy, arguing that it is harmful to more than just the puellae. In turn, he promotes control and art, avoiding the pursuit of jealousy and entrapment. The Ovidian amator wins over the puella he desires, igniting in her a similar passion, and employs the hard, repetitive work required to maintain their love affair. (v) Potions could be used to awaken and maintain amorous relationships. Ovid opposes potions and magic spells, replacing them with the skilled art of seduction.

The carrier of these outdated values would have been elegy. It perpetuates the views that women are ruled by their emotions, which, if not kept in check by a dominant male, would become frenzied. Similarly, it promotes the use of violence to control women. Ovid, however, reasons that women can control their emotions, but in the role of protagonist they lack the required skill. Ovid openly criticises the traditions of the elegiac genre, opting for a more transformative erotodidactic poetry.

267 He builds his own image as a didactic mythographer by changing the myths or by using an element of the traditional myth in an eclectic fashion to promote his own perspective. The myths are used to establish his own authority in matters of the heart, and his ideal of the male as amator. Ovid has been unfairly judged as being a promoter of illicit affairs, but he was actually paving the way for enlightened 21st century views of male-female relationships, as being based upon mutual fulfilment on a bodily and intellectual level, as well as the acceptance of these relationships as basically and possibly transitory.

268

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284 Images

Cover image Mars and Venus Wall Painting from the House of Mars and Venus (Casa De Marte E Venere), Pompeii. Accessed at https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=10403841 on 13 August 2017, photographic repetition of public domain work of art created by Olivierw on 19 July 2009.

Ovid Statue image “Statuia lui Ovidiu” by Ettore Ferrari Accessed at http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Statuia_lui_Ovidiu.jpg#/media/File:Stat uia_lui_Ovidiu.jpg on 5 April 2017, licensed under CC BY-SA 3.0 ro via Wikimedia Commons.

Sabine Coin image L. TITURIUS L.F. SABINUS AR Denarius struck at Rome, 89 BCE. Accessed at https://www.cointalk.com/threads/rape-of-the-sabine-women.228808/ on 29 January 2014.

Bacchus Vase Painting image K12.2B Procession of Dionysos Paestan Red Figure Vase dated circa 370-360 BCE Accessed at http://www.theoi.com/Gallery/K12.2B.html on 4 March 2017.

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