Ovid / Shakespeare
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Tag: Ovid
January 15, 2021
“The Story of of Cadmus” (V) – Ovid
“Minerva or Pallas Athena” (1898)
Gustav Klimt
______
an interesting thing has happened with
the story of Cadmus, he is not only a
mythical figure, but also a legendary
one, which is to say that Cadmus has
roots in actual history, he’s not just an
imaginary construct like those that
until now have peopled Ovid’s text
Cadmus appears to have actually
founded Thebes, whose origins,
however, are lost in antiquity, going
back to, it appears, the late Bronze
Age, around 2000 BC, goodness
stories evidently grew around
Cadmus, that transformed him into
our first documented hero, indeed
superhero
counterparts exist in other traditions,
consider David, for instance, who
slew his own dragon, Goliath, before
becoming king of the Israelites, 10th
Century BCE, at Jerusalem, where
he consorted, incidentally, later, with
Bathsheba, however illicitly, but
that’s another story
King Arthur, late 5th to early 6th
Centuries CE, stems from British
lore, though his historical actuality
has been contested, is also a hero
with preternatural capabilities based
on some historical accountability
in our day, there’s James Bond,
based on real, living and breathing,
personalities
or, dare I say, even Jesus
the point here is that actual people
are being included in the, however
culturally specific, mythologies,
which, in each, had earlier consisted
of metaphorical constructs merely,
the concept of History, in other words,
was being born, memorable events
were to be remembered, recorded,
documented, if only, originally, orally,
around, say, campfires, however
aggrandized might have been their
recollected heroes
Cadmus, meanwhile, in our story, is
about to establish his own historical,
and archeologically confirmed, note,
credentials
The dire example ran through all the field,
‘Till heaps of brothers were by brothers kill’d;
The dire example, the dragon’s teeth,
grown into men, had begun, if you’ll
remember, to slaughter one another
example, display
The furrows swam in blood: and only five
Of all the vast increase were left alive.
Echion one, at Pallas’s command,
Let fall the guiltless weapon from his hand,
Echion, one of the five surviving
brothers
Pallas, Pallas Athena, goddess of
Wisdom, also of War
see above
And with the rest a peaceful treaty makes,
Whom Cadmus as his friends and partners takes;
the rest, the four other survivors
So founds a city on the promis’d earth,
And gives his new Boeotian empire birth.
promis’d earth, the premonition of
the oracles whose counsel Cadmus
had sought at Delphi, if you’ll
remember
Here Cadmus reign’d; and now one would have guess’d
The royal founder in his exile blest:
his exile, from Tyre, Cadmus’ original
home, from which his father, Agenor,
had sent him, not to return, he’d
warned, without his sister, Europa
Long did he live within his new abodes,
Ally’d by marriage to the deathless Gods;
Ally’d by marriage, at the end of a
period of penance for having killed
the dragon, which had been sacred
to Ares, god of War, the gods gave
Cadmus Harmonia, goddess of
Concord, to be his wife
Ares would eventually exact mighty
vengeance, but that’s another story
And, in a fruitful wife’s embraces old,
A long increase of children’s children told:
But no frail man, however great or high,
Can be concluded blest before he die.
even Cadmus, though he might
enjoy a long life, and many, a long
increase of, children, is not immune
to any of the vicissitudes of life either
until his own time has come, the poet
advises, however ominously
and here Ovid also introduces the
subject of his next metamorphosis,
Actaeon, however early, luring us
thereby, deftly, literarily, towards
his next instalment, Actaeon’s
story, eponymously, there, given
its title
Actaeon was the first of all his race,
Who griev’d his grandsire in his borrow’d face;
Condemn’d by stern Diana to bemoan
The branching horns, and visage not his own;
his grandsire, his grandfather,
Cadmus was the father of Autonoë,
who was the mother of Actaeon
borrow’d face, Actaeon was
transformed into a stag by the
goddess Diana / Artemis, of the
Hunt, of the Moon, of Chastity,
for having seen her naked as
she was bathing
he now has the face, the visage, of
someone, something, he hadn’t
been before, borrow’d
To shun his once lov’d dogs, to bound away,
And from their huntsman to become their prey,
having been transformed into a
stag, or metamorphized, Actaeon
would end up hunted, and worse,
by his own, once lov’d, dogs
And yet consider why the change was wrought,
You’ll find it his misfortune, not his fault;
Or, if a fault, it was the fault of chance:
For how can guilt proceed from ignorance?
to have been at the wrong place
at the wrong time, yet to suffer,
however unfairly, the consequences,
that, Ovid asks, is the question, the
conundrum
stay tuned
R ! chard
October 23, 2020
“The Story of Aglauros, transform’d into a Statue” (lll) – Ovid
“The Envious“
Gustave Doré
_______
all mythologies have their picture, their
rendition, their evocation of an afterlife,
states of either resignation, in earlier
traditions, perdition or bliss in the later
Christian view, manifest, these latter,
in Dante, his depictions of Hell,
Purgatory, and Heaven in his
Commedia, are probably its most
explicit evocations
the Greek and Roman pictures of
their own representative Underworld,
available in Homer, Horace, Virgil,
notably, is less compartmentalized,
less extreme in its divisions, a gloom
pervades, but nowhere fire and
brimstone, nor the diametrically
opposed consolation of archangels
and trumpets, only an unending
sense of desolation, be one worthy
of it or not
limbo comes to mind
but Envy’s realm is actual, not
belated, in the Ancient Greek and
Roman traditions, it is of this world,
present, however horrid, a place
that lurks in the hearts of men, of
people, always, ever, accessible
Dante situates his nexus of Envy in
Purgatory, the afterlife, the nether
world, its Second Circle, of seven,
Wrath, Envy, Pride, Lust, Gluttony,
Greed, Sloth
for Ovid, you can reach Envy’s
dominion, in the nearby mountainous
areas, if only you’ll follow Minerva
the one course is transcendental,
the other, organic, note, physical,
carnate
Directly to the cave her course she steer’d;
Against the gates her martial lance she rear’d;
The gates flew open, and the fiend appear’d.
the fiend, Envy herself
A pois’nous morsel in her teeth she chew’d,
And gorg’d the flesh of vipers for her food.
yech
Minerva loathing turn’d away her eye;
as, incontrovertibly, would I
The hideous monster, rising heavily,
Came stalking forward with a sullen pace,
And left her mangled offals on the place.
Soon as she saw the goddess gay and bright,
She fetch’d a groan at such a chearful sight.
Livid and meagre were her looks, her eye
In foul distorted glances turn’d awry;
A hoard of gall her inward parts possess’d,
And spread a greenness o’er her canker’d breast;
Her teeth were brown with rust, and from her tongue,
In dangling drops, the stringy poison hung.
She never smiles but when the wretched weep,
Nor lulls her malice with a moment’s sleep,
Restless in spite: while watchful to destroy,
She pines and sickens at another’s joy;
Foe to her self, distressing and distrest,
She bears her own tormentor in her breast.
the passage, without explication,
speaks for itself, I cede to its
manifest erudition
The Goddess gave (for she abhorr’d her sight)
her sight, what she was looking
upon
A short command: “To Athens speed thy flight;
On curst Aglauros try thy utmost art,
And fix thy rankest venoms in her heart.”
Minerva condemns, curs[es],
Aglauros
This said, her spear she push’d against the ground,
And mounting from it with an active bound,
Flew off to Heav’n:
Minerva reminds me of my own
generation’s Wonder Woman
meanwhile, the hag, Envy, with
eyes askew
Look’d up, and mutter’d curses as she flew;
For sore she fretted, and began to grieve
At the success which she her self must give.
success, the humiliation of
Aglauros
Then takes her staff, hung round with wreaths ofthorn,
And sails along, in a black whirlwind born,
the picture of a witch on a
broomstick shouldn’t
here be unanticipated
O’er fields and flow’ry meadows: where she steers
Her baneful course, a mighty blast appears,
Mildews and blights; the meadows are defac’d,
The fields, the flow’rs, and the whole years laidwaste:
the whole years, the yearly crops
On mortals next, and peopled towns she falls,
And breathes a burning plague among their walls.
the, not unfamiliar to us, season,
now, of the witch
R ! chard
September 1, 2020
“The Story of Coronis, and Birth of Aesculapius” (III) – Ovid
“Minerva, or Pallas Athena“ (1898)
Gustav Klimt
______
But you, perhaps, may think I was remov’d,
As never by the heav’nly maid belov’d:
says the daw to the still snowy plume[d],
[w]hite as the whitest dove’s unsully’d
breast raven
remov’d, rejected, discarded and
disgrac’d
the heav’nly maid, Minerva
But I was lov’d; ask Pallas if I lye;
Pallas, another name for Minerva
Tho’ Pallas hate me now, she won’t deny:
hate, note, is in the subjunctive here,
the mood of conjecture, where the s
is removed from the ending of the
third person singular, that she, he, or
one, for instance, read, no s on read,
Ovid, would be a part of any Latin
curriculum
For I, whom in a feather’d shape you view,
Was once a maid (by Heav’n the story’s true)
A blooming maid, and a king’s daughter too.
A crowd of lovers own’d my beauty’s charms;
own’d, admitted to, acknowledged
My beauty was the cause of all my harms;
to a vain friend once who complained
to me of the rigours of being beautiful,
I said, your beauty, girl, to upend the,
otherwise tiresome, conversation, is
your curse, get over it, which he did,
it did, in at least that instance
Neptune, as on his shores I wont to rove,
Neptune, god of the Sea
wont, to be used to, predisposed to
Observ’d me in my walks, and fell in love.
He made his courtship, he confess’d his pain,
And offer’d force, when all his arts were vain;
all of the gods, it appears, are engines,
ever, of irrepressible lust, perhaps
allegorically alluding to the unquenchable
generative powers of very Nature
Swift he pursu’d: I ran along the strand,
‘Till, spent and weary’d on the sinking sand,
I shriek’d aloud, with cries I fill’d the air
To Gods and men; nor God nor man was there:
who hasn’t been there, forlorn,
abandoned, desolate, forsaken
A virgin Goddess heard a virgin’s pray’r.
virgin Goddess, Minerva / Pallas
Athena
note that Minerva / Pallas / Athena,
the virgin Goddess, remains, however
unconventionally, however irregularly,
the mother of Erichthonius
For, as my arms I lifted to the skies,
I saw black feathers from my fingers rise;
I strove to fling my garment on the ground;
My garment turn’d to plumes, and girt me round:
My hands to beat my naked bosom try;
Nor naked bosom now nor hands had I:
the king’s daughter, still unnamed, note,
attesting to the interchangeability of
virgin’s in Greek and Roman mythology,
is in the process of becoming a daw, a
black bird
Lightly I tript, nor weary as before
Sunk in the sand, but skim’d along the shore;
it appears there are advantages
to becoming a bird
‘Till, rising on my wings, I was preferr’d
To be the chaste Minerva’s virgin bird:
go, girl
Preferr’d in vain! I am now in disgrace:
Nyctimene the owl enjoys my place.
Nyctimene, Minerva’s owl
friendship, it appears, can turn
on a dime, or an inadvertent,
but decisive, irritation
R ! chard
August 28, 2020
“The Story of Coronis, and Birth of Aesculapius” – Ovid
“A Saint, from ‘The Jackdaw of Rheims’“ (1868)
Briton Rivière
_______
The raven once in snowy plumes was drest,
White as the whitest dove’s unsully’d breast,
Fair as the guardian of the Capitol,
Soft as the swan; a large and lovely fowl;
His tongue, his prating tongue had chang’d him quite
To sooty blackness, from the purest white.
the Capitol, the Temple of Jupiter, only
portions of which remain, on exhibit in
the Capitoline Museums, on the
Capitoline Hill, one of the Seven Hills
of Rome
the guardian of the Capitol, the Vestalis
Maxima, or the greatest of the Vestals,
who were charged with ensuring the
security of the city
the raven was white once, Ovid says,
[f]air as the guardian of the Capitol,
[s]oft as the swan, but it seems his
prating tongue got him in trouble
prating, chattering, tattling
here’s what happened
In Thessaly there liv’d a nymph of old,
Coronis nam’d; a peerless maid she shin’d,
Confest the fairest of the fairer kind.
Apollo lov’d her, ’till her guilt he knew,
While true she was, or whilst he thought her true.
Thessaly, a region of Greece
contrary to what’s taken place in
these myths till now, Coronis, a
nymph, in name only, it appears,
was found out to be untrue to
Apollo, who lov’d her
his own bird the raven chanc’d to find
The false one with a secret rival joyn’d.
Coronis begg’d him to suppress the tale,
But could not with repeated pray’rs prevail.
the raven, Apollo‘s own bird, was not
going to not tell his master about his
mistress’ indiscretion, despite [t]he
false one’s pray’rs not to
His milk-white pinions to the God he ply’d;
pinion, the outer part of a bird’s wing,
including the flight feathers
[A] busy daw flew with him, side by side,
daw, jackdaw, a black bird related to
the crow
And by a thousand teizing questions drew
Th’ important secret from him as they flew.
teizing, teasing
The daw gave honest counsel, tho’ despis’d,
tho’ despis’d, though the honest
counsel would be unpleasant to
hear
And, tedious in her tattle, thus advis’d:
listen, said the daw, cautioning
the raven
“Stay, silly bird, th’ ill-natur’d task refuse,
silly bird, the raven
Nor be the bearer of unwelcome news.
Be warn’d by my example:
pay attention, the daw insists, be
wary, [b]e warn’d
you discern
What now I am, and what I was shall learn.
My foolish honesty was all my crime;
Then hear my story.
here’s what happened to me,
says the pitch black bird
Once upon a time,
to follow
R ! chard
psst: The Jackdaw of Reims, by
Richard Harris Barham
August 10, 2020
Phaeton’s Sisters Transform’d into Trees – Ovid
“Heliades“ (1920s)
Rupert Bunny
______
The Latian nymphs came round him,
Latian, of Latium, a region still of Italy,
which comprised, and still comprises,
Rome, the Latians, or Latins, were its
original inhabitants, whose language,
Latin, is the root of many of our
European languages today, it is,
notably, the language of Ovid
and, amaz’d,
On the dead youth, transfix’d with thunder, gaz’d;
the dead youth, Phaeton
And, whilst yet smoaking from the bolt he lay,
His shatter’d body to a tomb convey,
And o’er the tomb an epitaph devise:
“Here he, who drove the sun’s bright chariot, lies;
His father’s fiery steeds he cou’d not guide,
But in the glorious enterprize he dy’d.”
though Ovid’s text, as translated by
John Dryden, among others, has
its difficulties, a good portion of it
is easy to understand, the secret,
mostly, is in paying attention to the
punctuation, which on occasion can
be tricky
Apollo hid his face, and pin’d for grief,
Apollo, Phaeton’s father
And, if the story may deserve belief,
The space of one whole day is said to run,
From morn to wonted ev’n, without a sun:
ev’n, evening
The burning ruins, with a fainter ray,
Supply the sun, and counterfeit a day,
A day, that still did Nature’s face disclose:
This comfort from the mighty mischief rose.
though the sun did not shine that
fateful day, the glow from the
burning debris shed a light that
allowed one to nevertheless
make out, disclose, Nature’s face,
a wry comfort midst the carnage,
midst the mighty mischief
But Clymene, enrag’d with grief, laments,
Clymene, Phaeton’s mother
And as her grief inspires, her passion vents:
Wild for her son, and frantick in her woes,
With hair dishevel’d round the world she goes,
To seek where-e’er his body might be cast;
‘Till, on the borders of the Po, at last
The name inscrib’d on the new tomb appears.
the Po, a river in Italy
the new tomb, where the Latian
nymphs lay to rest Phaeton’s
remains
The dear dear name she bathes in flowing tears,
Hangs o’er the tomb, unable to depart,
And hugs the marble to her throbbing heart.
Her daughters too lament, and sigh, and mourn
(A fruitless tribute to their brother’s urn),
And beat their naked bosoms, and complain,
And call aloud for Phaeton in vain:
All the long night their mournful watch they keep,
And all the day stand round the tomb, and weep.
Her daughters, the Heliades, along
with Phaeton, were the children of
Clymene and Helios / Phoebus /
Apollo, god of the Sun
Four times, revolving, the full moon return’d;
So long the mother and the daughters mourn’d:
the equivalent of, more or less,
four months
When now the eldest, Phaethusa, strove
To rest her weary limbs, but could not move;
Lampetia wou’d have help’d her, but she found
Her self with-held, and rooted to the ground:
Phaethusa and Lampetia, both daughters
of Helios / Phoebus / Apollo, but with
Neaera, and not, as Ovid indeed writes
in his Latin text, with Clymene, were
therefore not strictly speaking Heliades,
but stepsisters only of Phaeton
furthermore, Ovid has them find their
purported brother in the Eridanos, a
river only later identified as the Po,
so that Dryden cannot be faulted for
this not inaccurate anachronism
in either case, I suspect either’s metre
might’ve played a poetically pertinent
part in these divergences
A third in wild affliction, as she grieves,
Wou’d rend her hair, but fills her hands with leaves;
One sees her thighs transform’d, another views
Her arms shot out, and branching into boughs.
in one version, Helios / Phoebus /
Apollo and Clymene had three
daughters, Aegiale, Aegle, and
Aetheria, in another they had five,
Helia, Merope, Phoebe, Aetheria
and Dioxippe, you’ll note that
Phaethusa and Lampetia are not
among then
And now their legs, and breasts, and bodies stood
Crusted with bark, and hard’ning into wood;
But still above were female heads display’d,
And mouths, that call’d the mother to their aid.
there’s a pattern here, a friend said
when I spoke to her about what
was coming up
you mean these nymphs turning
into trees, I asked
yes, she replied
look at it the other way around, I said,
not that the girls are turning into trees,
but that the trees are becoming human,
becoming our kin, we are acknowledging
their humanity, anthropomorphically, which
is why some of us actually hug them, the
world in Ovid’s earlier myths is still being
created, not just the generic tree, but
poplars, maples, laurel, out of the share
of the common soul we impart to them,
not only metaphorically, as in these myths,
but even organically, we are, after all,
all, fundamentally, stardust
What cou’d, alas! the weeping mother do?
From this to that with eager haste she flew,
And kiss’d her sprouting daughters as they grew.
She tears the bark that to each body cleaves,
And from their verdant fingers strips the leaves:
The blood came trickling, where she tore away
The leaves and bark:
the process is not unlike watching,
helplessly, a daughter leave home,
age, take on life’s tribulations
the maids were heard to say,
“Forbear, mistaken parent, oh! forbear;
A wounded daughter in each tree you tear;
Farewell for ever.” Here the bark encreas’d,
Clos’d on their faces, and their words suppress’d.
let go, let go, the daughters cry,
holding on to us only hurts
The new-made trees in tears of amber run,
Which, harden’d into value by the sun,
Distill for ever on the streams below:
the river Eridanos was supposed to be a
river rich in amber, the resin, apparently,
of poplar trees there having drifted to the
nearby stream, hardened
I’m reminded of the sap of our own
indigenous maple trees becoming
a prized delicacy
The limpid streams their radiant treasure show,
Mixt in the sand; whence the rich drops convey’d
Shine in the dress of the bright Latian maid.
Latian, or Latin, maids have been
weaving amber into their apparel
ever since
R ! chard
July 23, 2020
The Story of Phaeton (VII) – Ovid
“Landscape of Ruins and Fires“ (1914)
Félix Vallotton
_______
‘Twas then, they say, the swarthy Moor begun
To change his hue, and blacken in the sun.
Moor, a flagrant anachronism here,
as Moors, Muslim inhabitants of
North Africa, didn’t exist before the
advent of Islam, which began in the
Seventh Century CE, Ovid, in Latin,
uses Ethiopian, which would entirely
throw off, note, Dryden‘s poetic
metre, thus Moor
Then Libya first, of all her moisture drain’d,
Became a barren waste, a wild of sand.
Libya, Ancient Libya, a much larger
country of North Africa than the
Libya we know of today
The water-nymphs lament their empty urns,
Boeotia, robb’s of silve Dirce, mourns,
empty urns, the water has evaporated
Boeotia, a region still of Greece
Dirce, upon her gruesome death, which
I won’t get into here, was transformed
by Dionysus, god of revelry and fertility,
into a fountain, which became revered
silve, sylvan, of the forest, the
countryside
robb’s, I’ll guess robbers, because
Boeotia is where Dirce, abducted,
became a fountain
Corinth Pyrene’s wasted spring bewails,
And Argos grieves whilst Amymone fails.
Corinth, a city still in Greece
Pyrene, a princess, who was, another
distressing story, transformed into the
Pyrenees, by Heracles, her seducer,
as well as being a god renowned for
his extraordinary exploits
Argos, a city still in Greece
Amymone, another unfortunate maiden,
who was granted by Poseidon, god of
Water, for, throughout her tribulations,
her probity, springs, sources of water,
for her community, which, in the
instance, all fail[ ]
The floods are drain’d from ev’ry distant coast,
Ev’n Tanais, tho’ fix’d in ice, was lost.
Tanais, the river today known as the
Don in Russia, thus fix’d in ice
Enrag’d Caicus and Lycormas roar,
Caicus, a river in Asia Minor, now
given a different name in a different
script, Bakırçay, which I’ll let you
try to pronounce
Lycormas, a river in Ancient Greece,
now called Evinos
And Xanthus, fated to be burnt once more.
Xanthus, or Xanthos, a river in Ancient
Asia Minor, which was yellowish already
due to its surrounding tainted soil, thus
burnt once more
The fam’d Maeander, that unweary’d strays
Maeander, a river in Ancient Asia
Minor
Through mazy windings, smoaks in ev’ry maze.
smoaks, smokes
mazy, maze, cute
From his lov’d Babylon Euphrates flies;
The big-swoln Ganges and the Danube rise
In thick’ning fumes, and darken half the skies.
the Euphrates, the Ganges, and the
Danube, rivers which still go by their
ancient names
In flames Ismenos and the Phasis roul’d,
Ismenos, or Ismenus, a river in
Boeotia, Greece
Phasis, ancient name for the
Rioni River in Georgia, Eurasia
roul’d, rolled
And Tagus floating in his melted gold.
Tagus, a river in the Iberian
Peninsula
The swans, that on Cayster often try’d
Their tuneful songs, now sung their last and dy’d.
Cayster, a river in Turkey
The frighted Nile ran off, and under ground
Conceal’d his head, nor can it yet be found:
His sev’n divided currents all are dry,
And where they row’ld, sev’n gaping trenches lye:
it is being suggested that the Nile
had at one point seven tributaries,
some of which dried up, never
recovered
rowl’d, rolled
No more the Rhine or Rhone their course maintain,
Nor Tiber, of his promis’d empire vain.
the Rhine, the Rhone, and the Tiber
are all European rivers
vain, deprived
The ground, deep-cleft, admits the dazling ray,
And startles Pluto with the flash of day.
dazling, dazzling
Pluto, god of the Underworld, who
would be understandably startle[d]
by a flash of day
The seas shrink in, and to the sight disclose
Wide naked plains, where once their billows rose;
billows, of [t]he seas
Their rocks are all discover’d, and increase
The number of the scatter’d Cyclades.
discover’d, uncovered
Cyclades, a group of islands in the
Aegean Sea, between present-day
Greece and Turkey
The fish in sholes about the bottom creep,
sholes, shoals
Nor longer dares the crooked dolphin leap
Gasping for breath, th’ unshapen Phocae die,
Phocae, plural of Phoca, is the
generic name, and therefore,
interestingly, capitalized, for
seals, walruses, sea lions
And on the boiling wave extended lye.
lye, lie
Nereus, and Doris with her virgin train,
Seek out the last recesses of the main;
Nereus, and Doris, Sea god and
goddess, parents, notably, of the
Nereids, sea nymphs, the virgin
train
the main, the ocean
Beneath unfathomable depths they faint,
And secret in their gloomy caverns pant.
secret, unseen, alone, untended
Stern Neptune thrice above the waves upheld
His face, and thrice was by the flames repell’d.
Neptune, principal god of the Sea
it is interesting to note that where
earlier the earth had been
submerged in water, during the
Giants’ War, now the earth is
engulfed in flames, a primordial
global warming, as it were, the
result, consider, of a human,
Phaeton, trying to take on the
duties of a god, a warning the
Ancients were already delivering,
so many years, so many centuries,
so many millennia, ago
I suspect, worldwide, indigenous
people would be telling a similar
tale were we able to access their
own, unfortunately unwritten,
though undoubtedly comparable,
ancestral wisdom, going back,
perhaps, even as far
R ! chard
July 11, 2020
The Story of Phaeton (IV) – Ovid
“Dawn“ (1873)
Fyodor Vasilyev
_______
Thus did the God th’ unwary youth advise;
Helios / Phoebus / Apollo tells his
son Phaeton, th’ unwary youth,
that he shouldn’t try to ride the
Chariot of the Sun himself
But he still longs to travel through the skies.
Phaeton, however, is inclined to
disregard his father’s advice
When the fond father (for in vain he pleads)
At length to the Vulcanian Chariot leads.
Vulcanian, of Vulcan, god of fire,
metal, metalworkers
Vulcan, according to Ovid here,
built the Chariot of the Sun
A golden axle did the work uphold,
the axle is the principal part, the
beam between the wheels, that
holds the chariot together, that
did the work, which is to say
the chariot, uphold
Gold was the beam, the wheels were orb’d with gold.
The spokes in rows of silver pleas’d the sight,
The seat with party-colour’d gems was bright;
the chariot was made of precious
metals and gems, was therefore
bright, resplendent
Apollo shin’d amid the glare of light.
Apollo, Sun god, would surely, as
well as the chariot, be radiant,
glowing
note that the Sun god is called
Apollo here, where earlier he’d
been called Phoebus, the Latin
name replacing the Greek, but
upon further investigation I found
that it was Dryden who’d made
the switch, Ovid had called the
Sun god Phoebus in the original
Latin text
The youth with secret joy the work surveys,
Phaeton is beside himself, eager
with anticipation
When now the moon disclos’d her purple rays;
purple rays, tinged with the colours
of dawn
see above
The stars were fled, for Lucifer had chased
The stars away, and fled himself at last.
Lucifer, the Morning Star, the
planet Venus, as it appears in
the East before sunrise
having suspected Dryden of having
replaced with Lucifer another name
from the original Latin text, I was
surprised to discover that Lucifer
had been indeed translated faithfully
from Ovid’s poem, which means that
the Christian name we’re familiar
with as another name for Satan has
to have been adopted from the
Ancients and modified to fit the new
Christian mythology, the biblical
narrative
Lucifer, a god in his own right in
Antiquity, had been the son of
Aurora, goddess of the Dawn
do you love it
Soon as the father saw the rosy morn,
And the moon shining with a blunter horn,
blunter, less incandescent, dulled
by the advancing light
horn, a lesser phase of the moon,
when it is either waxing or waning,
thus resembling a horn
He bid the nimble Hours, without delay,
Bring forth the steeds; the nimble Hours obey:
the Hours, or Horae, goddesses
of the Seasons, horae is the
Greek word for seasons
From their full racks the gen’rous steeds retire,
retire, come away, from their stalls
in the stables
Dropping ambrosial foams, and snorting fire.
ambrosial, especially fragrant, or
tasty
Still anxious for his son, the God of day,
To make him proof against the burning ray,
His temples with celestial ointment wet,
Of sov’reign virtue to repel the heat;
celestial ointment, ambrosia,
elixir of the gods
sov’reign virtue, exceedingly effective
attribute
Then fix’d the beamy circle on his head,
beamy circle, radiant halo of
solar rays
And fetch’d a deep foreboding sigh, and said,
“Take this at least, this last advice, my son,
Keep a stiff rein, and move but gently on:
The coursers of themselves will run too fast,
Your art must be to moderate their haste.
Drive ’em not on directly through the skies,
But where the Zodiac’s winding circle lies,
Along the midmost Zone; but sally forth
Nor to the distant south, nor stormy north.
The horses’ hoofs a beaten track will show,
But neither mount too high, nor sink too low.
That no new fires, or Heav’n or Earth infest;
Keep the mid way, the middle way is best.
Nor, where in radiant folds the serpent twines,
Direct your course, nor where the altar shines.
serpent twines, serpentine, tortuous
entanglements
altar, probably alter, or other, light
sources, the moon, for instance,
the Morning Star, do not be
distracted by bright lights,
Phoebus / Apollo advises
Shun both extreams; the rest let Fortune guide,
And better for thee than thy self provide!
Fortune, or Fortuna, goddess of Fate,
will be of greater help to you, Phoebus
/ Apollo tells his son, than you, thy self,
can provide for yourself
compare this last fatherly advice,
incidentally, to that of Polonius to
Laertes, his own son, act I, scene
3, lines 55 to 81 in Shakespeare’s
Hamlet, proof that Shakespeare
was not only well acquainted
with Ovid, but also much
admired him
See, while I speak, the shades disperse away,
Aurora gives the promise of a day;
Aurora, goddess of the Dawn
I’m call’d, nor can I make a longer stay.
I’m call’d, the time has come to
mount the Chariot of the Sun,
the morning breaks, I must, or
you must, in my stead, go
Snatch up the reins; or still th’ attempt forsake,
And not my chariot, but my counsel, take,
While yet securely on the Earth you stand;
Nor touch the horses with too rash a hand.
Let me alone to light the world, while you
Enjoy those beams which you may safely view.”
should you choose to my counsel, take,
from the Earth you may safely view my
beams while I alone … light the world,
Phoebus / Apollo implores his son
He spoke in vain; the youth with active heat
And sprightly vigour vaults into the seat;
And joys to hold the reins, and fondly gives
Those thanks his father with remorse receives.
for better, or for worse
stay tuned
R ! chard
July 3, 2020
“The Story of Phaeton” (II) – Ovid
“The Sun“ (1911 – 1916)
Edvard Munch
_______
The Sun’s bright palace, on high columns rais’d,
The Sun, Helios / Phoebus / Apollo
With burnish’d gold and flaming jewels blaz’d;
The folding gates diffus’d a silver light,
And with a milder gleam refresh’d the sight;
since the folding gates of the bright
palace shimmered with a silver light
rather than with the glow of the gold
and flaming jewels of the palace itself,
their milder gleam was easier on the
eyes, refresh’d the sight
Of polish’d iv’ry was the cov’ring wrought:
the palace was covered with polish’d
wrought ivory
The matter vied not with the sculptor’s thought,
the execution of the palace was
everything that its sculptor, its
architect, had had in mind to
create
For in the portal was display’d on high
(The work of Vulcan) a fictitious sky;
Vulcan, god of fire, metal, smiths,
metalworkers
at the entrance to the palace, the
portal, Vulcan had painted the ceiling,
he’d display’d on high … a fictitious
sky, I suspect Dryden must’ve had
Michelangelo and his ceiling of the
Sistine Chapel in mind during his
translation of this passage of Ovid
A waving sea th’ inferiour Earth embrac’d,
inferiour, Earth, surging from under the
greater masses of water dominating it,
especially after the flood, is, therefore,
beneath the waving sea, inferiour to it
And Gods and Goddesses the waters grac’d.
remember that Ovid is describing a
painting here, on the ceiling at the
entrance, the portal, to the palace
of the god of the Sun
Aegeon here a mighty whale bestrode;
Aegeon, marine god, god of storms,
note the similarity of the name with
that of the Aegean Sea, but which
came first, the chicken or the egg,
the god or the expanse of water,
remains, as far as I’ve been able
to determine, undetermined
Triton, and Proteus (the deceiving God)
Triton, another god of the Sea, you’ll
remember him coming to the aid of
Neptune, his father, in settling the
waters after the flood at the request
of Jove / Jupiter / Zeus
Proteus, still another sea god,
described as deceiving, for his
ability to effortlessly, and
spontaneously, change his shape,
from which, incidentally, we get
the adjective protean, for easily
changeable, or versatile
With Doris here were carv’d, and all her train,
Doris, sea goddess, and all her train,
her fifty daughters, if you’ll remember,
are carv’d, etched, given graphic
representation
Some loosely swimming in the figur’d main,
figur’d, painted, depicted, drawn
main, the open ocean, but, probably
also here, the main, or central, part
of the painting itself
While some on rocks their dropping hair divide,
their hair divide, they loosen strands
of their wet hair
And some on fishes through the waters glide:
sea gods and goddesses are often
shown riding sea creatures, dolphins,
seahorses, even whales, see Aegeon
above
Tho’ various features did the sisters grace,
A sister’s likeness was in ev’ry face.
the sisters, the Nereids, all have different
features, but a family resemblance, sister’s
likeness, can always be detected in each
individual sibling’s rendering
On Earth a diff’rent landskip courts the eyes,
Earth doesn’t look, court[ ] the eyes,
at all like what’s painted on the
palace’s ceiling
landskip, landscape
Men, towns, and beasts in distant prospects rise,
distant prospects, from a distance, one
can see [m]en, towns, and beasts
appear, rise, arise
And nymphs, and streams, and woods, and rural deities.
nymphs, consigned, it appears, to
earthly duties, streams, and woods,
are not a feature of the Sun god’s
palace
O’er all, the Heav’n’s refulgent image shines;
the Heav’n’s refulgent, brightly shining,
image, expression, is manifest [o]’er all,
everywhere, the rays of the sun cast a
light on everything
On either gate were six engraven signs.
again I’m reminded of a Renaissance
wonder, Lorenzo Ghiberti‘s gilded bronze
doors for the Florence Baptistery, which
Michelangelo himself called the Gates of
Paradise, a work nearly as famous, then
and now, as his own Sistine Chapel ceiling
Ovid would never have known of these
masterworks, of course, having lived
over a millenium earlier, but I suspect
John Dryden, a cultured man, a couple
of hundred years later than these
cultural icons, would no doubt have
been fully aware of them, much as we,
however disinterested we might be,
can’t help but have heard of, say,
Rembrandt, Chopin, Charles Dickens,
for instance, though they be, similarly,
centuries separated from us
my point is that, without knowledge of
the original Latin, Dryden‘s cultural
heritage must’ve slipped, I think,
consciously or not, into his
translation, for better, or for worse
it should be remembered, however,
that Dryden was writing for an early
18th Century audience, much as I
am presently doing myself with
Dryden for a 21st, and maybe also
similarly skewing his idiom to better
adapt it to our own time, for better,
also, or for worse
Here Phaeton still gaining on th’ ascent,
gaining on th’ ascent, going faster
and faster, climbing higher and
higher
To his suspected father’s palace went,
suspected father, Phaeton doesn’t
yet know if Helios / Phoebus / Apollo
is indeed his father
‘Till pressing forward through the bright abode,
He saw at distance the illustrious God:
He saw at distance, or the dazling light
Had flash’d too strongly on his aking sight.
had Phaeton not been as far, at
distance, from what he was seeing,
the illustrious God, the dazling, or
dazzling, light would’ve hurt his
eyes, hurt his aking, or aching,
sight
The God sits high, exalted on a throne
Of blazing gems, with purple garments on;
Tyrian, surely, purple, a hue we’ve
seen here before, indicative of
stature, of imperial, if not even
divine, as in this instance,
pedigree
The Hours, in order rang’d on either hand,
And Days, and Months, and Years, and Ages stand.
Here Spring appears with flow’ry chaplets bound;
Here Summer in her wheaten garland crown’d;
Here Autumn the rich trodden grapes besmear;
And hoary Winter shivers in the reer.
this is no longer a picture, but the
real thing, Phoebus / Apollo / Helios
sits high, exalted on a throne / Of
blazing gems, with purple garments
on, while Time and all of the Seasons
hold court around him
Phoebus beheld the youth from off his throne;
That eye, which looks on all, was fix’d in one.
Phoebus, who sees everything, who
looks on all, beholds, fixes his eye on,
his son
He saw the boy’s confusion in his face,
Surpriz’d at all the wonders of the place;
And cries aloud, “What wants my son? for know
My son thou art, and I must call thee so.”
Phaeton, according to Phoebus /
Apollo / Helios‘ forthright admission,
is truly his son
“Light of the world,” the trembling youth replies,
“Illustrious parent! since you don’t despise
The parent’s name,
despise, refute
some certain token give,
That I may Clymene’s proud boast believe,
Nor longer under false reproaches grieve.”
your word is good, Phaeton allows,
but incontrovertibly, now, prove it,
some certain token give, he
challenges
The tender sire was touch’d with what he said,
And flung the blaze of glories from his head,
flung the blaze of glories from his head,
reduced the intensity of his presence,
the impact of his charisma, took off
his dazling crown, if only, maybe,
metaphorically, to be father to his son
And bid the youth advance: “My son,” said he,
“Come to thy father’s arms! for Clymene
Has told thee true; a parent’s name I own,
And deem thee worthy to be called my son.
As a sure proof, make some request, and I,
Whate’er it be, with that request comply;
By Styx I swear, whose waves are hid in night,
And roul impervious to my piercing sight.”
an oath upon Styx is incontrovertible,
like swearing on a Bible, as earlier
noted
The youth transported, asks, without delay,
To guide the sun’s bright chariot for a day.
Phaeton wants to drive his father’s
car, the sun’s bright chariot, how
contemporary, how immediate,
how timeless
stay tuned
R ! chard
June 28, 2020
“The Story of Phaeton” – Ovid
“Landscape with a Palace“ (1916)
Eugeniusz Zak
________
Her son was Epaphus, at length believ’d
The son of Jove, and as a God receiv’d;
without proof, it could not have been
absolutely determined, during this
ancient mythological era, that
Epaphus, son of Io become Isis, was
indeed the son of Jove / Jupiter / Zeus,
though that’s what at length, eventually,
came to be believed
and as such Epaphus was
With sacrifice ador’d, and publick pray’rs,
He common temples with his mother shares.
both Isis and Epaphus are worshipped
in common, in the same places, and
with a similar degree of devotion
Equal in years, and rival in renown
With Epaphus, the youthful Phaeton
Like honour claims;
Phaeton, another youth, [e]qual in
years to Epaphus, and in renown,
as famous, [l]ike honour claims,
puts forward, his own illustrious
heritage
and boasts his sire the sun.
the sun, Phoebus / Apollo, god,
among a number of other things,
of that very orb
His haughty looks, and his assuming air,
The son of Isis could no longer bear:
Thou tak’st thy mother’s word too far, said he,
And hast usurp’d thy boasted pedigree.
Epaphus, son of Isis, challenges
Phaeton, says that his mother’s
claim that her consort was the
god of the Sun is false, and that
he, Epaphus, is only promoting
the fabricated story of his high,
his boasted, pedigree, ancestry
Go, base pretender to a borrow’d name.
Epaphus delivers a double whammy,
base pretender, borrow’d name, ouch
Thus tax’d, he blush’d with anger, and with shame;
But shame repress’d his rage:
tax’d, confronted
repress’d his rage, Phaeton didn’t
slug Epaphus
the daunted youth
Soon seeks his mother, and enquires the truth:
is he truly the son of the god of the
Sun, Phaeton asks his mother, nearly
intolerable drama must surely follow,
turning on this burning question
Mother, said he, this infamy was thrown
By Epaphus on you, and me your son.
He spoke in publick, told it to my face;
Nor durst I vindicate the dire disgrace:
Even I, the bold, the sensible of wrong,
Even I, Phaeton asserts, the sensible
of wrong, as he describes himself, the
impatient of improprieties, however
bold, quick to respond, impetuous,
might he be, durst not, dared not,
vindicate, validate, the dire disgrace,
Epaphus‘ profoundly distressing insult
Restrain’d by shame, was forc’d to hold my tongue.
I was unable, Phaeton says, too
[r]estrain’d by shame, humiliated,
to even answer
To hear an open slander, is a curse:
But not to find an answer, is a worse.
a worse, we would say just worse,
but note that worse, here, is not a
noun, but the adjective for curse,
which has been elided, left out, a
worse curse, which, included,
would’ve altered, however, the
metre, the pentameter, and thus,
the poetry, style having trumped,
for better or for worse, in this
instance, the substance
a, incidentally, is the first beat of the
iamb, which is to say, the weak beat,
while worse, is the second, the one
with the accent, the determining
thump, a worse, da, dum, an iamb
Dryden didn’t have, in other words,
much choice, were he wanting to
be a poet, but to deftly press his,
surely masterful, grammar, to fit
his meaning to his, however
constricting, verse
If I am Heav’n-begot, assert your son
By some sure sign;
assert your son, acknowledge him,
[b]y some sure sign, Phaeton
demands of his mother
and make my father known,
at the same time, make … known,
identify, Phaeton continues, point
him out, my father
To right my honour, and redeem your own.
He said,
it is the honour[able] thing to do,
the required thing to do, [h]e said,
to restore, [t]o right, our reputations
and saying cast his arms about
Her neck, and beg’d her to resolve the doubt.
a son imploring his mother, can
anything be more poignant
‘Tis hard to judge if Clymene were mov’d
More by his pray’r, whom she so dearly lov’d,
Clymene, wife of Helios, or Phoebus /
Apollo, sun god, mother of Phaeton
Or more with fury fir’d, to find her name
Traduc’d, and made the sport of common fame.
Traduc’d, translated, transmitted
common fame, the casual, everyday
sport, entertainment, however
inappropriate, however malicious,
of many
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