Reading Ovid

by Peter Jones

  407–14: Ovid sets the scene for Narcissus’ demise in the typical locus amoenus – cool, shady, grassy and so on (see Introduction, p. 8), the whole grammatically ordered with great skill to emphasise the untouched ‘virginity’ of the landscape. Ovid gives the water-feature top billing with a four-line description emphasising its purity, seclusion and still-ness (407–10), and draws attention to Narcissus’ thirst (413–14) – important preparation for what is to come. Note also faciem (413): appearances will play a large part in subsequent events.

  415–26: From here on Ovid is in literary heaven: a young man looks into the water in which he is slaking his thirst and gradually falls in love with what he sees – himself (one can imagine him watching the surface as it clears, and then ruffling it as he drinks, then seeing it clear again, while self-love slowly grows, 415–16, cf. 475–86). We must presume that this is the first time Narcissus has ever seen himself. Ovid is laying the ground for a series of brilliantly ingenious ironies and paradoxes on the subject of Narcissus’ unconscious self-admiration, active matching passive, subject and object becoming one and the same thing. Such a scenario offers the poet full scope for playing with both the emotion (love) and the verbal possibilities (reflexive action/behaviour, paradox, antithesis, irony) that seem to give him most pleasure. Off he goes, pen exploding with possibilities: sitis . . . sitis altera (415), uīsae . . . imāgine (416), corpore . . . corpus, spem . . . umbra (417), ipse sibi (418). At 419, Narcissus is as motionless as a masterpiece of the sculptor’s art – Ovid suggesting the way Narcissus sees himself in the water? Note that this image tells us nothing about Narcissus’ pallor: ancient statues were painted. The self-admiration continues at 420–3 – one can almost see Narcissus checking off each feature and thoroughly approving of his eyes like constellations, hair like the gods’, etc. mīrātur . . . mīrābilis (424) brings the sequence to a climax, and at 425 we turn to the disastrous consequences (marked by imprūdēns) – sē cupit, probat . . . probātur (425), petit . . . petitur, and finally accendit et ardet (426). He is done for. This is a brilliant tour de force, prevented (just) from becoming a tour de farce because of the pathos and human sympathy that Ovid evokes: Narcissus’ love looks perfect because it is so symmetrical, so exactly matched and returned, but that is why it is impossible. The exquisite irony underlying it all is that Narcissus himself is suffering at his own hands, in precisely the same way that others have suffered at his own hands too. It is pay-back time, and it is Narcissus who pays back himself as he gazes down on the image lying beneath him in the pool (452, resupīnō).

  427–36: Admiration leads to action: Narcissus attempts to kiss and embrace his image, but finds he cannot (427–9: lovely irony in nec sē dēprendit). At this, all the positives of the previous lines turn negative, starting with irrita fallācī (427): his eyes deceive him (nescit, dēcipit, error 430–1); and as Ovid apostrophises the situation, appealing to Narcissus in the second person to abandon the task (432–6), the hopelessness of his situation is emphasised by further words of negative connotation (frūstrā . . . fugācia . . . nūsquam . . . perdēs . . . imāginis umbra . . . nīl . . . discēdet . . . discēdere). The key word is the first, from which all else stems – crēdule, an appeal full of pity for the young man (432).

  437–53: As with Echo, nothing can be done for him: lack of food and sleep prepare us for the worst (437–8; cf. perit 440, tābuerit 445). oculōs (440) is significant: ancient lovers are often said to be captivated by the eyes of the beloved (Cynthia prīma suīs miserum mē cēpit ocellīs, says Propertius in the first line of his first Elegy). Narcissus’ eyes of love will kill him. The appeal to nature (iō siluae) to observe and sympathise, as if it were a friendly bystander (circumstantēs 441), is typical: there is no one else to turn to anyway, but lovers always feel that their love is unique (442–5) and therefore engages the interest of even the inanimate world. opportūna (443) is richly ironic: here is Narcissus in just such a place but unable to take any advantage of it. Narcissus is baffled why nature is so obdurate (446–7: that error is teasing – his fault or not?) and life so painful (448): first, because nature has placed no vast boundaries between him and the object of his desire – just a little water (448–50) – and, second, because their desire for each other appears to be mutual (450–2). He cannot understand what can be getting in the way, heends (453: note tangī: any one can touch, but poor Narcissus wants to be touched; cf. tenērī 450). The answer is, ironically, nature – reflections in water being natural. It is to be noted that by this stage (beginning with nōs 448; cf. the neutral quod at 446), Narcissus has begun clearly to articulate the idea that the image is a real, other person.

  454–62: Nature having failed to respond, Narcissus expands on the last point (453) and, turning back from the wood to the image in the water itself, makes an appeal to it, the burden of which is that the image’s actions suggest ‘he’ desires union as much as Narcissus does (457–62). By this time, the reader might begin to feel that it is all becoming rather unlikely. Narcissus cannot be that dim, can he? Two points. First, Narcissus inhabits a world full of water- and mountain-nymphs (Echo, and cf. 402). That there should be a desirable spirit-like form under the water reaching out for him is not a surprise: the woods and rivers are full of spirits (cf. Arethusa’s plight, passage 10, 5.597–8), and many of them have already tried to seduce him. Second – and this is the crucial point – he is being punished by the god Nemesis; his punishment is to fall in love with himself, and to do that he has to be blinded to the true nature of what he is seeing.

  463–73: With iste ego sum the truth finally strikes home: Narcissus realises he cannot say tū because that would imply the reflection is a real other person. He is looking at himself, is himself the cause of his feelings (463–4), and it is far too late for him to do anything about it. Having fallen so hopelessly in love, he cannot suddenly fall out again: the irony of nec mē mea fallit imāgō is apparent. The scintillating paradoxes of his position ring out, reversing all the clichés about excluded and thwarted lovers that feature so large in ancient love-poetry – because it is himself he is excluding, and against his most heartfelt desires. As Tiresias warned (348), he now knows himself, and that knowledge will doom him, since his love can never be requited, even though he acknowledges that it must (by definition) be unfulfillable (465–8). Observe the brilliant oxymoron at 466. Narcissus has all he wants because what he wants (cupiō) is mēcum; but this very ‘wealth’ (cōpia) – wonderful news in any other circumstances for a lover – leaves him inopem. Death alone awaits (469–72), the sole consolation being that they will ‘both’ die together, united in body and spirit (473). Even now, knowing what he does, Narcissus cannot believe there is not a distinct, separate person there.

  474–93: He is, indeed, male sānus (474), as he recognises (furōrī 479), and in his deranged state seems to think his lover has deserted him when the surface of the water is disturbed by his tears (475–8; cf. his earlier drinking, before he developed these feelings 415–16). He can now only feed his delusion (alimenta, 479; cf. his earlier sitis, 415–16). Ripping one’s clothes is a typical gesture of anguish (cf. Byblis in passage 15, 9.636–7), as is beating one’s breast (480–2), and this allows Ovid a pretty image involving the colour of apples and grapes to picture the bruising of Narcissus’ white skin (483–5). This image of himself inflames Narcissus all the more when he sees it in the now cleared water (486–7), and another double simile involving the gently (leuī) melting wax and morning frost (487–9) pictures and ‘explains’ by analogy with the physical world his slow physical demise, as he wastes away with frustrated desire (489–93), just like poor Echo earlier (396–401). Frustrated Roman lovers in elegy (a form of love poetry) are always talking about ‘perishing’ for their love. Here Narcissus actually does. Ovid’s mention of Echo’s previous love for him (493) creates the transition to the part she plays in his final hours, appropriately enough, given that their ‘elegiac’ fates – wasting away for love of the same per
son – are so similar. Nemesis is, then, doubly avenged. Not only is Narcissus unable to master his beloved (cf. 405), he also meets the same fate as one of his rejected lovers.

  494–510: Echo, despite her memories of the past (494), grieves at Narcissus’ fate, echoing both his cries (495–6) and the sound from his beating of his upper arms (497–8, cf. 481). When Echo originally ‘replied’ to Narcissus, she picked up words that rejected her and turned them into words of love. Now, they just repeat each other, hopelessly. Narcissus’ words of farewell to the image are, ironically, Echo’s words of farewell to him (500–1). She was a real ‘other’, but he had rejected her in favour of the empty image (note the moving solitam, 499). Finished now with gazing at his reflection, he slumps on the grass (502) and, still admiring his dominus (himself/the image) at the end of his life (503), he carries on gazing at it even in death (505) – one umbra gazing hopelessly at another; and those who had loved him in life, even the Dryades presumably rejected by him (402–3), mourn his passing (505–7). The flōs croceus that is found in place of his body (509–10) is (perhaps) the daffodil-like mountain species known as Narcissus poeticus (Ovid wisely refrains from detailing how that transformation took place). Many daffodils have a yellow flower and white leaves; and many of them bow over, as if staring at their own reflection.

  (On this episode, see Nuttall in Martindale, 1988, 141–6.)

  9 Pyramus and Thisbe, Metamorphōsēs 4.55–166

  From now on there is only a minimal learning vocabulary. It will consist of words that occur more than once in the passage in question, but do not occur in the Total Learning Vocabulary. All these words will be listed in the section Learning Vocabulary at the end of the passage (as usual), but they will not be re-listed in the Total Learning Vocabulary. Consequently, if they recur in later passages, they will be glossed there again.

  As a result, you can read passages 9–16 in any order and still find fully glossed all words that do not appear in the Total Learning Vocabulary. See p. 20 n.4.

  Background

  The daughters of Minyas, refusing to partake in Bacchant rites, tell each other stories instead. The first sister tells the following tale, its purpose being to explain how the mulberry’s berries, once white, changed to dark red.

  4.55–64: Pyramus and Thisbe are in love but cannot marry

  †‘Pramus et Thisbē, iuuenum pulcherrimus alter,

  55

  †altera, quās Oriēns habuit, praelāta puellīs,

  †contiguās tenuēre domōs, ubi dīcitur altam^

  Warning note

  This tale, as we have seen, is told by a daughter of Minyas, and from now on, most of the tales will be stories within stories. It may, therefore, have been composed by Ovid to convey something about the teller of the story. But without reading the stories in their full context, it is not helpful to discuss this possible angle. I therefore say nothing about it.

  †coctilibus mūrīs cīnxisse Semīramis ^urbem.

  †nōtitiam prīmōsque gradūs uīcīnia fēcit,

  tempore crēuit amor; †taedae quoque iūre coissent,

  60

  sed uetuēre patrēs. †quod nōn potuēre uetāre,

  †ex aequō captīs ardēbant mentibus ambō.

  †cōnscius omnis abest; nūtū signīsque loquuntur,

  †quōque magis tegitur, tēctus magis aestuat ignis.’

  4.65–80: They communicate through a shared garden wall

  †‘fissus erat tenuī rīmā, quam dūxerat ōlim

  65

  †cum fieret, pariēs^ domuī ^commūnis utrīque.

  id uitium, †nūllī per saecula longa notātum,

  (quid nōn sentit amor?) prīmī †uīdistis amantēs

  et uōcis fēcistis iter, tūtaeque^ per †illud

  †murmure ^blanditiae minimō trānsīre solēbant.

  70

  saepe, ubi cōnstiterant †hinc Thisbē, Pramus illinc,

  †inque uicēs fuerat captātus anhēlitus ōris,

  †“inuide” dīcēbant “pariēs, quid amantibus obstās?

  †quantum erat, ut sinerēs tōtō nōs corpore iungī,

  aut, hoc sī nimium est, uel ad ōscula danda †patērēs?

  75

  nec sumus †ingrātī: tibi nōs dēbēre fatēmur,

  †quod datus est uerbīs ad amīcās trānsitus aurēs.”

  tālia dīuersā †nēquīquam sēde locūtī

  sub †noctem, dīxēre “ualē”, partīque^ dedēre

  ōscula quisque ^suae nōn †peruenientia contrā.’

  80

  4.81–92: They decide to run away and agree a meeting place

  †‘postera nocturnōs Aurōra remōuerat ignēs,

  sōlque †pruīnōsās radiīs siccāuerat herbās;

  ad solitum coiēre locum. tum murmure paruō

  †multa prius questī, statuunt ut, nocte silentī,

  fallere custōdēs foribusque †excēdere temptent,

  85

  cumque domō exierint, urbis quoque †tēcta relinquant;

  †nēue sit errandum lātō spatiantibus aruō,

  †conueniant ad busta Ninī, lateantque sub umbrā

  arboris: arbor ibī †niueīs ūberrima pōmīs –

  ardua †mōrus – erat, gelidō contermina fontī.

  90

  †pacta placent; et lūx, tardē discēdere uīsa,

  †praecipitātur aquīs, et aquīs nox exit ab īsdem.’

  4.93–104: Thisbe sees a lion, runs, but leaves a cloak behind

  †‘callida per tenebrās, uersātō cardine, Thisbē

  ēgreditur, fallitque suōs, †adopertaque uultum

  peruenit ad †tumulum, dictāque sub arbore sēdit.

  95

  †audācem faciēbat amor. uenit ecce recentī

  caede †leaena boum, spūmantēs oblita rictūs,

  †dēpositūra sitim uīcīnī fontis in undā;

  †quam procul ad lūnae radiōs Babylōnia Thisbē

  uīdit, et obscūrum timidō pede †fūgit in antrum;

  100

  dumque fugit, †tergō uēlāmina lāpsa relīquit.

  ut †lea saeua sitim multā compescuit undā,

  dum redit in siluās, inuentōs^ forte sine ipsā

  ōre †cruentātō ^tenuēs laniāuit ^amictūs.’

  4.105–27: Pyramus finds the cloak, fears the worst and commits suicide

  †‘sērius ēgressus, uestīgia^ uīdit in altō

  105

  †puluere ^certa ferae, tōtōque expalluit ōre

  Pramus. ut uērō uestem quoque sanguine †tīnctam

  repperit, †“una duōs” inquit “nox perdet amantēs,

  ē quibus illa fuit longā dignissima uītā.

  nostra †nocēns anima est. ego^ tē, miseranda, perēmī,

  110

  in loca plēna metūs ^quī iussī nocte †uenīrēs,

  nec prior hūc uēnī. nostrum †dīuellite corpus,

  et †scelerāta ferō cōnsūmite uīscera morsū,

  †ō quīcumque sub hāc habitātis rūpe leōnēs!

  sed †timidī est optāre necem.” uēlāmina Thisbēs

  115

  tollit, et ad^ pactae sēcum fert arboris ^umbram,

  utque dedit nōtae^ lacrimās, dedit ōscula ^uestī,

  “accipe nunc” inquit “nostrī quoque sanguinis †haustūs!”

  †quōque erat accīnctus, dēmīsit in īlia ferrum.

  nec mora; †feruentī moriēns ē uulnere trāxit.

  120

  ut iacuit †resupīnus humō, cruor ēmicat altē,

  nōn aliter †quam cum uitiātō fistula plumbō

  †scinditur, et tenuēs^ strīdente forāmine longē

  †ēiaculātur ^aquās, atque ictibus āera rumpit.

  †arboreī fētūs, adspergine caedis, in ātram

  125

  uertuntur faciem, †madefactaque sanguine rādīx

  †purpureō tingit pendentia mōra colōre.’

  4.128–46: Th
isbe finds the dying Pyramus

  ‘ecce, metū nōndum positō, nē fallat amantem,

  illa redit, iuuenemque oculīs animōque requīrit,

  quantaque^ †uītārit nārrāre ^perīcula gestit.

  130

  utque locum et uīsā cognōscit in arbore †fōrmam,

  sīc facit †incertam pōmī color: haeret, an haec sit.

  dum dubitat, †tremebunda uidet pulsāre cruentum

  membra †solum, retrōque pedem tulit, ōraque buxō

  †pallidiōra gerēns, exhorruit aequoris īnstar,

  135

  †quod tremit, exiguā cum summum stringitur aurā.

  sed postquam †remorāta suōs cognōuit amōrēs,

  percutit †indignōs clārō plangōre lacertōs,

  et laniāta comās, amplexaque corpus amātum,

  uulnera †supplēuit lacrimīs, flētumque cruōrī

  140

  †miscuit, et gelidīs in uultibus ōscula fīgēns