Met Prac Crit

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Apollo and Daphne

- . Apollo is initially portrayed as displaying epic heroism, defeating the monstrous Python with tremendous martial ability (hunc deus arcitenens, numquam letalibus armis ante nisi in dammis capreisque fugacibus usus, mille gravem telis exhausta paene pharetra perdidit effuso per vulnera nigra veneno). However, in a moment of arrogance, Apollo tries to demand that Cupid observe a distinction between their two spheres, heroic glory (epic) and amatory escapades (elegy). However, Cupid reasserts his dominance over Apollo and Ovid's poetic subject matter by besting the god at his own game, bowmanship, and then forcing the defeated god to play the role of the elegiac lover. - This is a scene that dedicated readers of Ovid would have found familiar, as it echoes the proem of Amores in which Ovid professes that he had planned to write epic poetry, but Cupid had appeared and snatched a foot from his metre and compelled him to write love elegy instead (par erat inferior versus—risisse Cupido dicitur atque unum surripuisse pedem). This highly self-conscious embedding of the dramatic intervention of Cupid into the narrative of Metamorphoses in order to signal the generic affiliations of the poem points to a deliberate evocation of the elegiac genre in order to subvert the epic tradition. - The remainder of the episode features a collection of familiar elegiac tropes; a dura puella who is unwilling to give into the advances of her lover, unsuccessful attempts at blanditiae from the lover, a fixation with physical beauty and the inability to cure himself of his love. - Cupid, although a symbol of love and elegiac poetry, is a vengeful deity, not unlike Juno In the Aeneid, with his anger towards Apollo being described as saeva Cupidinis ira. This is certainly a deliberate echo of the first lines of the Aeneid where the anger of Juno (saevae...Iunonis...iram) is identified as a major plot point and thus evokes a very epic anger in an otherwise elegiac deity. Similarly when Apollo falls in love with Daphne at first sight, a common trope of elegiac poetry, he is compared to a bush which has suddenly caught fire. This simile, drawn from the natural world, is reminiscent of Homer who also frequently drew on the natural world in order to find material for their similes and of Virgil who also used this simile in Georgics thereby locating this elegiac trope in a very epic tradition. - . Similarly although Apollo initially tries to win Daphne over with blanditia, he gives up on this method in favour of pursuing her like a hound pursues as hare. This is another simile with a long epic pedigree and it features in Homer and Virgil in order to describe the final pursuits of Hector and Turnus respectively. By reapplying this traditionally epic simile in a highly erotic and typically elegiac context, Ovid is subverting the epic tradition by eroticizing it and showing that a carmen can be both perpetuum and deductum. There cease to be individual elements borrowed from different genres and instead these elements now come together to create a truly nova telling of this particular story. - Although Apollo's love for Daphne strikes him unwittingly and affects him, at first, much as love subdues the elegiac lover, it turns into rapist pursuit when politeness and courtly ardor prove useless. Transformed into a virtual beast or bird of prey, the god is about to seize the nymph and gratify his lust when her prayer to her parents produces her metamorphosis, which permits at least escape from sexual violation - However, much as the meaning of this transformation has been debated, no reader construes it as theodicy. The nymph has been utterly innocent—let us not argue that virginity should be viewed as some sort of moral fault—, and her freedom has been attacked, her body reduced to wood and branches, and that new form possessed by her would-be rapist. Apollo suffers no punishment for the pain he has caused Daphne and her family: mildly frustrated in his lust, he still ends up as Daphne's possessor. Thus, this first story of divine love demonstrates that nymphs were always more endanged by amoral gods, that gods can commit crimes with impunity, and do, and that metamorphoses have little or nothing to do with morality and justice. The second story makes these points even more sharply, because it behind metamorphosis.

Death of Achilles

- Focus on death, not achievements - unepic

Transformation of Picus and Canens

- Focus on unepic elements - Nova!

Peleus and Thetis

- For example, the opening of the passage, in which Ovid sets the scene for the rape, is reminiscent of a number of loci amoeni in the poem, such as Salmacis' pools or the river where Arethusa goes to bathe - but in particular, of the pools in which Diana is bathing when Actaeon happens across her in Book 1. First of all, the poet describes the general region where the goddesses are to be found: in Diana's case, the forest region of Gargaphie (3.156), and in Thetis', the coast of Thessaly (11.229), each equally suited to the attributes and characteristics of each goddess. We then zoom in, getting a closer look at the pools and grottos themselves. Interestingly, in both episodes, the narrator suggests that these places are so beautiful that they cannot possibly have occurred naturally: compare "but Nature by her own cunning had imitated art", (3.158-9) with est specus in medio, natura factus an arte/ambiguum, magis arte tamen, "there is a grotto in this grove, whether made by nature or art one may not surely say, but rather by art" (11.235-6). This observation seems particularly self-aware, as the narrator highlights the presence of an unseen guiding force, shaping both geographical location and the events that take place there. -Finally, the narrator knowingly informs the reader that each of these stunningly beautiful locations are well-known to be favoured by their respective goddesses: "here the goddess of the wild woods, when weary with the chase, was wont to bathe her maiden limbs in the crystal water" (3.163-5), and quo saepe venire frenato Delphine sedens, Theti, nuda solebas, "to which you often came naked, Thetis, riding your bridled dolphin" (11.236-7). The point in highlighting this similarity, of course, is that it sets up the reader for the familiar narrative of outraged goddess satisfying her ira by enacting a drastic and often cruel transformation upon her attacker, just like in the Diana and Actaeon story in Book 3. - However, this episode differs in a number of important ways: to understand its significance compared to other instances of shape-changing in the rest of the Metamorphoses, we must take into account several factors, including divinity, gender, and the permanence and purpose of the transformation. Obviously, this is not the first time that we have seen a metamorphosis in the poem; by the time we reach Book 11 we have seen close to one hundred transformations of shape, including more than one transformation into volucris, "a bird", (11.245) and gravis arbor, "a sturdy tree" (11.244), the two shapes that Thetis takes first. However, for the most part, the victims of these transformations have been exclusively mortals: Scylla and her father are among those turned into birds (Book 8), while Daphne and Myrrha both become trees (Books 1 and 10 respectively). This passage then is one of the rare few episodes in which we see a goddess change her shape. - Male gods, in contrast, change their shape regularly: Arachne's tapestry at the beginning of Book 6 in particular includes a list of the various transformations affected by Jupiter and Neptune, among others. Moreover, when they do transform, male deities do so in their pursuit of sexual encounters with mortals: there is a clear sense of degradation in their need to transform. In this passage, however, Thetis' transformations are explicitly stated to be a well-known part of her nature: her shape-changing is solitas, "accustomed" (11.242), both to her and to the reader familiar with the story. This is why, perhaps, there is no stigma - or at least no humour - attached to her metamorphosis, though it could also be due to the circumstances under which they take place: of all the goddesses who are caught in a vulnerable state by trespassing mortals, Thetis is the only one who seems to be in real danger. While Actaeon is given no real time to react to the sight of Diana bathing, Peleus acts immediately and purposefully. Indeed, his strategy is highly reminiscent of those of male gods attempting to persuade female victims, first attempting to convince her precibus, "with prayers", (11.239), and when that fails, vim parat, "he prepared to force her" (11.240). Her only resort, since like her fellow goddesses, she repugnas, "refuses" him despite his efforts (11.239), is to change her shape. - This is not an unfamiliar cause for metamorphosis in the poem, particularly female metamorphosis; Daphne and Arethusa for example both ask for help to escape rape, which in turn results in some kind of transformation. However, what sets Thetis apart is that as a goddess she is able to transform at will, and that she is one of the only female characters in the poem who is able to change multiple times; moreover, she is not only able to take on centum mentita figuras, "a hundred lying forms" (11.253) in quick succession, but crucially, to quod fuit ante reformet, "take again the form she had at first" (11.254). Perhaps the only comparable passage in the Metamorphoses is the story of the daughter of Erysichthon at the end of Book 8, who is transformed by Neptune - another sea deity, interestingly - into a man and back again to avoid slavery. This precedent (which is a rare success story in a poem plagued with ambiguous endings when it comes to female characters attempting to avoid rape), would perhaps give us some hope that Thetis, a powerful goddess in her own right, might be able to likewise escape - a hope dashed by the intervention of Proteus. -This literal deus ex machina is nothing so much as the voice of narrative and artistic fate: it is an inescapable fact of this story that we already know how it must end. Thetis must eventually be successfully raped by Peleus to fit into the narrative of epic poetic tradition. Peleus must be a match for everything Thetis throws at him, an uncomfortable truth reflected in the balanced, chiastic structure of the lines describing their battle: Thetis becomes a bird in the nominative, a striking subject, volucris, (11.244); but in the next instant, strikingly juxtaposed, she has become an object in the hands of Peleus, volucrem (11.244). Thetis becomes a tree, arbor eras (11.245); he completes the chiasmus, reversing verb and noun to thwart her: haerebat in arbore Peleus (11.245). -The reader's privileged knowledge of how Peleus and Thetis' story will play out - explicitly referenced in the final lines of the passage where the narrator refers to the as yet unborn and undistinguished Achilles as ingenti, "great" (11.265) - gives Thetis' resistance a particularly painful futility, quite possible analogous for Ovid's own ceaseless negotiation of a poetic tradition that predated him by several centuries. The theme of metamorphosis that Ovid selects as his central topic is often seen as subversive of the Augustan poetic ideals of permanence and immutability; in this scene we see one of the most important female characters in Homeric myth transformed from the role of a protective and grieving mother into the object of male desire in a story of erotic pursuit. -Of course, it could be argued that the Homeric tradition which decrees that Thetis must submit to Peleus in order for Achilles to be born seems to triumph here. Peleus does manage to potitur votis, "obtain his desire" (11.265), and no matter how hard Thetis (and Ovid) tries to novat formas, "assume new forms" (11.261), she ultimately must admit that she is sua membra teneri sentit et in partes diversas bracchia tendi "held firmly bound and that [their] arms were pinioned wide", 11.261-2. On the other hand, however, Thetis' shape-changing does work at least once. Her transformation into a tiger (11.245) is the only thing which is able to shake Peleus loose, not even because it was more difficult to hold on to, but because he was territus (11.245). This marks one of the few times in the whole of the Metamorphoses in which a woman is able to strike fear into a man. Thetis' keen and cutting recognition that Peleus had help in defeating her (ingemuit, 'ne' que ait 'sine numine vincis', "she groaned and said, 'surely, you do not conquer without some god's assistance'", 11.263) undermines his victory, making him seem a little bit ridiculous. After all, other male rapists in the Metamorphoses very rarely require help. -In some respects then, in this passage we see a total reversal of the typical narrative of shape-changing in the Metamorphoses, especially with regards to female goddesses. Whereas Diana is untouchable, imperious and able to inflict metamorphosis upon Actaeon, Thetis is vulnerable, and it is she herself who undergoes the metamorphosis. Similarly, while Actaeon is transformed and cannot solicit help from his friends, Peleus seeks help from his soon-to-be father-in-law and escapes transformation. The subtle reversals and changes to a familiar narrative of transformation that we find in this passage seem cast the goddess in a far more sympathetic light - while the narrator questions the fairness of Actaeon's punishment at Diana's hands, he never criticises Thetis' desire to defend herself by changing shape - and the male 'hero' into a bit of a caricature. The mocking approach to Peleus that I have explored above is carried through into the opening of the next story, in which Ovid ironically states:

Hippolytus

Justice of the gods? Greece meets Rome History meets myth

Aesclepius saves Rome

Myth meets history

Cipus

Myth meets history

Deucalion and Pyrrha

Ovid's main tool in problematizing these traditional stories is the construction of his narrator: the narrator, an ever-present voice in these epic narratives, firmly believes in what he says. His second line already shows it: it was the gods who did all this - nam uos mutastis et illa, 'since you have changed these things too'.63 This attitude, of course, begs the question, at least when one takes the gods seriously, as the narrator emphatically does - and his next substantial intervention shows the problem: when, in the first metamorphosis that triggers off the chain of transformations (after the isolated Lycaon episode), the stones that Deucalion and Pyrrha throw on the authority of Themis turn into humans, he inserts a surprised and surprising comment: quis hoc credat, nisi sit pro teste uetustas? ('Who would believe this, if it were not sanctioned by antiquity?' Met. 1.400). The myth - and with it the workings of the gods involved in it - is implausible, and only guarantees its truth, the same antiquity that ordinarily was thought responsible for all sorts of distortions. - In book one, Ovid makes it abundantly clear that his opus differs from previous epics, for unlike the poems of Homer and Virgil, Ovid's focuses attention on the central theme of his own epic?art. With a great flourish of stories about art, Ovid introduces the theme of artifice in its many forms. After an unknown god molded the earth in the beginning, the son of Iapetus, Prometheus, made images of man out of the clay of the earth, whence the origins of sculpture. Ovid pursues this thread in the story of the son of Prometheus, Deucalion, and his wife Pyrrha, who, after the flood, toss behind them the stones that turn into human beings. Likening the human forms within stone to unfinished statues during this meta? morphosis, Ovid thereby places Deucalion in the line of de? scent from his father, Prometheus. This genealogy of art reaches its apex later in book ten in the story of Pygmalion, whose statue made from ivory softens eventually to the sculptor's touch and comes to life

Orpheus

The song of Orpheus imitates Ovid's own organization insofar as it has its own little chronology centered about the inhabitants of Paphos12 and its own tale within a tale. Ovid makes no perceptible stylistic distinction between these stories related by other poets and those he tells in propria persona. Their wit, their descriptive techniques and their narrative pacing are the same as that of the larger poem, and thus many critics have assumed that their speakers are introduced as a mere device for creating variety in the potentially monotonous sequence of transitions from story to story. - I suppose we could reduce the effect of this whole sequence to a variation on the commonplace of ars longa, vita brevis or ars potens, artifex debilis. But somehow Orpheus' art, though triumphant and immortal in myth, constitutes a practical problem in fact, for no text exists to validate his achievement as poet, and the text that Ovid deliberately contrives to enact his success—in patent contrast to Vergil's refusal in Georgics 4 to duplicate Orpheus' song—does not entirely hold us spellbound and does not intend to. Indeed, the supposed magical power of the song in Hades and over trees, stones, beasts and birds conflicts rather radically with its frequent insipidity, its projection of an often unattractive artistic persona, and its thematic contradictions. - The text of Orpheus' song in Hades, as given by Ovid, would never charm the kingdom of the Dead and would sufficiently antagonize Seneca the Elder and Quintilian to make them sneer about Ovid's self-indulgence. But Seneca and Quintilian would, as usual, be missing the point, for Ovid is not carelessly displaying his own lascivia, but projecting self-indulgence into the dramatic personality of Orpheus.4 As Ovid presents him, from the start, Orpheus is full of self-love, of self-conscious rhetoric that aims to display his wit, and the love for Eurydice emerges as a highly self-conscious literary Amor, not a convincing emotion. In fact, he puts his love on a par with the rapist lust which forcefully united Persephone and Dis (cf. 10.26-29). As a result, Orpheus becomes the perfect embodiment of the quality so often attributed to Ovid: nimium amator ingenii sui. - and Orpheus' tales of unfortunate love provoke the wrath of the Thracian women. All are reduced to the level of ordinary men. In the course of the poem the hard fate and failure of the artists stands in particular contrast with the better luck of the heroes - At the outset Ovid makes it clear that the musical genius of Orpheus cannot secure the happiness of his private life. Although he summons Hymen to his wedding, the invocation is futile (10.3: Orphea nequlquam voce vocatur; "he is called all in vain by the Orphic voice"). The god comes with bad omens; the smoke of the marriage torch elicits foreboding tears. Upon losing Eurydice, Orpheus weeps as an ordinary mortal; the phrase votes deflevit ("the bard wept") suggests the dissolution of musical power in emotion. One recalls that the Vergilian Orpheus mourned his loss in elegiac song - Likewise Orpheus' descent into the underworld is an act of human bravery, yet devoid of the magic that characterizes Vergil's account of the journey. There is none of the continual plaintive music that renders hostile demons motionless and captivates the unfeeling shades. Only when Orpheus has reached the throne of Persephone does he touch the chords of his lyre and begin to sing. Even then Ovid uses the prosaic ait ("he said") to introduce his utterance and appropriately enough. Where Vergil has clouded this scene in elliptical mystery, not venturing to find words for the supreme moment of Orphic inspiration, Ovid spells out the lover's plea. - When the world resumes and Orpheus plays his lyre in grief, all the birds and beasts draw near to listen. He sings many songs, among them that of Pygmalion. It should not escape our attention that the story of a hard statue that comes alive is sung by a singer who is himself seemingly turned to stone in grief at the death of his beloved. Ovid's song about Orpheus' music is not about life or death but about the rhythms of life and death, about how life defines death, about how death gives definition to life.

Eryscithon

• 725-37. The river-god Achelous takes over the narrative from Lelex. A brief mention of Proteus serves to introduce the story of Mestra, daughter of Erysicthon; both of these could assume various different forms at will. Since the same is true of Achelous himself (880), Ovid has already ensured a smooth transition to the next story but one, in which the river-god will speak of his own experiences. • 731 ff. ut tibi ... Proteu ...: the apostrophe was a neoteric mannerism, equally common in the Greek and the Roman poets • This is primarily a Thessalian story with, as we shall see, strong Coan connections. Our earliest authority for it lies in pseudo-Hesiod; recently-published fragments of the Catalogue of Women tell much about Mestra. We hear how Poseidon took her to Cos,where she bore him a son, Eurypylus, later to become king of the island • Most important of all, Mestra already has her powers of transformation (fr. 43a. 31-3, cf. the testimonium of Philodemus given by M.-W. as fr. 43c). She is sold as in Ovid, though as a prospective wife and not a slave, then escapes by changing shape, and returns home, resuming her normal form • Quite in contrast to Baucis and Philemon, Ovid's Erysicthon is written in the high epic style. Such a simile as the Bull before the Altar (761-3) would be instantly recognized as belonging to the most elevated type of poetry. Another standard epic situation is when a great tree falls headlong (774-6), usually appearing as a simile, here in the main stream of the narrative. The highly-coloured personification first of the spirits of barrenness, then of Hunger herself (801 ff.), recall seventh-century Greek epic, but are considerably expanded by Ovid. Above all, there are many reminiscences of Virgil. The impious Erysicthon, despiser of the gods (739-40), is a type of Mezentius in theAeneid; his daughter Mestra, deserving only to have a better father (847), corresponds to Mezentius' noble son Lausus. Erysicthon's attack upon the sacred oak of Demeter is described in language reminding us of Laocoon hurling his spear at the Wooden Horse. • There is much exaggeration and overdrawing in these passages, as the poet no doubt intended. Erysicthon's sole motive force is a dominating impiety, and Ovid's lack of realism contrasts with the delicate social comedy in Callimachus. Some typical pieces of cleverness (e.g. 785-6, 811-12, 841-2) go oddly with the high epic style. Yet this is not simply an 'absurd pastiche of Virgil' (Brooks Otis, Ovid as an Epic Poet, p. 68). Such exaggeration, particularly in the portrayal of Erysicthon, goes back in spirit to an earlier Latin writer, the tragedian Lucius Accius. Accius specialized in princes of extraordinary wickedness and arrogance—Atreus, Thyestes, Tereus; the famous 'oderint dum metuant' (Atreus 168 W.) is typical. Ovid was struck by Accius' rhetorical fervour ('animosique Accius oris', Am. i. 15. 19), but equally by the ferocity of his characters (Tristia ii. 359, if one could judge a poet's nature from his work 'Accius esset atrox'). Of course a literary treatment cannot escape criticism just because it belongs to a tradition; as a whole the influence of Accius on our poet was scarcely happy (see further, Introduction, p. xxviii). But at least in the picture of Erysicthon, Ovid was not merely producing an overblown version of Virgil. His combination of ferocity with flippancy, of verbal cleverness with high epic technique, leaves a final impression which is quite un-Virgilian. • A special mention must be made of the Mestra-passage (848 ff.), which has an utterly different atmosphere. The girl is changed into the shape of a fisherman to avoid capture, and her late owner arrives to find footprints in the sand leading nowhere, and the only human being in sight one man intent upon his fishing. The resulting conversation, conducted with admirable courtesy on both sides, is delightful, and shows Ovid at his very best. • 738. Autolyci coniunx, Erysicthone nata: Mestra is never actually named; this periphrastic method of description is regular in epic poetry (cf. 317). • 739. habet: a true present. Mestra should certainly still be alive at the time of narration; her father is dead (cf. 'erat'), and she has settled down to respectable matrimony and a single shape. In his prologue to theMetamorphoses (i. 3-4) the poet sets himself to writing a 'perpetuum carmen' from the beginning of the world to his own time. So quite often, with small touches like this, he brings stories into chronological relationship with one another, or reminds his readers of the passage of time since an earlier situation (cf. on 622-3). • 739-40. Erysicthon's impiety is repeatedly stressed (761, 765-70, 792,817). He is the counterpart of Mezentius 'contemptor divum' (Aen.vii. 648, viii. 7), as Mestra (847) is of Lausus 'dignus patriis qui laetior esset / imperiis, et cui pater haud Mezentius esset' (Aen. vii. 653-4). • Of the gross impiety of this invasion one can not doubt; cf. Horace, Epist. i. 6. 31-2 'virtutem verba putas, et / lucum ligna ...'. When P. Turullius was murdered on Cos by order of Augustus (Dio li. 8), the general opinion was that he had brought it on himself by cutting down the grove of Asclepius for building boats. We have an old Roman inscription from the middle or late third century b.c.which forbids the cutting down of trees in a grove • The interlocking word-order gives both chiasmus, 'silva ... hac, silvā ... herba' and a balancing structure 'silva sub hac ... herba sub omni'. Ovid perhaps echoes Hesiod, Theogony720, where Tartarus is τόσσον ἔνερθʼ ὑπὸ γῆς, ὅσον οὐρανός ἐστʼ ἀπὀ γαίης; cf. Aen. iv. 445-6 for a similar idea applied to a tree. • 757-8. The description is reminiscent of Laocoon's attack upon the Wooden Horse (Aen. ii. 50-3) • 757 ff. The series of portents which occur as Erysicthon attacks the tree (groans, blood and a voice) may be partly modelled on Aeneas' experience at the tomb of Polydorus (Aen. iii. 26 ff.). • 758 ff. There follow two portents of increasing menace (758-60, 761-3). Only after Erysicthon disregards these is he cursed (771-3). • 772. Augustan poets generally avoided such an -orum ... -orumrhyme. Possibly Ovid thought it fitting here to a prophetic curse, as to a magic spell at Theocritus 2. 21, 62, and Virgil, Ecl. 8. 80. Dimitroula, dying in the tree-trunk, curses the prince with 'Even as God punished your wicked father, even so and three times worse will He punish you.' • 775-6. The description of a great tree being felled, here occurring directly in the narrative, was a time-honoured simile in epic poetry. Compare the fine passages at Il. iv. 482 ff., xiii. 389 ff., Ap. Rh. iv. 1682 ff., Virgil, Aen. ii. 626 ff. See also Bruère in Ovidiana, pp. 485-9 for a Silian imitation of our passage (v. 475-516 passim). • 776. Note the onomatopoeia achieved mainly by an impressive accumulation of consonants in 'prostravit', with the letters p, d, t, and especially the repeated r. • 780-1. Ceres shakes the fields with her nod, because they are the element appropriate to her, just as Neptune shakes the sea (603-4). The nod of Zeus will shake Olympus (Il. i. 528-30) ἦ καὶ κυανέῃσιν ἐπʼ ὀϕρύσι νεῦσε Κρονίων / ... μέγαν δʼ ἐλέλιξεν Ὄλυμπον, cf. Aen. ix. 106, or even the whole universe (Met. i. 179-80). Several scholars (e.g. McKay, p. 177) have thought of the corn as Ceres' hair, which moves when the goddess nods her head. Such figures certainly occur, but here the emphasis is on the fields, not the corn. • The following incident in which Ceres employs the aid of Hunger is based ultimately on Il. xiv. 225 ff., where Hera persuades Ὕπνος to send Zeus to sleep. A closer parallel to the present scene occurs in Euripides'Heracles, where Λύσσα (Madness) is ordered to attack the hero; Ovid probably also had in mind the Allecto episode in Aen. vii (323 ff.). Again, in Nonnus, Dionysiaca xlviii. 370 ff. Nemesis is sent from the heights of Taurus to punish Aura for an insult to Artemis; she fulfils her task, and then returns home. This last narrative has some points of close resemblance to Ovid, and so perhaps such scenes were to be found in Hellenistic poetry. But our poet makes them peculiarly his own; the visit of Iris to Somnus at xi. 583 ff. is particularly notable. • 787. talibus ... compellat ... dictis:cf. Ennius, Annals 41-2 W. 'exin conpellare pater me voce videtur / his verbis.' The opening and closure of direct speech provide a fruitful field for Ennian reminiscence (cf.703 n.). Sometimes the Great Man's comfortable redundancy verged on the comic; Lucilius 18 W. 'haec ubi dicta dedit, pausam <dedit> ore loquendi' looks a playful parody. • Personifications appear first in theTheogony of Hesiod; thence Ovid could have learnt that Hunger was a child of Strife (227). Also in the latest parts of the Iliad we find personification, chiefly of war-spirits. For example, at Il. xi. 36-7 a Gorgoneion surrounded by figures ofΔεῖμος‎ and Φόβος‎ has been inserted into a much older description of Agamemnon's shield, with the result that the whole picture is thrown into confusion (see Leaf ad loc. and on v. 739-42, Miss Lorimer, Homer and the Monuments, pp. 190-1). If we are to judge from contemporary art, then these lines should be ascribed to the seventh century b.c. • Personifications were also quite familiar to the Romans. Many abstractions were officially deified and had temples in the city (Cicero,D.N.D. ii. 79); besides Mens, Fides, Virtus, and Concordia mentioned there, even Febris had altars on the Palatine and Esquiline (Cicero, De Legibus ii. 28). But one can hardly prove that personifications are found in Rome before the growth of Greek influence; the cult of Fides, for example, was attributed to Numa, but R. M. Ogilvie doubts whether it can have been so old. • Ovid's description of Hunger is close to that of Invidia at ii. 760 ff. Bearing in mind also the pictures of Somnus (xi. 592 ff.) and Fama (xii. 39 ff.), we can say that Ovid outdoes his fellow poets in detail and vividness—although this passage is hardly so notable as the other three. Yet what is typical of Ovid was not necessarily invented by him; the portrayal of Hunger in the Fairy's Revenge (App. III) is astonishingly close to that of our poet, who may have known the folk-tale through an intermediary source (cf. introduction to the episode). • 802. scabrae rubigine fauces:particularly appropriate because 'rubigo' can mean a blight which attacks the crops. In the picture of Invidia 'livent rubigine dentes' (ii. 776) exploits another association of 'rubigo' with backbiting, cf. Martial, bk. xii, Preface 'municipalium rubigo dentium'. Petronius combines the two Ovidian passages for Eumolpus' description of Discord: 'stabant aerati scabra rubigine dentes' (ch. 124, l. 274). • 815 ff. Both Ovid and the Fairy's Revenge make Hunger operate during the prince's sleep. But the dream motif, which also appears in both, plays a more important part in the folk-tale. There the prince is taken to the scene of his crime, and, as in Ovid, given a foretaste of his future sufferings, but the seeds of hunger are implanted in him by his own sword, left sticking in the oak (App. III). • 823 ff. This dream appears in rather a different form in the Fairy's Revenge: 'In the night, when the prince lay there asleep, he saw a dream; a Fairy came to him, and caught him by the hand, as tight as a vice: she brought him out of his palace, and took him to the place where the trees had been cut down.' There he is tortured by heat and cold, and finally attacked by ravening Hunger (App. III). • 835-9. Double (or even triple) similes descend from Homer. The poets will often strive for some artistic contrast between each one—here the simple opposition of fire and water (cf. Aen.xii. 521-5, Il. xiv. 394-9, Georgics iv. 261-3). Sometimes the contrast is more sophisticated, e.g. between a conventional Nature simile and one taken from Roman life (xi. 24-7, Catullus 68. 119-28). • 846. demisso in viscera censu: this, I think, would strike Roman readers as an intentionally comic phrase, since 'census' had an everyday technical use to describe a man's property-rating, with special reference to the amounts necessary for senatorial or equestrian status; e.g. Fasti i. 217-18 'dat census honores / census amicitias.' Juvenal 11. 39-40 'aere paterno / ac rebus mersis in ventrem' seems to echo Ovid. Briefly we glimpse a noble wasting his patrimonium (e.g. Cicero,Phil. ii. 67).

Scylla

- Medea type of gal - Covert incest narrative? Throughout this episode Scylla appropriates a masculine identity and subverts prescribed feminine gender roles. This can be seen particularly in her soliloquy in which she adopts the masculine discourses of senators (coepta placent, et stat sententia tradere mecum dotalem patriam finemque inponere bello), philosophers (sibi quisque profecto est deus: ignavis precibus Fortuna repugnant), and soldiers (et cur ulla foret me fortior? ire per ignes et gladios ausim). The strict dichotomy of Roman gender roles demands that if Scylla is to be portrayed as masculine and active, the object of her affection must appear feminine. Thus, when she addresses Minos in her soliloquy, she does not compare him to his father, Jupiter, but to his mother, the beautiful woman who was once the object of divine desire (si quae te peperit, talis, pulcherrime regum, qualis es ipse, fuit, merito deus arsit in illa). Her patronising appreciation of Minos' feminine beauty puts Scylla into the role of the passionate and omnipotent Jupiter and puts Minos in the position of the mortal object of his affections, helpless to resist his advances. Her later assault on her father takes her appropriation of the masculine persona to the next level. When Scylla reproaches herself for falling short of the standard set by another girl who burned with a similar love (altera iamdudum succensa cupidine tanto perdere gauderet, quodcumque obstaret amori) and describes her father's lock of hair as more precious that gold (illa mihi est auro pretiosior), we are of course reminded of Medea and how her love for Jason caused her to betray her father and help him to steal the golden fleece. But Scylla's role model here is not Medea, but Jason. Just as Jason took hold of the golden fleece and carried off his spoils (et auro heros Aesonius potitur spolioque superbus muneris auctorem secum), Scylla despoils her father of his magical lock of hair (intrat et (heu facinus!) fatali nata parentem crine suum spoliat) and takes possession of her prize. Ovid writes Scylla as if he is amending the masculinist bias of book seven by reclaiming the heroic role for Scylla, the woman of this story. Again, Minos is conversely portrayed in a feminine manner when he is faced with Scylla. She is scheming to buy him with a dowry, as if he was the bride and she was the groom (coepta placent, et stat sententia tradere mecum dotalem patriam finemque inponere bello) and he trembles before her as if she were the intimidating king and commander and he was the defenceless princess surrounded by enemies (pervenit ad regem; quem sic adfata paventem est). But this inversion of prescribed gender roles is not allowed to persist. Scylla is brutally rejected by Minos and Minos goes on to reassert his masculinity by conquering her city and vanquishing her father, who is later turned into a bird and Scylla is left clinging desperately to Minos' ship. It is possible to read Scylla's desire to steal her father's power by cutting off his lock of hair as a desire to effectively castrate her father and steal his masculine energy for herself, but Ovid reminds us that such a complete subversion of prescribed gender roles is impossible. Nisus now appears in the form of a bird to sever Scylla from Minos' ship. She is not castrated but rather she plays the role of the castrated phallus and by cutting her off the ship with his hook, Nisus enacts his own recuperation of the masculine position as well as Scylla's permanent dispossession (quam pater ut vidit (nam iam pendebat in aura et modo factus erat fulvis haliaeetus alis), ibat, ut haerentem rostro laceraret adunco). Unlike Iphis, who exercised self-control and rationality in her debate with herself over her problematic gender identity, Scylla actively sought the masculine role and allowed her chaotic emotions to control her in her search for it. Thus, in the end, Iphis is rewarded with her own phallus for her masculine display of self-control and Scylla, who makes an aggressive play for the phallus, is never allowed to have one. • Ovid's Scylla has a hard brilliance, but the poet makes little attempt at realistic psychology. The way she gradually changes her position from firm refusal to complete surrender is extremely clever, but hardly credible. • 'Whatever she does, whatever she wears, my beloved is beautiful in my eyes.' The best example in Latin love-poetry of this common theme is in the elegy on Sulpicia, • Ovid adapts this scheme to his epic-style narrative in a typically resourceful way; he combines it with arming formulas taken in part straight from the Iliad. Much of his piquant humour depends on recognition of the Homeric parallels. This mingling ofepic and love-poetry is very noticeable • There is no real personal conflict here. The girl's only struggle is to fit argument to her already existing desire (cf. 39-41). Whether or not the war is to be regretted (44-6), marriage with Minos would be an honourable way to end it—but she will on no account betray the city (54-5). Yet Minos' cause is just, his army powerful; if Megara must be captured in any case, better at once, so as to save bloodshed on both sides (56-63). • In her efforts to justify the murder which she contemplates, Scylla slides from one proverb to another, as if to minimize her personal responsibility. This is almost Ovid's only attempt at realistic psychology, and a notable one. • The situation, sketched here only in outline, resembles that at the beginning of Il. ii and x; all the world is asleep except for one. In Homer Zeus and Agamemnon are brooding over the war, and Silius keeps the military context with some success (Punica vii. 282 ff.). But in post-Homeric epic this picture is often applied to the anguish of lovers. Eg Medea/Dido • The crime itself is also passed over very quickly, and no play is made with Scylla's night journey past the Megarian guards and through the enemy lines to Minos. Instead, Ovid hastens to his own chosen climax, the last speech of Scylla. • Minos' attitude throughout is one of horror—more, I think, at the parricide than at the city's betrayal. He has made no previous bargain with Scylla, as in most versions of the story, but shrinks from even the slightest contact with her • Ovid deliberately suppresses anything to the king's discredit. Minos wages a just war (58); contrast Ciris 112-15, where he is trying to recapture the fugitive Polyidus. He breaks no promise to marry Scylla (contrast Ciris 414-15). He treats Megara with fairness (contrast Ciris 53, 191, 423), and, finally, he does not drag Scylla behind his ship, which would show unnecessary cruelty. Ovid's rejection of the dragging forces on him a rather absurd alternative (142-4), but we have at least two other witnesses to this favourable view of Minos. • We are told nothing further of the Athenian war; the poet almost suggests that Scylla's parricide drove Minos straight back in horror from Megara to Crete. Here, for Ovid, is the heart of the episode. While the king prepares to sail, Scylla follows him down to the shore, and opens the flood-gates of rhetoric, hurling at his head all the laments and reproaches of Ariadne, Medea, and Dido. Where can she go? Back to Megara? The city lies in ruins. But let us resurrect it with an orator's wand. Still of no avail—the traitor would never be received. Crete is the only hope. Is Minos going to cut her off even from there? Then he is born of no human stock, but of the wild beasts themselves. This last thought is expanded with the aid of some unfortunate incidents in the king's family history. Meanwhile, however, the Cretan ships are disappearing further and further into the distance. With a last desperate effort Scylla plunges into the water, and, remarkably enough, manages to catch up the fleet and attach herself to Minos' ship. • If we take this passage too seriously, it will seem forced and artificial. But once we realize that Ovid is not competing with Euripides, Catullus, or Virgil, but writing in a much lighter vein, then we can enjoy his high spirits, and in particular the clever way he varies conventional themes from his distinguished predecessors. • In her comparison of Minos' heartlessness to that of a wild beast Scylla makes use of two incidents in the history of the Cretan royal family. Europa was said to have been carried by Zeus in the form of a bull from Phoenicia to Crete, where she became the mother of Minos, Sarpedon, and Rhadamanthys (cf. ii. 836 ff., Frazer on Apollodorus iii. 1. 1). Secondly, Minos' queen Pasiphae became enamoured of a bull, and thereby bore the Minotaur (cf. 131-3). This is very much the technique of a declamation; the speaker has to produce ingenious arguments in even the most improbable and fantastic situations. • This may be good psychology—Scylla feels that she is punished by Minos when he sails away without her. But I suspect influence of the usual version in which Minos drags Scylla through the sea as a punishment

Niobe

- Justice of the gods? - Danger of competing with the gods - Apollo = Augustus?

Abduction of Europa

- Justice of the gods? - Ecphrasis?

The Punishment of Lycaon

- At the summoning of the Council, Ovid seizes his opportunity to describe the meeting-place and the homes of the gods in a flagrantly un-epic, anachronistic manner that repeatedly invites his audience to imagine Jupiter as Augustus, the other gods as prominent Romans, and the Council as a session of the Roman Senate hurriedly called on the Palatine Hill. - This Romanization of the traditional divine Council works in at least two important ways: it encourages us to compare the decision which Jupiter forces on the rest of the gods with a political decision generated by the Roman Senate under the authoritarian direction of the Princeps; and it invites us to see these gods, in their interactions, as the typical political actors of Augustan Rome. - Ovid re-inforces those political equations when he introduces his first "epic" simile to characterize the uproar that interrupted Jupiter's harangue (200 ff.). That makes it clear that the gods respond like Roman senators on a specific political occasion which the poet blandly evokes, but a writer like Tacitus would have developed with sardonic mastery. - Jupiter has been the unscathed "victim" of a blundered assassination-attempt.4 We are familiar today with the way political leaders "orchestrate" their decisions, how they twist facts and simply lie, how they announce crucial actions after the event, and how their supporters and critics (if there are any that dare speak out) fashion their responses to please the leader and public opinion. Plots are not always real; they can be invented by a ruler or leader to get rid of rivals. In such murky and menacing situations, the prudent senator will follow the obvious cues of the "drama" and voice the expected indignation over the plot and its perpetrator, calling for the severest punishment. - The Council of the Gods constitutes a standard device of serious epic, at the beginning of poems (as in the Odyssey) or at key points in the narrative. Ovid in fact reuses the phrase conciliumque vocat (167) from Aen. 10. 2, where Jupiter summons a council that determines, by his command, the course of the war between the Italians and Aeneas' followers. Ostensibly, then, Ovid has created a situation where solemn moral issues are confronted by the gods and an important, intelligent decision emerges under the wise guidance of Jupiter. - . And the inserted tale of Lycaon serves as an example of Jupiter's justice meted out to one sinner, a foreshadowing of the justice that he will properly bring down on all mankind for its degradation. As Brooks Otis viewed this sequence, then, the framing Council of the Gods, which decided to destroy human beings, falls into the familiar epic type he called a theodicy; and the inserted account of Lycaon's sin and punishment is a "little theodicy."3 Zeus proclaimed the working of divine justice in Odyssey 1, and both Jupiter and Neptune show the benevolent divine pattern in Aeneid 1. This seems like serious ethical epic material, so we anticipate a proper theodicy, that is, a principled decision taken under the aegis of an impartial and venerable Jupiter. - When Jupiter and his Council amuse and shock us, then and only then do we realize how Ovid has abused theodicy and epic formula, how he is pointing away from the standard epic paradigm to something new. Thus, Ovid sets up a superficial situation of theodicy only to undo it by one detail after another. Let us look at some of his subversive techniques for presenting the Council: they will prepare us for a less than convincing theodicy when we come to the story of Lycaon. When the supreme deity, Zeus or Jupiter, summons a standard epic Council of gods, he is concerned for the situation among human beings, worried that things are not going right, but hardly doubting that right can prevail. So anger or indignation does not motivate him, least of all anger over some particular crime that has been practiced against himself. The subordinate gods may have strong emotions and biases, but Jupiter weighs the issues calmly and decides on what the poet and the audience agree is a just course - . Ovid's Jupiter seethes with anger from the start; it is because of that wrath that he convenes the Council; it is with indignation (181) that he opens his speech to the gods; after they roar out their obsequious rage to match his mood (199), Jupiter continues in anger with his story of Lycaon (209-39), and he rises to a raging peroration (frementi 244) that ordains the total annihilation of human beings. This un-Vergilian wrath and its totally negative, destructive goal should make us wonder a bit about the theodicy of Ovid's Flood. - The punishment-phase of this theodicy exhibits some definite signs of divine clumsiness and inelegance. As soon as the human flesh appears for eating at the table, Jupiter acts. He uses his normal weapon, the thunderbolt (vindice flamma 230), to strike at Lycaon. However, since Lycaon is inside his palace and Jupiter presumably has risen to the sky— though the narrator does not explain the problem—, the thunderbolt can be imagined as crashing down from outdoors. At any rate, it misses the culprit entirely, smashing first down on the palace and causing its roof to fall in on everything below. Jupiter reports with some righteous satisfaction that the collapsing roof struck in particular the household gods; he claims that they "deserved their master" (domino dignos... penates 231). However, that is a significantly trivial viewpoint of gods for the Supreme Deity to express: to suggest that household gods serve the houseowner and are tainted by his moral character. - Some of the commentators, like Boemer, ignore this comic theological error of Jupiter and insist that we are to interpret penates in an exclusively figurative fashion as part of the palace. But they then imagine what happens to the simple pious ordinary people inside the ruined building: they must have been innocent victims of Jupiter's wrath, while Lycaon escaped to the woods unscathed.6 In any case, the notorious thunderbolt proves a pretty ineffective instrument, no matter what Jupiter may claim about the Penates. - Continuing his story, Jupiter admits that Lycaon fled in terror into the open countryside. There is no indication that Lycaon had any awareness that Jupiter's justice had caused the collapse of the palace and that then he was consciously fleeing punishment. He acted no differently from the panicky survivors of earthquakes, who abandon their homes and make for the open, away from all dangerous structures. When he reached the country, he began to change, to become the literal beast which most closely fitted the bestiality of his character. Most readers have assumed that Jupiter caused this metamorphosis, which then would clearly support a sense of theodicy; since the punishment has supremely fitted the crime, and the feritas for which Lycaon was notorious at his introduction (198) becomes his characteristic imago (239), justice has triumphed. That indeed is the simple minded way in which Hyginus does report the transformation.7 - 7 However, either Jupiter proves singularly incompetent as a narrator of his own great achievements or Ovid slyly raises a doubt about theodicy: nowhere does Jupiter declare that he caused any of the changes.8 What clearly emerges in the process of metamorphosis is the impression of logical origin and continuity. The mouth exhibits wildness (rabiem 234) that has been taken over directly from Lycaon; and he practices his customary murderous ways, but now against cattle, still lusting for blood. After Jupiter briefly describes how the king turns into a shaggy quadruped, the sameness of this beast's basic nature receives full emphasis (238-39). Now, we may conclude from all that detail that this transformation is a condign punishment, which just Jupiter in thcodicy has visited on him. - But we might consider some alternate explanations: e. g., 1. It would really have been more just if Lycaon had been eliminated right at the start by the thunderbolt. After all, he was a murderer with no excuse. 2. Metamorphosis is a perpetuation of that bestiality which has already done enough damage to human beings; why is it just to shift its operation against innocent animals? Doesn't Lycaon continue to get pleasure? 3. Although Lycaon has been "reduced" to an animal which lives out his essential blood-thirsty bestiality, he did escape, in a real sense, the angry punishment of Jupiter (precisely that annihilation which Jupiter's strange logic now demands and carries out against the rest of mankind, men, women, and children, guilty and innocent alike). It is possible, then, that metamorphosis may not necessarily be connectcd with the gods or with justice - The Flood itself constitutes a botched and distorted thcodicy. Jupiter again realizes the inefficacy of his thunderbolt and resorts to torrential rains. Although those rains, with the help of Neptune's overflowing rivers, do their deadly task, they sweep up the innocent animals in their ruin and would appear to have made Earth uninhabitable for the semigods (about whom Jupiter professed such great concern, 192 ff.). - At an early point in his first book, where his epic forebears Homer, Ennius, and Vergil introduce the gods in council or in well-deliberated action (the Aeneid), defining a moral order that prevails in human affairs and even constrains the gods, Ovid provides his Jupiter with a speciously similar occasion and an opportunity to present a theodicy. Jupiter declares his bitter hostility to all human beings, his determination to wipe them out because they are irredeemably corrupt. Both his wildly angry mood and gestures and his extreme decision disagree with the normally positive, helpful nature of divine action at the start

Battle at the wedding of Perseus and Andromeda

- Basically mini-Aeneid - Basically many suitor slaughter from the Odyssey

Creation of the Universe

- Hesiod's Theogony and Lucretius' De Rerum Natura both concern themselves with the documentation and explanation of how the world came to be. - However, the Metamorphoses does not particularly resemble them either; despite what he refers to as Ovid's "profound knowledge of, and admiration for, the masters of the [didactic] genre", Schiesaro calls Ovid's cosmogony "a radical revision of the objectives and strategies of a form of poetry which was supposed to provide an authoritative interpretation (or at the very least a compelling description) of the universe and its fundamental principles". - This radical revision begins with Ovid borrowing not from epic at all, but from the bucolic works of Virgil's Eclogues. The sixth eclogue, the Song of Silenus, contains within it a very brief description of the creation of the chaos that existed before the earth was created which closely resembles part of Ovid's image of Chaos in the Metamorphoses: - The elements of land, sea and sky are all mentioned, and all appear to be floating within a void. This passage is followed briefly by a description of how the earth itself began to form; altogether, the shift from chaos to the earth we know takes up ten lines of Virgil's poem. In contrast, Ovid spends fifteen lines describing the nature of Chaos alone before moving on to describe the creation of the earth. Arguably, Ovid is writing a far longer poem than Virgil, and therefore has more room to expand upon the paradoxical nature of chaos, and yet Ovid's description is almost excessively drawn out as he luxuriating in the juxtaposition of frigida pugnabant calidis, "cold fighting with hot", umentia siccis, "wet with dry", mollia cum duris, "soft with hard", sine pondere, habentia pondus, "weightlessness and things with weight" (Met 1.19-20) - there is nevertheless a similarity between the two descriptions, particularly in the catalogue of elements that existed before earth: - However, we also find that some things which we might expect to find in Ovid's cosmogony, based on our experience of the pre-existing epic tradition are omitted. An excellent example of this is the importance of the gods as characters and creators at the beginning of the world. The Theogony obviously makes a documentation of the genealogy of the gods its main focus, and highlights the importance of Eros, the god of Love, not only in the birth of the gods, but also in the creation of the earth itself: - Interestingly, the De Rerum Natura also identifies a specific deity as a creator figure: Venus. This is perhaps a little surprising, as Lucretius goes on to condemn the crushing weight of religion, gravi religione, (DRN 1.63), and indeed, to provide a very different explanation of the formation of the earth, far removed from traditional mythology. However, the fact that two separate cosmic epics have both chosen to focus on specific gods from the Greco-Roman pantheon as being present or even the driving force of the creation of the world makes it very surprising that Amor or Cupid hardly features in Ovid's cosmogony. - Instead, when called upon to name the guiding force behind creation, Ovid shies away and vaguely attributes creation to deus et melior natura, "a god or a kinder nature" (Met 1.21). Ovid's opening description of Chaos and the way he shies away from explicitly stating that one or another god created the world might suggest that he plans to take a more Lucretian approach to his cosmogony, as an evolutionary process along the lines of our own modern understanding of how our planet developed - but if we have learned anything about Ovid by now, it is that he rarely sticks to the script. - His cosmogony contains, as we might expect, an account of how man was created. Unfortunately, it seems that the poet cannot quite decide which version of the story he likes best, and before his account of the world's beginning is complete he has given us no fewer than four different versions of anthropogenesis. - The first two are explicitly offered as alternatives: either the deus who created the world made man from ille opifex rerum, "his own divine substance" (Met 1.79), or the recens tellus, "the new earth" (Met 1.80). The first suggests that man was born out of the gods, while the second explanation covertly references the story of Prometheus creating man from earth. - These are the kinds of stories we would expect to be told in detail in a cosmogony, and yet, they are reduced to the space of two or three lines, and Prometheus, one of the most important figures in the history of man, as a creator, and as the provider of fire, technology and intelligence, is not even mentioned explicitly. Instead, we are given the name of his father, Iapetus (Met 1.82); though perhaps that name would be more familiar to readers well acquainted with Hesiod's Theogony. Instead, we get a much more detailed description at 1.155-62 of man being born from the blood of the giants, a much lesser known version of man's creation.

Daedalion

- Logic of metamorphosis - Justice of the gods -

Cadmus and Harmonia

- Logic of metamorphosis - Justice of the gods - Emotional scene

Peleus and the wolf

- Power of the gods, internal communications - Logic of metamorphosis

Perseus

- Traditionally epic - Foreshadows Hercules - Justice of gods? Poor Medusa

Narcissus

- Throughout the Metamorphoses, Ovid adopts a number of elements of different generic styles and uses them in order to mirror the experience of Narcissus. One example of this is the adoption of elements of tragedy which mirrors Narcissus' experience of devastating unrequited love and the grim fate that awaits him later in the poem. Ovid's use of the tragic trope of paradox heightens the tension of the passage. Narcissus is in love with of reflection of himself, the person who should be the most accessible to him and the most easily reached and the tragedy lies in the fact that he is so close and yet so impossibly far from what it is he desires and that no matters what he does he will never be able to be with the one he loves, because what he loves is insubstantial - There is further tragedy in the image of Narcissus striving in vain to embrace his reflection through the surface of the water (in mediis quotiens visum captantia collum bracchia mersit aquis nec se deprendit in illis!), suffering unwittingly from an active-passive schizophrenia (quid videat, nescit) that results in him seeing himself as another. - Until Narcissus, much like a character in Greek tragedy, gains insight into his delusions, the joint presence of an authentic and inauthentic reality engenders dramatic irony due to the imbalance in knowledge between the character and the reader, we know that Narcissus is doomed once he realises it is his own reflection that he is enamoured with, which makes his futile attempts to embrace his reflection all the more tragic in the eyes of the reader. The use of the word error emphasises Narcissus' delusion and prepares us for the unhappy ending that has yet to come. - However, tropes of elegy are also evident in this passage with Narcissus stumbling upon his reflection in a typical locus amoenus, the ideal place for an amatory encounter. Narcissus is described in much the way an elegiac lover would describe his beloved, dwelling on his physical and youthful beauty, his white neck and flushed cheeks (inpubesque genas et eburnea colla decusque oris et in niveo mixtum candore ruborem). He goes through the standard steps that an elegiac lover might take to ensnare his beloved, praising them, courting them, admiring them and finally physically pursuing them (cunctaque miratur, quibus est mirabilis ipse: se cupit inprudens et, qui probat, ipse probatur, dumque petit, petitur, pariterque accendit et ardet). The juxtaposition between tropes of elegy and tropes of tragedy is particularly fitting for this twisted and doomed story of futile and impossible love. - The mirror image that Narcissus is transfixed by can also be seen in the language that Ovid uses to describe his infatuation as the language is expertly used to craft two realities. There is constant repetition throughout this passage that reminds us that while Narcissus is experiencing love, the object of his affection is nothing but an illusion, a mere copy of himself. The repetition of the word corpus emphasises the degree to which Narcissus is deluded as he truly believes that more than one body is present and tries to physically reach out and take hold of it - Ovid constantly reminds his audience that while Narcissus is playing the role of the lover, he is simultaneously playing the role of the beloved. While Narcissus is admiring, praising, courting and being on fire with love for his beloved, he is also the object of his own affections who is being admired, praised, courted and igniting a fire within himself (cunctaque miratur, quibus est mirabilis ipse: se cupit inprudens et, qui probat, ipse probatur, dumque petit, petitur, pariterque accendit et ardet.). The frequent repetition that can be seen in this passage is an example of a way that Ovid uses language to mirror Narcissus' experience. Just as he plays the double role of lover and beloved, Ovid uses the same words to describe each role, emphasising the unusual nature of this infatuation. Fittingly the language also mirrors each other, with each word being a reflection of its counterpart. Given that Narcissus has fallen in love with a reflection of himself, the way that the language mirrors and reflects back on itself throughout this passage also mirrors Narcissus' amatory experience. - This use language also mirrors Narcissus' experience in the sense that it reminds us of why his fate is justified. The echoes in the language of course remind of of Echo, the nymph who loved Narcissus so much that when he rejected her she faded away into nothingness leaving only her voice. Since she had been cursed by Juno to only be able to repeat what others said back to them, her death is an aetiological tale of how echoes came to be. Since Narcissus was cursed by Nemesis to fall in love with himself due to his callous attitude towards those who loved him, the constant appearance of linguistic echoes in this passage mirrors Narcissus' experience because his experience is shaped by echoes, not just in the sense that he is romantically pursuing an echo of his own self, but also in the sense that he is suffering from this curse because of all the 'Echos' that were heartlessly scorned by him. - The imagery that Ovid chooses to describe Narcissus' unrequited love also mirrors his experience. Ovid emphasises the unattainable nature of the object of Narcissus' affections by comparing him to a statue of Parian marble (ut e Pario formatum marmore signum). This image of beauty mirrors the experience of Narcissus because although he is beautiful and desirable, the love Narcissus has for himself will never be realised because his beloved is as distant and unresponsive as a block of stone and will never be capable of fully returning Narcissus' love. This image is also reminiscent of the love of Pygmalion for his statue. Like Narcissus he scorned the company of women (Quas quia Pygmalion aevum per crimen agentis viderat, offensus vitiis, quae plurima menti femineae natura dedit, sine coniuge caelebs vivebat thalamique diu consorte carebat) and he too was humbled when he fell in love with an image of his own creation (miratur et haurit pectore Pygmalion simulati corporis ignes). The language Ovid uses in both sections is similar, with the verb miror and the noun ignis appearing both times to describe the sensation of love.However, the similarities end there, in Ovid's version of the tale, the goddess Aphrodite intervenes and brings the statue to life, allowing Pygmalion's love to be requited. But in Narcissus' case a goddess intervened in order to cause him this terrible unrequited love and so is a reverse mirror image of the tale of Pygmalion. The contrast between the happy ending granted to Pygmalion and the impossibility of a happy ending for Narcissus only makes the anticipation of Narcissus' downfall all the more bitter. - In a similar vein, Narcissus' eyes and hair are described as two stars and they are said to be attributes that would be suited to the gods Apollo and Bacchus (spectat humi positus geminum, sua lumina, sidus et dignos Baccho, dignos et Apolline crines). This image places the object of Narcissus' affection on a celestial level, on par with the gods themselves and thus creates the impression that they are out of reach for a mere mortal such as Narcissus. There is even an element of danger embedded in the imagery as earlier in this very book we have seen the damage that the celestial powers of the gods can wreak on those who love them or are loved by them and we have seen affairs between mortals and immortals end disastrously throughout the Metamorphoses. - The case of Semele in particular comes to mind as she was destroyed because she sought to see the true heavenly form of Jupiter (corpus mortale tumultus non tulit aetherios donisque iugalibus arsit) and Narcissus, being unable to tear his eyes away from a similar example of divine beauty will soon find himself just as doomed as Semele. Ultimately the imagery that Ovid employs here emphasises the futility of Narcissus' love for his own reflection and the impossibility of it ever coming to fruition. The allusions to other love stories that appear in Metamorphoses also mirror the unfortunate events that are still to come and prepare the audience for the demise of the beautiful Narcissus as he is transformed into a flower. - This passage concludes with the stylistic feature of the authorial address, which also mirrors Narcissus' experience. Like Narcissus, the reader is transfixed, forced to watch as Narcissus tries in vain to allow his love for himself to come to fruition. Just as Narcissus struggles to accomplish the impossible, reaching out for something that is beyond his reach and is only a shadow conjured up within his mind, the author and, to an extent, the reader struggles to communicate with him, warning him of his folly as if we can somehow prevent the disastrous fate that we know awaits him when he cannot pull himself away from his reflection (quod petis, est nusquam; quod amas, avertere, perdes!). - In addition to this, just as Ovid mocks Narcissus for becoming so emotionally invested in something that isn't even there and tries to remind him that he can walk away from this illusion at any time, Ovid also seems to jibe at the reader. Like Narcissus we are caught up in this illusion, unable to emotionally remove ourselves from it and we are unwilling to walk away from the poem as we are eager to see what comes next (credule, quid frustra simulacra fugacia captas?). The authorial address mirrors Narcissus' experience as we too are forced to look at ourselves and see ourselves reflected in the actions of Narcissus. We must ask ourselves to what extent are we vainly pursuing the insubstantial by becoming emotionally invested in a work of fiction, are we as foolish as Narcissus for relating to the authorial address and wanting to cry out to save Narcissus?

Aesacus

- Unconventional lead in to Troy - Call back to Eurydice -Logic in metamorphosis

Laelaps

- Unstoppable force meets immovable object

Phaethon and Sun

-Longest episode in the Met - Justice of the gods? - Dangers of crossing boundaries, overreaching yourself - The search for true identity

Death of Adonis

Beautiful youth gone too soon Logic of metamorphosis

Glaucus

- Elegiac lover

The Battle of the Giants

- According to Hesiod it was the titans who fought against the Olympians and he mentions the giants only to say that they were born from the blood of Uranus - The battle was a favourite theme of ancient artists - In Amores Ovid once pretend that he had unsuccessfully pretended to write a gigantomachy

Echo

- Aetiology - Standard elegiac lover - Mirroring effect of her speech, foreshadowing? - Justice of the gods? - Echo as a punished artist/storyteller - Dark side of storytelling?

Callisto

- Animal speech issue - Anachronistic, how can she be Lycaon's daughter if everyone died in the flood? - Justice of the gods? - Justification of Pythagoras' fears of metempsychosis?

Pierides

- Artistic competition - Highly political - Winners write history...

Deification of Augustus

Although he becomes more worthy of heaven, it is through the shedding of his mortal parts rather than through any concrete additions to his person (corpus mortale per auras dilapsum tenues). Finally in the case of Julius Caesar, Ovid cites one of the reasons for his apotheosis to be his relation to Augustus and so, in a sense, Caesar is deified by Augustus (Caesar in urbe sua deus est; quem Marte togaque praecipuum non bella magis finita triumphis resque domi gestae properataque gloria rerum in sidus vertere novum stellamque comantem, quam sua progenies). But later in the passage, Augustus' relationship with Caesar is used to justify his own divinity and subsequent deification (ne foret hic igitur mortali semine cretus, ille deus faciendus erat) and so the Ovid humorously creates a circular argument that prevents this metamorphosis from seeming like an elevation in status and instead merely emphasises pre-existing relationships and traits.

Deification of Julius Caesar

Hyacinth

Beautiful youth gone too soon Logic of metamorphosis

Speech of Pythagoras

For example, one of the most famous anachronisms of the whole poem takes place in the 'historical' section of the narrative: the meeting of the Alban king Numa and the philosopher Pythagoras. It would require some truly impressive wrangling on Ovid's part to explain how Numa managed to meet a man born over a century after his own death, but, strikingly, Ovid does not even try to explain himself. Numa is introduced following the Pomona and Vertumnus episode, an unusually "leisurely" and extended interruption to the list of the Alban kings, with no real acknowledgement of the fantastical, mythological affair that has just interrupted the rather dry historical catalogue of kings. Pythagoras receives barely any introduction as a character either, not even his name - he is referred to only as a "Samian by birth", ortu Samius (15.60) before beginning his speech. The very fact that this great historical anachronism goes unquestioned and unremarked by Ovid almost makes this sign of rebellion against traditional historical chronology more striking than if Ovid attempted to explain it away. Scholars of Ovid have questioned for years whether we should take the speech of Pythagoras in Metamorphoses 15 to be a serious, didactic philosophical essay or to be a spoof designed to be intentionally laughable and not serious at all. The speech of Pythagoras consists of two main sections, the first being a passionate attack on meat-eating and sacrifice and the second being a lengthy exemplification on the principle of cosmic metamorphosis. Though the two sections may seem as though they deal with disparate topics, they are explicitly linked by the idea that it is possible for souls to migrate from one body to another. However, there are subtle hints throughout Ovid's recounting of Pythagoras' speech that indicate that this passage is not to necessarily be taken seriously and that there is much to be questioned, both with regards to Pythagoras and with his doctrine. The initial characterisation of Pythagoras might suggest to the audience that he is to be taken seriously. He is depicted as a wise figure who has fled tyrannous oppression in his native Samos and is seeking refuge in Italy (Vir fuit hic ortu Samius, sed fugerat una et Samon et dominos odioque tyrannidis exul sponte erat). He is portrayed as being wise and having access to information that only the gods have had up until this point, including the origins of things and the laws that govern the universe (isque licet caeli regione remotos mente deos adiit et, quae natura negabat visibus humanis). Many seem to listen to him and respect him and his teachings and so this would seem to point to Ovid wanting us to take Pythagoras and his speech seriously (in medium discenda dabat coetusque silentum). However, as is often the case with the Ovid's characters, things are not always as they appear. Although Pythagoras holds his audience rapt, they are noticeably silent. He constantly bombards his audience with hyperdidactic formulae, taking on the role of a teacher instructing disciples but he has no real contact with them. This reflects ironically on this sections status as partaking in the genre of didactic, philosophical epic as Lucretius, one of the most noted poets of this genre, demanded that his pupils have an involved presence as he viewed this an essential part of the didactic convention that goes all the way back to Hesiod's addresses to his brother in Works and Days. Thus while Pythagoras may initially seem to have all of the trappings of a self-righteous and morally committed didactic poet, our ability to take him and his teaching seriously is impacted by the vagueness of his addressee's presence and the lack of traditional didactic relationship with his addressee. In addition, the knowledge that Pythagoras is spreading is, as I have already mentioned, knowledge that once exclusively belonged to the gods that is now being passed down to mortals (quae natura negabat visibus humanis, oculis ea pectoris hausit, cumque animo et vigili perspexerat omnia cura). As we have seen throughout Metamorphoses, the boundary between god and mortal is not one that can be breached lightly and those that seek to exist on the same level as the gods tend to meet sticky ends. Semele, to name just one of dozens of instances, thought that she was capable of enduring carnal knowledge of Jupiter in the same way that Juno was, but she was destroyed by her desire for knowledge and experience beyond the capabilities of mortals. The fact that Pythagoras is able to freely reveal this previously privileged information to mortals en masse seems impossible in the context of Metamorphoses, with its' strict and even more strictly enforced boundaries between mortal and immortal. The improbability of seeing this behaviour go unpunished makes it difficult to take the idea that Pythagoras truly has been able to visit the home of the gods in his mind's eye and gain this information difficult to believe and even more difficult to take seriously. Ovid solidifies these doubts by stating that Pythagoras' doctrine on vegetarianism is not necessarily to be believed, as wise as it may appear and Ovid's direct intervention here makes It clear that Pythagoras as a figure is not on that can be taken seriously without question. With this in mind, it is interesting to consider that Pythagoras also seems to be take on the role of a poet. When Ovid describes the power that Pythagoras holds over his audience as they listen to him in wonder and silence, it is in many ways reminiscent of the power that a poet would want to exert over his own audience. It also invites comparison to the image of Orpheus that we see in Book 10, singing to the transfixed trees, bird and beasts. However, this only serves to undermine Pythagoras and make us question how seriously we can take his speech as just a few lines later he will go on to question the truth of poets (nisi vatibus omnis eripienda fides). Interestingly Pythagoras also seems to be similar to Ovid himself in many ways. Not only is he an exile, as Ovid will eventually become, and he shows disdain for tyranny, as Ovid arguably does during the more anti-Augustan sections of his poetry, but he also purports to reveal the origins of the universe as Ovid does in Book 1 of Metamorphoses and explain the causes of things which Ovid also addresses throughout Metamorphoses (dictaque mirantum magni primordia mundi et rerum causas et, quid natura, docebat, quid deus, unde nives, quae fulminis esset origo, Iuppiter an venti discussa nube tonarent, quid quateret terras, qua sidera lege mearent). However, equating Pythagoras with Ovid does not make him seem any more likely to be taken seriously. Ovid himself has frequently taken on personas when he writes poetry and insists that they are not to be taken seriously. For instance, while pleading with Augustus that he is not immoral, he says crede mihi, distant mores a carmine nostro, vita verecunda est, Musa iocosa mea, magnaque pars mendax operum est et ficta meorum, plus sibi permisit compositore suo. Throughout Metamorphoses unreliable narrators take on the role of story teller and manipulate their audiences for their own ends, such as Mercury using the story of Pan and Syrinx to lure Argus into a slumber so that he can free Io. Thus we can see that within the world of the Metamorphoses the adoption of a poetic persona or identification with the author of the poem does not necessarily mean that your speeches should be read seriously. In addition to the characterisation of Pythagoras as being ill-informed or perhaps even untrustworthy, there are a number of flaws in Pythagoras' doctrine that seem obvious within the world of Metamorphoses that make it difficult to take this speech seriously. Part of Pythagoras' abhorrence at the idea of eating meat stems from belief in metempsychosis, which is the transition of the soul of a human into the body of an animal after death. Because Pythagoras believes in metempsychosis, he believes that it is possible to be eating a deceased family member or friend and thus he has a strictly vegetarian diet. This initially seems a serious consideration within the world of Metamorphoses, where humans are frequently transformed into animals and are rendered unrecognisable to those closest to them, as we can see in the case of Io calling out to her father Inachus after she is transformed into a cow or Actaeon not being recognised by his once faithful hounds and being torn apart once he has been transformed into a stag. But with the transformations of Metamorphoses in mind, Pythagoras' advice, to only eat fruits and vegetables, does not seem as if it will help people to avoid unwittingly eating a relative or close friend. Throughout Metamorphoses, countless individuals, from Daphne to Narcissus to Myrrha, are transformed into plants and we even have confirmation that once humans have been transformed into plants that they can still feel pain when their new form is mutilated ('parce, precor, mater,' quaecumque est saucia, clamat, 'parce, precor: nostrum laceratur in arbore corpus iamque vale'). Thus it is difficult for us to take Pythagoras' doctrine seriously, when we know that, within the universe of Metamorphoses, we are just as likely to encounter a former human in the form of a plant as we are to encounter one in the form of an animal and thus it seems that there is nothing that humans can eat safely without fear of causing harm. The fact that we are not meant to take Pythagoras seriously can also be seen when he is denigrating animals that eat other animals as savage beasts and asks that human beings behave with more piety than these creatures. However, within the world of Metamorphoses this line between human and animal is very blurred since, as I have mentioned already, humans are transformed into animals with great frequency. In fact, humans are transformed into every animal listed here by Pythagoras with the exception of the Armenian tiger, those this reference does still have special significance. The reference to the wolf would naturally remind the reader of Lycaon, especially in the context of accidentally eating human flesh as Lycaon was transformed into a wolf for daring to serve the gods human flesh as a meal. Atalanta was transformed into a lioness after daring to defile a shrine of the goddess Cybele by having intercourse in it, thus exhibiting that humans are just as recklessly ruled by their passions and baser instincts as animals are. Callisto was transformed into a bear by Juno because she bore a child to Jupiter, although she did not consent to the encounter and, just as Pythagoras fears, her son, Arcas, nearly murders her while he is out hunting because he does not recognise his mother in her animal form. However, Jupiter does not allow this crime to take place and restrains Arcas, transforming him into a bear like his mother. These examples seem to deliberately undermine Pythagoras' point, humans are no more controlled than wild animals. Not only to they commit acts of bloodthirsty cruelty and give into their baser urges, as Lycaon and Atalanta do, but in the event of a human unwittingly killing a family member who has taken the form of an animal, the gods are willing to intervene to prevent it. The reference to an Armenian tiger is relevant as well, as while no one in Metamorphoses is transformed into a tiger, there are two human characters who are compared to one. Minos is accused by Scylla of being the son of an Armenian tiger after his rejection of her suit, because only someone descended from an animal could exhibit such cruelty and heartlessness (non genetrix Europa tibi est, sed inhospita Syrtis, Armeniae tigres austroque agitata Charybdis). Similarly, Procne says that she is now becoming a tigress so that she can find the strength to murder her child and feed him to his father (nec mora, traxit Ityn, veluti Gangetica cervae lactentem fetum per silvas tigris opacas, utque domus altae partem tenuere remotam).. Clearly in Metamorphoses the line between man and beast is not quite so clear cut as Pythagoras would like us to believe. The message relayed by these references are clear, man is just as savage and impious as animals and to feed yourself or others with the death of another is by no means an unthinkable scenario. This undermines Pythagoras' message that there is a clear distinction between man and beast and makes it difficult for the reader to take the speech of Pythagoras seriously. In conclusion, although Pythagoras initially seems to be characterised as a wise figure distributing wisdom to crowds of people, Ovid makes it clear that we are not to take his speech seriously. The lack of engagement exhibited by Pythagoras's audience highlights that this speech is not truly didactic philosophy in the style of Lucretius and his adoption of a poetic persona similar to Ovid's does not make the reader any more likely to take him seriously. These factors coupled with the elements of Pythagorean doctrine that seem directly contradicted by the events of Metamorphoses that have preceded his speech and the steps that Ovid takes to deliberately remind us of these events seems to indicate that we should not necessarily read the speech of Pythagoras too seriously and should instead read it sceptically and seek an alternative, perhaps more subversive reading about whether we can ever truly understand the origins of the universe or whether we are capable of understanding and interpreting secrets known only to the gods or whether we can ever truly escape our animal nature, no matter how civilised we think we may be as humans.

Ganymede

Justice of the gods Rape narrative

Deification of Ovid

These apotheoses, metamorphoses of mortals into gods, are the preparation for the deification of Caesar, whose soul rose to heaven where he too became a star. As a prophetic singer, Ovid speaks next of the day when his patron Augustus, who now rules the world, will ascend to the heavens. But this series of metamorphoses as deification tion, both historical and prophetic, is not yet complete. For in the last lines of his poem or song, which are no mere epi? logue, Ovid makes a poetic prophecy of his own fame and glory. He imagines a future when his work will transcend the wrath of Jupiter or time's capacity to consume, a future where the better part of himself will be borne beyond the stars and, if the prophecies of poets are truthful, he will live forever. Thus, the ultimate metamorphosis of Metamor? phoses, the final transformation of the Protean poet

Mestra

• 848. hanc quoque vendit inops: 'He had nothing more to sell to buy food to eat, nothing but one daughter and one son ...' (The Fairy's Revenge). The selling of Mestra is in the tradition from pseudo-Hesiod onwards (fr. 43a. 10, cf. 43b); there, however, she is sold not as a slave, but as a prospective wife, in return for thebride-price customary in heroic times (see further 870 n., 873 n.). In Plautus'Persa (329 ff.) Saturio the parasite proposes to sell his daughter to alleviate his hunger. • dominum generosa recusat: Mestra is not a willing accomplice in her father's trickery—indeed, that would spoil the point of the story. Erysicthon sells her through his patria potestas, and each time she escapes because of her noble spirit. We may admire as typical in the next few lines the economy with which Ovid gives the essentials of a situation. • 855 ff. This fishing interview which follows (surely invented by Ovid) is quite delightful. The effect is achieved brilliantly by contrasting elevated language with everyday subject-matter. We have the stately periphrasis 'moderator harundinis', 'wielder of the rod', and the complicated syntax with 'sic ... sic', taken up in turn by Mestra (866-7), all set against this minutely detailed and highly practical prayer. One would like to know why 'Lactantius' changes Mestra 'in piscatorem ... processioris aetatis'; perhaps because of the admirable courtesy with which the two address each other? • 855 ff. The fishing interview almost certainly comes from Plautus, Rudens306-24 (Currie, [see Bibliography] pp. 2736-7). This is particularly interesting, because it shows Ovid drawing yet another genre, Comedy, into the Metamorphoses • 857. sic ...: 'may you prosper on condition that you help me'—a very common formula in wishes at all levels of Latin; on epitaphs see Lattimore, Themes in Greek and Latin Epitaphs, § 23; among the rhetoricians Seneca, Suasoriae 7. 14; in ordinary speech Petronius, chs. 61and 69. The wish is normally followed by an imperative, as here (861); rather different is 866-7 below, where theut-clause asserts a fact on which Mestra stakes her own profit • 860. litore in hoc steterat (nam stantem in litore vidi): Ovid's parentheses (usually with some repetition of words) never fail to be witty and elegant. They perform many functions—e.g. a quick story-teller's aside at 851 (emphasis on 'Neptunus'), while here (emphasis on 'vidi') the poor man is utterly bewildered, but will not abandon his one solid fact. • 862. illa dei munus bene cedere sensit: these words suggest, without necessarily implying so, that Mestra had previously been offered a gift by Neptune, and now is as delighted as Theseus (Eur. Hipp. 1169-70) to find that it really works. The gift would no doubt have been in compensation for her rape (cf. xii. 197 ff., Caenis), and be either a promise to grant prayers, or, more specifically, an offer to change her shape. Periclymenus received a gift of transformation from the sea-god • 866. quoque minus dubites: on the contrary, Mestra's double-banked argument should greatly increase his suspicion. She has been wholly concentrating on the fish, and yet is prepared to swear that in fact no one has passed her way. The man's acceptance of such an argument heightens the atmosphere of pure fantasy. • 66-7. sic has deus aequoris artes / adiuvet: a double entendre. The fisherman's craft is an 'ars' (τέχνη), and he quite naturally swears by Neptune. At the same time, 'has ... artes' refers to Mestra's powers of transformation, for which the sea-god is responsible (850-4); at Od. iv. 455 Proteus' ability to change himself is called a τέχνη. • Since Mestra swears by Neptune, one would like her to tell the truth at least according to the letter. But no playing with use of words seems to achieve this end; perhaps we should rather concern ourselves with the foolishness of her late owner. McKay (p. 54 n. 3)cites an interesting parallel for the whole scene in a Russian folk-tale. • 876. dederatque gravi nova pabula morbo: a typical paradox. In the sense of adding fuel to the flames and making something worse • 877-8. With a certain reticence, Achelous stops before the point of death. The prince in the Fairy's Revenge comes to a similar end: 'Then he began to tear at his own flesh, and to eat, insomuch that he died, his very nails actually in his mouth.' • 79-84. In these lines Ovid prepares a transition to the first episode of bk. ix, in which Achelous recounts how he fought with Heracles for the hand of Deianira, and, in spite of being able to change shape, was defeated and lost one of his horns. Transitional passages, bridging two books like this, help to give the whole poem a greater sense of continuity. • 883. cornua, dum potui!: he can no longer use the plural. The repetition is half-pathetic, half-humorous, and very nice. These are among the most effective positions for a repeated word, as, for example, Aen. ii. 405-6 'ad caelum tendens ardentia luminafrustra, / lumina, nam teneras arcebant vincula palmas.' • 884. The finish is well contrived, to make a satisfactory ending, and yet to provoke curiosity, so that Ovid can begin bk. ix with 'Quae gemitus truncaeque deo Neptunius heros / causa rogat frontis'. •

Baucis and Philemon

• Callimachus covered much of the same ground in his Molorchus (Aetia, frs. 54-9); this told how Heracles was entertained hospitably at the old man's hut in Cleonae before going out to kill the Nemean lion. Between them, the two stories clearly set a vogue in Hellenistic poetry. We have an anonymous fragment in hexameters (Powell, Collectanea Alexandrina, p. 78) in which an impoverished old woman tells of her miseries to someone whom she addresses as 'child' in language clearly borrowed from the Hecale. • No extant authority earlier than Ovid tells this story, yet in an important way we can trace it back to Homer'sOdyssey. Our theme is the reception of the great at a humble peasant dwelling; its special fascination, to bring a god or a grand figure of the heroic age into contact with mundane details of life among ordinary country people. Such was the reception of Odysseus by the swineherd Eumaeus, and this was the pattern which Callimachus took for his description of Theseus' visit to the old woman of Attica, Hecale (see Pfeiffer on the vocabulary of fr. 239). • Roman poets found the theme no less attractive, and were fully conscious of the tradition which they had inherited. Virgil, even in the few lines with which he relates Aeneas' entry into Evander's house, sets the tone of the piece (Aen. viii. 364-5), • Callimachus' Hecale has already served as a main source for one episode in the Metamorphoses (ii. 531 ff.), and perhaps contributed to another (vii. 404 ff.). Ovid's debt to this poem here is obvious even from the meagre fragments remaining. But it seems that Baucis and Philemon quickly became no less famous than its model. Our episode was much imitated by later Roman poets; • The hospitality-theme is well established in later Greek epic. I believe that the fragment of Dionysius (? third century a.d.) in Appendix IIcame from yet another similar episode, while the theoxeny of Brongus (Nonnus, Dionysiaca xvii. 37 ff.) is said to be based on that of Molorchus (ibid. 51-6). Finally we can see a Christian poet, Prudentius, expressing a Biblical story (Genesis 18: 2 ff.) in terms of the pagan literary tradition (Psychomachia, Intr. 45-6): • The scene of Baucis and Philemon is set in the Phrygian hills (621). Is the epithet merely picturesque, or should we look for genuine Near Eastern elements? The first attempt must be to find Greek parallels, and this, I think, can be done in every instance. For example, the gods come down to earth to watch how mortals are conducting themselves in the Odyssey (xvii. 485- • The flood as a punishment for men's wickedness (Ovid, 689 ff.) also appears in Homer, as a simile (Il. xvi. 384 ff., cf. Malten, ibid., p. 191), and was exemplified in the legend of Deucalion. Finally the sacred tree with a wall round it, claimed by W. M. Calder as a non-Greek feature, can be paralleled from Minoan gems (Nilsson, The Minoan-Mycenean Religion2, pp. 266 ff.). Nilsson also refers to what may be a sacred tree surrounded by a wall from Pompeii (ibid., p. 270 n. 29). • Yet we should not conclude that there is nothing genuinely eastern in this story just because everything can be explained adequately in Greek terms. At least three points of agreement between Baucis and Philemon and Near Eastern traditions are remarkable, particularly the first one. • So perhaps the lineage of Baucis and Philemon can be traced back to Callimachus and the Odyssey on one hand, on the other to a local Phrygian legend. These two elements are a strange mixture, and in combining them Ovid has overlaid yet a third. In many ways Philemon is a type of the traditional Italian peasant, with a cottage which he has lived in all his life (see on 632-3), his ideal marriage (see on 703 ff.) and the Italian meal which he lays before his guests (664 ff.); Juvenal was right to take Baucis and Philemon as his model for the good old days. Readers must have smiled to see all these Roman virtues attributed to a couple living 'in the Phrygian hills'. But the attribution takes on a new significance in Augustan Rome. There it was official policy to glorify the simple life of Italy's past—as viewed from a comfortable distance away. The picture is of course idealized; Baucis and Philemon have none of the hardships of Hecale and her people • What better paradigm could there be for Horace's advice to the Roman youth 'angustam amice pauperiem pati' (Odes iii. 2. 1)? Although the propaganda value of Baucis and Philemon would be small, the attitude is typical of Augustan poetry. • . But I feel that he undervalues both Baucis and Philemon and Erysicthon, mainly through ascribing a false motive to the poet (he 'felt it necessary to make some obeisance to Augustan morality and Virgilian seriousness', p. 205). Although ideal simplicity was an Augustan political theme, Ovid's treatment is lightly humorous (e.g.659, 668-9) and quite unpolitical. We may agree that the two following episodes illustrate the reward of piety and the punishment of impiety, but the contrast and effect should be explained by appropriateness in the context rather than a desire to re-establish the gods' power and morality impressively (Otis, p. 203). After all, Achelous, prominent throughout, does not enhance the prestige of his fellow gods. • To match his subject-matter, Ovid's telling of the story is simple and straightforward. His language is hardly 'epic' at all, and after the bridge-passage (611-25) we find very few Virgilian echoes, compared with an abundance in the next episode. • 615. si dant adimuntque figuras:Pirithous is at least inconsiderate to his divine host. The abrupt manner conceals, at several removes, deep philosophical speculation about the limiting of divine power through having to work in human material • 626. specie mortali: in these stories the gods must at first be unrecognized, so that the behaviour and conversation (654) of their host can be completely natural and uninhibited. • 632-3. illa sunt ... iuncti ... illa / consenuere casa: Italy in the good old days peeps through Ovid's narrative. Philemon is a type of the hardy Italian peasant • 638. summisso ... vertice: this touch further intensifies the contrast between the gods, even if unrecognized, and the countryman. • 639. We have a parallel fragment from Callimachus' Hecale. There Theseus has slipped out from Athens unnoticed, making for Marathon. But, in the late evening, a sudden and violent rainstorm forces him to take refuge in the hut of an old woman, living perhaps on the slopes of Mount Brilessos. He enters, and throws off his wet cloak (fr. 239); she makes himsit down on the couch, τὸν μὲν ἐπʼ ἀσκάντην κάθισεν‎ (fr. 240), cf. Od. xiv. 49, Aen. viii. 367-8. • 41 ff. Undoubtedly Callimachus mentioned the fire from which Hecale heated her cauldron (cf. frs. 242-4). Eratosthenes, fr. 24 Powell may describe Icarus' fire from the Erigone; compare Fasti v. 506, [Virgil],Moretum 8-9, Petronius, ch. 136. • Instead of lighting a new fire each day, the ancients kept a special kind of log smouldering on the hearth overnight, under a pile of wood-ash, which Baucis first brushes aside • 648. sordida terga suis: we enter the Roman world, in which the meal will be conducted from now on. Fraenkel (Elementi Plautini in Plauto, pp. 124-5, 408 ff.) points out that the basic Athenian poor man's diet was fish, the Roman's pork (cf. Fasti vi. 169 ff.). So pork appears often in similar contexts among Roman writers, e.g.Moretum 56-7, Petronius, ch. 135, Juvenal 11. 82. • 4 ff. Callimachus clearly describes in great detail the meal which Hecale set before Theseus. We have just a few fragments, nos. 248-52, also 244and perhaps others listed by Pfeiffer in his note to fr. 240. The same may have been true of Eratosthenes'Erigone (see fr. 34 P.). • So in this respect too the Hecale was a direct ancestor of Baucis and Philemon. But Ovid has not just taken over Callimachus' description. With the help of the Roman agricultural writers, we can see that the meal described here was one such as a poor man might eat in the Italian countryside, and not an artificial concoction transplanted from theHecale. In one place where Ovid echoes Callimachus (665) he has changed the subject-matter, and the Athenian olive gives way to the cornel, which, as Columella says (xii. 10. 3), was used as an olive by the Romans. It is worth recalling that Ovid had a precedent for his account of an Italian peasant's meal in theSatires of Lucilius (123-32 W.), although there is no clear proof of Lucilian influence on our poet. • Special mention may be made of one element here—a certain amount of 'Golden Age' phraseology, although, unlike Silius' Falernus, this is not a Golden Age story. The simple diet is taken as a sign of a blessed life. Of course the people's day-to-day existence was really like this, but its glorification belonged mainly to poets and philosophers. We find traces of such an attitude as early as Hesiod,Works and Days 41: the unjust rulers do not know ὅσον ἐν μαλάχῃ τε καὶ ἀσϕοδέλῳ μέγʼ ὄνειαρ‎. The diet involved is usually vegetarian, noted as a virtue in Plato's account of the two cities (Republic ii. 372 c ff.). The original city eats no meat; only in theτρυϕῶσα πόλις‎ must a flesh diet be introduced (373 c). Likewise in thePhaenomena of Aratus men begin to eat animals only in the Age of Bronze (132). • Ovid's meal is not wholly vegetarian, including salted pork (648). As we have seen, that gives a greater sense of reality to the Italian context. But in Silius' parallel story Falernus serves no meat: 'nulloque cruore / polluta castus mensa' (vii. 182-3, perhaps borrowing a phrase from Met. xv. 98). A similar detail appears in the meal of Brongus, εἰλαπίνην ἐλάχειαν ἀναιμάκτοιο τραπέζης‎ (Nonnus,Dionysiaca xvii. 62) which could go back to Callimachus' Molorchus (Aetia, bk. iii). But a likely introducer of vegetarianism into stories of this kind was Eratosthenes, with his Platonic affiliations. The importunate goat which gnawed the vines in theErigone was presumably the first to be eaten (cf. fr. 22 P., Met. xv. 114-15, Porphyrius, De Abstinentia ii. 10). • The Romans conveniently adapted many Greek ideas about the Golden Age, with its simple life and food, to the past of their own country. Ovid's 'omnia fictilibus' (668) is a commonplace of contemporary poetry. A lesser Augustan, Grattius, even makes the topic of simple food for hunting dogs a pretext to denounce luxurious fare (Cynegetica 312 ff.), and culminates in 'at qualis nostris, quam simplex mensa Camillis, / qui tibi cultus erat post tot, Serrane, triumphos!' (321-2). Only Ovid's treatment of the theme is quite unpolitical—between our poet and Grattius there lies a considerable gulf. • 664. The olive was of course distinctively Athenian, and so appropriate to the Hecale (fr. 248, see665 n.). None the less, olives also formed an important part of the poor man's diet in Italy—among items to be distributed to a landowner's retainers (Cato, Agr. 58). • 668-9. caelatus eodem / ... argento crater: made of silver equally as much as the rest, i.e. not at all. Ovid is probably pointing a contrast with the luxury of his own day; a commentator on h has written ' "terra" "argento" dicit, reprehendens superfluitatem temporum.' Cazzaniga (La Parola del Passato xviii [1963] 30-1) thinks that the contrast is not with Ovid's own times, but with Homer, where mixing-bowls may be silver (Od. x. 356-7). That is rather less likely. • 679 ff. This recognition scene is more satisfactory than the parallel one inFasti v. 513-14 (Neptune speaking): 'quae simul exhausit "da nunc bibat ordine" dixit / "Iuppiter"; audito palluit ille Iove.' Bacchus gives proof of his divinity to Falernus in just the same manner as here (Silius vii. 187 ff.). Since this is a more appropriate way for a wine-god than for Zeus to announce himself, it seems possible that Silius did not take the idea merely from Ovid, but both poets from theErigone of Eratosthenes (thus Merkelbach, following G. Procacci,Riv. Fil. xiii [1914] 441-8). • 685. dis hospitibus: although the guests have not yet formally revealed their identity, the miracle of the mixing-bowl has been enough to prove them more than human; witness the couple's immediate reaction (681 ff.). • 686-8. Their vain attempts to catch the goose make a contrast with the unhurried and dignified gods, and also prevent the narrative from becoming too elevated. • 699 ff. The cottage turns miraculously into a temple of the utmost magnificence, described for all the world as if it were Augustus' new temple of Palatine Apollo. • 699. parva: 'small for its two owners'. Presumably the cottage grows in size while being transformed. Burman's 'plena' would produce an image too sharp and almost ridiculous. • 701. stramina flavescunt: thatch into gilt, a clever touch designed for Ovid's Roman audience. In the seventies or sixties b.c. Catulus gilded the tiles of the Capitoline temple—public reaction to this was mixed • 702. caelataeque fores: presumably of metal or ivory with relief work. The doors of Palatine Apollo were decorated with ivory reliefs showing the repulse of Brennus and his Gauls from Delphi, and the deaths of the children of Niobe (Propertius ii. 31. 12-14). • 703. talia tum placido Saturnius edidit ore: a line with some of the slow-moving dignity of early Latin epic. Both 'Saturnius' (cf. Κρονίδης and Κρονίων) and 'edidit ore' have Ennian affiliations, so that Norden (Aen. vi, p. 374) was right to speak of 'Ennian colouring'. • 704 ff. Several details in the next few lines reflect pictures of ideal married life on Italian epitaphs. • 704-5. iuste senex et femina coniuge iusto / digna: equal merit on both sides is often stressed, • 711. templi tutela fuere: the office of Baucis and Philemon seems to be that of aeditui, νεωκόροι, whose duties included looking after the building, and instructing visitors on the history and ritual of the cult (713, cf. Headlam on Herodas 4. 41—or were they just reminiscing about the old days to each other, like Cadmus and Harmonia (iv. 569-70)? • 714 ff. This metamorphosis fulfils the second part of their wish (709-10). Gradual transformation, described in clinical detail, is a regular feature of our poem • 717. dum licuit: interrupting the action at a moment when Baucis and Philemon have partly turned into trees, but their mouths are still free to talk; cf. ix. 369-70. • 719-20. To end a story by mentioning some local landmark or custom still observed by the ἐπιχώριοι (cf. 720'incola') seems to have been a regular practice in Nicander's Heteroeumena, to judge from the paraphrases of Antoninus Liberalis; e.g. no. 26 γλᾳ δὲ θύουσιν ἄχρι νῦν παρὰ τὴν κρήνην οἱ ἐπιχώριοι, no. 30 καλεῖται δὲ καί τὸ ῥέον ἐκ τῆς πέτρας ἐκείνης ἄχρι νῦν παρὰ τοῖς ἐπιχωρίοις δάκρυον Βυβλίδος. A certain instance of the transference of this motif from Nicander to Ovid was noted by Haupt on ii. 706. • 720-1. hoc mihi non vani ... / narravere senes; equidem pendentia vidi ...: according to Calder (loc. cit.) 'it would be a blind critic who would miss the significance of this feature in the story'; he calls such a method of collecting information one of the most characteristically Anatolian touches of all. But the formula was a time-honoured one in classical literature.

Tereus, Procne and Philomela

Ovid's treatment of Philomela's silence in this passage is intensely sympathetic and illustrates her initial status as a helpless victim of the cruelty of Tereus. In the passage immediately preceding this one she has used her voice as a threat, saying that she will tell the gods of Tereus' abhorrent actions and that he will suffer the consequences of what he has done as a result of this (audiet haec aether et si deus ullus in illo est!). Philomela's voice the only weapon she has against Tereus, considering that he is significantly physically stronger than her and he is also in a powerful political position as a king in his own right, the victor in a war against her father and the husband of her beloved sister. However, the threat of Philomela calling the wrath of Olympus down on him is still enough to strike fear into Tereus' heart (Talibus ira feri postquam commota tyranni nec minor hac metus est). - But Philomela has no resources available to her but her voice and the justice of the Olympians and thus when Tereus silences her by cutting out her tongue he effectively leaves her completely helpless. This can be seen in the fact that as Philomela realises Tereus' intent to cut out her tongue, she calls out for her father, begging him to come and save her because she knows that without her voice she will not stand a chance of getting justice for the wrongs done to her -However, this also shines a light on the futility of her situation. Her father would not be able to do anything to help her as we know that not only has Tereus defeated her father in war in the past but he also holds his other daughter Procne effectively hostage due to their marriage. These final words of Philomela's before she is forced into silence emphasise the state of complete helplessness that is about to be forced onto her. Her complete reliance on her voice as a means of defence is compounded by the fact that Tereus is said to have raped her again now that he has silenced her - Philomela's silence being used as an emblem of her lack of power is made clear in other ways throughout the passage. The fact that her crying out for her father as she struggles in vain against Tereus as he is about to cut out her tongue is rendered in the form of reported speech (ille indignantem et nomen patris usque vocantem luctantemque loqui conprensam forcipe linguam abstulit ense fero). signifies the futility of her efforts and stands in sharp contrast with her threats against Tereus from the previous passage which are rendered by Ovid in the form of direct speech (si copia detur,in populos veniam; si silvis clausa tenebor, inplebo silvas et conscia saxa movebo; audiet haec aether et si deus ullus in illo est). The idea of the ability to speak constituting power is further developed when Tereus returns to Procne and gives her a false version of events in which Philomela died on the voyage to see her sister (ille dat gemitus fictos commentaque funera narrat,et lacrimae fecere fidem). Because he is able to speak he is able to shape the narrative of what happened and although Philomela is not truly dead, it is as if she was as Procne builds a tomb and goes into mourning for her sister even though she is still alive (velamina Procne deripit ex umeris auro fulgentia lato induiturque atras vestes et inane sepulcrum constituit falsisque piacula manibus infert et luget non sic lugendae fata sororis). Although Philomela has truth on her side, she has no means of being able to communicate it and so there is not able to be a change in her circumstances. Tereus on the other hand retains his power of speech and thus to an extent he is able to shape reality to his will and make it as if Philomela truly were dead. - Tereus is an author? It is only through art Philomela is able to take back control of the narrative - Philomela's silence is also treated in this passage as being a fate worse than death. When Tereus first draws his sword, Philomela readily offers him her throat, thinking that he is going to kill her and end her misery and suffering (iugulum Philomela parabat spemque suae mortis viso conceperat ense). However, it is only when she realises that he has no intention of killing her but instead ripping out her tongue that she begins to fight back, calling out for help and struggling to speak until the last possible moment. Her silence is used as a way to compound and magnify her suffering with the reader already being horrified by the terrible violence that Philomela has endured, we grow increasingly horrified as she is forced to endure still more. The horror of her suffering cannot be expressed by her any longer and is instead expressed through the harrowing image of her still twitching severed tongue. It is described as still trembling and writhing even after it has been severed and is compared to a dying snake. Her tongue and by extension her ability to speak is treated as a living being in its own right (radix micat ultima linguae, ipsa iacet terraeque tremens inmurmurat atrae, utque salire solet mutilatae cauda colubrae, palpitat et moriens dominae vestigia quaerit). The harrowing image of the tongue seeming to seek to return to its mistress even in its' final moments, as if knowing how essential it is to Philomela's safety, reminds the reader that as far as Philomela is concerned, silence may as well be - The separation of Philomela and her still living tongue is representative of a transformation of Philomela as she is now irreversibly separated from an essential part of herself (moriens dominae vestigia quaerit), her ability to speak. In many ways, the loss of this ability Philomela's dehumanisation at the hands of Tereus, as throughout Metamorphoses the ability to speak and communicate is considered a sign of what separates humans from beasts. Interestingly, Philomela seems to be completing the transformation from human to animal in reverse as typically the body is transformed first and the ability to speak is one of the last things to go. Philomela's silence is a foreshadowing of her transformation into a bird, as given our experience of transformations in Metamorphoses thus far, it seems inevitable that someone who has already lost her ability to speak will transform into an animal. But even now, while she is still technically human in form, she is reduced in many ways to the position of an animal. She is helpless to fight against Tereus and is forced to allow him to impose his will onto her. The way that she is treated, as little more than an object with which Tereus is able to do whatever he pleases (hoc quoque post facinus (vix ausim credere) fertur saepe sua lacerum repetisse libidine corpus), is reminiscent in many ways of how someone would treat livestock. In addition to this she is imprisoned like an animal in captivity and she is unable to express herself to the humans who guard her (fugam custodia claudit,structa rigent solido stabulorum moenia saxo, os mutum facti caret indice), as an animal is also unable to do. - The dehumanisation of Philomela through her silence is made all the more apparent when we examine the parallels between her and another victim of rape and transformation who appears earlier in the poem, Io. Both Philomela and Io are silenced, guarded and held captive following a rape by a significantly more powerful male and although the two women differ in the fact that Io is transformed into a cow and Philomela is still human in form, both are reduced to gestures and other silent means of communication in order to communicate with their families and those around them. In the case of Io she tries to write in the dirt with her hoof (littera pro verbis, quam pes in pulvere duxit, corporis indicium mutati triste peregit) and licks her father's hand (illa manus lambit patriisque dat oscula palmis nec retinet lacrimas et, si modo verba sequantur, oret opem nomenque suum casusque loquatur)and Philomela uses her gestures to communicate with the maid (perfectaque tradidit uni, utque ferat dominae, gestu rogat) and her artistry at weaving to tell her sister about the terrible events that have happened to her (stamina barbarica suspendit callida tela purpureasque notas filis intexuit albis, indicium sceleris). The similarities between the two are also interesting as both undergo abnormal transformations within Metamorphoses. Io is transformed into a cow but this is the only transformation in the Metamorphoses that is eventually undone and she regains her status as a human woman and Philomela exists in a sort of limbo between human and animal before eventually being transformed permanently into a bird. The attempts that both make to fight against the silence that has been forced upon and the fact that both strive to communicate and retain this element of their humanity indicates that their transformations are more complex than some others that exist within the Metamorphoses and seems to show the reader that within the world of Metamorphoses the line between man and animal is highly permeable and transformation exists on a sort of spectrum and does not consist only of the two opposite poles of human and beast. Ovid's treatment of Philomela's silence in many ways corresponds to the censorship and control of artists that was becoming an issue in the Augustan era when Ovid was writing. Philomela's desire to broadcast the corruption and cruelty of the autocratic Tereus and Tereus' swift and brutal silencing of her could be read as a damning indictment of Augustus' attempts to control the writing and artistry of others as a means of controlling his own perception, such as the story of his decision to publish the Aeneid against Virgil's explicit instructions and his eventual banishing of Ovid due to carmen et error. Like Tereus, Augustus recognises the power of being the only narrator because if Augustus is able to silence his critics, he can shape the narrative of his reign and personal reputation in whatever way he wants (at ille dat gemitus fictos commentaque funera narrat). However, Tereus is unable to silence Philomela fully and she is still able to tell her story through the medium of weaving (stamina barbarica suspendit callida tela purpureasque notas filis intexuit albis, indicium sceleris). Weaving is often used as a metaphor for poetry and in a poem where the poet has said in the proem that he will spin out a story (primaque ab origine mundi ad mea perpetuum deducite tempora carmen) using a term often associated with weaving and in the conclusion claims that no fire can destroy his work in what appears to be direct defiance of censorship (Iamque opus exegi, quod nec Iovis ira nec ignis nec poterit ferrum nec edax abolere vetustas), I feel that it is safe to read Philomela's use of the loom to save herself as a statement about the irrepressibility of the poetic voice in the face of violence and tyranny. Although Philomela is silenced by the tyrannical Tereus, he is unable to truly take away her voice and take control of the narrativeas long as she is still in possession of her wits and her artistic talents. And just as Philomela takes away Tereus' power to shape the narrative through her art, Ovid is also stealing Augustus' role as narrator, both literally within the world of Metamorphoses in which Ovid is the narrator and controller of all that occurs, but also in reality as the anti-Augustan readings that can be found within Metamorphoses taints the image of universal peace and harmony that Augustus is trying to propagate in the literature of the time. Ovid's treatment of Philomela's silence in this passage also foreshadows the crucial role that silence, secrecy and deception will play later in this story. Once Philomela's tapestry reaches her sister, Procne, Ovid begins to use silence in a very different way. Up until this point silence has been a weapon used against Philomela by Tereus and by rendering her silent he has taken away her power and her ability to seek revenge against him for her rape. Now silence is working to her advantage as Procne appropriates her silence and uses it to take revenge on Tereus by keeping silent about the fact that she knows the truth, that he has raped, mutilated and imprisoned her sister (evolvit vestes saevi matrona tyranni germanaeque suae fatum miserabile legit et (mirum potuisse) silet: dolor ora repressit). This foreshadows how the two sisters will use their silence in order to make Tereus to commit an unspeakable act by not telling him that the meat he is eating is actually his own son. In this way Ovid transforms the weakness and helplessness that characterised Philomela's silence into a weapon that will be used to wreak a terrible vengeance on her assailant. - She addresses him directly, but deliberately avoids naming him - indeed, his name is not mentioned throughout the entire passage, or even in the preceding lines. Instead, she calls him barbare (6.533); in Greek conceptions of humanity, 'Greekness' was one of the defining features of human beings, and as such, barbarians, women, and slaves were seen as 'less human'. The fact that Philomela both calls Tereus a barbarian and additionally refuses to acknowledge his name is a damning comment on the bestiality of his behaviour. She also employs a number of other rhetorical devices, such as rhetorical questions, as well as a powerful use of anaphora. Her repeated use of si, "if" punctuates her sentences and emphasises her desperation and anger: - There is a contradiction at play here: Philomela both expresses her belief that Tereus will be punished, but at the same time her use of the conditional "if" also betrays that even in the world of the Met, where gods frequently intervene in the stories of mortals, there is still room for doubt. This acts as an unpleasant form of foreshadowing for the reader, who know that there will be no immortal help forthcoming, and that to engineer her revenge, Philomela and Procne will have to commit terrible acts of their own. The strength and passion of Philomela's speech, however, cannot help but raise the reader's hopes - she promises to tell her story to whoever will listen, and having just seen the evidence of her oratory ability, we almost believe her when she says that she will conscia saxa movebo, "move the very rocks to pity" with her words (6.547), especially as she is presented at the beginning of the passage in the traditional image of epic female bereavement: Beyond the physical horror of the removal of the tongue, which I will speak about below, there is another element of terror in the act: speech was another quality that was suggested in Greek philosophical thinking as one of the defining traits of humanity; to remove Philomela's ability to speak by cutting out her tongue is a further act of dehumanisation, who has already had not only her body physically violated, but also her sense of right and wrong: omnia turbasti, literally "everything is confused", though the Loeb translation gives "you have confused all natural relations" (6.537). Both translations convey Philomela's utter sense of outrage at Tereus' deed, which has upended everything she knew to be true. The act of the rape itself is not graphically described by Ovid in this passage - however, the cutting out of Philomela's tongue seems to stand in for it. The seizing of Philomela's hair arreptamque coma, (6.552) and the binding of her hand behind her back fixis post terga lacertis vincla (6.552-3) are images we might have expected from the rape itself, and certainly the image of her tongue caught between the pincers gives the reader a physical enactment of the metaphorical theft of Philomela's modesty and sense of bodily autonomy: conprensam forcipe linguam/abstulit ense fero, "he seized her tongue with the pincers and cut it off with the cruel sword" (6.556-7). Something has been taken away from her both literally and figuratively. It is interesting how the tongue itself is personified both during and after it has been cut out: the tongue itself is protesting, indignantem, calling on its father, vocantem nomen patris, and trying to speak, luctantem loqui, rather than Philomela (6.555-6). It is also the image of the tongue that Ovid focuses on once it has been cut out, rather than Philomela's reaction to what must be astounding pain, describing how it moves around as if on its own accord, continues to speak, and in general, seems to be very much alive: The horrible liveliness of the tongue, emphasised by Ovid's use of evocative language such as inmurmurat, palpitat and the comparison to a snake, colubrae, is contrasted with Philomela's stillness - we get no further insight into her thoughts or feelings in this passage. Instead, the image we are left with of her, the final word in the passage in fact is simply corpus, "body" (5.562). The passionate, loquacious woman we saw at the beginning of the passage, hopeful even in her distress, has been replaced by a hollowed-out shell, just a body, not even a femina. Her wish for death, spemque suae mortis (6.554) has been horribly, ironically subverted into a kind of living death. Evidently we are not meant to wholeheartedly endorse Philomela and Procne's revenge - like Medea's famous speech, Procne's indecisive agony over whether or not she should or even can kill her son is deliberately ambiguous in terms of whether or not we should sympathise - however, I would argue that Ovid goes to great lengths in this passage to win our sympathy for Philomela by emphasising just how much has been taken from her in this encounter, both literally and figuratively. The horrible liveliness of the tongue, emphasised by Ovid's use of evocative language such as inmurmurat, palpitat and the comparison to a snake, colubrae, is contrasted with Philomela's stillness - we get no further insight into her thoughts or feelings in this passage. Instead, the image we are left with of her, the final word in the passage in fact is simply corpus, "body" (5.562). The passionate, loquacious woman we saw at the beginning of the passage, hopeful even in her distress, has been replaced by a hollowed-out shell, just a body, not even a femina. Her wish for death, spemque suae mortis (6.554) has been horribly, ironically subverted into a kind of living death. Evidently we are not meant to wholeheartedly endorse Philomela and Procne's revenge - like Medea's famous speech, Procne's indecisive agony over whether or not she should or even can kill her son is deliberately ambiguous in terms of whether or not we should sympathise - however, I would argue that Ovid goes to great lengths in this passage to win our sympathy for Philomela by emphasising just how much has been taken from her in this encounter, both literally and figuratively. I think that Ovid also makes an effort to distance himself as the narrator from Tereus; at the end of the passage when describing Tereus' further repeated rapes of Philomela, Ovid continues Philomela's policy of not referring to Tereus by name, not even ascribing another noun or pronoun to refer to him. He also asserts that Tereus' actions are vix ausim credere, "scarcely even believable" (6.562), though whether this is a moralising judgement or not is hard to say. Ovid also emphasises Tereus' weakness in comparison, I think to Philomela's strength: Philomela, in comparison, is not described as fearful anywhere in this passage - she is directly beforehand, while the rape is taking place - however, in the aftermath, her anger comes to the fore. This is a rare depiction in Ovid: very rarely do female victims get the chance to voice their sense of violation and outrage, either because they are transformed into other shapes that remove their ability to speak (such as Daphne) or because their feelings towards their rapists are left somewhat ambiguous (such as Io or Semele). This, as I have argued above, makes the removal of Philomela's tongue - and the lack of divine intervention on her behalf - even more devastating: we are finally given a chance to see a woman break the silence that surrounds rape in epic poetry, only to have it snatched away, not by a god or some kind of magical metamorphosis, but by the actions of a man. Overall, the graphic horror of this passage is all the more terrible for how rare it is: we are not used to seeing rape represented so vividly or in such unambiguously negative and destructive terms. Perhaps part of the reason for this are the incestuous overtones of the rape. As Philomela points out, Tereus is already husband to her sister, making him her brother in a way: tu geminus coniunx, "you are twice a husband" (5.538). While geminus can mean double, it also has a familial connotation, highlighting that Tereus is not just violating Philomela as an individual, but also strong societal conventions. This foreshadows the additional crimes of murder and cannibalism that will follow in the second half of the story, as Philomela and Procne conspire to murder Procne and Tereus' son and feed him to his father.

Pentheus

- Is this actual divine justice? - Tragic echoes - Inability to communicate

The Raven and the Crow

- Justice of the gods?

Death of Polydorus

- Tragic borrowing - Anti-Aeneid, One significant instance of this is the elision of the transformation of Polydorus from the beginning of Ovid's version of the Aeneid. In Virgil's Aeneid, Polydorus' death is controversial as there are differing accounts of how he died that appear in the poem, one saying that he died as a result of being run through with many spears and that these spears then transformed into the branches of a bush and another saying that he was beheaded by the warrior Polymestor. Naturally one would assume the transformation of Polydorus into a bush would make an ideal beginning for Ovid's Aeneid and yet the author who wishes to write about transformations is utterly silent on this matter. Instead he favours the second version of events which also appears in Euripides' Hecuba and discusses the incident in detail in the section of Metamorphoses that is devoted to the grief and transformation of Hecuba. But although Ovid seems to have settled on the Euripidean version of events, he also alludes to the Vigillian version when he describes Aeneas leaving Troy (et Polydoreo manantem sanguine terram linquit), a deliberate echo of Virgil (huic atro liquuntur sanguine guttae et terram tabo maculant). Ovid is choosing criticize Virgil by retelling events which took place in the Aeneid, alluding to Virgil frequently in the retelling and highlighting the inconsistencies of his narrative by deliberately choosing to narrate the version of events which does not feature a transformation. Thus Metamorphoses can be read as a subversion of the epic tradition because it takes the common epic literary device of allusion and turns it on its' head so that instead of creating connections between works of literature, it highlights a poet's 'mistakes' or 'awkwardness', things one would not expect to see in the epic genre which prides itself on being the most prestigious of all types of poetry.

Speech of Odysseus

- chiefs and broke the silence with awaited words. 13.124-7. As he continues, the main focus of the first five or so lines of his speech is not himself, but rather Achilles, whose name appears three times in the first ten lines of his oration. In each instance, his name appears in a different case, and each time in line-final position to give it emphasis: Achille (13.130), Achilli (13.133) and Achilles (13.134). Not only does this neatly summarise and remind the audience of why they are watching this contest in the first place, but it also creates pathos, striking three blows in quick succession to the still-mourning Greeks. This pathos is further heightened by the use of the conditional clause with which Ulysses opens his speech, where he tantalisingly imagines a world in which Achilles is still alive: the hopeful semantic meaning of valuissent, "had prevailed" (13.128) is undermined by its pluperfect tense and subjunctive modality, which inevitably point to a possibility long since passed, that Achilles will ever again fight alongside his fellow Greeks, reinforced by the finality of the perfect indicative negarunt: quoniam non aequa...vobisque negarunt/fata, "since the unjust fates have denied him to you" (13.131-2). - Nor is it only the Greeks as a people and an army that have been deprived: Ulysses also addresses Achilles directly and in doing so stresses the sense of personal loss which he feels in response to his death: quoniam non aequa mihi vobisque negarunt/fata, "since the unjust fates have denied him to me" (13.131-2). Evidently, the emphasis Ulysses places on the personal relationship between himself and Achilles anticipates his attempt to trump Ajax's own claim to intimacy with Achilles at 13.151-6. In a similar vein, he places himself in apposition and therefore in comparison with Achilles in lines 13.133-4, placing the two of them in equal standing not once, but twice in the exact same (line-final) position: succedat Achilli, (13.133) and successit Achilles, (13.134). The polyptoton of succedere creates a balanced effect in Ulysses' argument, skilfully articulating his point that surely Achilles' weapons should go to the very man who persuaded him to take them up in the first place. - In his rebuttal of Ajax's arguments, too, Ulysses is very much the polished orator. For example, in lines 13.148-50, he employs one of Cicero's favourite techniques, praeteritio, nominally 'passing over' a topic only to bring it to attention: despite claiming that he family history consists of "deeds which we ourselves did not accomplish", quae non fecimus ipsi (12.140) which are "scarcely our own", vix ea nostra, (13.141) and therefore not good grounds for victory in this contest, he nevertheless goes on to extemporise on his family tree for several lines. Similarly, he highlights both his mother's divine descent, materno quod sum generosior ortu (13.148) and his father's exemplary (at least in comparison to Ajax's father, Telamon) past, mihi quod pater est fraterni sanguinis insons (13.149-50) as factors that make him a preferable candidate to Ajax, only to quickly claim that these (implicitly excellent) credentials are not the reason why he seeks Achilles' armour: neque...nec...quod...proposita arma peto (13.148-50). -However, underlying Ulysses' response to Ajax, and as we shall see, his whole speech, is a strong sense of falsehood and manipulation which ultimately undermines the persuasive influence of his rhetoric. Not only does Ulysses list his family tree in flagrant violation of his claims that he finds records of ancestry and inherited glory to be unconvincing in the case of present merit, but he severely edits his own family history. For example, while he attacks Ajax for his father's past actions, specifically the murder of his half-brother Phocus (neque in his quiquam damnatus et exul, "nor were any among these condemned and an exile" (13.145)), Ulysses completely omits one member of his family who could well be considered damnatus: his maternal grandfather, Autolycus. As the son of Cyllenius (13.146), (Hermes, god of thieves and trickery as well as travellers and messengers), Autolycus was primarily characterised in mythology as a liar and a thief; in fact, in Homeric canon, he stole the helmet which Ulysses himself wears. Ovid himself takes up this theme by marrying Autolycus to Mestra (8.738), the shape-shifting daughter of Erysichthon from Book 8. She herself is a known deceiver, able to take on multiple forms: by including her in his narrative, Ovid adds yet another liar to Ulysses' family tree. - bloody narrators! - It is no wonder that Ulysses chooses to stress his relation to Jupiter (like Achilles, mentioning his name three times in four lines, Iovis (13.142), Iuppiter (13.143) and Iuppiter again (13.145)) over his relationship to Hermes - however, the notable insertion of Arcesius instead of Autolycus at 13.144 draws attention to Ulysses' omission rather than distracting us from it, reminding us of a speaker's ability to self-censor. Ajax, ironically enough, puts it best: Ulysses' oratorical skill "may surpass even trusty Nestor", licet fidum quoque Nestora vincat (13.63), but we have seen earlier in the Met how much that compliment is worth. In Nestor's speech in book 12, we found him to be a less than reliable narrator, and even a conscious censor as he played up the achievements of Caeneus at the expense of Hercules (12.536-48). If Ulysses is a more skilful iteration of the narrative-manipulating Nestor, the message Ovid seems to be trying to put to us is that while Ulysses may spin a good story, we should always be aware of the underlying motivations that may prejudice any tale he chooses to tell, just as Nestor chose to excise Hercules from his narrative of the Centaurs and the Lapiths. -With this in mind, Ulysses' theatrics begin to fall flat as we see the direction behind it: if we look back at the opening of his speech, we find that though Achilles' name appears multiple times and it is Achilles' greatness that Ulysses appears to salute, the second word in the whole speech is in fact mea: Ulysses draws attention to his unspecified "prayers", vota (13.128), which, though they are implied to be prayers for Achilles' survival, could at least for a moment be interpreted as prayers that he himself faced no competition in claiming Achilles' weapons: non foret ambiguous tanti certaminis heres, "the victor of this great contest would be in no doubt" (13.129). His show of modesty at 13.137 rings decidedly false as his professed doubt about his own "eloquence", facundia, siqua est, "if it exists" is resolved only a line later with the contrasting line-final locuta est, "it spoke" (13.138.), and his show of tears in sympathy with the fate of Achilles and the Greeks is shown to be just that, a show, by the narrator's comment that he raises his hand only "as if", veluti (13.132) to wipe away tears - the tears, it is implied, are not really there at all. The perspicacity of the lie reminds us that although Ulysses may have often used his eloquence for the advantage of the Greeks, quod vobis semper, Achivi,/profuit ingenium (13.136-7), in this instance he is employing it for himself, mihi (13.136). -In fact, all the emphasis that goes in to expressing how great of an orator Ulysses is - for example, the narrator's assertion at 13.127 that "influence was not absent from his eloquent words", neque abest facundis gratia dictis and his assertion that Ajax is "slow", hebes (13.135) in comparison to himself - only seems to undermine him further, as though the more effort he puts in, the more obvious his lies and manipulation become, at least to the reader. Perhaps this is the true power of Ulysses' eloquence, that despite its obvious falsehood, it still manages to persuade the listener in the moment, and it is only when reading it retrospectively that we are able to see the lies for what they are. - Ultimately what is most surprising about this passage is that rather than praising Ulysses and aligning himself as poet with one of the greatest story-tellers in literary history, Ovid seems to subvert the very eloquence for which Ulysses was known. Whether this is due to Ovid's wish to take Ulysses' crown or simply to turn the classic Homeric hero into a parody of a Roman orator for comedic purposes, it is not clear; however, if we were to take the latter interpretation in light of what some have interpreted as the anti-Augustan agenda of the Metamorphoses as a whole, it could be argued that Ovid is warning his reader not to be taken in by those who twist words and narratives, perhaps especially those who claim to have descended from gods. Ulysses' speech goes on to list the many great victories he has won for the Greeks through the use of his cunning, which reads like Ulysses' very own Res Gestae, through which arguably, his eloquence is further undermined by his dramatic presentation of fairly low-risk endeavours, such as his sojourn in the palace of Priam, where despite what Ulysses presents as the real risk of being attacked by Priam's sons, he escapes unscathed, with the Trojans' hands "restrained", tenuere (13.203).

Mercury tells the story of Pan and Syrinx

- the account of the chase of Syrinx by the lustful Pan, her avoidance of rape by transformation into a reed (689-712). This simply illustrates the fact that there is no safety or justice among the semigods. The metamorphosis once again victimizes the innocent nymph; the male deity, on the other hand, gets compensated for his frustration by being given the reed as a musical plaything. So much for theodicy as a paradigm in Ovid's Metamorphoses. So much for an ethical rationale. - Mercury, who is dispatched by Juno to assassinate Argus and thus lib? erate Jupiter's beloved Io from captivity. Disguised as a shep? herd, Mercury tells Argus the wonderful story of the origins of Pan's pipes, and after his victim falls asleep during the story, the god dispatches him with a blow of the sword. Like all the other storytellers in Metamorphoses, Mercury stands for Ovid himself, since it is through the god's lips that he tells the story of the origins of the sweet new music of the pipes. With delicious, often-observed irony, Ovid mocks his own storytelling, since Mercury's story of Pan and Syrinx is obvi? ously a version of Ovid's tale of Apollo and Daphne. Mer? cury's narrative, which is ultimately Ovid's own, should arouse interest, but it does not prevent Argus from nodding off. Ovid's capacity to laugh at himself is exemplary?a model to us all. - The introduction of a secondary narrator into a story which already possesses one (in this case Ovid) always complicates matters of narrator and audience; in this passage, there are not only two narrators, Ovid and Mercury, but also two audiences: the reader and Argus. While Argus is doomed by his own lack of insight into Mercury's true motives, the reader is more than aware that the god is not attempting merely to educate or entertain Argus - as indeed, Argus himself believes - but instead to sabotage his listener: iunctisque canendo vincere harundinibus servantia lumina temptat, "by making music on his bound pipes he tries to overcome the watchful eyes" (1.688). Our additional knowledge, kindly bestowed upon us by Ovid allows us to take the story of Syrinx as it is, an act of deceit, rather than as it appears to Argus. - This privileged reading of the passage means that certain parts of it take on special significance that would be lost on us, the primary audience of the poem the Metamorphoses were we in the same position as Argus, the secondary audience. For example, at lines 695-8, we receive a description of Syrinx which mentions, three times in quick succession, that her beauty was such that it would be easy to mistake her for the goddess Diana: ritu quoque cincta Dianae falleret (1.695-6), posset credi Latonia (1.696) and sic quoque fallebat (1.698). Not only does the triple repetition create emphasis, but the use of polyptoton in the repetition of falleret and fallebat really serves to ram home Ovid's point: that the eyes are easily fooled and deception can easily slip by even someone renowned for their watchfulness, such as Argus himself. Of course, for the reader who is well aware that Mercury is deceiving Argus, there is an extra level of irony hidden within the warning: Syrinx may have been mistaken for a goddess, but Argus has failed to recognise a god sitting right beside him. - The introduction of new narrators also introduces the problem of whether or not our narrators are reliable. We assume that Ovid, who has access to all the particulars of the stories he wishes to tell can be trusted to be impartial to some degree; however, the characters within those stories offer no such reassurance. Pan's brief pronouncement at the end of the story hardly seems substantial enough to credit him as a third narrator within Mercury's own inset narration, and yet, Ovid still draws attention to the gap between what Pan describes as a character in a story and what we perceive as a member of the far-removed audience. Consider the sound of the panpipes after Syrinx's transformation. Mercury (and therefore Ovid) describe their music as a sonum tenuem similemque querenti, "low and complaining sound" of the reeds (1.708). Tenuis can also be translated as "thin" or "frail" - when combined with similem querenti, "like complaining", the reader, party to Mercury's comment, can read Syrinx's misery at her transformation and possession by the god she chose to flee in the last moments of her life into the sound of the panpipes. Pan, on the other hand, who is unaware of Mercury's judgement, finds in the sound of the pipes arte nova vocisque dulcedine, "new wonder and sweet tones" (1.709). - The discrepancy between the two narrators' interpretations of the sound leaves us, the audience, left with a dilemma - which interpretation do we align ourselves with? Is Syrinx miserable, trapped as a literal possession of the suitor she wished to escape, or is her transformation a thing of beauty, perhaps an elevation from her ordinary human status? There is some sibilance running through line 708, effecisse sonum tenuem similemque querenti, are we meant to interpret the repetitive 's' sound as the soothing, somnolent sound of the panpipes, or as Syrinx's tremulous complaints? Or indeed, do they represent a different set of pipes altogether, those of Mercury as he soothes Argus to sleep with the pleasant bedtime story of Syrinx and Pan? It is obvious that Ovid himself, the ultimate narrator of the poem, constructs this ambiguity of narrators in order to implant these very questions into his reader's mind: nothing is ever straightforward, and we should never take one person's interpretation at face value until we have seen more than one perspective. - If this invitation to examine the difficulties of reliable narration seems too far-fetched, consider the fact that appearances of artistic instruments and paraphernalia in ancient poetry have long been taken as a symbol of the poet and their craft, a way of inserting themselves into the narrative without actively intervening. It is no coincidence that Ovid chooses to tell the story of how the panpipes, a tool of artistic creation were created in a passage in which he invites his reader to explore the theme of narrators manipulating their audience by revealing or withholding knowledge. Like the snapshot of Helen's weaving in the Iliad or the appearance of Demodocus the bard in the Odyssey, the mention of the panpipes here reminds us of the proem to the Metamorphoses, in which Ovid explicitly states that he is going to spin a carmen, "song" for his readers (1.4). Poetic language for a poem, the use of carmen expresses the inherent musicality of poetry, especially epic poetry, which had its roots in rhythmic oral composition and declamation. - The literary reference here, both to the beginning of his own work and to this part of epic tradition reminds the reader that regardless of who might seem to be in control of the story, no matter how many perspectives we obtain from other characters, Ovid is the one who has crafted this story. In fact, Ovid's narrative voice is so strong that even in this passage which Mercury is nominally narrating, he actually takes over the god's narration part of the way through, cutting in to edit, minimise and collapse the narrative as he sees fit. Indeed, he glosses over the arguably significant moment in which Pan first sees Syrinx in a matter of lines: - A description of love at first sight and its devastating effects is a fairly common trope of elegiac poetry, the genre which had long monopolised Ovid's poetic output - it is surprising that he neglects it here. The account of the chase to the river and Syrinx's plea to be saved from her overly zealous pursuer is also very brief, taking only five lines in total (1.700-705). Given that Ovid has already shown himself to be willing to play with the question of who exactly is telling this story and how much we are supposed to know compared to the direct recipient of the story, Argus, I think it is likely that this editorialising on Ovid's part once again plays on the fact that we know what Mercury is trying to do with his telling of this tale. If we were to listen to all of it as narrated by Mercury, there is a good chance that we would "yield", subcubuisse (1.714) to sleep, just as Argus does at the conclusion of the narrative. Ovid as narrator is essentially interfering on behalf of the wider audience, the reader, as if to save us from hearing something that we already know all over again - The following passage concludes the story of Io; with Argus killed by Mercury and Io free to wander, Jupiter swears an oath to Juno that he will never renew his affair with Io, and in return, the girl is returned to her original form to become a priestess. In the face of this relatively happy ending, the Syrinx episode seems grimly dark; unlike Io, Syrinx is never able to return to her old shape, and Argus meets his death as a result of authorial deception. It is perhaps a warning from Ovid that regardless of how happy a story might seem to be to its audience, there is always a possibility that the reader, like Argus, has not fully understood the author's intentions, and may be in for a nasty surprise.

Boreas and Orithyia

Justice of gods? Direct contradiction of Minerva during weave off Standard rape narrative

Mercury, Herse and Aglauros

- Justice of the gods? - Personification of Envy - Inner logic of metamorphosis

Ino and Athamas

- Justice of the gods??? - Tragic overtones, bit like Pentheus

Byblis and Caunus

- Byblis and Caunus - brother/sister twincest, Caunus is like Apollo, ultimus amor - parallels with Apollo - use Apollo and Daphne as an example - cf Clitophon and Leucippe • Their father is an exile, ends up as another story of foundation when Caunus flees from his sister • Byblis cites divine examples of sibling incest, justifies her decision • Sends a letter to her brother, revealing her feelings, omen right before, Caunus is horrified, but Byblis ups her game - convinces herself further, speaks to him personally but Caunus flees and she pursues him before dying of exhaustion and turning to a fountain because of all the tears she has shed • Emphasis placed on names - relationship between siblings, need to establish justification for breaking the taboo, starts the story with gratuitous repetition of Byblis - hates the name brother, calls him master, physical linguistic separation of 'Byblis' and 'sister' - is the the soror or the amatrix • Byblis becomes an elegiac lover - male role, internal debates, sends letters, fire repetition, dreams , rendered psychologically/internally - when she is transformed she is glacies • No nurse - since they are twins she is loyal to both of them • Shoutout to Heroides? • Nighttime setting for taboo thoughts/dreams • Are the gods to be taken as examples? Are they guidelines? Not for real life? Not for mortals? The gods have their own laws

Arethusa

- Classic rape narrative - Narrative within a narrative...etc - Metamorphosis can't always offer escape.

Laomedon

- Confused chronology - thought Hercules was dead! - Don't piss off the gods

Judgment of Tiresias

- Cruelty/pettyness of gods - Limits of the gods

Jupiter and Io

- Features Jupiter himself, shows him as a successful and amoral rapist, capable of twisting ethical terminology (cf. 617 ff.), and makes the innocent nymph, not the god, the victim of a metamorphosis which, itself manifestly unjust, then initiates a train of suffering for Io the cow while her divine lover continues to deny his responsibility - Jupiter approaches Io in some indefinite but visible form and identifies himself as a god, not a lower plebeian deity but the one who controls the heavens with his sceptre and shoots thunderbolts (595-96). Such detail invites us to think back to the flawed "theodicy" of the earlier Council and to the occasion when he visited Lycaon, gave a sign of his deity (he claimed), and was greeted by scornful laughter by the king. Io does not believe this speaker either. So he rapes her, transforms her into a cow, and, when he gets a confused attack of ethics, delivers the animal over to the savage jealousy of Juno - The metamorphosis is, if anything, the proof of divine injustice. The only continuity between Io and the cow, registered in a curiously inept parenthetical remark, 612, that serves to emphasize this inhuman injustice, consists in the beauty of both nymph and beast. Needless to say, however, the beauty is not of the same order, and Io, retaining her human consciousness inside that bovine form, does not find herself beautiful at all - Jupiter does have a sneaking realization that he has done wrong, though not so much to Io as to his bitchy wife Juno, but he has no capacity to face and rectify his guilt. After Io has been harried over the landscape, about to give birth, she groans piteously and prays that the god end her punishment - Io as speechless, importance of speech to humanity

Hercules

- Hercules dies and becomes a god (9.134-272), only for the story of his birth to be narrated (9.292-315) only ten lines later. Time, chronology and history, Ovid seems to suggest, is nowhere near as easy to pin down in place as the perfect picture at the Palace of the Sun would have us believe. - Of the various metamorphoses in Ovid's poem, the most exalted is that of apotheosis or deification. Metamorphoses rises to a series of such transformations towards its conclu? sion. In the wake of the deification of Hercules, who put off his mortal body and rose beyond the clouds to the stars in a chariot drawn by four heavenly horses, Ovid turns in the final books of the poem to those apotheoses that address the glory of Rome. - In the course of the poem the hard fate and failure of the artists stands in particular contrast with the better luck of the heroes that begins with Perseus' triumph over the Gorgon and culminates in the apotheosis of Hercules and a string of subsequent deifications. While the heroes grow more and more capable of holding their own against the powers of the gods and of nature, the position of art grows more and more tentative and the artist becomes a helpless figure at odds with nature and the authority of the gods. One wonders at Ovid's purpose in treating his fictional counterparts so harshly when he has made such an effort to draw them closely into the context of his work - Mistrust of lovers - Mortal defeating god!! But he is a god to be so...

Creation of the Myrmidons

- Justice of gods - Aetiology - Foundation myth

Midas and the Golden touch

- Justice of gods - Foolishness of mankind - Dangers of Greed - Creating art doesn't make you happy?

Hercules' birth

- Justice of gods - Metamorphosis as logic - A god deceived

Cephalus and Procris

- Justice of gods? - Rape narrative reversal - Aetiology - Cephalus as a narrator -

Dryope

- Justice of gods? Even where Ovid's sources offered one, he changed the story, as in the case of Iphis, transformed from Nicander's myth of Leucippe, the aition of the cult of Leto Phytia in Phaestus, or the myth of Dryope, aition for a sanctuary of Apollo and its foot race,58 or in the quaint little story of the Cypriot Cerastae, behind whom archaeology has taught us to see Cypriot bull masks.59 Ovid mentions none of this. Although both the Iphis and the Dryope stories retain their local setting, the Iphis story develops into a rather intimate mother-daughter story that replaces Leto, the original local goddess, with Isis, the omnipresent divine helper (especially of women) in Ovid's own society.60 And the Dryope story, while retaining the name of its heroine, grows into the pathetic account of the blunder of an innocent flower-picker.

Sibyl

- Justice of the gods - Be careful what you wish for

Latona and the Lycians

- Justice of the gods?

Mercury, Battus and the stolen cattle

- Justice of the gods?

Midas and the ass' ears

- Justice of the gods? - Censorship of art? - Art bites back via the music of the reeds

Actaeon and Diana

- Justice of the gods? - Emphasis on honest mistake - Inability to speak as symbol of animal

Iphigenia

- Justice of the gods? - Focus on the unepic bits

Deification of Aeneas

- Lead up to Augustus. Divinity is not being bestowed upon Hercules through metamorphosis but rather it was within him all along and this metamorphosis is merely bringing his divine trait to the forefront. The apotheoses of Aeneas and Romulus follow in a similar vein, with the focus being on purging their mortal ancestry rather than acquiring any new divinity. In the case of Romulus in particular, the reasons cited for his apotheosis by Mars are focused on traits that he already possesses such as his leadership skills and the fact that Jupiter had already promised that he would grant immortality to Romulus (tu mihi concilio quondam praesente deorum (nam memoro memorique animo pia verba notavi) "unus erit, quem tu tolles in caerula caeli" dixisti: rata sit verborum summa tuorum!). Although he becomes more worthy of heaven, it is through the shedding of his mortal parts rather than through any concrete additions to his person (corpus mortale per auras dilapsum tenues).

Rape of Proserpina

- Levels of power among gods - Classic rape narrative - Narrative within a narrative...etc

Cup of Alcon

- Mini-thebeid - within a mini-aeneid!

Anaxerete and Iphis

- Obeys internal logic of metamorphosis - Narrative within narrative being manipulated for authors own ends...hmmm

Arachne vs Minerva

- Ovid also evokes the art of painting in the myth of Arachne's weaving contest with Minerva, especially when he uses the verb pingere to describe what the goddess depicts. By analogy, we can construe Arachne's woven stories as picto? rial, for example, the myth she pictures of Jupiter's rape of Europa?a cunning revision of Ovid's own version of the story in book two in which the maiden was deceived by the "image of a bull." In other words, Arachne, picturing Jupiter as a bull, renders an image of an image. When Arachne weaves with one thousand colors, she stands for Ovid him? self, whose richly chromatic text is shot through with colored threads. Blacks, whites, grays, silvers, golds, yellows, reds, purples, pinks, blues, and greens abound in the author's pic? torial poetry. - Ovid's identity with Arachne is often observed, for the poet, speaking of his text as something woven, thus identifies with the consummate weaver among mortals. When Arachne weaves the story of Europa, which visually echoes Ovid's telling of the tale in book two, she alludes to a myth in which the poet celebrates the art of handicraft. - The significance of such descriptions lies in their ability to enlarge the perspectives of the poem by introducing some object that belongs naturally to its own closed world and yet incorporates external material that could not, save through the medium of ekphrasis, be admitted into the framework of this world. But the tapestries of Arachne and Minerva have no such metaphorical subtlety. They are not, as it were, windows looking towards a world outside of the poem but mirrors of the poem itself. - The styles of the tapestries are inseparable from their subjects. Minerva's angry response makes this point. On their surface the two tapestries appear to present incompatible views of the gods. The vision of Arachne's tapestry is perfectly in keeping with the world vision of the Metamorphoses whose first five books have presented numerous examples of the free and energetic loves of the gods. The reader who is sympathetic to Arachne cannot help but think that Minerva's formal and highminded depiction of divine power and justice embodies some hypocritical misrepresentation. But of course the goddess's work is also perfectly faithful to the theological ethos of the poem, and her images of divine vengeance have their analogies in such stories as that of Aglauros, Battus, Semele, Actaeon and Pentheus. Both Minerva's and Arachne's versions of mythology and metamorphosis assert the power of the gods: the one as a force of order, the other as a force participating in the flux of nature. As the creator of the poem, Ovid maintains a vision embracing both points of view. A balance between them is essential to the temper of the poem. Thus it is impossible to identify Ovid's perspective entirely with Arachne's, even when he serves as sympathetic champion of her aesthetics of verisimilitude. - The ensuing contest of Minerva and Arachne in Book Six makes the discrepancy between human and divine viewpoints clearer by the very fact that its art works present a more recognizable reflection of the nature of metamorphosis within the poem, and, at the same time, a clearer expression of the thoughts and intentions of their creators. From Minerva's point of view, Arachne is the very epitome of the rebellious upstart, a woman with neither position nor background to recommend her, but only her skill (7-8: non ilia loco nee origine gentis/ clara, sed arte fuit). As the child of a humble wool-dyer, reared in a small cottage, she comes to cherish ambitions of making her name famous throughout all Lydia (8-12). Her hopes were not ill-founded, for her work compels universal admiration and, like the legendary bards whose songs dazzle nature, she draws the nymphs from grove and stream to marvel at her.grace in weaving and the beautiful painting of her needle (15-20). It is in keeping with her pride in her self-made success, that the girl denies any obligation to Minerva's teaching and is ready to prove her autonomy by participating in a contest with the goddess (25). Minerva tricks her in the most appropriate way by disguising herself as a very old woman to speak for the authoritarian point of view. Arachne must confess her dependence upon Minerva and rest content with mortal fame. Such admonitions are precisely calculated to make the ambitious young woman go further in staking her modernity and independence against tradition (37-41). -As the narrator prepares to describe the pictures — for Ovid's voice now supersedes that of Minerva — he pauses for a moment to abstract an overview of the scene. The rival artists and their tapestries blend harmoniously into one continuous panorama of beauty and color. The colors shimmer on the surface of the webs like the hues of the rainbow. The contradictory visions of the tapestries as argumenta is sharpened by the recurrence of the same gods in each. Minerva lays claim to her inevitable victory by depicting herself as victor in another contest and she portrays her fellow divinities as they wish to appear in the eyes of man. They are arranged in formal postures, impressive in their dignity (72-73): sedibus altis/augusta gravitate sedent; "they sit on their lofty thrones with august gravity"). The image of Jove is regal and even the defeated Neptune appears in a gesture of majestic power striking the rock with his trident. With their gifts of sacred spring and olive, he and Minerva are benefactors of man. The subject, as Anderson has pointed out, is that of the Parthenon frieze.28 In his outline of the composition, Ovid has captured the cold aloofness of that same monumental pediment that places the gods so far above the reach of man. But the moral, for Arachne's benefit, has to do with divine order and justice. Only the arguments of gods, Minerva seems to say, can be settled by peaceable contention. Thus the four corner panels of the tapestry present a facet of divine justice, showing metamorphosis as the god's punishment of those mortals who challenge their superiority. - But Arachne presents metamorphosis as it serves the erotic whims of the gods. In place of the stationary, regal Jove is the bull who abducts Europa. The lifelike quality of the tapestry suggests truth in the art. Arachne sees through human eyes the shapes in which the gods have been seen by those whom they wished to deceive. The verbs: elatus; luserit; visus; fallis; luserit; deceperit underscore the insistent theme. The illusion Arachne creates is that which the gods themselves have perpetrated. One recalls that, only a moment before, she herself has been tricked by a goddess in an impenetrable disguise. The tapestry of Minerva shows what the poem would be like if the human perspective were excluded: a strangely stiff tale of the god's control of the universe. The limited and fragile human vision is what gives the poem its vitality and its fidelity to the actual life of the world. Arachne's vision is bound to an uncertain and unpredictable world of appearances and her limitation is at once the source of her artistic strength and her fatal weakness. - Yet only such an artist as she, doggedly asserting her autonomy and the truth of her vision, can reveal the ironic injustice of divine order. Having been deceived by a goddess in disguise, she has undergone the same experience as the figures in her tapestry and her subsequent death identifies her even more closely with the fate of her work. Her desperate suicide reveals her dedication to her art, and Minerva, professing a questionable pity, transforms her into a spider, a compulsive weaver whose work is always liable to sudden destruction. - Both the partial vision of Arachne and her defeat are typical of Ovid's unusual treatment of artists and works of art in the poem. Stories in which artists figure play an important role in the Metamorphoses. Insofar as we can determine from Ovid's existing sources, the poet has made major changes to bring out new themes in these stories and draw them closely into the context of the poem. Some he has virtually invented himself. The full implications of the Arachne incident can best be seen as a part of the continuously problematic relationship of the artist figure to his world in the whole context of the Metamorphoses. The fact that artists and their artifacts are a traditional element of classical literature makes Ovid's unusual treatment of them the more striking. By allowing the gods to act as narrators in this section of the poem, he places the human artist in a disadvantaged position that makes his struggle seem the more futile. The stories told by the Muses and Minerva present the human artist as a pretentious rebel pointlessly mocking and vilifying his betters while they boast of themselves as proprietors of a divine art that embodies a truly superior and authoritative vision of the world. -Piety was one of the cornerstones of Augustus' re-conception of what it meant to be a Roman: it is among one of the most common epithets attached to Virgil's Aeneas, the character most meant to represent and foreshadow Augustus, and one of the most dramatic changes Augustus made to Rome once he took power was the restoration of temples as shrines, as we see recording on the Shield of Aeneas in the Aeneid: The fact that Ovid's characters, Arachne and the daughters of Pierus in particular, are willing to challenge the authority of the gods to their faces flies very much in the face of a regime which prioritises religious piety. - Similarly unflattering is the picture that Arachne paints - or rather weaves - of the gods in her tapestry, which, when hung side by side with the tapestry created by Minerva, is even more stark in its flagrant flouting of Augustan ideology. Minerva's tapestry depicts five mythological episodes in perfect symmetry, one in the centre and four at each corner, "enclosed within a border of an olive-wreath of peace". The central panel, showing the contest between Minerva and Neptune for patronage of Athens is appropriately Augustan, showing as it does "the foundation of a great city under the auspices of the gods". What is most notable, however, is the way that the gods are depicted: These are the gods of the Augustan regime, stately and awe-inspiring. Jupiter is given particular attention, aligned as he is with Augustus, both in Augustan propaganda and earlier in the Metamorphoses at the Council of the Gods in Book 1. Noticeably, he is described as having a regalis imago, "royal figure" (6.74).

The Palace of the Sun

- Ovid goes out of his way to upset the traditional approaches to mythological time: an excellent example is his ecphrasis of the Palace of the Sun in Book 2. At first glance, the artwork within the Palace falls perfectly in line with the overarching, cosmic image of the world and of time that we expect from epic: we see the world divided perfectly into the triptych of sea, land, and sky, aequorum, terrarum, caelum, (2.6-7), overseen by the Sun and his attendants, "Day and Month and Year and Century, and the Hours set at equal distances", Dies et Mensis et Annus Saeculaque et positae spatiis aequalibus Horae (2.25-6), along with the four seasons: - This is the same kind of imagery that we see in the Shields of Achilles and Aeneas, an image of perfect balance and order: however, that very order is soon to be completely reversed by the chaotic flight of Phaethon, whose disastrous impact on the progression of time "suggests a purposeful deviation from a 'natural' temporal sequence" on Ovid's part. Hence, we see Pluto and Prosperina together in the underworld infernum terret cum coniuge regem (2.261) long before the rape takes place within the internal narrative of the Metamorphoses, Mt Atlas is referenced two books before the mountain is even created, Atlans en ipse laborat/ixque suis umeris candentem sustinet axem (2.296), and in Tellus' lament, (2.279-300), not only does she explicitly return to the division of sea, land and sky, freta, terra, caeli (2.298) that we saw in the Palace of the Sun, now on the verge of death, pereunt (2.298), she also "harks back to the opening of the poem, to the description of original Chaos (1.7) which existed before the universe came into being, and suggests the possibility of chronological regression": in chaos antiquum confundimur, "we are hurled back into the former chaos" (2.299).

Proem

- Right from the beginning we see that Metamorphoses is by no means a conventional epic. -There is no invocation to the muse, instead Ovid says that he is being moved by animus, his own spirit. This is a stark contrast to the traditional depiction of the epic poet who is often shown as deriving his inspiration from the Muse, acting almost as a mouthpiece for her rather than an independent author in his own right due to the fact that the Muses possess exclusive rights over poetic knowledge. Ovid emphasizes his autonomy in his artistic efforts, differentiating himself from other epic poets, and reveals that he will be using his skills in explore new territory and not simply create another conventional epic in the style of Homer or Virgil -The timing of this assertion is also crucial as it occurs in the second line of the hexameter. Given that the first line of an elegiac couplet and a dactylic hexameter have the same metrical requirements, this is very point where Ovid's audience will have realized that he is not writing elegy as he has before, but epic. Thus at the very point when Ovid reveals to his audience that he is composing epic, he flouts and subverts the epic tradition of the author vanishing behind his material and attributing his inspiration to the Muses. - Perpetuum is a reference to more traditional epic, signaling that he is going to write an all encompassing epic that will tell the story of all of history from creation to the ascension of the soul of Julius Caesar into the heavens. This word evokes other Latin epics such as Ennius' Annales and Virgil's Aeneid, both of which also purported to contain the history of the Roman world. - However, deducite subverts this and instead indicates that Metamorphoses is not going to be lengthy and bombastic in the style of Homer, but rather fine-spun and delicate in the style of Callimachus, the Alexandrian poet who was very influential amongst Roman poets at the time. - This succinct proem tells us exactly what to expect from this poem, a subversive response to the epic tradition that has the length and metre of conventional epic but is made up of hundreds of smaller, polished tales united not by a single protagonist or plot but by the pervasive theme of miraculous transformation.

Sun, Leucothoe and Clytie

- Seeking perfect union but failing -

Pyramus and Thisbe

- Seeking perfect union but failing - Thwarted sexuality -Aetiology - Tragic elements

Mars and Venus

- Seeking perfect union but failing - Trickery of the gods, jerks to each other as well, no better than mortals

Salmacis and Hermaphroditus

- Seeking perfect union but failing - Warped growing up - Reversal of typical rape scene - WTF are the gods even doing here - Delay on name reveal - How messed up the the Minyeids that they think this is funny?

Minyeides transformation

- Sensuous arrival of god - Silencing of artists - Logic of metamorphosis

Deification of Romulus and Hersilia

- Set up for Augustus • Hersilia's hair becomes fire - memory of Lavinia - foreshadowing to apotheosis of Julius Caesar Divinity is not being bestowed upon Hercules through metamorphosis but rather it was within him all along and this metamorphosis is merely bringing his divine trait to the forefront. The apotheoses of Aeneas and Romulus follow in a similar vein, with the focus being on purging their mortal ancestry rather than acquiring any new divinity. In the case of Romulus in particular, the reasons cited for his apotheosis by Mars are focused on traits that he already possesses such as his leadership skills and the fact that Jupiter had already promised that he would grant immortality to Romulus (tu mihi concilio quondam praesente deorum (nam memoro memorique animo pia verba notavi) "unus erit, quem tu tolles in caerula caeli" dixisti: rata sit verborum summa tuorum!). Although he becomes more worthy of heaven, it is through the shedding of his mortal parts rather than through any concrete additions to his person (corpus mortale per auras dilapsum tenues).

Cadmus founds Thebes

- The battle between Cadmus and the serpent also bears a striking resemblance to the defeat of Cacus by Hercules, where a resident monstrous being is defeat by a pioneering hero. But the similarities go deeper than that with Cadmus setting off to confront Python clad in a lion skin, a clear allusion to Hercules. The two passages are also linked linguistically with Ovid using the word molaris to describe the weapon used by Cadmus to strike Python. This word only appears on one other occasion in Latin literature, in Aeneid to describe the weapon used by Hercules to defeat Cacus. The clear parallels drawn between the foundation of the doomed city of Thebes and the city of Rome indicate that Ovid is envisioning a much more subversive end to the state epic of Rome than Virgil might have planned. -

Themis and the council of the gods

- The first thing we learn about Ovid's gods in this passage is that they are not bound by the same laws that limit mortals. They are able to bring about impossible transformations and bend the laws of time itself in order to restore youth to an aging mortal (nam limine constitit alto paene puer dubiaque tegens lanugine malas, ora reformatus primos Iolaus in annos) or to make mortal youths prematurely older should the situation demand it (tum demum magno petet hos Acheloia supplex ab Iove Calliroe natis infantibus annos addat, neve necem sinat esse ultoris inultam). Mortals are only able to look on in shock and awe at what the gods have brought about ( Dumque refert Iole factum mirabile, dumque Eurytidos lacrimas admoto pollice siccat Alcmene (flet et ipsa tamen) compescuit omnem res nova tristitiam). The relative helplessness of mortals is made clear when we are faced with the differences between the gods and their favoured mortals. While they ae eternally young and untouched by the ravages of time and laws of aging that mortals are subjected to, their husbands age and their lover go grey while they remain the same and children are dead and buried while their parents need never face the harsh reality of death (queritur veteres Pallantias annos coniugis esse sui, queritur canescere mitis Iasiona Ceres, repetitum Mulciber aevum poscit Ericthonio, Venerem quoque cura futuri tangit, et Anchisae renovare paciscitur annos). - We also learn that in spite of the clear differences and power imbalances between gods and mortals, the gods are capable of forging meaningful romantic and familial relationships with mortals. Aurora is married to a mortal in spite of her divine status and seems to care for him deeply in spite of his advancing age (queritur veteres Pallantias annos coniugis esse sui). Venus' concern for Anchises is born both out of her love for him and, as the reader knows, the fact that they have a child together, showing the audience that it is possible to have a family composed of divine, mortal and semi-divine elements (Venerem quoque cura futuri tangit, et Anchisae renovare paciscitur annos). Ceres still exhibits concern for Iasion even though he is her former lover and the two do not appear to be romantically involved any longer (queritur canescere mitis Iasiona Ceres). Vulcan (repetitum Mulciber aevum poscit Ericthonio) and Jupiter (quae si mutare valerem, nec nostrum seri curvarent Aeacon anni, perpetuumque aevi florem Rhadamanthus haberet cum Minoe meo, qui propter amara senectae pondera despicitur, nec quo prius ordine regnat) also both display love and admiration for their mortal sons. The involvement of the gods with mortals is a crucial element of Metamorphoses. The romantic relationships between gods and mortals as well as the relationships between the gods and their mortal children provide the background for many of the transformations that will take place, ranging from the transformation of Daphne into the laurel tree as she flees from the advances of Apollo right up to the deification of Romulus, the son of Mars, and the prominence given to the relationships between gods and mortals in this episode is and illustration of the importance of these relationships to the poem as a whole. - However, this passage also shines a harsh light on the self-centred nature of the gods and the little regard that they have for humans as a whole. Although the gods seem to show concern for humans, they only do so on an individual basis and they seem to only care for humans to whom they are connected either emotionally or through blood. The goddesses Aurora, Ceres and Venus all wish to distribute renewed youth to mortals, but only those with whom they are romantically involved. As we have seen in previous books of Metamorphoses these goddesses care little for the human race generally, even Ceres, who is known for being a goddess friendly to mankind due to her connection with food and the harvest, was perfectly willing to let mankind starve to death when she was despondent at the loss of her daughter Proserpina (ergo illic saeva vertentia glaebas fregit aratra manu, parilique irata colonos ruricolasque boves leto dedit arvaque iussit fallere depositum vitiataque semina fecit). Vulcan and Jupiter also wish to grant the gift of immortality to certain mortals but these mortals are their own sons and they only seem to wish to see them prosper so that they might continue to perpetuate the glory of their respective fathers. Jupiter emphasizes the fact that he sees his mortal children as extensions of himself by referring to them with the possessive meus. He is not interested in Aeacus, Rhadamanthus or Minos for their achievements, he only wishes to see them prosper because they are 'his' and their prosperity heightens his own glory. Even Callirhoe, the mortal woman whose sons are to be granted swift adulthood so that they can avenge their father's murder, is explicitly referred to as a daughter of Achelous, a river god. Considering she is the only mortal who gets any sort of help from the gods in the wake of the horrors that rock Thebes, it seems as though a mortal receiving help from the gods without some sort of explicit divine connection is simply inconceivable (tum demum magno petet hos Acheloia supplex ab Iove Calliroe natis infantibus annos addat). - The disregard that the gods have for the suffering of the human race and their lack of interest in individual humans that are not directly linked to them in some way, is further supported by their reaction to the prophecy of Themis. Themis reveals in great detail the suffering that is destined to be visited upon the Theban people, listing off terrible events such as brothers killing brothers, sons killing their mothers and countless other instances of death and destruction (fientque pares in vulnere fratres, subductaque suos manes tellure videbit vivus adhuc vates; ultusque parente parentem natus erit facto pius et sceleratus eodem attonitusque malis). And yet there is no hint of sympathy or regret for such a terrible situation from the gods, only a focus on how this scenario affects them and their select number of favoured mortals (Haec ubi faticano venturi praescia dixit ore Themis, vario superi sermone fremebant, et, cur non aliis eadem dare dona liceret, murmur erat). The gods have no need to concern themselves with these images of death, familial betrayal and vengeance because it does not affect them. While humans live lives of suffering and toil on earth, the gods enjoy themselves on Olympus, only interacting with mortals if they desire them sexually, if they are related to them or if the mortal has done something that threatens this universal hierarchy that places the gods on a level so far above mortals, as we saw in the case of Lycaon, who threatened Jupiter's rule. Showing characteristic disregard for humanity, Jupiter not only transformed Lycaon into a wolf, but he destroyed mankind with a flood, callously punishing everyone for the threat a single man posed to the power of the gods (dent ocius omnes, quas meruere pati, (sic stat sententia) poenas). -This passage also makes clear that there is a definite hierarchy among the immortal gods. For instance, even though we have just seen Hercules transformed into a god just a few lines earlier, he does not seem to have the same powers as the other deities in this passage and he is forced to beseech his wife, the goddess Hebe, to transform Iolaus and restore him to life and youth (hoc illi dederat Iunonia muneris Hebe, victa viri precibus). Due to his status as a former mortal, Hercules does not seem to be endowed with the same powers as Hebe, the daughter of Juno who has always lived on Olympus among the gods. However, although Hebe seems to have more power than Hercules, goddesses generally seem to have less power than their male counterparts. As I have already discussed, the goddesses in this passage are primarily concerned with wanting to grant renewed youth or immortality to their mortal lovers, with Aurora even seeming to lack the ability to grant immortality even to her husband. However, as we have seen throughout Metamorphoses, male deities do not seem to encounter any obstacles when it comes to granting immortality to their mortal lovers. Ganymede, for instance, is mentioned as having once been the object of Jupiter's passion and he now resides on Olympus (nec mora, percusso mendacibus aere pennis abripit Iliaden; qui nunc quoque pocula miscet invitaque Iovi nectar Iunone ministrat) and Bacchus is described as marrying the mortal Ariadne and placing her amongst the immortal stars (desertae et multa querenti amplexus et opem Liber tulit, utque perenni sidere clara foret, sumptam de fronte coronam inmisit caelo). Whether consumed by lustful desire or the desire for a marital union, it appears that male deities have fewer restrictions on their power whereas goddesses are rendered impotent and are unable to fully exercise their divine powers in order to benefit the mortal men with whom they are involved. It is also made clear from this passage that it is Jupiter who sits at the top of the hierarchy of the gods. As the other deities protest and complain that they are unable to use their divine powers to help their favoured mortals, they are swiftly silenced by a command from Jupiter (crescitque favore turbida seditio, donec sua Iuppiter ora solvit) and it is his words that stop the gods from wishing to mutiny against the fateful prophecies that have been delivered by Themis (Dicta Iovis movere deos; nec sustinet ullus). - However, no matter how omnipotent the gods may appear, there are still limits on their power and they are all subject to the rulings of fate, as prophesied by the goddess Themis. Nine books into Metamorphoses it is clear to the reader at this point that the gods are powerful beings and often it can seems that their use their powers for petty and unjust purposes, such as in the case of the transformation of Arachne into a spider after her talent for weaving was proven to be equal to Minerva's or the transformation of Actaeon into a stag and his subsequent violent death after he accidentally stumbled upon the goddess Diana bathing. But here we see that Ovid's gods are restricted by something, the laws of fate. Fate here appears to be a powerful and mysterious force that not even Jupiter, the king of the gods, can attempt to fight against (o! nostri siqua est reverentia,' dixit 'quo ruitis? tantumne aliquis sibi posse videtur, fata quoque ut superet? fatis Iolaus in annos, quos egit, rediit. fatiiuvenescere debent Calliroe geniti, non ambitione nec armis. vos etiam, quoque hoc animo meliore feratis, me quoque fata regunt). The gods are forced to bow to the irresistible power of fate, which seems to imply that there is a greater plan that is being executed by a mysterious and universal force that seemingly omnipotent beings such as the gods are forced to obey. This encourages us to read Metamorphoses as the carmen perpetuum that Ovid claimed it was in the proem of the poem. We are now forced to consider all of the seemingly random or cruel or impulsive actions of the gods, not to be isolated instances or episodes, but to be part of some great plan that the universe is executing. Through this portrayal of the gods, Ovid invites us to seek meaning and purpose in the chaos of the Metamorphoses. -As we can see, Ovid offers us a portrait of the gods that is fraught with contradiction. They are at once endlessly powerful, and yet, limited and restricted by forces greater than themselves, they are capable of great love for individual mortals and yet are still capable of tremendous acts of cruelty and callousness towards to human race as a whole, they exist at the top of the hierarchy of existence and yet still are subdued by deities of higher standing than themselves. This passage exhibits that the gods of Ovid, like Metamorphoses itself, exist in a state of constant conflict within their own identities and yet they remain untouched by the ravages of time.

Ages of Men

- The idea that man has degenerated from a primitive innocence is familiar from Hesiod's Works and Days where there are for degenerating ages of Gold, Silver, Bronze and Iron and there are similar works in Aratus, Tibullus and Virgil, there is little in Ovid that can not be found in one of these versions - Treatment of Silver and Bronze age is relatively perfunctory, focus is on Gold and Iron age for the absence/presence of sin

Medea and Jason

- Tragic rhetoric ala Byblis/Myrrha/Syclla -Focuses away from typical Medea narrative, away from kid murder and on Pelias murder - But still conflict between reason and heart in initial soliloquoy - Agent of the gods? Has the support of Hecate/chariot - Medea's transformation from naive young girl in love into murderous terrifying witch is her metamorphosis - Chariot calls back to Euripides, distances her from sympathy, physically removes her from the normal world - Parallels/contrasts between Tereus and Procne, Jason and Medea, foreign girl marries man and comes home with him but he betrays her and she murders their child...

Transformation of Anius' daughters

- Unepic focus on female suffering

Death of Polyxena

- Unepic focus on the sacrifice/fate of women

Marsyas

- Unlike the stories of Arachne and the daughters of Pierus, in which their transformation is downplayed in comparison to the actual competition itself, in the case of Marsyas, the opposite is true. We get only the briefest of descriptions of the contest, with no indication as to what kind of songs were played by either competitor - Instead, all we see is Apollo's brutal, bloody revenge, drawn out over eleven lines. Neither Arachne nor the Piereids suffered a great deal, or at all, in the process of their transformations, and equally, their metamorphosed forms fit their crimes: Arachne as a spider, one of the best weavers in nature, and the Piereids as magpies, birds which can imitate human speech. Marsyas' transformation is simply cruel. -This too has been interpreted, for example, by Williams, as a reaction to Augustus' growing power, and Ovid's fears about the "persecution of artists" a fear which we, with our privileged historical vantage point, know will come true in the reigns of Nero and later Domitian. Meanwhile, we cannot escape the specific significance that it is Apollo, of all the three artistic gods and goddesses that take part in these artistic competitions, that is the most sadistic and apparently the most unprovoked - after all, we do not know from Ovid's version of the story whether Marsyas' song was particularly good or offensive since all we see is Apollo's reaction. Apollo, of course, was a divinity well-associated with the Augustan regime - one of Augustus' "favourites", according to Curran; the parallel with Augustus is not difficult to spot. Furthermore, Apollo's explosive reaction to Marsyas works very well in parallel with the Lycaon episode in book 1 of the Metamorphoses. - If this is an accurate reading, we could find in the Marsyas passage not just an expression of fear about growing censorship - Marsyas had long been a figure associated with prophecy and free speech in Republican Rome -but also, when linked with the Council of the Gods in Book 1, a comment on Rome's current foreign policy.

Speech of Ajax

- Very traditionally epic - In some ways, we would very much expect Ajax to be at a disadvantage here: the Metamorphoses is a highly literary, highly rhetorical poem, and Ulysses therefore, would seem to be the perfect vehicle for the poetic voice. However, as we look more closely at Ulysses' speech, we may find him less Ovid's counterpart than a send-up of the prototypical Roman orator.

Centaurs and Lapiths

- WHY ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT THIS BATTLE WHEN YOU COULD BE TALKING ABOUT TROY - Oh yeah, Ovid's a jerk - Nestor as a narrator - In Nestor's speech in book 12, we found him to be a less than reliable narrator, and even a conscious censor as he played up the achievements of Caeneus at the expense of Hercules (12.536-48).

Minyeides rejection of Bacchus

- Weaving, story tellers - Artists rebelling against authority - The gods as ruling Roman elite? Augustus? - Minyeides as Ovid, want to tell nova carmina

Diomedes

-Focus on the new, novel and unepic elements of Diomedes' life - Mini-Odyssey - driven to distraction on a voyage home by an angry goddess

Pygmalion

-Pygmalion is an idealist who believes in the superiority of art over nature; yet at the same time the kind of skilled craftsman whose work has a deceptive appearance of actual life. -At this point ivory has indeed become the stuff of false dreams. As he touches and pokes at his statue, Pygmalion feels guilty for his boldness, and in his confusion woos his lady with presents like a pastoral swain: simple shells and stones at first, then rings, clothes, necklace and earrings. The very gesture, which indeed makes a meretrix of the ivory lady, indicates that Pygmalion has lost all sense of the self-sufficiency of his art -Unable at last to find any solution to the stasis created by the conflict between his art and his personal emotions, he places himself in the hands of Venus. More than one critic has spoken of the transformation of the ivory statue into a living woman as a sanctification of the powers of art.40 Anderson, in his edition, observes that Pygmalion reaches the point where he cannot remain content with lifeless loveliness, while Segal speaks of Pygmalion's miracle as a perfect fusion of love and art. But the fact is that when Pygmalion becomes a lover he sacrifices his identity as an artist. -The most, I think, that can be said for the story is that Orpheus considers it ideal. To the detached reader the courtship scene with its echoes of bucolic and elegiac passion, its extravagant rituals played out before an unyielding, inanimate object can hardly be other than bur lesque. Although Ovid's story is certainly more delicate than that older version in which the Pygmalion figure makes love to the statue of Venus, still the erotic overtones are so strong as to suggest that Pygmalion is very close to this pass.41 The portrayal of his humorless obsession with Ovid's typical comic perspective reveals the limitations of his love. For example, prior to Ovid the myth of Pygmalion was at the level of anecdote and was transformed by him into one of the great stories of wish fulfilment It should not escape our attention that the story of a hard statue that comes alive is sung by a singer who is himself seemingly turned to stone in grief at the death of his beloved.

Vertumnus and Pomona

As for the Pomona and Vertumnus episode, Ovid leaves it up to us as to how to integrate it into the historical narrative of the Alban kings. Hardie stresses that in writing the Metamorphoses, Ovid "pretends to accept the mythological view, only now and then interposing a slightly indication of doubt"; Cole suggests that Ovid "contrives to suggest reservations about [mythological narratives'] veracity in various ways", and Galinsky stresses that "few, if any, of Ovid's contemporaries believed in the literal truth of myth or considered it as expressing realities of a high order". This would suggest that we are meant to take the Vertumnus and Pomona story, like all those that occurred before the arrival of the Trojans in Italy, in the way that we generally understand myths today, as exempla of ideal behaviour or pieces of aetiology. However, the fact that it is inserted so casually into the supposedly purely historical part of the narrative raises questions about the other metamorphoses that take place in Books 14 and 15, namely the apotheoses of Romulus and Augustus. -Vertumnus as a dodgy narrator

Ceyx and Alcyone

At 338 lines the myth ofCeyx and Alcyone (11 .410-748), written in the form of epic narrative and dealing with a husband and wife who are changed into birds, is, after that of Phaethon, the longest episode of the Metamorphoses. Here once more Ovid demonstrates his originality in several ways. For in Nicander's Heteroioumena Ceyx and Alcyone are guilty of impiety towards the gods and are punished by the gods, but this theme of divine vengeance is excised by Ovid, who gives us instead a quite different story of human bereavement and sorrow. Again, while Ovid portrays a great storm like those of the Odyssey and the Aeneid, this storm is not attributed to any deity, because the gods of Ovid are not like those of Homer and Virgil, and are mentioned only to be discounted. Furthermore and crucially, Ovid paints a unique picture of happy married love which he places at the center of his epic work and which contrasts violent with the debased sexual games of the Amores.49 Central to Ovid's treatment is the departure of Ceyx to consult the oracle of Apollo on the island of Delos, for this brings to Alcyone a hazardous separation she is unable to bear, hazardous because of the other main element in the story, the winds and waves of the storm in the Aegean. Unlike Homer, Ovid compares the winds and waves to men and so animates the inanimate. Because of this animate force Ceyx is drowned, pathetically asking the waves to bring his body back to Alcyone. Then in contrast to the violent storm we come to the cave of Sleep, the epitome of peace and quiet, from which Morpheus is dispatched to Alcyone to tell her ofCeyx's death. So while the divine machinery is omitted in the storm, it is introduced here to depersonalize the emotions of Alcyone, who laments her inability to join Ceyx in death. At this point, Alcyone sees the body of Ceyx and both undergo a metamorphosis so rapid that it cannot be pinpointed in time, while the gods finally pity the couple and Aeolus restrains the winds. It is metamorphosis that saves the day and validates Ovid's positive estimate ofmarried love by reuniting the lovers. As Otis says, "The change of the lovers into halcyon-birds has a truly cosmic significance: the hostility of man and nature transformed by love; death made into new life; human tragedy converted to cosmic beneficence."49

Venus and Adonis

At least one Ovidian narrator comments on the complex nature of narrative time, a compromise between the rhythm of narrative and the implied pace of the events: at 10.679-80 Venus says that she will cut short the story, so that speech (sermo) will not be slower than the event conveyed by the speech, a foot-race. But the context is paradoxical: Venus has just said that she has been slowing down Atalanta's running with a couple of supernatural tricks, and the style (sermo) of the passage demonstrates that poetry itself can do surprising tricks, for example describe the slowing down of a fast runner in a line consisting purely of swift dactyls (10.678): impediique oneris pariter grauitate moraque ('I slowed her up equally with the weight of her burden and by the delay'). The analogy between writer and Olympic god is here extended to their power of manipulating events: Venus is both reporting on a situation and creating it, and the author likewise - except that he has only words to work with.

Atalanta and Hippomenes

Transformation of Aeneas' ships

At this point we have firmly established that for Ovid, while metamorphosis is an impossible event it certainly does follow the internal logic of bringing to the surface character traits, activities, events and relationships that already exist and makes them physically evident. However, we are left with the question of whether this is an exclusively Ovidian innovation and whether or not other ancient authors treated metamorphosis in a similar way. This can be established by examining how the same metamorphosis, the transformation of Aeneas' ship into sea nymphs, is treated by both Ovid and Virgil. Virgil attempts to ease the transition from the ships to the sea nymphs by suggesting an intermediate stage in which they were like dolphins and embodies this through the use of the word rostra to apply to both the beaks of the ship and the snouts of the dolphins (et sua quaeque continuo puppes abrumpunt vincula ripis delphinumque modo demersis aequora rostris ima petunt. hinc virgineae (mirabile monstrum) reddunt se totidem facies pontoque feruntur). But in spite of this Virgil emphasises the miraculous nature of the transformation through his exclamation and the nymphs themselves are not said to bear an resemblance to the ships. In Virgil, metamorphosis is clearly an absolute alteration. Contrastingly, Ovid explicitly points out the similarities between the physical forms of the ships and the nymphs, directly correlates specific parts of the ships with parts of the nymphs' bodies (in capitum faciem puppes mutantur aduncae,in digitos abeunt et crura natantia remi, quodque prius fuerat) and exerts his ingenuity so that we as readers view the nymphs as representing a permanent continuation of Aeneas' ships (caerulus, ut fuerat, color est). Since they are Trojan ships, their hatred of the Greeks is also preserved, as they rejoice at the wreckage of Ulysses' ships (cladis adhuc Phrygiae memores odere Pelasgos Neritiaeque ratis viderunt fragmina laetis vultibus et laetis videre rigescere puppim vultibus Alcinoi saxumque increscere lingo). Thus we can clearly see that the concept of metamorphosis as a clarification is a distinctively and deliberately Ovidian notion that distinguished him from other authors of the ancient world.

Ardea

In Metamorphoses, rather than returning the body of Turnus to his father, as Turnus asked. Aeneas attacks Ardea, the city of Turnus' father Daunus, and razes it to the ground. The destroyed city is then transformed into a heron which flies away from the destruction. Virgil makes only one mention of Ardea in the Aeneid (locus Ardea quondam dictus avis). Naturally most would interpret avis to mean 'by the ancestors' but a perverse reader would be able to establish a Virgillian connection between the bird and the city of Ardea and some scholars have also picked up on this connection. Ovid seems to have also embraced this reading and establishes an alternate version of events from Virgil's. Ovid states that the bird is named as a result of the terrible destruction of Ardea, which is in direct contrast to Virgil's assertion that the city was named for the bird when it was founded. In this was Ovid subverts the epic genre by insinuating that Virgil's version of events is nothing more than a version created to conceal the uncomfortable reality of the pious Aeneas' senseless and brutal destruction of the city of Ardea. Even in transformations that do not involve individual humans, this internal logic still applies. When the city of Ardea is burned to the ground, the spirit of the city seems to take the form of a heron that flies out of the ashes of the city. Ovid encapsulates that city's destruction in the appearance of the heron, depicting the ashes of the burnt city clinging to it's wings to form the distinctive markings of the heron and the slenderness of the bird comes to represent the grief and hunger of the dispossessed inhabitants of the city (congerie e media tum primum cognita praepes subvolat et cineres plausis everberat alis. et sonus et macies et pallor et omnia, captam quae deceant urbem, nomen quoque mansit in illa urbis, et ipsa suis deplangitur Ardea pennis). Here we can see that the inner logic of Metamorphoses preserves not only physical characteristics.

Polyphemus, Galatea and Acis

One clear example of this is the love song of Polyphemus to Galatea in Metamorphoses XIII in which a character with whom we are all familiar with from Homeric epic is placed in a setting that is reminiscent of a Theocritean pastoral and plays the role of the elegiac lover that we might have seen before in some of the earlier works of Ovid. : Farrell makes an excellent study of the Song of Polyphemus episode in book thirteen of the Metamorphoses as an example of this generic fusion, in which Ovid draws on the poetic traditions of epic and the relatively new form of pastoral poetry in such a way that the reader cannot help but be aware of the influencing genres. In summary, the Song of Polyphemus tells the story of how the Cyclops Polyphemus, of Odyssean fame, falls in love with the nymph Galatea, who unfortunately, is already in love with a mortal, Acis. Frustrated and hurt by his inability to woo the one he loves, the monster loses his temper and ends up killing Acis (though he metamorphoses into a river god) (Met 13.898-968). The story that Ovid tells is itself a play on Theocritus' Idyll 11, a poem which also plays with genre, inserting the epic monster the Cyclops into the role of a pastoral shepherd. While the lovers Galatea and Acis fall perfectly into the role of pastoral lovers, lounging in a cave together (Met 13.786-7), Polyphemus, who in Theocritus' telling is more suited to his pastoral setting is every inch the epic monster as he appears in the Odyssey. It is not just his hair and beard which are endowed with coma plurima, "a wealth of hair", indeed, his whole body rigidis horrent saetis, "bristles with thick hair" (Met 13.844-6). Moreover, he carries the fury of Mt. Etna within him, a volcano with epic associations in that it was supposedly the prison of the giant Typhon. Polyphemus' epic past, which we would think would allow him to fit right in to Ovid's 'epic' poem, in fact ostracises him from the elegiac and pastoral setting and characters he seeks to ingratiate himself with. The painful premise of Polyphemus' situation, that no matter how hard he tries to imitate the wooing tactics of an elegiac lover he will never possess his beloved, would not work if the expectations and traditions of the elegiac genre were not already so entwined in the fabric of the Metamorphoses.

Death of Orpheus

Orpheus' tales of unfortunate love provoke the wrath of the Thracian women. All are reduced to the level of ordinary men. Ovid sustains his story of stone when he sings of Orpheus' own death, for he is stoned to death by Ciconian women. Whereas stones had previously fallen under the spell of Or? pheus, such stones are now the instruments of his demise. But the story of stone does not end here, since stones also mourn the bard's death. When the limbs of the dead Or? pheus are scattered, his head and lyre float upon the river Hebrus. His instrument makes mournful sounds, his tongue murmurs in doleful harmony with the lyre. When a serpent strikes at Orpheus' head, Apollo intervenes and petrifies the creature's open jaws. Thus ends another of Ovid's stories of stone, in this case a tale of stone interwoven with music. The last scenes of Orpheus' life call attention to the frailty of the artist's imaginary world. In his withdrawal he still cannot shield himself from the sexual aggression of the Maenads and ironically falls victim to the violent side of that very passion whose violence he had sought to escape. For a moment Ovid shows him again in his traditional role The artist is isolated amidst nature. The order he has created is ultimately powerless to defend him. Nature in its fullest sense includes not only the enchanted circle of beasts and trees, but also the Maenads and the violent passions Orpheus has attempted to deny by his art. In the hands of the raging women, nature becomes a means of destruction, for their weapons are their leafy thyrsii (28: non haec in munera factos; "not created for such duties"), clods of earth, branches ripped from the trees, and finally the tools abandoned by frightened farmers in a nearby field. This last, wholly Ovidian detail is of course an ironic recollection of Vergil's persistent analogy of farmer and singer as the makers of order in nature. For the first time Orpheus speaks in vain (40: nee quicquam voce moventem; "not influencing anything by his voice"). As his lyre floats down the river its song has faded to an indeterminate murmur (flebile nescio quid: 52) and no vestige of his enchanting power remains when a wild serpent rises to strike at the severed head cast upon the Lesbian shore.

Scylla 2

This is mirrored in his mini-Aeneid where we see Ovid reduce Aeneas' relationship with Dido, a story that took up an entire book in Virgil's Aeneid, down to a matter of lines (Met 14.78-82), while simultaneously inflating stories like those of Scylla and Circe, which barely even featured in Virgil's telling of the tale: Ovid "tracks the narrative line of the Aeneid closely; but wherever Virgil is elaborate, Ovid is brief, and wherever Virgil is brief, Ovid elaborates" - Scylla but not Scylla! All that build up for nothing - Makes a liar out of Virgil

Circe and Scylla

see Ovid reduce Aeneas' relationship with Dido, a story that took up an entire book in Virgil's Aeneid, down to a matter of lines (Met 14.78-82), while simultaneously inflating stories like those of Scylla and Circe, which barely even featured in Virgil's telling of the tale: Ovid "tracks the narrative line of the Aeneid closely; but wherever Virgil is elaborate, Ovid is brief, and wherever Virgil is brief, Ovid elaborates". This could be what Ovid means when he refers to a perpetuum deductum carmen in the proem to the Metamorphoses: his songs will make long what was fine and delicate, and shrink down the epic to a more convenient size. , Ovid creates an entirely new character, Macareus, a member of Odysseus' crew who is later rescued by Aeneas and the Trojans on their way to Italy and on the journey tells them the story of Circe and how he and his crewmates were transformed into pigs. This episode is actually a direct imitation of Virgil, who in the Aeneid created his own Odyssean character, also rescued by the Trojans, and the narrator of the story of the Cyclops. We could argue that the fact that Ovid directly copies what Virgil had already done is unoriginal and non-innovative. However, consider the fact that Ovid then goes on to have his inserted character interact directly with Virgil's inserted character by making the two of them share their stories. Virgil's character tells the story of the Cyclops, just as he did in the Aeneid, while Ovid's character narrates the tale of Odysseus' time with Circe - a story of metamorphosis. This interaction, as Hinds rightly points out, allows Ovid to "thematise his intertextual dialogue with his epic predecessor...by putting an Odyssean stray of his own into conversation with the Odyssean stray through whom Virgil had thematised his intertextual dialogue with his epic predecessor", all in an extremely self-conscious way. Thus, even when the Metamorphoses 'copies', Ovid is still so "consistently inventive" in his use of borrowed material that the poem manages to be both innovative and engaging.

Myrrha

• Discordia mentis - indicative of delusion, same words used of Byblis and Myrrha, but Myrrha is not deluded? Is it just a term for some kind of wrong? • Use of scelus 313 - next line uses amor - erotic love not piety • Byblis convinces herself it's not a scelus - Myrrha knows it's a scelus - quite an intelligent conceptualisation of pietas vs scelus - more tragic, she is aware of the horror of her feelings and is internally conflicted • Myrrha shies away from examples of the gods, takes a different perspective, looks to nature • Myrrha similar to Medea in Argonautica - vulnerable because of situation that she is in, intelligence constructed - imagery of internal disarray, based on Agamemnon who also can't sleep at night - Zeus scattering rain - pathetic fallacy of how out of control his thoughts are - the fact that she's even having this internal conflict shows how well considered she is • Is she being punished? Or is the transformation the lesser of two evils? A midpoint between death and exile? Some unnamed god takes pity on her - an implication that the gods are quite immoral? Human morality of no incest doesn't really register with them

Daedalus and Icarus

• For his next episode Ovid abandons Theseus, and takes the reader back to Crete. The flight of Daedalus and Icarus seems to have been neglected by early writers in a way surprising for such an attractive story. • And so light is the poet's touch, that one cannot speak of any stylistic difference between his hexameter and elegiac versions. This tale would have special attractions for an Italian audience because of the local legend that Daedalus had landed at Cumae (Servius on Aen. vi. 14, from the Histories of Sallust), a legend that no doubt explains the popularity of Daedalus and Icarus on Campanian wall-paintings, and on Italic and Roman gems from the third century • The present episode has become very famous, and justly. It is written in the best Hellenistic tradition of homely realism • The delight in simple things, such as the behaviour of a young child, is very much his own. In the description of the flight, Ovid's imagination soars unfettered, and we may forgive him one or two details which have been thought to be in poor taste. • naturamque novat: possibly 'he changes his own nature', But it is attractive to understand the phrase as some older scholars did—'he alters Nature'. Then 'novat' would have its sinister undertones, of doing violence to Nature. Horace certainly presented Daedalus' flight as a transgression of man's proper sphere • such is the art of Daedalus, that the feathers seem to have grown naturally (crevisse) in order of ascending length (clivo). • Ovid depicts Icarus as a much younger boy than do the classical Greek vase-painters (see introduction to this episode). Here he agrees with Hellenistic taste, for interest in quite small children is very marked in both Hellenistic poetry and art. This whole description is completely life-like and charming. • The experiment is put to the test. Ovid conveys the anxiety and tension of this moment with the utmost economy. The accusative 'in alas' (much better than the variant 'in alis') describes Daedalus putting all his weight upon the pair of wings (cf.145 n., 882); 'mota' suggests their violent beating of the air, and 'pependit' his efforts not to lose height. • aelique cupidine tactus: in both a literal and a metaphorical sense. But there was also surely a proverb for extravagant ambition, 'to wish for the moon', • remigioque carens: interchange of images between sailing and flying is as old as Hesiod (Op. 628) and Homer (Od. xi. 125). The movement of a bank of oars could well suggest the beating of a bird's wings,

Theseus and the Minotaur

• Having launched Minos safely on his way back to Crete, Ovid must tread with the utmost delicacy over the story of the Minotaur and Ariadne, as far as the introduction of Daedalus and Icarus (183). Above all, he has to avoid the maze of variant versions contained in the Cretan saga, and this he does by recording the bare minimum of facts necessary for the movement of his own narrative. • Theseus must be taken to Crete so as to provide a connection with Daedalus and Icarus, but Ovid is hardly interested in the hero's adventures for their own sake. Ariadne's desertion with her rescue by Dionysus was an obvious plum, even having a ready-made metamorphosis attached • But all of this is treated in the most perfunctory way. Part of the explanation is undoubtedlythat the famous set-piece of Ariadne 'deserted and much complaining' (176) would be tedious after the very similar laments of Scylla. • But Ovid's real intention is to build a bridge to Daedalus and Icarus, for there he had a story well suited to his own particular poetic genius. • Ovid makes Daedalus build the labyrinth on the order of Minos to house the Minotaur; nothing is said of the fate of Pasiphae. In other authors the details varied considerably. Minos commands Pasiphae to be imprisoned with her (?) nurse (Euripides, Page, op. cit., p. 76); alternatively Daedalus is Pasiphae's accomplice, and builds the labyrinth to conceal her shame. When the scandal is discovered, he himself is thrown into prison, to be rescued by the queen (Hyginus, fab. 40). In Ovid (185-7) Daedalus is obviously being held under constraint, but we are not told the reason for this. • Daedalus, son of Eupalamus, the type of the skilful craftsman, was thought to have been an Athenian who was exiled to Crete • The terms agreed between Minos and the Athenians had bound the latter to send seven young men and seven girls to Crete once every nine years (cf. 262-3). Theseus offered himself voluntarily at the third drawing of lots (so Plutarch,Theseus 17). If the first consignment is imagined as leaving soon after the end of the war, Theseus would by now be in his middle thirties. • So familiar a subject is Ariadne on Naxos, abandoned by Theseus and rescued by Bacchus, that one can hardly remember how different the oldest version was. InOdyssey xi. 321-5 Ariadne seems to have been married to Dionysus, and to have left him for Theseus; then she was killed on the island of Dia (174 n.) by Artemis through the god's witness. Hesiod, Theogony 947-9, first makes Ariadne the perpetual consort of Dionysus • The motives attributed to Theseus for abandoning Ariadne range from pure forgetfulness to another love (pseudo-Hesiod, fr. 298 Merkelbach-West), or fear of the social disgrace which a foreign wife would bring, 'cogitans si Ariadnen in patriam portasset, sibi opprobrium futurum' (Hyginus, fab. 43). Ovid wisely is satisfied with a conventional epithet. • This was one of the most famous poetic situations—But a full description of Ariadne's laments would be tedious so soon after those of Scylla, and therefore Ovid passes on. He had related Ariadne's rescue by Bacchus with the utmost high spirits in ArsAm • Catasterism' is a favourite type of metamorphosis in Hellenistic poetry. This was the mythological reflection of increased interest in astronomy, exemplified by such as Aratus and the poet-scientist Eratosthenes.

Alathea

• Meleager's mother Althaea is overwhelmed with grief at the news of her brothers' death, but her grief turns to fury when she hears who is their murderer (450). She brings out the magic brand on which Meleager's life depends (460), and in an agonized soliloquy weighs her maternal duty against the obligation to her brothers (478-511). After swaying from one opinion to the other, she finally thrusts the stick into the fire (511-14). Meleager is not present, but he feels the agony as the brand burns; then gradually the flames die down, and his life leaves him (515-25). • Ovid's narrative of the Boar-hunt itself has been written in the high epic style, but the following passage is clearly inspired by Tragedy. Preference for a brother over a son may be a primitive feature in the Meleager-story (cf.Kakridis, Homeric Researches, p. 37, and Appendix III), but a tormented monologue such as we have here argues the more sophisticated influence of Euripides. • In spite of some fine psychological touches, this seems to me the least satisfactory part of the book; to judge from the Medea, Euripides surely must have done better. By the Augustan period such a struggle between opposing duties, or (as more often) between love and modesty, had become so hackneyed a theme, that to bring it to life called for especial genius. Ovid, however, lacks power and thence credibility; his smooth antitheses destroy all illusion of a woman in agony of soul torn between conflicting loyalties. It is true that the same objections can be brought against much of the Scylla episode, but, to my mind at least, Scylla has a redeeming spark which Althaea lacks. • 450. poenae ... amorem: cf. iii. 705 'pugnae ... amorem' (also Horace,Odes iv. 4. 12). The poetic use of 'amor' in this sense of 'desire for' is perhaps influenced by Homer's ποσίος καὶ ἐδητύος ... ἔρον‎ (Il. i. 469, etc.), cf. 'amor ... edendi' at Lucretius iv. 869 etc. Yet the juxtaposition of these two words is paradoxical, and impliesOvid's own criticism of Althaea. • 455. carmine: implying an utterance which possesses especial dignity, whether through its form, language, content or occasion. • 462-77. These lines are clearly meant to describe Althaea's gestures and facial expression during the monologue which follows, so that we cover the same ground twice, first seeing and then hearing, with two mentions of the start of the fire (461and 477-8). This device is a remarkable one, for which I do not know a parallel. At several points during the speech, we must imagineAlthaea as trying to throw the brand on the flames, and then shrinking back in horror; 490-1, 498-9, and 505-6are obvious places, though one cannot quite distinguish four attempts (462). • 470-4. A finer simile than others resembling it. More often we hear of conflicting winds, as Amores ii. 10. 9-10 'erro velut ventis discordibus acta phaselos / dividuumque tenent alter et alter amor'; cf. Aristaenetus 2. 11, where a man torn between love for his wife and mistress is comparedκυβερνήτῃ ὑπὸ δυοῖν πνευμάτων ἀπειλημμένῳ, τοῦ μὲν ἔνθεν, τοῦ δὲ ἔνθεν ἑστηκότος, καὶ περὶ τῆς νεὼς μαχομένων‎. Of course wind and tide regularly symbolize strong emotion. • incipit esse tamen melior germana parente: this summarizes the general tenor of her monologue which follows—see analysis below. • impietate pia est: the oxymoron is characteristic of our poet even if not very pleasing, • 478-511. He handles her vacillations with a certain subtlety, though, as usual, with too much attention to purely verbal cleverness. For each change of heart one can, I think, find some explanation in the words immediately before; the following analysis is disputable in places, but worth attempting. • Althaea starts withthe firm purpose of burning the brand; a thought which weighs heavily with her is that Oeneus must not rejoice while her own father Thestius is desolate (486-7). Then the cost of the sacrifice ('magnoque paratas') reminds Althaea of her bond as mother, and she draws back (491-3). • But Meleager's terrible deed (492-3) and the contrast between his condition and that of her brothers recall her to the first intention (494-8). However, the prospect of universal misery (498) brings the return of maternal instincts (499-500). • From the mention of her childbirth, she wishes that she had allowed Meleager to die as a baby (501-2); he has twice owed his life to her, and now deserves to forfeit it (502-5); line 505 contains the first intimation of her own death. In 506-8motherly feelings are still present, but by now even these are mixed with thoughts of her brothers. Finally the conflict is decided (509-11); she will kill Meleager, but then follow him to the grave. • A woman's preference for her brother over her son is one of the most primitive elements in the Meleager-legend. As Kakridis explains (op. cit., p. 37), 'The brother stands higher than the child since in his veins exactly the same blood flows as in hers, whereas in the child's veins half the blood belongs to a stranger, the father. We may accept without difficulty that such a particular attachment of a woman to her tribe prevailed among the pre-Hellenic people of Greece, and has left its traces in the Meleager-legend.' • There is also the idea that a son may be replaceable, while a brother is not, unless both parents are alive. • There is a similar argument, though less appropriate, at Sophocles,Antigone 905-12 (the status of these famous lines is of course disputed), and the motif is also known from ancient Indian stories and modern Greek folk-tales (see Kakridis, App. III). But to us the bond between mother and son seems much the more important, as it would to Ovid as well; this is one reason why the soliloquy does not quite come to life. • 480. sepulcrales ... aras: the fire is an altar of death, on which Meleager must be sacrificed (cf. 482 'sacra', 511 n.). Several commentators have cited this line as a parallel to difficult phrases like Aen. vi. 177 'aramque sepulcri' (the pyre on which Misenus' body will be burned), but I doubt the relevance of these passages to ours. After all, the circumstances here are unusual; the sacrifice is of Meleager, not to him. Perhaps more significantly, the Romans used to erect altars to the Di Manes, on which they made offerings; thus Althaea sends down 'inferiae' (490) to her dead brothers. • 481-2. Althaea's appeal to the Furies is no doubt based on Il. ix. 567 ff., where she curses Meleager, τῆς δʼ ἠεροϕοῖτις ʼΕρινὺς / ἔκλυεν ἐξ ʼΕρέβεσϕιν ἀμείλιχον ἦτορ ἔχουσα‎ (571-2). But in Homer there is no mention of a magic stick, so that the Fury is a more active avenger. Here the 'deae triplices' called to witness Meleager's death counterbalance the 'triplices ... sorores' who are present after his birth (452). • 486. Throughout she shows no consideration for her husband Oeneus, perhaps because she holds him ultimately responsible for all the disasters. But this lack of consideration forms part of the poet's criticism of Althaea. • 490. pignora: a word used for children strictly as tokens of loyalty between husband and wife, the basic meaning of 'pignus' being a deposit, • 494-5. victor: one would expect this to refer to Meleager's defeat of the boar (cf. 445, 486). But the emphasis given by 'et ipso' and the coupling with 'regnum Calydonis habebit' suggest that Althaea has another thought at the back of her mind: Oeneus is old (520), and by the murder Meleager has conveniently removed possible rivals to the throne of Calydon. So perhaps 'victor' and 'successu' refer at least in part to the killing of his uncles. • 496. There is often imprecision in language referring to death, burial, and the survival of a shade. Thus 'iacebitis' is not appropriate to 'umbrae', nor even wholly so to 'cinis', suggesting an inhumed body rather than cremated ash. • vel me fraternis adde sepulcris: a masterly touch. This is of course animpossible thought; Meleager is absent and unaware of his danger (515). But, however confused and illogical, we have here the first mention of Althaea's own death, which suggests to her the final solution of suicide (510-11, 531-2). • 508. pietas could be invoked on either side (cf. 477); Ovid weights the scales against Althaea in referring it only to her maternal duty. • 511. aversa: in horror (cf. vii. 342), but two further ideas may be in the poet's mind. When sacrificing to spirits of the underworld (481-2), one should turn away; cf. Fasti v. 437 and vi. 164 with Frazer's note, Virgil, Ecl. 8. 102 'transque caput iace, nec respexeris.' Also it was customary to avert the eyes before a funeral pyre, cf. Aen. vi. 223-4 'subiectam more parentum / aversi tenuere facem.' • 514. invitis: one might have expected 'invitus' (ς). But Ovid keeps the balance of nouns and epithets (cf. 278 n.), and almost personifies the fire as well (cf. 379). • 515. absens: according to the later Greek epic tradition and Bacchylides (5. 144 ff.) Meleager dies on the battlefield fighting the Curetes. That version is not appropriate here, but Ovid avoids unnecessary detail. • 517 ff. We have been shown the flaws in Meleager's character—his incontinent love for Atalanta (325), and the blind fury which led to the killings (437). Now for the final scene Meleager must be rehabilitated, with stress on his courage (517) and devotion to his family, including his wife (521). • 522. forsitan et matrem: he presumably does not know the secret of his life, or at least who is responsible for its ending. 'Forsitan' is effective, but an un-epic touch; the epic poet need not speculate on what his characters may have said. Compare x. 467-8. • 522-5. These last lines are excellent, particularly the quiet conclusion. I cannot believe 525 an interpolation (Heinsius), even though it is missing from E U Plan. Quite apart from its excellence, Ilias Latina 1062 'inque leves abiit tantus dux ille favillas' looks to be based on a combined reminiscence of 524 and 525. • 524-5. The repetition of 'paulatim' with change of stress is typical. Meleager's spirit neither rejoices nor laments when leaving him; it is just mercifully released from pain. • We know that Sophocles mentioned the transformation of Meleager's sisters (see introduction to the whole episode). But it is clear that Ovid's main source for this final section was Nicander. In the paraphrase (Ant. Lib. 2), καὶ πένθος ἐπὶ Μελεάγρῳ μέγιστον ἐγένετο‎ [παρὰ‎] Καλυδωνίοις· αἱ δὲ ἀδελϕαὶ αὐτοῦ παρὰ τὸ σῆμα ἐθρήνουν ἀδιαλείπτως ἄχρις αὐτὰς Ἄρτεμις ἁψαμένη ῥάβδῳ μετεμόρϕωσεν εἰς ὄρνιθας‎ (see further on 543-6). It is quite a frequent procedure for Ovid to graft a metamorphosis from some Alexandrian source on to an episode which is mainly of quite a different character. • To catch the exact tone of ancient poetry is one of the most difficult exercises. Yet surely these lines are meant to be comic; the poet's use of a traditional epithet (526) and formula (533-4) are only two of several indications. Could the humorous tone have come from Nicander? This is just possible. More probably the whimsical, almost Callimachean humour is due to Ovid himself, and to be explained by the position of these lines in the whole episode. We have passed the climax of the story with Meleager's death; after that the transformation of his sisters can hardly arouse any great emotion. • And so, to avoid competition with the earlier sections, Ovid makes a complete change in atmosphere, a change as big as that from the magniloquent portrayal of Erysicthon to the fairy-tale adventure of Mestra (847 ff.). • 526. alta iacet Calydon: a mixture of literal and metaphorical which is made even more sportive by the traditional epithet, αἰπεινῇ Καλυδῶνι‎ at Il. xiii. 217. • Calydonides Eueninae: Greek influence is very noticeable hereabouts, and Ovid could have borrowed this rather precious spondaic ending (see 23 n.) straight from Nicander. • 529-30. A conventional description of Oeneus' grief; cf. Catullus 64. 224,Aen. x. 844, xii. 611—perhaps derived ultimately from Il. xviii. 23-4, Achilles mourning for Patroclus. • 530. spatiosumque increpat aevum:Oeneus has witnessed the funeral of his son, a reversal of the natural order which seemed particularly shocking to the ancients. If Nestor had been killed at Troy, 'non ille Antilochi vidisset corpus humari, / diceret aut "o mors, cur mihi sera venis?" ' (Propertius ii. 13. 49-50). Later Oeneus is presented as an even more wretched old man in the Periboea of Pacuvius. • manus diri sibi conscia facti: her right hand had been the instrument of sin when it cast the brand into the fire (511); it must also be the instrument of her suicide. Although Althaea ended her monologue with a resolve to kill herself (510), we must assume that she came to her senses and saw the horrible deed in its true light. • 532. Diodorus (iv. 34. 7) knows of a version in which Althaea hangs herself—a more usual way for a tragic heroine to commit suicide. • 533-4. non mihi si centum deus ora sonantia linguis / ingeniumque capax totumque Helicona dedisset:this formula stems from Il. ii. 488-90πληθὺν δʼ οὐκ ἂν ἐγὼ μυθήσομαι οὐδʼ ὀνομήνω / οὐδʼ εἴ μοι δέκα μὲν γλῶσσαι δέκα δὲ στόματʼ εἶεν, / ϕωνὴ δʼ ἄρρηκτος χάλκεον δέ μοι ἦτορ ἐνείη‎. It had a long history in serious Latin poetry. From Hostius the formula passed to Virgil (Georgics ii. 43-4, Aen. vi. 625-6) and to Ovid. But the satirist Persius (5. 1-2) found it slightly ridiculous, and Ovid too seems to have his tongue in his cheek when he uses it for the present context. • 534. totumque Helicona: 'all the inspiration of the Muses'. Homer and Virgil had complained of a lack of stamina for their task. Our poet seems to be saying that, even with all the Muses' gifts, an account of the sisters' lament would still be too tedious. • 536. immemores decoris of course only emphasizes the undignified aspect of their grief. • 537 ff. We are shown various stages of the funeral, first the body, then the bier on which it is laid out for cremation (538), next the gathering up of ashes into an urn ('haustos' 539), and finally the tomb with its inscription (540-1). • 538. oscula dant ... dant oscula:repetition of more than one word, with a change of stress (as here) or of word-order (as here and 860) or of the part of a verb (860) is one of the poet's most typical devices. The emphasis on perpetual kissing is perhaps meant to be comic. • 543-4. The detail that these two sisters escaped transformation also comes from Nicander (Ant. Lib. 2); they were spared κατʼ εὐμένειαν Διονύσου‎, a mythological curiosity. Ovid perhaps troubles to mention that Heracles' wife Deianira was not transformed because she will play an important part in Met. ix. • 545. longas per bracchia porrigit alas: in a characteristic way Ovid makes us watch the transformation happening stage by stage (cf. on 714 ff., 717).

Talos

• The story of Daedalus and Icarus has contained two aetia, but no metamorphosis. So we must travel backwards in time to the death of Perdix, whom Daedalus is said to have thrown from the Acropolis, jealous of the boy's ingenious inventions • This connection, that Perdix saw Daedalus burying his son, looks like an invention of Ovid. • It is in this part of the episode that Ovid seems to reflect the technique of the Greek ʼΟρνιθογονία‎. There, stress is laid on a god's intervention to make the metamorphosis, usually in pity for undeserved suffering; - Time ****ery -Death of artists - Talos as someone trying to create nature? Aiming too high?

Achelous and Perimele

• Theseus, on his way back to Athens, is delayed by the river Achelous in spate, and the river-god offers the company his hospitality until the stream subsides (558-9). During the feast Achelous explains that the islands visible out to sea were once nymphs who offended him (577-89). Then he goes on to relate the transformation of his beloved Perimele (590-610). • Interea: a flash-back to the end of the boar-hunt. Although Theseus has played a very small part in the hunt, this book is included within the framework of his exploits. So Ovid reemphasizes his importance several times in the coming passage ('inclite' 550, 'hospite tanto' 570, 'maximus heros' 573). • 549 ff. Achelous, although somewhat uncouth, is portrayed as a kindly but pompous old gentleman. His pomposity is shown inter alia by the frequent Ennian ring of his language; see 550 n., 551 n., 603 n., ix. 43-5 with Ann. 507-8 W., and particularly ix. 48-9 with Ann. 91-2. It is no coincidence that Achelous relates the high-flown Erysicthon, while the idyllic Baucis and Philemon is given to Lelex. • When speaking of Achelous, Ovid constantly plays on different levels of personification. Sometimes Achelous is no more than the river-water; sometimes we must think of him as almost human in form, but inhabiting the stream (cf. 162 n.), while at 556 ff. he seems to be a detached spectator, unable to control the flood. • 550. inclite: a dignified, archaic word, used by Ovid only in theMetamorphoses. It comes from early Epic, and sometimes suggests superhuman qualities; the older form 'inclutus' gives the connection with 'clueo'. • 562 ff. The cave of Achelous. Ovid presents the décor as moist and sombre, appropriate to a river-god; jewelled wine-cups (573) provide the only flash of bright colour. Our poet owes something to the underwater dwelling of Cyrene (Georgics iv. 363 ff.). No doubt he had also seen artificial 'grottoes of the Muses' (musea) such as are mentioned by Pliny (N.H. xxxvi. 154). • 566. discubuere toris: cf. 660. Ovid attributes to the heroes the custom of reclining, which was a relatively late introduction to Rome; • 574 ff. It is a favourite device of Ovid in the Metamorphoses to start a new episode from post-prandial conversation. This was a very natural convention; it is pleasant ἐν δαιτὶ καὶ εἰλαπίνη τεθαλυίῃ / τέρπεσθαι μύθοισιν ἐπὴν δαιτὸς κορέσωνται‎ (pseudo-Hesiod, fr. 274 Μ.-W.). Ovid also had at least one Hellenistic precedent in the Aetia of Callimachus, who begins an Ician story from a dinner-table conversation with a visitor from that island (fr. 178). Probably there were other similar transitions in Callimachus. • 579 ff. He is modestly proud of this attempt at frightfulness, which parallels on a much smaller scale Diana's punishment of the Calydonians. • 587-9. This transformation is a curious one. The nymphs have been swept out to sea with the ground on which they stand; then the ground is split up by the current, and we must imagine that the nymphs are somehow combined with their islands. Ovid wishes not to rob Perimele's transformation (605 ff.) of any glamour, and so restrains himself here. • Perimelen navita dicit: the reference to passing sailors is a slightly Alexandrian touch (cf. ix. 228-9, xiv. 74, Call. hymn 4. 41-3, Nicander, Ther. 230), but also shows the speaker's pedantry. Achelous himself had better cause to know the girl's name than the sailors! • 595. excepi, nantemque ferens: one should not, as Magnus does, imagine Achelous in human form carrying Perimele upon his back. At this point Achelous is no more than the stream, though there is constant alternation between language appropriate to the stream and language appropriate to the anthropomorphic god (see on 549 ff.). • And the witty prayer to Neptune underlines the somewhat ridiculous character of Achelous. • hunc quoque complectar!: a truly Ovidian touch, cf. i. 553 'hanc quoque Phoebus amat' (the transformed Daphne). Magnus complained that the river cannot be said to 'embrace' the island, since it lies out to sea. But Achelous is still carrying the nymph at this point, so he must still be able to touch her when she is transformed (thus Enk inOvidiana, p. 336). It is easy to imagine Achelous stretching out beyond his mouth, • movit caput aequoreus rex: for the epic formula of assent see on 780-1. A monosyllabic line-ending (359 n.) in 'rex' has a faintly Ennian ring, from his 'divum pater atque hominum rex' • 605. nymphe: Ovid uses the Greek nominative ten times in theMetamorphoses, seemingly just for metrical convenience. Others (Horace, for example), prefer the Greek forms for a more elevated style. • nabat tamen: 'but she went on swimming.' The transformation is splendidly handled, with a great concentration on movement—the waves stirred by Neptune's nod, Perimele swimming, her breasts heaving, and Achelous fondling the nymph. Suddenly all this movement is interrupted, as Perimele's body begins to grow stiff and hard.

Calydonian Boar Hunt

• This episode dominates the whole book, by both its length and central position; it consists of three parts, connected by the narrative, but each written in quite a different style—the first epic, the second tragic, and the third whimsically Alexandrian. Although Ovid uses Theseus as a link to the boar-hunt, Theseus plays a very minor part in it, and Meleager son of Oeneus becomes the centre of interest. • The boar-hunt itself (260-444) is perhaps the most strictly epic passage in all the Metamorphoses; we are not even spared full-scale catalogue of heroes as a preliminary (298-328). Althaea's soliloquy (478-511) is clearly inspired by Euripides, and the actual transformation follows an Alexandrian source, undoubtedly Nicander. • The episode shows well Ovid's insistence on variety of style, and the eclectic way in which he used his sources. Evaluation of the whole is not easy, as the constituent parts of the episode seem to me of uneven quality. Ovid is certainly not as successful in handling diverse material here as he is with Ceyx (xi. 410-748). But his design is a most ambitious one, and plays an important part in the structure of the book, for this episode, and particularly the Hunt itself, gives weight and balance to the whole book. • quamvis Meleagron haberet:this line marks the shift of attention from Theseus to Meleager; the former is not singled out for especial honour in the Catalogue (303), and during the boar-hunt he does no more than throw a spear without effect (408-10). • A wild beast as the destructive agent of a god is a familiar motif from Greek mythology, as for instance the Nemean lion, sent by Hera and killed by Heracles. • A strangely involved and clumsy comparison conflating two figures, either of which would be quite normal by itself. One might say that the creature was as big as, or bigger than, a bull—e.g. Call, hymn 3. 102, deer μάσσονες ἢ ταῦροι‎—or that it was larger than those of a country famed for the particular species, as Horace, Odes i. 22. 13-14 'quale portentum neque militaris / Daunias latis alit aesculetis'. Ovid's method of handling this comparison leads to a curious anticlimax in 283. • Ovid's whole picture of the boar is an embroidery of stock epic material. • It may be no coincidence that the boar attacks, in corn, vine, and olive, the attributes of Ceres, Bacchus, and Athena, who are said to have been honoured first in preference to Artemis • The Catalogue of Hunters: This was one of the most venerable and characteristic features of epic poetry, which also appealed to Alexandrian taste (e.g. the list ofActaeon's dogs at Epic. Adesp. 1 Powell, cf. Met. iii. 206 ff.). Sonorous proper names have a certain attractiveness even when not highly significant. Ovid introduces a little light relief by showing us some of the great heroes off duty; Jason back from his travels, Nestor still in his youth, Amphiaraus not yet ruined by his covetous wife, and so on. • The friendship of Theseus and Pirithous was no less famous than that between Achilles and Patroclus (see further on 405-6). • Thestiadae: Toxeus and Plexippus (440-1), sons of Thestius king of Pleuron. They were brothers of Althaea, and so Meleager's uncles. • iaculoque insignis Acastus: in a full-blown epic Catalogue we would expect to be told of the hero's homeland, his father's name, and his equipment. Ovid never gives us all three elements together. Acastus, also an Argonaut (Ap. Rh. i. 224-5), was son of Pelias king of Iolcus in Thessaly. • Atalanta, kept to the last for emphasis and described in much the greatest detail. The epithet, as 'Lycaei' and 'Nonacria' (426) means little more than 'Arcadian', cf. 40 n. As with Mestra (738 n.), Ovid never mentions Atalanta by name in this episode, always using an epic-style periphrasis. After this line several manuscripts clumsily try to write another giving her name and parentage, but there is no chance of the insertion's being genuine. • Atlanta's appearance at the end of the Catalogue recalls the similar placing of Camilla at Aen. vii. 803 ff. • involvement of the reader even in this small degree is an un-epic touch. But Ovid likes to interject 'scires' (i. 162), 'videres' (xi. 126), or the like (cf. last note). • Here one might translate 'latentes' as 'flames which had to remain hidden'; but the word suggests that the fire already existed deep down inside Meleager (cf. vii. 554). Perhaps the form of the expression is influenced by the secret of Meleager's life and death, prefiguring his destruction • This prefiguring would be akin to Ovidian irony as at 51-2 or 98. • This episode dominates the whole book, by both its length and central position; it consists of three parts, connected by the narrative, but each written in quite a different style—the first epic, the second tragic, and the third whimsically Alexandrian. Although Ovid uses Theseus as a link to the boar-hunt, Theseus plays a very minor part in it, and Meleager son of Oeneus becomes the centre of interest. • The boar-hunt itself (260-444) is perhaps the most strictly epic passage in all the Metamorphoses; we are not even spared full-scale catalogue of heroes as a preliminary (298-328). Althaea's soliloquy (478-511) is clearly inspired by Euripides, and the actual transformation follows an Alexandrian source, undoubtedly Nicander. • The episode shows well Ovid's insistence on variety of style, and the eclectic way in which he used his sources. Evaluation of the whole is not easy, as the constituent parts of the episode seem to me of uneven quality. Ovid is certainly not as successful in handling diverse material here as he is with Ceyx (xi. 410-748). But his design is a most ambitious one, and plays an important part in the structure of the book, for this episode, and particularly the Hunt itself, gives weight and balance to the whole book. • quamvis Meleagron haberet:this line marks the shift of attention from Theseus to Meleager; the former is not singled out for especial honour in the Catalogue (303), and during the boar-hunt he does no more than throw a spear without effect (408-10). • A wild beast as the destructive agent of a god is a familiar motif from Greek mythology, as for instance the Nemean lion, sent by Hera and killed by Heracles. • A strangely involved and clumsy comparison conflating two figures, either of which would be quite normal by itself. One might say that the creature was as big as, or bigger than, a bull—e.g. Call, hymn 3. 102, deer μάσσονες ἢ ταῦροι‎—or that it was larger than those of a country famed for the particular species, as Horace, Odes i. 22. 13-14 'quale portentum neque militaris / Daunias latis alit aesculetis'. Ovid's method of handling this comparison leads to a curious anticlimax in 283. • Ovid's whole picture of the boar is an embroidery of stock epic material. • It may be no coincidence that the boar attacks, in corn, vine, and olive, the attributes of Ceres, Bacchus, and Athena, who are said to have been honoured first in preference to Artemis • The Catalogue of Hunters: This was one of the most venerable and characteristic features of epic poetry, which also appealed to Alexandrian taste (e.g. the list ofActaeon's dogs at Epic. Adesp. 1 Powell, cf. Met. iii. 206 ff.). Sonorous proper names have a certain attractiveness even when not highly significant. Ovid introduces a little light relief by showing us some of the great heroes off duty; Jason back from his travels, Nestor still in his youth, Amphiaraus not yet ruined by his covetous wife, and so on. • The friendship of Theseus and Pirithous was no less famous than that between Achilles and Patroclus (see further on 405-6). • Thestiadae: Toxeus and Plexippus (440-1), sons of Thestius king of Pleuron. They were brothers of Althaea, and so Meleager's uncles. • iaculoque insignis Acastus: in a full-blown epic Catalogue we would expect to be told of the hero's homeland, his father's name, and his equipment. Ovid never gives us all three elements together. Acastus, also an Argonaut (Ap. Rh. i. 224-5), was son of Pelias king of Iolcus in Thessaly. • Atalanta, kept to the last for emphasis and described in much the greatest detail. The epithet, as 'Lycaei' and 'Nonacria' (426) means little more than 'Arcadian', cf. 40 n. As with Mestra (738 n.), Ovid never mentions Atalanta by name in this episode, always using an epic-style periphrasis. After this line several manuscripts clumsily try to write another giving her name and parentage, but there is no chance of the insertion's being genuine. • Atlanta's appearance at the end of the Catalogue recalls the similar placing of Camilla at Aen. vii. 803 ff. • involvement of the reader even in this small degree is an un-epic touch. But Ovid likes to interject 'scires' (i. 162), 'videres' (xi. 126), or the like (cf. last note). • Here one might translate 'latentes' as 'flames which had to remain hidden'; but the word suggests that the fire already existed deep down inside Meleager (cf. vii. 554). Perhaps the form of the expression is influenced by the secret of Meleager's life and death, prefiguring his destruction • This prefiguring would be akin to Ovidian irony as at 51-2 or 98. • Of all the sections in theMetamorphoses, this following one is the most strictly formal piece of epic writing. Very many of the incidents and turns of phrase contain unmistakable echoes of battle-scenes in the Iliad. We find not only the stock formulas used to describe the shooting of an arrow (381) or a warrior's death (399-402), but also, more generally, some typical Homeric descriptive patterns (see on 347-9). Old Latin epic also makes its contribution (see on 359, 376, 412). • Ovid's setting of the scene (329-44) is splendid and visually brilliant as always. But, although there is much ingenuity in the transference of Homeric motifs from a battle to a hunt, the actual fighting loses its impetus. The poet is then reduced to wooing our interest with almost comic accidents to Nestor (365-7) and to Telamon (378-9). Ovid's failure here is not surprising. To breathe new life into the old epic tradition of combat was a formidable task, particularly when there was no scope for the interplay of human emotions, which Virgil used so well. At least Ovid does not strive for effect by describing wounds and death in gruesome detail—a fault which afflicts Roman poets of all periods, and sometimes even our most urbane of poets himself. • Ovid repeats the idea with the addition of a vivid detail on each side—the boar's side-long blow, and the dogs' barking. Such reduplication is notably a Virgilian trick, e.g. Aen. ii. 230-1 • 347-9 echo a common Homeric pattern: 'and he would have ... had not ...', expressed with καί νύ κεν ... εἰ μὴ‎ (ἀλλὰ‎) or the like. In this, the most epic section of the whole poem, Ovid uses the Homeric pattern four times, straightforwardly at 365-6 (see ad loc.) and at 376-7, more obliquely here and at 409-10. Compare also v. 36-7. • visa est haesura makes the unfulfilled possibility seem particularly vivid. • 353-4. ferrum Diana volanti / abstulerat iaculo: this kind of divine intervention is also typical of Homer. In the Iliad a god may snap a bow-string at the crucial moment (xv. 463-4), divert a missile in flight (viii. 311, xx. 438-40, cf. Aen. ix. 745-6) or weaken its force (xiii. 562-3). At the climax of the Iliad Athena even returns Achilles' spear to him after an unsuccessful throw (xxii. 276-7)! • ira feri mota est: perhaps it was traditional in such an epic narrative that the beast should first be hit lightly, so as to become even more formidable. • 357-8. A remarkable simile from Roman siege-craft (the ballista) which breaks the Greek heroic atmosphere. It is no doubt inspired by Virgil (Aen. xi. 616, xii. 921-2) and perhaps also by Lucretius vi. 328-9, where we find 'impete'; cf. Met. ix. 218, xiv. 183. Homer's similes sometimes reflect a later period than his narrative, introducing features, such as riding or the use of iron, which are alien to the main body of the poems. Latin epic, too, often has similes from Roman life of the poet's time, e.g. Ennius, Annals88 ff. W. (crowds at a race-meeting in the Circus), Aen. i. 148-53 (orator). When the main narrative is from Greek mythology, as here and, e.g., Valerius Flaccus vi. 402 (legions), the contrast is sharper than ever in Homer. Yet the simile may still be successful. A notable case is at Met. iii. 111-14, where armed men springing up from the dragon's teeth are compared to figures gradually appearing on a theatre curtain as it is raised from the ground. • dextra tuentes / cornua: here the military connections of this scene are very clear. • socii rapuere iacentes: again a Homeric motif. When a man is struck down in battle, his ἑταῖροι‎ (retainers in Homer) will carry him off, either for medical treatment, or to save the corpse from being spoiled • 365 ff. This is the most obvious example of the Homeric formula mentioned on 347-9; compare Il. v. 311-12 καί νύ κεν ἔνθʼ ἀπόλοιτο ἄναξ ἀνδρῶν Αἰνείας / εἰ μὴ ἄρʼ ὀξὺ νόησε Διὸς θυγάτηρ ʼΑϕροδίτη‎, etc. • Nestor's method of saving himself is a little undignified for a great hero—but not more so than the pole-vault with which Athena takes off for celestial regions (ii. 786)! • 368-9. Attractive is the way in which we are made to follow Nestor's eye down the tree-trunk. Presumably 'querno stipite' refers to the tree which is harbouring him. • gemini ... fratres: Castor and Pollux (301). For the interwoven word-order in apposition see on 226. Perhaps a subconscious recollection of Aen. vi. 842-3 'geminos, duo fulmina belli • saetiger: 'the bristler', a so-called 'kenning' description which in Latin suggests the style of archaic high-flown poetry, The original purpose of such descriptions is unclear—perhaps to avoid mentioning a dangerous or ill-omened animal by name. But they belong properly to the simple style of a fable or folk-tale; In Early Latin, kennings take a step upwards to Epic and Tragedy. The reason for the shift might be the influence of Hellenistic poetry, e.g. the riddling style of Lycophron. But another possibility is that such expressions were once used in connection with Roman sacrificial rites. Nothing more colourful than 'bidens' can confidently be established as a ritual term. But poets often use kenning terms when speaking of sacrifice, e.g. Aen. vii. 93, Ovid, Met. vii. 312, Juvenal 8. 155-6 'lanatas ... / more Numae caedit'; similar, though not true kennings, are Fasti i. 334, Juvenal 13. 232-3 'pecudem spondere sacello / balantem'. Such passages may be alluding just to a poetic style, but perhaps also to the language of ritual. • 378-80. Two great heroes in an undignified incident. Statius speaks of the boar as felling Telamon more seriously • 390. et, quos petit, impedit ictus:probably an intentional play on words. This trick is not very edifying, but typically Roman, • 391-402. The death of Ancaeus.Apollodorus (i. 8. 2) also makes Ancaeus a misogynist, ashamed to hunt with a woman until compelled by Meleager. This characterization probably derived from Euripides'Meleager; the abuse of women in Euripidean tragedies was notorious. • 391. contra sua fata: 'against his destiny', the phrase to be taken rather with 'dixit' (393) than with 'furens'. The idea is that a man may be allotted a certain amount of suffering by fate, but that he can through his own sin cause himself trouble beyond what was inevitable. • 394-5. To his arrogance and rashness Ancaeus adds a worse sin—blasphemy. That the deity involved is female lends especial irony in the present context. • 402. viscera lapsa fluunt: Ovid's one gruesome piece of realism in this episode; elsewhere, particularly in the battles of Perseus and Phineus (v. 1-235), and of the Lapiths and Centaurs (xii. 210-535), there are many horrific details. Here he does not go beyond Homer, cf. Il. iv. 525-6 ἐκ δʼ ἄρα πᾶσαι / χύντο χαμαὶ χολάδες‎. • 425. The peak of Meleager's triumph. He seems to have overcome the instrument of Artemis' wrath. In Homer (Il. ix. 547-9) the goddess then arouses strife over the relics of the boar; here it is her human counterpart Atalanta who is the unwitting cause of trouble. • et in partem veniat mea gloria tecum: he is more chivalrous than in Accius (438-9) 'remanet gloria / apud me; exuvias dignavi Atalantae dare.' Perhaps even here Ovid adapts Homer, while adding the Roman notion of 'mei iuris' (426); at Il. xvii. 231-2 Hector promises to anyone who can secure the body of Patroclus half the spoils (ἐνάρων‎) τὸ δέ οἱ κλέος ἔσσεται ὅσσον ἐμοί περ‎. • 430. So Atalanta is not unmoved by Meleager's admiration. Euripides described her as Κύπριδος ... μίσημα‎ (fr. 530. 4), but fr. 525 depicts her as considering marriage, however unwillingly: εἰ δʼ εἰς γάμους ἔλθοιμʼ, ὂ μὴ τύχοι ποτέ ...‎ • Mavortius: for the form see 7 n. Euripides also mentioned Meleager's divine parentage ([Plutarch], Parall. 26); contrast 414 'Oenidae'. When a hero is credited with both divine and human birth, the poet may pass freely from one patronymic to the other as it suits him; so with Theseus, 'Aegides' (174, 560), but 'Neptunius heros' (ix. 1). Here, when Meleager oversteps the mark in blind fury, 'Mavortius' is obviously the more appropriate. • 439 ff. Again we have a typical Homeric situation: a great hero has killed a lesser one, whereupon the latter's brother attempts to gain his revenge, only to share the same fate.

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