871

Ovidio
WHE
dis
"Wheeler . . . enhances future reading and
interpretation of the Metamorphoses. His is
an elegantly written book."
-W. S. Anderson
University of California, Berkeley

In A Discourse of Wonders, Stephen M.

Wheeler introduces a fresh perspective for readers
of Ovid's Metamorphoses. Drawing on classical
scholarship and twentieth-century literary theory,
he argues that the poem is not an anthology or
collection but a single continuous performance.
Wheeler's thorough, detailed analysis of how Ovid
constructs, cultivates, and transforms his audience
challenges the assumption that Ovid's narrative
persona addresses the reader. Wheeler proposes
instead that Ovid represents himself in the poem as
an epic storyteller moved to tell a universal history
of metamorphosis in the presence of a fictional
audience. The longstanding critica! interest in
Ovid's poetics, Wheeler maintains, has tended to
obscure the role of the audience in reading and
interpreting the Metamorphoses.

A Discourse of Wonders offers an imaginative

and accessible revaluation of one of the greatest
surviving works of classical poetry, one whose
enduring influence can be found in literature, art,
music, and the performing arts from the Middle
Ages to the present.
A Discourse ofWonders
 ...., , .

A Discourse ofWonders
Audience and Performance in Ovid's
Metamorphoses

Stephen M. Wheeler

PENN

University of Pennsylvania Press

Philadelphia
 Copyright© 1999 University ofPennsylvania Press For my mother
All rights reserved
Printed in the United States of America on acid-free paper and
in memory of my father
IO 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 I

Published by
University ofPennsylvania Press
Philadelphia, Pennsylvania I9I04-40II

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Wheeler, Stephen Michael, I962-

A discourse of wonders : audience and performance in Ovid's
Metamorphoses 1 Stephen M. Wheeler.
p. cm.
Includes bibliographical references and index.
ISBN o-8122-3475-8 (acid-free paper)
I. Ovid, 43 B.C.-17 or I8 A.D. Metamorphoses. 2. Fables, Latin-
History and criticism. 3. M ythology, Classical, in literature.
4. Performing arts- Audiences- Rome. 5. Metamorphosis in
literature. 6. Reader-response criticism.
PA65I9.M9W47 I999
873'.oi-dc21 98-48566
CIP
 Contents
BOTIOM: I am to discourse wonders; but ask me not what.
- Shakespeare, Midsummer NighpJs Dream, v.ii.29- 30

Preface ix

List of Editions and Abbreviations X

Introduction: The Fate of the Audience

1. Metamorphosis in the Reader 8

2. The Fiction ofViva-Voce Performance 34

3. The Divided Audience 66

4. Assembling an Audience 94

5. Discourse and Time 117

6. Directions to the Audience 140

7· The Danger ofDisbelief 162

8. Translating Past into Present 194

Appendix A. Interna! N arrators and Audiences in the

Metamorphoses 207

Appendix B. Generalizing Second Person Singular 2II

Notes 213

References 241

Acknowledgments 259

Index Locorum 261

General Index
 Preface

Ovid claims to live through theMetamorphoses. Yet it would be more accu-

rate to say, as the poet himself acknowledges, that his survival depends
upon the presence of his audience. This book examines the role of the
audience in the reception of the Metamorphoses. Its premise is that the rela-
tionship between poet and audience is enacted through the fiction ofviva-
voce performance. In the course of the book, I use different methods of
reader-response criticism and philological analysis to examine how the au-
dience participates in the realization of Ovid's epic poem. This study is
aimed at both classicists and students of other literatures, particularly those
interested in reader-response criticism or issues of literary reception. Most
quotations in Latín or Greek are translated for the benefit of the general
reader.
 Editions and Abbreviations
Except where noted, I use the following editions of Ovid's works:·
Alton, E. H., D. E. W. Wormell, andE. Courtney, ed. I978. P. OvidiNasonis
Fastorum Libri Sex. Leipzig.
Anderson, W. S., ed. I993.P. OvidiiNasonisMetamorphoses. 6thed. Stuttgart
and Leipzig.
Hall, J. B., ed. I995. P. OvidiNasonis Tristia. Stuttgart and Leipzig.
Kenney, E. J., ed. I994.P. OvidiNasonisAmores)MedicaminaFacieiFeminae
Ars Amatoria) RemediaAmoris. 2d ed. Oxford.
Most translations ofLatin and Greek are my own; translations not my own
are generally quoted from editions of the Loeb Classical Library and cited
by translator's name only. Abbreviated names of ancient authors and works
:n-e .based on the s~stems used inLS], OCD 3 , and OLD. Modern scholarship
1s c1ted by author s last name, date of publication, and page number or, in
the case of commentaries, by line number. Full bibliographical information
is given in the References, but the titles of periodicals familiar to classicists
are mostly abbreviated according to the system followed by IJAnnée phi-
lologique. The abbreviations below are used for reference works and the
standard complete commentary on theMetamorphoses.
Boiner Bomer, F., ed. I969-86. P. Ovidius Naso: Metamorphosen. 7 vols.
Heidelberg.
LIMe Lexicon Iconographicum Mythologiae Classicae. I 98 I -97. Zurich.
LSJ Liddell, H. G., and R. Scott, ed. I968. A Greek-English Lexicon.
Rev. H. S. Jones and R. McKenzie. 9th ed. with supplement.
Oxford.
Hornblower, S., andA. Spawforth, ed. I996. Oxford ClassicalDic-
tionary. 3d ed. Oxford.
OLD Oxford Latín Dictionary. I 968-82. Oxford.
RE Pauly, A. F., G. Wissowa, and W. Kroll, ed. I894-. Paulys Real-
Encyclopiidie der classischenAltertumswissenschaft. Stuttgart.
TLL Thesaurus Linguae Latinae. I 900-. Leipzig.
Introduction: The Fate of
the Audience
atOE 8e V'ÚK'tE<; a9écrq>a'tOt. EO''tt f..LEV d58etv'
EO''tt 8e 'tEp1tüf..LÉVOtO'tV aKo'Únv. ou8é 'tt O'E xp'JÍ,
)
1tptv ólpll, Ka'taA.éx9m. aVtll Kat 1tOAU<; 15nvoc;.
[These nights are endless: there is time to sleep and time to enjoy
hearing stories. No need for you to go to bed before it's time: a lot of
sleep is a bad thing too.]
- Homer, Odyssey I 5. 392-94
In the first book of theMetamorphoses, Ovid playfully reflects on the danger
of the audience falling asleep during the performance of his poem. Mercury
begins to tell Argus, the hundred-eyed watchman oflo, a story that explains
the recent invention of the panpipe. Before the tale is scarcely under way,
however, Argus loses interest and dozes. The price that the sentinel pays for
sleeping on duty is nothing less than his head. That Argus forfeits his life for
not listening toa story is of undoubted metanarrative significance. 1 Even if it
is a cruel prank, the fate of Argus tells us that continuing participation in the
narrative transaction is, figuratively speaking, a matter of life and death.
Ovid's method of drawing the audience's attention to its role in narrative dis-
course has parallels in the performance of oral poetry. Investigators of mod-
ern oral epic report the case of a Romanian singer who accused his backup
musician of falling asleep in order to make the audience aware that its own
attention was being taken to task (Maitin I 989: s) . While it is unlikely that
Ovid is criticizing his own audience's heedfulness through the somnolence
of Argus, the death of a dulllistener cannot but serve as a warning. Ovid's
self-conscious treatment of the boredom of one listener raises the question of
the audience's responsibility to Ovid's immense narrative which clearly chal-
lenges the staying power of any mortal. To read the Metamorphoses from
beginning to end without pause would require an ideal insomnia.
 Introduction
2
How then are we to read and interpret this poem that presents count-
less transformation tales from the creation of the world to the poet's own
day? Are we to treat it as a loosely integrated collection of autonomous
stories that can be read at random? Or should we be carried along by the
poem's narrative flow from one moment to the next? Of course, Ovid
highlights the continuous aspect of his discourse at the beginning of his
poem by referring to itas a carmen perpetuum. Yet many critics have down-
played the significance of the poem's continuity, assuming that the individ-
ual episode is the poet's main unit of composition. Gordon Williams, for
example, credits Ovid with the introduction the "cult of the episode" into
Latin epic. As Williams explains: "This is a new kind of poetry: a reader caq
take it up at any point, and, provided he is careful to identify the beginning
of an episode, he can read without needing to know what has preceded- in
fact, straight progress through the work is probably the worst way to treat
it; its essentiallack of unity breeds tedium" ( 1978: 247) . Clearly Williams
does not believe that reading through the poem is an imperative. He is not
alone. Otto Steen Due ( 1974: 164) also prefers to treat the poem as an
anthology. Although he accepts that the Metamorphoses is suitable for con-
tinuous reading, he "can hardly imagine any narrative work which it is
easier or more pleasant to use as a 'bed-side book:"'
Be this as it may, many of the poem's stories simply cannot stand on
their own. Our opening example of Mercury's tale about Syrinx illustrates
this point well on a number of levels. First, it is inseparable from the lo tale
in which it is embedded. Second, if one were to read the lo tale in excerpted
form, the metanarrative significance of the Syrinx would be lost. The au-
dience would not be able to tell that Syrinx was a doublet of Daphne and
hence an ironic twist on the danger of tedious repetition (similitudo) . The
very fact that Ovid constructs a self-referential joke about the repetition of a
narrative pattern suggests that the audience needs to know what has pre-
ceded, contrary to what Williams claims. Many readers, especially those
who are sympathetic to Ovid's skill at transforming one story into another,
are liable to disagree with the view that the poem is supposed to be read as a
florilegium of Greek myth. Still the tendency of most current criticism on
the Metamorphoses is to read and interpret each episode in isolation, focus-
ing on the poet's use of sources, literary models, and generic conventions.
The problem with a pars pro toto approach to the interpretation of the poem
is that it fails to address aspects of the poem's diachronic development.
The purpose of this book is to establish a new basis u pon which to read
theMetamorphoses as a carmen perpetuum. In the past, critics have addressed
The Fate of the Audience 3
the issue of the poem's continuity by focusing on structural and thematic
unity, attempting to describe the relation of the parts of the poem the :o
whole. The search for a unifying scheme, however, has proven difficult
because the poem's structure is indeterminate. Structural studies founder
on the assumption that the Metamorphoses can be described as an autono-
mous visualizable object that represents the author's intended design. In
this respect, the remarks of the reader-response critic Wolfgang Iser are
a helpful corrective ( 1978: 2 7) : "Literary texts initiate 'performances' of
meaning rather than actually formulating meanings themselves. Their aes-
thetic quality lies in this 'performing' structure, which clearly cannot be
identical to the final product, because without the participation of the
individual reader there can be no performance?' Iser locates literary mean-
ing in the reader's cognitive processing of the text. In other words, the text
is a set of instructions by which the reader assembles an aesthetic literary
experience. In the act of reading, however, the reader's participation in the
construction of the literary experience involves more than what is explicitly
stated in the text. Here Iser's concept of the "wandering viewpoint'' (lser
19 78: 118) is useful for understanding what happens in the act of reading.
The wandering viewpoint is the place where "memory and expectation
converge, and the resultant dialectic movement brings about a continua!
modification of memory and an increasing complexity of expectation?' This
reciproca! spotlighting of what precedes and what follows in a text compels
the reader to synthesize interrelated but not necessarily similar perspectives
into new configurations of meaning. This synthesizing activity, which Iser
terms "consistency building'' is the means by which the audience becomes
2
involved in the text and participares in the production of its meaning. If
consistency building is a natural human cognitive activity, then it is likely
that sorne readers are going to find different versions of consistency in the
Metamorphoses. Others may argue on the contrary that the poem defeats the
process of consistency building.
For these reasons, I suggest that we discard the questionable assump-
tion that Ovid's poem represents a fixed structure that the reader is sup-
posed to imagine. I propase a new approach to the problem of continuity in
theMetamorphoses. M y thesis is that Ovid presents his poem as a fictive viva-
voce performance. This is obviously a different kind of performance from
the kind described by Iser above, but Iser's principie that texts initiate
performances remains valid. In arder for Ovid's fiction of performance to
be realized the reader must produce it. Furthermore, in producing the text,
the reader is invited to play the part of the audience which hears the poem
 4 Introduction
for the first time and whose experience of it is filtered through the ''wander-
ing point of view.'' This is not to deny the textuality of theMetamorphoses, its
division into books, or the freedom of the reader to dip in and out of the
poem. Indeed, as we will see, the tension between the poet's fiction of
performance and the implicit textuality of his work both complicates and
enriches the experience of theMetamorphoses. What makes the poem contin-
u~us, however, is the underlying fictional framework of the poet reciting
his work before an audience from beginning to end. Nowhere in the poem
does the poet refer to the act of narrative communication as one that is
mediated by :"riting, which implies the poet's absence. On the contrary,
poet and audience are both present and participating in the poem's dis-
course. I will argue, further, that the relationship between poet and au-
dience is the basis u pon which the Metamorphoses can be reckoned a poetic
and conceptual unity which is aware of but ultimately resistant to the forces
that threaten to undermine that unity.
The main contribution of this book is to fiesh out the role of the
au~ence in O~d's ~etamorphoses, and so to provide a firmer basis upon
which the audience s response to the poem's continuity may be described
and interpreted. 3 I begin with a "first reading" of the proem of the Meta-
morphoses that demonstrates how Ovid engages the reader in the process of
formulating the meaning of the text and specifically its conceptual transfor-
mations. The method of reading employed follows the example of the early
reader-response criticism of Stanley Fish. However, this preliminary sound-
ing in a Fishian mode raises questions about the occasion of Ovid's narra-
tive and who its recipient is. In order to address these issues, I ·develop a
model of narrative communication which is based upon the rhetorical and
narratological criticism of Wayne Booth, Gérard Genette, Seymour Chat-
man, and Gerald Prince. Through this model I investigate the form of the
"narrating instance" in theMetamorphoses and the poem's different levels of
audience. In the. final part of the book I turn to the identification and
interpretation of signs of the audience's participation in the narrative of
thepoem.
. The impetus for my inquiry into the audience of Ovid'sMetamorphoses
ar1ses from a growing interest in the role of the reader in literary criticism.
In recent years, there has also been a growing number of contributions to
this topic in the study of the Metamorphoses. A brief survey of the relevant
secondary literature may help give an idea.ofwhere my own work fits. To
start with, Michael von Albrecht pays considerable attention to the psy-
chology of the reader in his monograph on Ovidian parenthesis and its
The Fate of the Audience 5
poetic function ( 1964). He observes that Ovid uses parenthesis to make an
aside to his audience that anticipates or manipulates its response. In a later
essay "Ovide et ses lecteurs" ( 1981 a), von Albrecht examines other evi-
dence for the way that Ovid takes the reader into his confidence. In particu-
lar he notes how generalizing second person address and literary allusion
effect a closeness between poet and reader. The key idea that links both of
von Albrecht's studies is the "dialogue" between poet and reader.
Ernst Jürgen Bernbeck's treatment of the narrative style of the Meta-
morphoses ( 1967) also takes into account the role of the reader. He chal-
lenges the claim that theMetamorphoses exemplifies the norms of epic style,
as it was formulated by Richard Heinze in Ovids elegische Erziihlung ( 1919,
reprint 1960). Bernbeck demonstrates, on the contrary, that Ovid disrupts
the reader's expectations of epic continuity as defined by Heinze himself in
Vir;gils epische Technik ( 1915, reprint 1972) . In an exemplary reading of the
Ino episode (1967: 1-39), Bernbeck points out how the poet omits the
traditional transitional devices that ensure dramatic continuity between
scenes and speeches; instead the poet makes allusive or playfullogical con-
nections that refiect the arbitrariness of his own train of thought. As a
result, Ovid's narrative does not unfold naturally and realistically, but jumps
unexpectedly and abruptly from one scene or speech to the next without
sufficient connection, thus causing surprise and suspense in the reader.
Consequently, the reader does not view the mythological action directly
but is continually challenged by the poet's mental gymnastics with epic
conventions. Although Bernbeck may overstate the discontinuity of the
Metamorphoses by implicating it too much in a normative conception of
epic, his basic point remains valid. The reader is responsible for filling in the
gaps of the narrative created by the poet's abrupt transitions, ellipses, and
allusive references.
The first direct study of the reader in the Metamorphoses is to be found
in Due's book Changing Forms ( 1974: 9-89). He addresses the question of
how the Metamorphoses would have been understood by the majority of
readers in Imperial Ro me. U sing the tools of classical philology and the
evidence of language, literature, and material culture, Due reconstructs a
"model" Roman reader of the Augustan Age through whose eyes he at-
tempts to read the poem. As far as Ovidian criticism was concerned, Due's
book was ahead of its time. It held the unorthodox premise that authorial
intention does not matter and that "the only meaning of a poem is the way
in which it is actually understood'' ( 1974: 9) . Although Due acknowledges
that a reader's impressions of a poem are subjective, they can be validated
6 Introduction The Fate of the Audience 7

and made objective when they are shared with others. It is this kind of Tissol argues further that the process of reading the work is an embodiment
community of interpretation that Due wishes to describe, but he recognizes of the theme of flux which dominates Ovid's world view. R. A. Smith's
that this too changes with time. He concludes by saying that "we have to book on Ovidian allusion to Vergil ( 1997) also contributes to the question
give up the theory that there is one and only one correct understanding of a of how toread theMetamorphoses. Unfortunately, it appeared justas I was
poem" ( 1o- 11) . Whereas von Albrecht and Bernbeck focus on the text as a finishing this work and so could not be included in my discussion.
medium that communicates the poet's intention to the reader, Due severs What is left to be said on the topic of audience and response in the
the tie between the two, placing control of meaning in the hands of read- Metamorphoses? There has been little systematic study of the poet-narrator's
ers- a meaning which is subject to change from era to era. Given these own audience: that is, how it is structured and how it affects our interpreta-
circumstances, one may question the credibility of Due's attempt to recu- don of the poem. Von Albrecht's rhetorical approach to the poet's com-
perate a normative Augustan age response to theMetamorphoses, especially munication with his reader is an important first step, but more remains to
because he does not adduce much evidence for ancient readings of the be said about who the reader is. Bernbeck's model of the reader is essentially
poem. a description of the literary expectations appropriate to Vergilian epic as
In recent years, a significant development in Ovidian- criticism has they are described by Heinze. Yet is it safe to say that Ovid's audience is
been the recognition that the act of storytelling is a central theme of the perforce an epic audience? As for recent narratological studies of the poem,
Metamorphoses and that the interaction between interna! narrators and au- they have focused exclusively on interna! audiences, and have provided
diences is a model for the poet's interaction with the reader. An early exam- limited description or interpretation of the role of the poet's own audience
ple of such criticism is found in Gianpiero Rosati ( 1981) who examines the or reader. Once it is clarified who the primary recipient of Ovid's narrative
embedded narratives in Metamorphoses 5 as a mirror for communication is, more can be said about the relationship between externa! and interna!
between the poet and the reader. 4 Also of interest are the narratologically audiences. These are just sorne of the issues that remain to be addressed in
oriented essays by Betty Rose Nagle ( 1983, 1988a, 1988b, 1988c, 1989) considering the role of the reader or audience in the performance of Ovid's
which deal with various narrative transactions between speakers and ad- carmen perpetuum.
dressees in the story-world of theMetamorphoses. The books of A. M. Keith
( 1992) and K. Sara M yers ( 1994a) likewise take a narratological approach
to the poetic significance of interna! storytelling in the poem, making spe-
cial reference to Ovid's Callimachean models, the Hecale andAetia.
On another front, it has been increasingly recognized that Ovid ac-
commodates different and indeed opposing responses to his narrative. In
his study of the differential responses to Mercury's tale of Syrinx and Pan,
David Konstan ( 1991) identifies two kinds of reader, one that identifies
with desire ofPan and the other that is philosophically detached like Argus.
D. C. Feeney (1991: 229-32) similarly sees the poemas dramatizing two
positions which are indentified with belief and disbelief. Stephen Hinds
( 1988: 23-29) andAlessandro Barchiesi ( 1994: 245-78 = 1997b 181-208)
politicize this polarity: Ovid enables both a naive reading of Augustan
panegyric and a subversive one.
Most recently, Garth Tissol's book, The Pace ofNature ( 1997), revives
interest in the affective qualities of Ovid's style and observes that the read-
er's experience of stylistic change, punning wordplay, narrative disruption,
and literary allusion is thematically significant- and indeed transformadve.

I
Metamorphosis in the
Reader
In nova fert anirn.us mutatas dicere formas
corpora. di, coeptis ( nam vos mutastis et illa)
adspirate meis, primaque ab origine mundi
ad mea perpetuum deducite tempora carmen.
[My mind moves meto tell of forms changed into new bodies. Gods,
inspire my undertakings (for you have changed them too), and draw
my song clown continuously from the very creation of the world to my
own times.]
-Ovid,Metamorphoses, I.I-4
The proem of Ovid's Metamorphoses is a masterpiece writ small, a striking
counterpoint toa very long poem indeed. M y point of departure is the un-
expected ambiguity in the phrasing of the opening ( enjambed) line of the
poem. The fi.rst four words form an autonomous sense unit. Translated lit-
erally, "In nova fert animus" means "My mind carries me onto new things.''
This could mean that the narrator Ovid is declaring his subject matter, or,
more likely, the novelty and originality of his undertaking. 1 In the second
half of the line the syntactic and semantic structure of the sentence changes,
yielding a di:fferent sense: "My mind carries ( or moves) meto tell of forms
changed into new bodies.'' In the process of reading this sentence, one
realizes that the initial interpretation of the fi.rst half-line was based on a
misunderstanding of the word-order. What seemed to have been a pro-
grammatic statement turns out to be part of another statement declaring
the poem's central theme. The reader is consequently compelled to revise
his or her understanding of what the opening sentence means.
The double meaning of Ovid's introduction to the Metamorphoses is a
familiar landmark in criticism. 2 Scholars agree that the poet deliberately
invites ambiguity. The important point, however, is that he achieves this
Metamorphosis in the Reader 9
ambiguity through a deceptive sequence of words: it would have been easy
to avoid the hyperbaton "In nova ... corpora" which tempts the reader to
construe "In nova" as a self-sufficient phrase. 3 E. J. Kenney is thus right to
conclude that Ovid "begins by playing a little trick on the reader" ( r976:
4 6) . This, of course, is not the fi.rst time that Ovid plays a little trick on the
reader when introducing a new work. In his formal debut as a lave elegist,
Ovid likewise exploits indirection. He opens theAmores with an ambitious-
sounding program of epic: ''Arma gravi numero violentaque bella edere 1
parabam" (Am. r. r. r -2, ''Arms in a heavy meter and violent wars I was
preparing to publish") . After raising the reader's expectations, Ovid def-
lates them with the surprise that Cupid has stolen a foot from the second
hexameter, thus compelling the would-be epicist to write elegies instead.
This "false start" is a witty variation on the so-called Augustan recusatio-
the self-depreciatory gesture by which a poet excuses himself from writing
in higher genres, especially epic and panegyric. 4 But Ovid's opening gambit
in theAmores is not merely a parody of the beginning of theAeneid whose
fi.rst word it quotes; it establishes the master metaphor for his lave elegies-
the militia amoris. 5 If the "false start'' of the Amores represents a defining
moment in Ovid's elegiac oeuvre, one may surmise that the ambiguous
opening of theMetamorphoses is of fundamental importance too.
The beginning of both theAmores and theMetamorphoses share a com-
mon feature. The poet exploits the reader's habit of forming expectations
and provisional meanings as soon as possible. In the Metamorphoses, how-
ever, Ovid utilizes the reader's experience toa new end. If one pays atten-
tion to the reader's response to the words as they succeed one another in
time, it becomes evident that what happens in the process of comprehending
the inaugural sentence is also a constituent of its meaning. Ovid leads us
down the garden path not simply to make two di:fferent statements in one,
but to introduce us to the experience of metamorphic change at a semantic
and syntactic level. By focusing on the cognitive activity of the reader, we
discover that the experience of reading the opening lines of the Metamor-
phoses is paradiginatic of the poem's chosen theme: transformation. For this
reason, the heuristic method of a "first reading'' can be particularly helpful
for mapping the changing surface of Ovid's text. The underlying assump-
tion of a "fi.rst reading'' is that the reader does not know the final form of a
given period, paragraph, episode, let alone the work as a whole, but is
caught up in the temporal flow of words or narrative. In arder to make
sense of a sequence of words, the reader formulates conclusions as soon as
possible. As Fish describes it, ''A mind asked to arder a succession of rapidly
ro Chapter r
given bits of detail (mental or physical) seizes on the simplest scheme of
organization which offers itself" ( 1967: 23; cf. 1980: 26-27). While readers
ofLatin may be accustomed to suspending their judgment until the end of a
sentence; and thus evolving their expectations more slowly, there is plenty
of evidence to suggest that they too make provisional sense out of a com-
bination of events at the simplest level. 6
In order to account for the reader's experience, one needs to slow
down the process of reading and follow the temporal flow of response one
step at a time. This form of self-analysis may strike sorne as artificial because
the reader's developing response to a sentence occurs largely at a sub-
conscious level, and with great rapidity. Nevertheless, a slow-motion ap-
proach has the potential to bring out events that the reader may take for
granted, but which the poet does not. Although the principie of reading in
time is a simple one, it proves to be highly complicated in execution. Gener-
ally speaking, a reader responds to a text on a variety of levels- all at the
same time. To start with, one must process lexical and syntactical informa-
tion. At another level, knowledge of earlier literature and generic conven-
tions may be activated. Third, one may be expected to situate a work in
relation to historical, social, and cultural contexts, which are not explicitly
defined by the text but are implicitly present as background. The phenome-
nology of reading, therefore, cannot be easily reduced to a single strand of
response because the reader is simultaneously performing a number of
qualitatively different mental operations.
In deference to the potential complexity of response, I offer two model
readings of the opening statement of Ovid's proem. Each charts a sequence
of responses based upon a different set of questions. The first "first reading"
focuses on the succession of semantic and syntactic events. The second deals
with Ovid's selection and combination of literary models and conventions.
This pair of readings will in turn furnish a basis for a sustained reading of the
proem as a whole, in which I investigate the provisional meanings that the
reader is directed to construct as he or she moves through the text. This is
not to deny the importance of what the proem ultimately says, but rather to
view that meaning as contingent upon or influenced by the effect of the
text's shifting surface. As we will see, an important part of the proem's
message is what happens to the reader in the framing of expectations, in
being surprised or deceived, and in revising expectations. Trial and error
prove to be a significant experience in the reading of Ovid's poem. This
process reflects in part the intention to create novel poetic experiences and
in part the centrallessonof theMetamorphoses- that nothing keeps its form.
Metamorphosis in the Reader II
Syntax and Semantics
The first reading aims to reconstruct the impact that the Metamorphoses
might have upon a linguistically competent audience entountering the
poem for the first time. Ovid begins with the prepositional phrase "In
nova?' Assuming that the first verse is read as the opening of a hexameter,
one must read "nova" as accusative. The first two words of the poem gener-
ate the expectation of spatial movement into or toward a place or thing,
possibly with a verb of motion. The next word "fert'' ("carries"), a verb of
motion, confirms the expectation of movement aroused by "In nova?' We
may then ask what carries and what is carried? The third word, "animus:'
provides an answer to both questions. The "mind" or "spirit'' is the vehicle,
and the reader can supply the direct object me. The phrase "fert animus" is a
standard idiom that implies taking a path in a certain direction, and so
neatly fits with the prepositional phrase "In nova?'7 It suggests, above all,
the poet's personal freedom in choosing to go where his inspiration leads
him. 8 With the rhythmic pause of the third-foot caesura, the sense of the
first four words of the Metamorphoses may be considered complete, the
emphasis falling squarely on the poet's choice of a new direction. At this
stage, we may note from a position of superior knowledge that the reader is
able to formulate a meaning that is different from what the sentence as a
whole will end up saying. Clearly Ovid is taking advantage of the fact that
the reader's response develops in time. He induces a false sense of certainty
about the path the poet and the sentence are going to take. If we take the
bait, as we should if we are to be properly deceived, we may expect Ovid to
follow up the statement "In nova fert animus" with a subordinate clause or
the like that explains the new direction he is taking.
In the second half of the line, however, Ovid springs his first surprise.
The fifth word "mutatas" destabilizes the syntactic structure that holds
together "In nova fert animus?' The participle "mutatas" can govern a prep-
ositional construction with "in'' and hence pulls "In nova" into its semantic
and syntactic orbit ( i.e., "changed into new things"). Meanwhile "fert
animus" is cut adrift. Judgment about the sentence must be suspended;
initial certainty is now clouded with doubt. The following word "dicere"
confirms the dissolution of the old syntactic order, which was initiated by
"mutatas." It provides an infinitive complement for "fert animus" (i.e., "my
mind m oves me to tell of") and this new syntactic formation governs the
still incomplete object-phrase "In nova . . . mutatas" (i.e., "something
changed into something new''). What remains is to supply the objects for
I2 Chapter r
"clicere" and the dangling prepositional phrase "In nova.'' At the end of
the verse comes "formas:' the clirect object moclified by "mutatas:' which
reveals what Ovid's poem will be about. The last word of the sentence is
the enjambed "corpora:' which completes .the prepositional phrase "In
nova" and returns the reader to the beginning of the first line by ring-
composition. When all is said and done, Ovid's first enjambed verse clis-
plays enclosing wotd-order anda chiastic pattern of adjectives and nouns
( abBA) . But the synoptic overview of this tidy structure contrasts with the
reader's experience of semantic and syntactic change in the middle of the
first verse. The final form of the sentence is, therefore, just as deceptive as
the beginning. The stable and indeed artful word -order clisguises the pro-
cess by which the reader was duped. The reader's error is, in fact, an integral
part of the sentence's meaning. As William Batstone remarks, provisional
sense-making in Latin sentences can be "an important part of the aesthetic
and interpretative experience of a reader, ·and, so, part of a poem's expres-
sive content'' ( 1988: 230).
The pivota! word in the experience of reading the first line of the
Metamorphoses is "mutatas .'' N ot only does it signify the all-important theme
of change in theMetamorphoses, it also introduces the poem's first change. 9
The positioning of "mutatas" is a paracligmatic example of what Donald
Lateiner ( r 990: 204) calls "mimetic syntax'' or "iconic word-order." As he
puts it, "Ovid orders words in one or more verses to make them imitate an
aspect of the event that they narrate. Protean syntax, modified to suit the
situation, reinforces the protean theme of mutability. The reader synaes-
thetically experiences, by the spatial relationship of the words, what the
lexical denotation of the verse describes.'' The case of "mutatas" commands
special attention because it greets the reader at the poem's threshold. Ac-
cordingly, it may be appropriate to view this particular syntactic change not
simply as a common instance of mutability, but more specifically as the
poem's first sign of metamorphosis. The reader's experience of the verse
confirms this interpretation. The half-line "In nova fert animus" assumes an
autonomous and seemingly stable form. A moment of chaotic change oc-
curs when "mutatas" clissolves the syntactic shape of the first four words.
After the critica! moment of flux, the original statement quite literally incor-
porates its old form into a new body ("In ... corpora"). Like the mytholog-
ical metamorphoses in the poem, this change has a linear clirection, moving
from the poet's desire for novelty to the specific and concrete object of
telling metamorphoses. Although a first reader may not know it, the hall-
mark of Oviclian metamorphosis is the continuity between old and new
Metamorphosis in the Reader I3
forms: that is, sorne feature always remains the same before and after such a
change. 10 This is also true of Ovid's syntactic transformation. The idea of
novelty ("In nova") still manifests itself in the new boclies that are the result
of metamorphosis ("In nova ... corpora"), even if the semantics of "nova"
in the new sentence may be interpreted more narrowly in the sense of "alia"
(i.e., "different from before") .11 But the word "novus" is also central in the
vocabulary of metamorphosis, connoting what is extraordinary, surprising,
and strange about the phenomenon. Readers may temporarily feel deceived
about their first interpretation of "In nova fert animus" when they discover
that the phrase is part of another grammatical construction and statement.
However, at the end of the sentence, the initial deception proves to be true
in an unexpected sense. Metamorphosis is about new and strange things
and so corroborates the original idea stated in the opening half-line. The
experience of reading the sentence thus exemplifies and confirms Ovid's
claim: transformation is the innovative incorporation of two statements
intoone.
The poem's first wonder is born of cliscourse: the utterance does what
it says. 12 Style reinforces, even becomes, content. The reader participates in
the metamorphosis of syntax by going through the mental operations clic-
tated by the sentence. Ovid thus demonstrates the truth of his subject by
making it take place in the reader. This is obviously not the same as the
metamorphosis of a human into a wolf or a tree, which is presumably what
Ovid intends by "mutatas clicere formas.'' But Oviclian metamorphosis is
not limited to the change of humans into other forms. Right from the start,
Ovid expands the definition of metamorphosis to embrace and make sense
of different types of change, including those that occur at the level of his
language and word-order. 13
Literary Models and Conventions
If the reader's response to the language and word-order of the opening
sentence of theMetamorphoses is transformational, is there a corresponding
transformation at the level of literary conventions? As the reader moves
through the sentence, what is the effect of the combination of the poetic
topoi that traclitionally inform the proem? Ovid begins theMetamorphoses in
an unorthodox fashion- with a prepositional phrase and a verb of mo-
tion.14 "In nova" could be taken to designate the poem's subject matter
(Buchheit 1966: 83). However, it also expresses the poet's own quest for a
14 Chapter 1
new kind of poetry. Such a statement of aesthetic credo is to be associated
with the programmatic ( and polemical) prologue of Callimachus's Aetia.
In particular, Ovid's emphasis on innovation recalls Apollo's injunction to
Callimachus not to drive his chariot in the tracks of others or on the broad
road, but along "untrodden ways" (KEAEÚ9ou<; 1 [ chpÍn'to ]u<;, Call.Aet. fr.
1.27-28 Pfei:ffer) .15 Claims to poetic novelty were, of course, commonplace
in Greek poetry long befare Callimachus. 16 As early as Homer's Odyssey,
Telemachus observes to Penelope that audiences prefer the song that is
newest to their ears (Od. 1.351-52). In Roman poetic circles of the late
Republic and early Empire, however, the "new direction" of Callimachus
was the touchstone for poets, especially of a didactic or elegiac persuasion,
who declined to compase martial, heroic, historie, or mythological epic. 17
Claims to novelty also signalled the introduction of a new genre of poetry
into the Roman literary canon. Roman poets befare Ovid frequently cele-
brate the novelty of their undertaking, using the primus-motif to announce
their primacy in a new genre which they have imported from Greek po-
etry. 18 There is a certain paradox, of course, in poets asserting their own
originality by imitating earlier such claims. As Alisan Sharrock says: "Each
poet makes a claim to be the first to write in a particular way. The substance
of the claim may be true and the poetry original, but the essence of the claim
is conventional" (1994: 213). In the final analysis, Ovid's own opening to
theMetamorphoses is inextricably linked with the claims of earlier poets who
seek to author a new kind of poem. At the level of literary convention, the
opening half-line of Ovid's poem makes perfect sense as a programmatic
statement, and one might expect the poet to continue in this vein.
What e.ffect, then, does the transformation of the sentence's syntax have
upon Ovid's claim to novelty? With the words "mutatas dicere formas 1
corpora;' Ovid's programmatic statement changes into the "titling'' syntax
appropriate to defining the subject matter of a poem. The tapie of the poem,
mutatas formas, appears in its expected form as the direct object of a verb of
saying and neatly translates (with the same number of syllables) the poem's
Greek title, Metamorphoses, for which there was no single Latin nominal
equivalent in Ovid's day. 19 Thus an apparent programmatic statement
(quale) turns into a thematic statement (quid). 20 However, just as the
sentence's change of syntax is itself a novelty, so too is a poem about meta-
morphosis. In fact, metamorphosis long had cachet as the novel theme par
excellence. 21 It was especially fashionable among the so-called Neoterics or
N ew Poets of the late Republic, who created an "alternative narrative litera-
ture" in opposition to the superannuated tradition of Ennian epic. 22 Cinna
Metamorphosis in the Reader 15
authored a Zmyrna; Calvus an Jo, and Cornificius a Glaucus- poems in
which the central character undergoes a metamorphosis.
One of the catalysts for the reception of these new Hellenistic themes in
late Republican Rome was the Greek mythographer and poet Parthenius, a
native of Nicaea who was transplanted to Rome after the defeat of Mithra-
dates in the Greek East. He encouraged Roman poets such as Cinna, Gallus,
and Vergil to study and imitate Callimachus and Euphorion. To Gallus he
dedicated a prose outline of love stories, Erotika Pathemata, drawn from the
Hellenistic poets, including three that concern metamorphosis ( 1 1 Byblis,
1 3 Harpalyce, 1 5 Daphne) . In the introduction, he writes "you will have
at hand a supply from which to draw whatever suits your purpose best,
whether it is hexameter poems or elegies" (Proem. 2). Parthenius also au-
thored a work ofMetamorphoses ( of unknown form), which may have pro-
vided a source, if not a model, for Roman poets seeking new material. Par-
thenian infiuence is also detectable in Vergil's conspectus of themes sung by
Silenus in the sixth Eclogue ( 3 1-81), which ineludes stories of tragic love,
metamorphosis, and aetiology. 23 It is increasingly recognized that Ovid's
Metamorphoses represents a realization of this idealized Vergilian poetic pro-
gram. 24 Ovid's choice of metamorphosis therefore may have struck his au-
dience as a natural extension of his quest for a new kind of poetry. After
Vergil's rehabilitation of grand epic in the form of theAeneid, it remained for
Ovid to champion an alternative narrative literature.
N ow it is time to take stock. In the foregoing discussion, the aim has
been to slow down the sequence of events to describe the reader's percep-
tion of semantic, syntactic, and thematic features raised by the surface of
Ovid's Metamorphoses. Our chief finding is that Ovid makes the reader's
experience of his inaugural statement an object lesson in metamorphosis.
He thereby thematizes the reader's developing response as an integral part
of the meaning of the text. But what is metamorphosis? The experience of
the changing form of the first sentence yields a clue: metamorphosis has to
do with a doubling of form or' identity. In the example of our first sentence
we see how "novelty'' is transmuted into "new bodies." The ambiguity of
the opening sentence of theMetamorphoses, however, does not refer simply
to two discrete statements in one. Rather it is a process of ambiguation, that
involves the dissolution of one form and the reemergence of another form
that in sorne way·retains the original. Metamorphosis involves a continua-
tion of the old identity in the new. As a metaphor, metamorphosis gives
coherence to change by revealing the mysterious interconnectedness and
parity between things. Italo Calvino puts it well: "For Ovid ... knowledge
16 Chapter 1
of the world means dissolving the solidity of the world" ( 1988: 9). So,
while Ovid leads the reader clown the garden path in the first four words of
his poem, false interpretation does not prove to be fruitless. The final un-
derstanding of the opening sentence ironically authenticates the truth of the
original error, but in a way that the reader could not have predicted. N ov-
elty and knowledge consists in dissolving the solidity of preconceptions.
A N ew Body ofVerse
We have seen that the reader's developing response to the first eight words
of Ovid's proem helps define the poem's theme of metamorphosis and its
programmatic significance. The transformative process of reading is no less
important in the second and third lines of the proem: "di coeptis ( nam vos
mutastis et illa) 1 adspirate meis" ( 1.2-3) .25 Here Ovid switches from the
"professive" beginning, to use Servius's classification of principia, to the
more traditiorial "invocative" beginning (Serv. onAen. r.1, ll. 22-25; cf.
Nuttall 1992: 3-4). The vocative "di" marks the beginning of the prayer,
which may be surprising because it is not addressed to the Muse ( s) . The
following word, "coeptis;' appears to be dative, following a common
prayer-formula such as we find in Ovid Ars 1. 30 "coeptis, mater Amoris,
acles" ("Mother of Love, aid my beginnings") . Before the expected verb of
favoring, however, Ovid suspends the syntax of the sentence with the parti-
cle "nam;' which introduces a parenthesis explaining why the gods should
helphim.
The parenthesis is perfectly timed to coincide with the revelation of a
metrical change in Ovid's poetic corpus. If the reader knows that Ovid
normally compases elegiac couplets (i.e., a hexameter verse followed by a
pentameter), the first half of the second line, marked by the caesura after
"coeptis;' could introduce either a hexameter or the first hemiepes of a
pentameter line:
- ~ ~ 1- - 1 -11 - 1- - 1- ~ ~ 1-~
corpora . di, coeptis ( nam vos mutastis) et illa
However, the succession of "heavy'' long syllables after the caesura imme-
diately signals that the line is a hexameter; the rule by Ovid's day was that
no spondees were permitted in the second hemiepes of an elegiac pentame-
ter. As Stephen Heyworth points out (1995: 75), the moment when the
verse is identifiable as a hexameter occurs when Ovid utters the word "vos;'
Metamorphosis in the Reader 17
thereby underscoring the gods' responsibility for the change in his verse.
Consequently, when Ovid employs the perfect verb "mutastis;' he is refer-
ring to what has just happened. But the reader does not know this until the
end of the verse is reached. The following word, the adverbial "et'' ("also"
or "too"), implies that the gods have changed something other than the
formas in the earlier line. The question is, what else have they transformed?
Anticipation builds toward the final word of the line, "illa?' The demonstra-
tive refers back to "coeptis;' the point at which the sentence's syntax had
been suspended, neatly rounding off the parenthesis. 26 The poet wittily
explains that the gods owe it to him to favor his poem on transformations
because they have transformed his beginnings, which is to say that they
have transformed his elegiac couplets into continuous hexameters. This
clever variation on the topos of ritual obligation has the immediate effect of
creating a poetic context within which to place the Metamorphoses. 27 The
scene of metrical transformation reverses the inaugural moment in Amores
1.1, when Ovid attempted hexameters but was compelled by Cupid's theft
of a metrical foot from the second hexameter to write elegiac couplets
instead ( cf. Ov.Am. 2.1.11ff.). This time the gods change the poet's elegies
into hexameters. The parenthetic statement "nam vos mutastis et illa" en-
acts and embodies the very transformation that it reports. The elegiac pen-
tameter quite literally turns into a hexameter. The reader's experience of the
text confirms its content; medium and message converge.
Ovid's self-conscious play with the transformation of his elegies (a
point subtle enough to have been all but lost in teXtual transmission) de-
pends upon an audience that is attuned not only to the poet's persona as
elegist but also to his signature scenes in theAmores, in which he dramatizes
his constitutional inability to write 1?-exameters. The surprise of Ovid's con-
version to hexameters in the Metamorphoses is all the greater when one
remembers his poetic manifesto in the Remedia Amoris, in which he ad-
dresses imagined criticism for his refusal to make a name for himself in the
grandest meter:
rumpere, Livor edax: magnum iam nomen habemus;
maius erit, tantum, quo pede coepit, eat.
sed nimium properas: vivam modo, plura dolebis,
et capiunt anni carmina multa mei.
nam iuvat et studium famae mihi crevit honore;
principio clivi noster anhelat equus.
 I8 Chapter I
tantum se no bis elegi debere fatentur,
quantum Vergilio nobile debet epas.
(Rem. 389-96)
[Burst, greedy Envy! I have a big name already. And it will be bigger
provided it goes on the foot it began. But you are overhasty: provided
I live, you will be the sorrier, and my years have the capacity for much
poetry. For the desire of fame is pleasing and has grown with my
distinction. My horse pants at the beginning of the slope. Elegies
admit that they owe as much to me as noble epic owes to Vergil. J
So Ovid predicts the growth of his fame as long as he continues in the same
elegiac vein; indeed he aims to be to elegy what Vergil is to epic. The key
phrase- "tantum, quo pede coepit, eat'' ("provided it goes on the foot it
began") - refers to the fact that Ovid has begun his career auspiciously on
the right foot, as well as with the right kind of metrical foot (pes) - that is,
with elegies. 28 The self-conscious attention Ovid gives to the foot with
which he began ("quo pede coepit'') helps to highlight the change of foot
("coeptis") that has occurred in theMetamorphoses.
The transformation of Ovid's elegies into hexameters compels the
reader to reconsider once again his understanding of what the poet meant
when he began ''In nova fert animus." The novelty of Ovid's undertaking is
not just a question of theme (mutatas formas), but also one of meter. He is
taking a new direction in his poetic career. Yet Ovid is also putting hexame-
ters on an altogether new footing by making them the proper rhythm for a
poem about metamorphosis. To appreciate this innovation, it is once again
helpful to remember what Ovid says about hexameters in the Remedia
Amoris. As he responds to disapproval ofhis lovepoetry, he argues ( tenden-
tiously) that each literary genre has its own meter and its own thematic con-
cerns (Rem. 371-72, "at tu, quicumque es, quem nostra licentia laedit, 1
si sapis, ad numeras exige quidque suos"). Hexameter is a heroic meter
suited for war, and has no room for erotic pleasures (Rem. 373-74, "fortia
Maeonio gaudent pede bella referri: 1 deliciis illic quis locus esse potest?").
Elegy, on the other hand, is proper for the celebration of lave affairs (Rem.
379, "blanda pharetratos Elegia cantet Amores").
Given this dichotomy between lave elegies and bellicose hexameters,
how does Ovid reconcile his choice of the meter that was suited for war?
The solution, I believe, involves the reader's experience of the transforma-
Metamorphosis in the Reader I9
tion of the verse itself. Ovid is not simply composing hexameters- his
elegies are literally turning into hexameters as one reads. Thematically
speaking, Ovid shows that hexameters are the right sort of meter for a poem
on metamorphosis because they themselves are living proof of this phe-
nomenon. This metrical transformation, however, does more than redefine
what is proper to hexameter; it is a metaphor for the continuity and change
between Ovid's elegiac corpus and the new poetic form of the Metamor-
phoses. Justas the memory of "In nova fert animus" continues to play a
semantic role in the final configuration of the first line, so too are Ovid's
elegies related to his hexameters. His :fiction of transformation reveals their
former elegiac identity. Indeed, it has been frequently said that Ovid's hex-
ameters are just elegiac couplets in disguise. 29 A preponderance of dactyls
and regularized pauses, anda low frequency of elision and enjambment,
contribute to the lightness, smoothness, and rapidity of his verse. Ovid's
versi:fication is thus easily distinguished from the more heavily spondaic,
elided, and enjambed hexameters ofVergil. In programmatic terms, Ovid's
explanation of the origin of his hexameters lends support to critics who
underscore the continuing elegiac tendencies of theMetamorphoses. 30 This is
patently a different way of viewing the relationship between epic and elegy
than that which one finds in the Remedia Amoris; in the latter Ovid makes a
rigid distinction between the two genres to suit his polemics. In the Meta-
morphoses Ovid's initial declaration that he is pursuing something new ap-
pears to signal a new kind of epas, if epas it is; as Ovid's meter transforms
itself, it would appear that the de:finitions of genre, as they are stated in the
Remedia, are also subject to change.
After calling attention to the gods' transformation of his meter and
their obligation to him, Ovid completes the suspended prayer with the
words "adspirate meis?' The delay of the verb "adspirate" proves to be
signi:ficant to the meaning of the prayer. It is only after he has explained that
the gods have changed his poetry that he can call on them to inspire his new
undertaking. The metaphor behind "adspirate" is nautical: the poet asks for
fair winds at the beginning of a poetic voyage. This prayer (including the
idea of praying to the deities who preside over metamorphosis) owes much
to Vergil's invocation at the beginning of the :first book of the Geor;gics.
There Vergil invokes the gods of agriculture and, above all, Caesar (Octa-
vian), whom he asks to favor his poetic enterprise: "da facilem cursum
atque audacibus adnue coeptis" ( G. I .40, "Grant me an easy course and
show divine favor to my daring beginnings"). The metaphor behind Ver-
gil's poetic undertakings is ambiguous: it could be drawn from chariot
20 Chapter 1
racing or from navigation. Ovid interprets it as the latter. Given the trans-
formation of Ovid's verse, the prayer for fair winds may be judged a prop-
erly elevated expression for this new epic enterprise. In his didactic poetry,
Ovid frequently employs the imagery of sailing for grand effect. 31 Ovid
ends his prayer with the personal pronoun "meis:' an emphatic possessive
pronoun modifying "coeptis.'' Here one might detect a note of personal
assertiveness: these hexameters will be the new vehicle for Ovid's fame.
To sum up, then, the sequence of events in Ovid's prayer to the gods is
similar to that of his opening statement. He begins with a conventional
formula, the prayer for favor, in the midst of which another metamorphosis ·
takes place at the level of meter. This change in turn explains why Ovid is
invoking the pantheon (the gods have the power of metamorphosis) and
why they should inspire his verse ( they have transformed it) . The verb
"adspirate" itself suggests the metaphor of the poem as ship- another sign
of Ovid's epic daring and inventiveness.
Interrogating the Text
Up to this point we have seen that the reader's developing response to the
proem has enabled the description of syntactical and metrical transforma-
tions that demonstrate Ovid's choice of theme and verse form. Now we
come to the final part of Ovid's prayer, in which he asks the gods to bring
his poem down continuously from the very beginning of the universe to his
own times: "primaque ab origine m undi 1 ad mea perpetuum deducite
tempora carmen" ( 1. 3-4, ''And draw m y song continuously down from the
very creation of the world to m y own times") . The temptation in analyzing
these lines is to privilege the words "perpetuum deducite ... carmen" and
to focus on the programmatic significance of the allusion to the prologue of
Callimachus'sAetia. Yet, if one approaches the text as it unfolds in time, the
Callimachean reference is the last in a series of events to envelop the reader.
Befare we can appreciate the effect and significance of the Callimachean
allusion, however, it is necessary to review the sequence of ideas that pre-
cede it. As will shortly be seen, Ovid leads the reader through a series of
frameworks for understanding his poem, which raise fundamental ques-
tions about its generic identity and aims.
Let us begin with the prepositional phrase "primaque ab origine
mundi.'' The adjective "prima:' positioned befare the preposition "ab:' is
iconic and pleonastic. 32 The "first origin" is an "objective correlative" for
Metamorphosis in the Reader 21
the primacy and originality of the poet's own project; it is also a strong
disavowal of Horace's advice to begin in medias res (AP 1. 146-48) . When
the reader reaches the word "mundi:' it becomes clear that Ovid Ís, in fact,
alluding directly to Lucretius when he describes the origin of earth and air:
"sed pariter prima concepta ab origine mundi" (Lucr. 5.548, "But they
(se. earth and air) were conceived together from the very creation of the
world"). Myers ( 1994a: 6) rightly observes that this allusion establishes a
programmatic ( and ironic) relationship between Ovid's poem about meta-
morphosis and the natural-philosophicalDeRerumNatura; the implication
is that metamorphosis is a "natural" process in its own right that can explain
the origins of things. 33
But this is only the beginning. Juxtaposed with the origins of the
universe are the words "ad mea" ("to my own"). The reader may at this
point guess ( correctly) that the prepositional phrase "primaque ab origine
mundi" is part of a temporal framework that terminates with the poet's own
times. Such a provisional judgment is reinforced by each of the three words
that follow: "perpetuum deducite tempora.'' With the word "tempora" the
object of the prepositional phrase "ad mea" is finally provided, and the
sense of the prayer is complete. That is, one may construe "perpetuum"
adverbially ( cf. OLD, s.v. "perpetuum") and supply "coepta mea" as the
direct object of "deducite.'' I am ·not suggesting that this is the way one
should ultimately understand the sentence, but it is possible to make sense
of Ovid's prayer without the final word of the hexameter, "carmen.'' This is
significant because the final word of Ovid's prayer has the effect of changing
the whole complexion and meaning of his prayer. First, however, let us
examine more closely the great expectations that Ovid arouses when he asks
· the gods to help him compase a universal history whose scope begins with
Lucretius and runs down to his own times.
The chronological framework of Metamorphoses is reckoned by many
to be Ovid's own formal· innovation within the traditional format of a
Hellenistic sub-genre of catalog poetry ( and the generic basis for the boast
"In nova fert animus") .34 In m y view it is not the creation of a new category
of literature that is striking, but rather the process by which Ovid compels
readers to continually modify their understanding of the poem's generic
framework. When Ovid first states his subject matter, mutatas formas, it is
reasonable to conclude that he is setting himself up as the Roman exemplar
of a species of Hellenistic catalog poetry represented by such poems as
Nicander's Heteroeumena or the Ornithigonia of Boeus ( or Boeo). In his
"autobiography" from exile, Ovid attests to the infiuence of Aemilius
22 Chapter 1
Macer, who often read to him from "his birds" (Tr. 4.10.43, "suas vol-
ucres"), by which Ovid means Macer's Latin version of the Greek Or-
nithigonia. 35 Ovid's mutatas formas therefore could be interpreted as filling
an "empty slot'' in the Roman canon of genres in the same way that Macer
replaces Boeus, Horace emulates the Greek lyric poets in the Odes, and
Vergil appropriates Homer in theAeneid. 36 This view of theMetamorphoses
changes, however, when it is wed to a universal historical framework. 37 As a
consequence, the form and content of the Metamorphoses elude equation
with any single author or species of catalog poetry; the poem constitutes
rather a tertium quid- an anomaly, or a potentially new literary category.
However, this new literary category proves difficult to grasp.
Although the idea of the historical continuum of the Metamorphoses is
easily related to the Hesiodic continuum of the Theogony and Catalogue of
Women, Ovid brings other models into play. 38 Ío begin with, he defines the .
beginning and end of his work (ah origine mundi ad mea tempora) in the
manner of a historical praefatio. Typically, the historian defines the begin-
ning and the end in the preface; for example, Livy begins "a primordio
urbis" (praef. 1.1) and takes his history clown to the present "ad haec
tempora" (praef. 1. 9) .39 However, the chronological scope of the Meta-
morphoses goes beyond a Livian history of Rome, embracing the universal
history of the Greeks ( cf. Ludwig 1965: 78-80). Ovid's approach may be
compared with that of Diodorus Siculus who begins his universal history
from the earliest times ( 1.3.6, U1t0 'tiDV apxato'tÚ'tCOV XPÓVCOV) and con-
tinues to his own times ( ~ÉXPt 'trov Ka8' aú'tov Katpffiv) .
If Ovid's manner of defining the chronological range of his poem
recalls the technique of historians, the words "perpetuum" and "deducite"
reinforce the impression of a universal history. First, the adjective perpetuus
can be applied to the continuous narrative of history. Cicero points out to
Lucceius that Greek historians wrote monograph~ that were separate from
their continuous histories (Epist. ad Fam. 5.12.2, "a perpetuis suis histo-
riis") and so, by the Greek example, he asks Lucceius to separate the stoiy
of the Catilinarian conspiracy from his continuous history of great deeds
(5.12.6, "uta continentibus tuis scriptis, in quibus perpetuam rerum ges-
tarum historiam complecteris, secernas hanc quasi fabulam rerum evento-
rumque nostrorum") . Cicero preferred the monograph to the continuous
history for personal reasons. However, Diodorus Siculus ( I. 3. 8) argues
that a history beginning from the earliest times and continuing to the
writer's own times is better than shorter histories because the whole is more
Metamorphosis in the Reader 23
useful than the part and continuity more useful than discontinuity. Di-
odorus's model, Polybius, makes a similar argument for his "universal his- .
tory'' and introduces the metaphor of the thread: "How much easier it is to
acquire and peruse forty Books, all as it were connected by one thread
( Ka'ta ~Í'tov e~u<paa~Éva~), and thus to follow ... from the time of Pyr-
rhus to the capture of Carthage ... from the flight of Cleomenes of S parta
continously ( Ka'ta 'tO auvEXE~) to the battle of the Achaeans and Romans at
the Isthmus" (Polyb. 3.32.2-3, trans. W. R. Paton; slightly adapted). Here
Polybius anticipates Ovid's use of deducere as a metaphor for the continuous
thread of history. After Ovid, deducere becomes a standard word for histor-
ical narration from one point in time to another. 40
But why would Ovid pray to the gods in terms that elicit comparison
with historical narrative? The first book of theAeneid may furnish a clue. In
answer to the questions of the disguised Venus, Aeneas says that if he were
to start "from the very beginning" and tell the "annals" of his wanderings, it
would take all day and more:
"O dea, si prima repetens ah origine pergam
et vacet annalis nostrorum audire laborum,
ante diem clauso componet Vesper Olympo.''
(Aen. 1.372-74)
["O goddess, ifl go on at length tracing the cause from the very begin-
ning and if there is time available to hear the chronicle of our labors,
evening will endose Olympus and put day to sleep.'']
Such a chronicle not only resembles time itself but sounds suspiciously like
Ennius'sAnnals, to which Vergil may implicitly refer in the word "annalis."
Who other than Ennius began his narrative of the Roman people prima ah
origine, that is, from the fall of Troy? For his part, Vergil distinguishes the
Aeneid from theAnnals by imitating the "unnatural" or "artificial" narrative
order of Homer, which is not to narrate from the beginning, but rather to
plunge in medias res, avoiding the principie of serial narration. 41 In this way,
he points up the inadequacy of Ennius's claim to being a second Homer
because the latter began his epic in an un-Homeric fashion-ah initio
(Woodman 1989: 135).42
Ovid, by contrast, returns to the un-Homeric, historical framework
24 Chapter I
exemplified by Ennius'sAnnals. Ennius provides a model for a poet narrat-
ing ad sua tempora. His history of the Roman people, a work of fifteen
books, covered the millennium running from the fall of Troy clown to
184/3 B. c. Ennius later added three books, continuing the poem clown to
171, just two years befare his death. If the reader knows that Ovid's poem
consists of fifteen books, then the associations with the structure of En-
nius's poem are strengthened, for it was well recognized in the Augustan
age that theAnnals had an original design of fifteen books. 43 The evocation
ofEnnius makes it difficult in turn to dissociate theMetamorphoses from the
epic genre. In fact, Ovid's use of the word "perpetuum" is a critica! term
that was applied by Varro to epic narrative, and especially that of Ennius:
"poesis est perpetuum argumentum e rhythmis, ut Ilias Homeri et annalis
Enni" (Men. fr. 398.3-4, "Epic poetry is a continuous plot in meter, such as
theiliad ofHomer and theAnnals ofEnnius").
Yet Ovid is not simply invoking Ennius. He is claiming to outdo the
Annals in scope, by beginning from the creation of the universe, not from
the foundation of Rome. The serial combination of the natural history in
Lucretius's De Rerum Natura with the mythological and historical con-
tinuum ofEnnius'sAnnals constitutes a universal historical epic, the scale of
which explicitly fulfills the encyclopedic and cosmological tendencies of
Ennius'sAnnals and Vergil'sAeneid. As Philip Hardie puts it, "Ovid's epic
makes a bid to be the final and most comprehensive in the line of epics
inaugurated by Ennius" ( I 99 3: I 3) .
The way that Ovid designates the endpoint of his universal history
motivates yet another framework for understanding the poem. The phrase
"ad mea . . . tempora" has a strikingly personal tone ( contrast the less
personal "ad haec tempora" ofLivy), the force of which can be brought out
by comparison with Ovid's description of theMetamorphoses in Tristia 2. In
his appeal to Augustus for clemency, the poet in exile carefully emends this
text of the proem by saying that he brought the work clown to the em-
peror's own times: "in tua deduxi tempora, Caesar, opus" (Tr. 2.560, "I
brought the work clown to your own times,. Caesar") . On the face of it,
Ovid is encouraging Augustus to read the Metamorphoses as a poem that
culminates in the praise of the Augustan age. This is true in a certain sense,
but Ovid's self-correction also subtly calls attention to the fact that he in fact
did not write ad tua tempora at the beginning of theMetamorphoses. While it
may be doubted that Ovid or his readers would have understood mea
tempora as a slight against Augustus, there can be little question that Ovid
Metamorphosis in the Reader 25
writes mea tempora for a reason. Just as '~ma" is shorthand for theAeneid
in theAmores, one might suspect that "Tempora" harbors a reference to the
titular first word of his own Fasti. 44 Accordingly, Ovid would appear to be
praying to the gods to make the Metamorphoses continuous with his own
"Times;' meaning theFasti. The latter poem quite literally represents Ovid's
own times, inasmuch as it is a calendar documenting the religious festivals
of the Imperial Roman year. Ovid's prayer to the gods therefore can be read
not only in chronological terms but in metapoetic terms; theMetamorphoses
is supposed to be made continuous with theFasti. 45
The association with the Fasti prepares us insensibly for the final word
of the proem and its Callimachean twist. With the word "carmen" the fa-
mous allusion to the prologue of the Aetia is activated. The phrase "per-
petuum ... carmen'' is a direct translation of two words in the Callimachean
phrase f.v ÜEt<Jf..l<X ÓtrlVEKÉ<; (Aet. fr. 1.3, "One continuous song") .46 How-
ever, the form of the allusion is unusual and has caused grave critica! confu-
sion. The problem is that Ovid associates his poem with the tedious sort of
poetry that Callimachus criticizes: continuous narrative poetry about kings
and heroes (Aet. fr. I. I -6). Callimachus, who has been attacked by his crit-
ics for not having written such a poem, responds with his poetic manifesto
about the slender Muse, calling for poetry to be judged by the canon of art,
not length- by quality, not quantity. He dramatizes this choice of program
in a scene of divine epiphany, in which the Lycian Apollo appears to him as
he is about to write and gives advice: fatten the sacrificial victim; keep the
Muse thin; drive along untrodden routes; sing like a cicada, not like an ass.
Here is not the place to wrestle with the question of whether the prologue of
Callimachus'sAetia polemicizes against epic or not. The important point for
our purposes is that Callimachean polemic was reinterpreted and exploited
by Augustan poets to address the demands of their own poetic milieu. Faced
with the social pressure to write epic or panegyric, poets such as Vergil,
Horace, and Propertius frequently allude to the Aetia prologue, and espe-
cially the device of the theophany, to justify their choice of lighter, personal
poetry.
Such is the programmatically charged context into which Ovid is step-
ping. But one may ask why Ovid chooses to pursue the type of poem that
Callimachus polemicizes against. Indeed, it would appear that Ovid is in-
verting the elements of the Augustan recusatio. To start with, the gods that
inspire his verse have transformed it from elegies into hexameters. This is a
reversa! of the Callimachean theophany, in which Apollo teaches the poet
26 Chapter 1
to lighten his verse. N ext, Ovid prays to the gods to ínflate the sails of his
poem ("adspirate"), as though it were a ship voyaging on the sea of epic.
Finally, he sets out the plan of an immense cyclic epic, a universal history,
whose scope outdoes other exemplars of epic such as Homer, Hesiod,
Lucretius, Ennius, and Vergil.
At the same time as Ovid appears to pursue the anti-Callimachean
"perpetuum ... carmen:' the reader may observe a change in the meaning of
"deducite." If we return to our nautical reading of "adspirate:' the imagery
continues in the second half of Ovid's prayer. Given the points of departure
and arrival, signaled by the prepositional structure ab . . . ad, one can
understand the verb "deducite" as appropriate for the completion of Ovid's
sea voyage, inasmuch as it can be translated as "bring my ship into port''
(OLD, s.v. 8e) .47 With the evocation of the Callimachean prologue, how-
ever, the reader may retrospectively revise the metaphorical significance of
deducere. As is well known, deducere is also a technical term for spinning,
meaning "to draw down the thread" ( OLD, s.v. 4). Such an image suits the
concept of chronological continuity in theMetamorphoses, for the Fates are
often depicted in Greek and Roman myth as spinning the thread of human
life and destiny (cf. Catull. 64.303-83; Sen.Apoc. 3.3-4; Claud. DRP 1.52).
At the level of poetics, the metaphor of spinning is also a positive term
for polished poetry in a Callimachean vein. The single-most ·important
usage of deducere in this sense occurs in the programmatic opening ofVer-
gil's sixth Eclogue, which is itself modeled closely on the prologue to the
Aetia. Apollo appears to the Vergilian poet, Tityrus, and discourages him
from pursuingthe weightythemes ofheroic or martial epic (Ecl. 6.3, "reges
et proelia"). He advises him to compase a "fine-spun'' song instead: "deduc-
tum dicere carmen" (Ecl. 6.4-5). As Servius remarks in his note to Verg. Ecl.
6.5: "deductum ... carmen tenue; translatio a lana, quae deducitur in tenui-
tatem" ("a carmen deductum is slender; a metaphor from wool, which is
spun into thinness") . If these words stand behind Ovid's choice of diction in
"deducite ... carmen:' then he must be inverting the theophany-conven- .
tion. It is now the poet who is telling the gods to attenuate his continuous
song and so to achieve the Callimachean ideal of the slender Muse ( cf..
Callim. Aet. fr. 1. 24 Moucrav ... AE1t'taAÉ11V) .48 Consequently, with a revi-
sion of meaning, we come to realize another shift in the conception of the
poem that plays the expansiveness of a cosmological-historical epic against a
di:fferent set of thematic and poetic values, which are perhaps best summed
up by Ovid's ownFasti. Not only does the idea of attenuation ("deducite")
Metamorphosis in the Reader 27
lead to Ovid's own "tempora:' his Callimachean poem on the Roman calen-
dar, it also may contain a hint that the gods will eventually transform Ovid's
hexameters back into elegies again.
Once the allusion to theAetia is activated, theMetamorphoses appears to
be the kind of poem that challenges Callimachean canons of style- a super-
epic which subsumes poets as diverse as Hesiod, Ennius, and Lucretius.
However, the same reference to Callimachus invites the reader to reevaluate
the meaning of"deducite" and toread its collocation with "perpetuum ...
carmen" asan oxymoron. For the poet begs the gods to make fine his im-
mense undertaking. This revisionary reading does not "reduce" the expan- ,
siveness of Ovidian epic; it mere!y suggests that the poem's nature is beyond
human sense, much the way Shakespeare's "O heavy lightness" defi.es ra-
tional analysis.
Ovid's deeper allusion to Vergil's poetic program in the sixth Eclogue
lends sorne support to the opposition between the carmen perpetuum and
carmen deductum, but it also suggests that this dichotomy may not be so
neat. Although the song of Silenus is an ideal of poetry that is defined
against an epic of reges et proelia, it too has a cosmological and quasi-
historical dimension. Joseph Farrell suggests that "it embodies a tradition
of 'Orphic' poetry- a poetry at once of science and myth . . . drawing on
poets as diverse as Ennius and Callimachus, Lucretius and Apollonius,
Calvus and Empedocles, Gallus, 'Hesiod: and even Homer" ( 1991: 314).
The term "Orphic" is suggestive ( cf. Ross 1975: 25-26) but its inadequacy
is betrayed by the need to give a genealogy of poets who represent the ideal.
If authors represent genres, then Vergil's poetic ideal is generically diverse.
Similarly, if Lucretius attempts to keep science and myth distinct, Vergil
suggests their interchangeability and continuity. Ovid's Metamorphoses is
just such poetry: there is no single predecessor that one can point to as its
source. There is no predesignated place for it in a library. On the contrary, it
is an omnivorous poem that digests and incorporares within itself a virtual
library of Greek and Roman authors.
From the perspective of a "first reading:' Ovid's prayer to the gods
to draw the Metamorphoses down from the beginning of the world to his
own day involves a number of allusions and conventions that unfold in
sequence. Earlier we noted that Ovid takes advantage of the process of
reading to perform transformations at the syntactic and lexicallevel, as well
as at the levels of prosody and metaphor. Now he suggests the possibility
that a carmen perpetuum, a universal history of metamorphosis, is also a
28 Chapter r
carmen deductum. What emerges in a phenomenological reading of the
proem is a constantly shifting definition of Ovid's poetic project. Yet such a
proem may come as a surprise at the very threshold of the poem, where
direct and unequivocal communication is the norm.
The rhetorical purpose of a proem is to inform the reader about what is
to come. In the Rhetoric, Aristotle states that a proem "is a foretaste of the
theme ... intended to inform the hearers of it in advance instead of keeping
their minds in suspense" (Rhet. 1415 a 12-14, trans. W Rhys Roberts, rev.
by J. Barnes [ 1984]). Another function of the proem is to let the reader
know what genre the work belongs to, establishing a literary frame of
reference within which toread and interpret. 49 In general, the proem serves
to establish and test connections between author and audience. As Aristotle
says of listeners, "anything vague puzzles them: so give them a grasp of the
beginning, and they can hold fast to it and follow the argument" (Rhet.
141 s a 14- r 6). Yet by Ovid's day Aristotle's goal of universal intelligibility
was not necessarily an artistic desideratum in the proem. Gian Biagio· Conte
has shown in his study of "proems in the middle" that Roman poets use the
proem to select and qualify their readers ( r 992: r 4 7-49) . With the rise of
the book in Greece and Rome and the creation of libraries, he argues, the
poet could compase for a highly sophisticated readership, and not simply
for performance. The proem consequently becomes a locus of increasing
literary self-consciousness precisely because it no longer has the sole pur-
pose of giving a listening audience a grasp of the beginning. It evolves
rather into a complex literary fingerprint in which a poet encrypts his per-
sonal poetic program, expresses his aesthetic preferences, differentiates his
poetry from that of his predecessors, and initiates readers into his chosen
inner circle.
Ovid's proem not only selects and qualifies its readers, it aims to para-
lyze them with a sense of wonder, if wonder is defined as the experience of
perceiving something new that does not fit into normal categories of under-
standing. The reader is presented with a series of different frameworks by
which to grasp the Metamorphoses, none of which proves adequate to the
task. The poet begins by saying that he has in mind a new sort of poem ("In
nova fert animus"), a poem about metamorphosis ("mutatas dicere for-
mas"), a poem in hexameters ("nam vos mutastis et illa"), apoem with
grand pretensions of sailing the sea of epic ("di coeptis ... adspirate meis"),
a didactic poem to rival Lucretius's De Rerum Natura, a universal mytho-
logical-historical poem that outdoes Ennius'sAnnals and Vergil'sAeneid in
Metamorphosis in the Reader 29
scope, and finally a poem like the song of Silenus in Vergil's sixth Eclogue.
All this in a proem of four lines.
How is the reader to square these different frames of reference? Can
they in fact be assimilated to forma unified structure? Or do they lead rather
to inconsistency and indeterminacy? Due responds:
So this short preface, clear and perspicuous as it seems at first sight raises a number
of problems to be solved only by analysis of the poem .... The preface, we may
conclude, has the double function of giving sorne initial information to the reader
about what Ovid intends to do and of arousing the reader's interest by leaving
[him] in the dark asto precisely how Ovid propases to solve the apparently impos-
sible task which he has set himself: to write a connected poem of disconnected
stories and a chronological poem about things mainly beyond the horizon of his-
tory. (1974: 96-97)
According to this reading, the proem presents the reader with a narrative
puzzle. Other critics frame the problem in terms of genre, pointing to the
apparent contradiction between Ovid's desire to write a carmen perpetuum,
a grand epic, anda carmen deductum, the Alexandrian and Neoteric alterna-
tive to epic. Even if one does not accept that there is a generic paradox,
there is certainly a paradox of scale. Ovid's carmen perpetuum) understood as
a universal history, is the longest possible narrative. However, the allusion
to a carmen deductum would point to small-scale episodic composition. It is
tempting to reconcile these tensions by labeling Ovid's poem as a carmen
perpetuum et deductum, as though this were a conceptual unity. Yet to look
for the "ultimate meaning'' is to neglect the experience of getting there. We
may be intent upon extracting a message from Ovid's programmatic state-
ments- epic, Callimachean, or both- but we also must allow that it raises
a galaxy of possibilities and that the difficulty of deciding among them may
be precisely the point.
In the last analysis, Ovid's extraordinarily short introduction to an
extraordinarily long poem sends a series of mixed signals. It throws the
reader into doubt about the form and identity of theMetamorphoses. Con-
versely, it enables the poem to be read within a variety of generic frame-
works. Sorne scholars allege that Ovid does not have epic aims. Yet we have
seen that the pretensions to a super-epic cannot be explained away. One
may wonder whether this is a new Ovid, or whether the elegiac Ovid is still
up to his old game of raising false expectations. To answer this question, the
reader must plunge into the poem itself. This is as it should be. As Kenney
30 Chapter 1
notes, theMetamorphoses proceeds by asking questions rather than stating a
case ( 1986: xviii) . The reader's doubt and search for answers provides a
steady source of fuel for the continuation of the poem.
New Beginnings
The reader's step-by-step process of forming certain expectations, of being
surprised or deceived, of having to revise assumptions in the proem also
proves to be paradigmatic for the reading of theMetamorphoses as a whole.
This is not just because the poem is about mythological transformations,
but also because transformation manifests itself in the temporal flow of
reading. Time and again, the reader is invited to form an expectation that
Ovid transmutes into something new. In the foregoing analysis of the
proem, we have been attentive to changes that occur on the levels of lan-
guage, syntax, and poetic convention. But the same transformative process
can be detected at the level of narrative. The poem's opening sequence of
"The Creation" ( 1.5-451) parallels the witty false start we noted in the
inaugural statement of the proem. This time the reader is seduced into
accepting a strikingly stable philosophical, ideological, and aesthetic view
of the world, which is dissolved and reconstructed again.
Ovid begins with a "philosophical" account of the creation of the
world from chaos. A divine creator, like the poet himself, produces a ra-
tional design of the world by separating the confused and discordant ele-
ments of chaos and fixing them in their proper places. Violent conflict and
ceaseless change thus give way to static order and peace. Manis then created
to rule over the new world as a pious and enlightened sovereign ( 1. 76-86) .
At the beginning and end of this episode the poet strikes a tone of philo-
sophical optimism; he calls the demiurge "deus et melior natura" ( 1.21,
"god ora better nature") and "mundi melioris origo" ( 1. 79, "the origin of a
better world"). Philosophically speaking, Ovid does not surprise his read-
ership with a controversia! new doctrine about the nature of the universe.
He does not set out to correct erroneous beliefs and introduce philosophi-
cal enlightenment. Rather he invites his readers to share the assumptions of
a popular philosophical view of the world that has gained normative status
in Augustan Rome: namely, that a divine intelligence directed the creation
of natural order for the benefit of mankind. Ovid's choice of a demiurgic
cosmogony stands in obvious contradiction to Lucretius, who holds that
the evolution of the universe was undesigned and haphazard. 50 Ovid's im-
Metamorphosis in the Reader 31
plicit dialogue with Lucretius is itself a feature of philosophical discourse.
One might compare the way that the Stoic Balbus responds to the Epi-
curean Velleius in Cicero's philosophical dialogueDeNaturaDeorum. Yet it
would be a mistake to identify Qvid with the Stoic school, or even to
assume that he is versifying Balbus's description of a providential universe.
His purpose in the cosmogony is not to promulgate new knowledge or to
enter into philosophical debate. It is to present a coherent and familiar view
of the universe to his audience.
But is this simply art for art's sake? Is Ovid simply following the blue-
print of the song of Silenus in Vergil's sixth Eclogue to show that he has the
proper poetic credentials? Is a poetry of science politically neutral? In Ver-
gil'sAeneid, natural philosophy was put to the service,political ideology ( cf.
P. R. Hardie 1986). Ovid's cosmogony picks up where Vergilleft off. It
issues the clearest possible statement of the physical allegory that underlies
theAeneid. Ovid describes chaos as a civil war of elements ( 1.9, "discordia
semina rerum"), which a deus pacifies and places under the order of law
( 1.25, "dissociata locis concordi pace ligavit''). This exercise of divine con-
trol over discord can be read as prefiguring Augustus's own role in ending
the civil wars and establishing a new order. 51 Ovid's poetic model for such
an ideological framework is theAeneid. The demiurge's imposition of peace
upon chaos is specifically comparable with Neptune's calming of the storm
inAeneid 1. Vergillikens the sea god toan unnamed statesman who con-
trols ariotous populace ( 1.148-53) .52 Yet, in theAeneid, theforces ofchaos
continually prevent the achievement of a final order. Indeed, the poem
concludes with an act of personal vengeance by Aeneas against Turnus
which implies the failure to achieve the reconciliation necessary to end civil
war. By contrast, at the beginning of theMetamorphoses, the pacification of
chaos occurs in the blink of an eye. As Hardie remarks, "In Virgilian terms
the act of creation represents the stability that is the epic's goal, and which
in this epic seems to have been reached when we are scarcely under way''
( 199 3: 6o-6 1). The sense of closure at the beginning of Ovid's epic is also
achieved in aesthetic terms.
The poet's description of the universe exemplifies a classical ideal
of symmetry and harmony that may be compared with the descriptions of
works of art in the epic tradition, going back to the Homeric shield of
Achilles (Wheeler 199 5a). The rounded, well-articulated unity of the uní-
verse reinforces the teleological impression of the opening episode. Readers
may be tempted to believe in this early example of closure and accept it as
paradigmatic for the aims of the poem as a whole. Critics who advocate a
32 Chapter 1 Metamorphosis in the Reader 33

"from Chaos to Cosmos" reading of the Metamorphoses are now a rare ( 1 .438-440), in contrast to her role during the golden age, when she freely
species, but the erstwhile popularity of this interpretation, naive as it may produced fruits for human benefit ( 1. 1o 1-2) .
seem, is evidence that the opening episode of theMetamorphoses encourages From hindsight, it is easy to reject the philosophical opening of the
such a deceptive pars pro toto reading. 53 poemas untrue or inadequate. 54 Yet how does one know on a first reading
In the narrative that follows, however, the reader watches as the philo- that Ovid is not committed to the orthodox view that he is presenting? Part
sophical and ideological closure of the cosmogony is undone by passions, of his strategy, I suggest, is to win the reader's assent to a comforting
both mortal and divine, that confuse the elemental categories originally picture of the work and then to reform it. One might therefore conclude
defined by the demiurge. The dissolution of order begins with the decline that the experience of reading the Metamorphoses turns out to be didactic
of the four metallic races of man (1.89-150). The race of gold,abides after all, as the reader learns the truth of a metamorphic universe, both as a
peacefully within the limits of the demiurge's original design, but the race phenomenon in the world and as a way of understanding how the world
of iron transgresses both natural and moral boundaries in pursuit of vio- changes. The premise of Ovidian transformation is that something of the
lence, crime, and the Jove of material possession ( r. 1 3 1, "amor sceleratus old form is retained in the new. Transformation is nota self-consuming pro-
habendi") . The pattern of boundary violation takes cosmic proportions cess; rather, it renders form ambiguous or multi -layered in meaning. Simi-
when the children of earth make war on heaven ( 1. 151-62) . The climax of lady, the reader's experience of the poem, if it is transformational, involves a
sin is Jupiter's claim that Lycaon attempted to assassinate the king of the multiplication of viewpoints. To be sure, the Metamorphoses recycles and
gods and to serve him human flesh ( 1.209-43). Jupiter next fights moral contradicts itself, but that does not necessarily lead to self-cancellation. It
chaos with physical chaos by flooding the earth (1.253-347). This leads leads to an increasingly complex and contested vision of the world- the
to a new creation marked by a second separation of earth and water. The idea that reality is infinitely malleable.
sole survivors of the flood, Deucalion and Pyrrha, recreate humanity from
stones ( 1.348-415). The rest of the animal kingdom is restored naturally ·
through spontaneous generation from hot diluvial mud ( 1 .416-3 7) .
This pattern of creation, destruction, and recreation- or the cycle of
elemental conffict and reconciliation- parallels the experience of the first
line of the Metamorphoses. Ovid induces the reader to accept a perfectly
coherent and normative view of the world in the opening episod~ and then
proceeds to question it. Just as the medial word "mutatas" dissolves the
certainty of "In nova fert animus:' so too do the passions of men and gods
cause our view of the world to change. Furthermore, after the flood, Ovid
introduces a new kind of order, which has a di:fferent modus operandi. Most
notably, he says that the "discors concordia'' ofwater and fire was responsi-
ble for all new life ( 1 .43 3) . This philosophical ratio implicitly contradicts
that of the first creation. Originally the conffict of the elements ( 1 .9, "dis-
cordia semina rerum") was unproductive and necessitated an externa! di-
vine agent to separate them and bind them in harmonious peace ( 1 .25) .
Following the flood, however, creatures evolve spontaneously from the
mixture, not the separation, of elements. If there was teleology in the cos-
mogony, there is little sign of it after after the flood. Mother Earth ( Tellus)
involuntarily produces the monstrous Python who threatens mankind

2 (praeleaio), which began with recitation and ended with explication. The
The Fiction of
Viva-Voce Performance
usque adeo mutata ferar nullique videnda,
voce tamen noscar, vocem mihi fata relinquent.
[Although I will be said to have changed to such a degree and be visible
to no one, I will still be known by my voice, for the fates willleave
behind m y voice.]
- Ovid, Metamorphoses, 14. I 52-53
The heuristic of a "first reading" sheds light on the cognitive transforma-
tions that the opening of Ovid's Metamorphoses works upon the reader.
Although one may question whether there is such a thing as a "first read-
ing;' this method has the benefit of focusing attention on the poem as a
process of reciproca! communication between reader and text. Time-bound
exegesis turns out to be well suited to a dynamic and polymorphous poem
such as the Metamorphoses, which lays more emphasis on the experience of
the moment than on the apprehension of sorne overarching structural de-
sign. Equally important, a temporal model of reading has affinities ·with
what we know about the ancient reception of literature. That is, a descrip-
tion of the reader's gradual assimilation of a text is consonant with the
ancient reader's experience of reading books in the form of a papyrus roll.
The volumen naturally urged a pattern of sequential reading and hindered
the reader from skipping back and forth in the text- an impediment that
the codex would eventually overcome through the ease of page-turning.l
Another defining feature of the ancient reception of literature is the
habit of reading aloud. 2 The recitation of texts was a much-valued skill in
antiquity. In Petronius's Satyricon, Trimalchio praises a slave-boy because he
can read a book at sight (Sat. 7 5 .4, "librum ab aculo legit''), apparently an
accomplishment at his age. Romans typically learned the finer points of
reading aloud at the secondary level of education. 3 Thegrammaticus would
The Fiction ofViva-Voce Performance 35
introduce the students to the greatest poets through the reading lesson
role of the students was to imitate the recitation of the master. This entailed
the acquisition of basic skills, such as learning how to separate words and
punctuate texts that were written in continuous script. Students would also
learn correct accentuation and prosody. Finally, they were expected to inter-
pret the poetry through their delivery, by modulating the voice and adopt-
ing the appropriate persona. Educated Romans may have read aloud for
their own pleasure in private, but, more likely, they preferred to listen to
books recited by a trained reader or entertainer ( an anagnostes, acroama,or
leaor). The critica! point, however, is that reading consisted of sorne form
of performance. Poetry and prose were regularly recited in prívate, at dinner
parties, and in public performances. In this cultural milieu, the reception of
books was a communal activity- a happening- involving both performer
and audience in the dramatic qualities of literature. In light of these circum-
stances, both written and oral, the reader-response premise that a work of
literature is an event that unfolds in time may bring us closer to grasping the
noetic and hermeneutic horizon of a poem such as theMetamorphoses. 4
The importance of the performance of literary texts in Rome can be
illustrated through the example of the first poetry book of the Augustan age
known to us: Vergil's Eclogues. There is little question that Vergil devoted
much care to adjusting the design of individual poems to the design of the
book as a whole. 5 Yet, three pieces of ancient testimony give us a glimpse of
the work's reception in Vergil's day. First, a note in Servius on Ecl. 6. I I
alleges that Vergil recited the Eclogues to an appreciative public, and that
the work was later performed in the theater by the much-beloved actress
Cytheris. 6 In Vergil's ancient biography, the mark of the Eclogues' public
success is not measured by the wide circulation of the text, but rather by its
frequent performance in the theater by cantores, who are professional read-
ers (Donat. Vita Ve1lJ. 26)/ Finally, Tacitus (Dial. 13.2), in the person
of Maternus, relates an anecdote about Vergil's attendance as a spectator
("spectantem'') of a performance of his poetry. At the end of the reading,
the audience gave him a standing ovation fit for Augustus himself. Tacitus
does not indicate which poetry was read, or how much, but the Eclogues are
the obvious candidate, given the evidence in Servius and the Vita Ve119ili
already discussed. At any rate, the public performance ofVergil's poetry is
firmly established. It might be argued, however, that the poetry book of the
Eclogues was intended for a different audience- the careful reader- and
that these performances were incidental. But it is difficult to believe that
 Chapter 2
Vergil, who was himself renowned for his skill at reading and interpreta-
don, would not have taken into account both the textual and performative
aspects of his work. In short, the recitation of poetry, whether in public or
private, whether by the poet himself or professional readers, constituted a
fundamental part of the experience of literature in Augustan Rome.
In recent scholarship, considerable attention has been paid to the influ-
ence of the ancient poetry book on the Augustan poets- on their concep-
tion of themselves and their poetry. 8 But in a hearing-dominant culture
such as Rome, books also helped prompt the memory and viva-voce deliv-
ery, much like dramatic scripts. The analogy is not meant to be depreciatory.
We know that Shakespeare wrote primarily for the stage, and that his scripts
were only collected and published after his death in folio editions. In Rome
it was the practice to recite first and release the text later. While drafting a
work, a Roman poet would typically read versions to a prívate circle of
friends to elicit criticism. If and when his poetry was ready for public
release, he would test the reactiorts of a wider audience through the me-
dium of the recitatio. 9 The institution of public recitation, in which Asinius
Pollio played an evidently significant but now obscure role (c. 38 B.c.),
became a fixture of Roman literary culture in the early Imperial period.
Typically a literary patron of substantial means and influence would sponsqr
the event in his home, granting the favored poet an opportunity to publi-
cize his work and gain a reputation among the social elite and literary
cognoscenti of Rome. All the while, the author would retain strict control
over the written version of the text until it was perfectly finished and ready
for release to friends and wider circles.
Ovid was no stranger to the limelight of public recitation nor to the
ethos of poetic professionalism in Rome. We know from Seneca the Elder
( Contr. 2.2.8-12) that he first distinguished himself as a declaimer in the
school of Arellius Fuscus, and that his public speaking had the appearance
of poetry put into prose ("Orario eius iam tum nihil aliud poterat videri
quam solutum carmen;' Contr. 2.2.8). By the time he began to shave, Ovid
was reciting his love elegies in public (Tr. 4.10.58-59). His penchant for
declamation and drama is especially evident in the poetry of theAmores and
the Heroides .10 The latter raises questions about performance because of its
fiction of letter-writing. In theArs, however, Ovid advises his female stu-
dent toread poetry, and, in particular, to recite one of his Heroides in the
appropriate tone of voice: ''vel tibi composita cantetur Epistula voce" (Ars
3. 345). Ovid was active in another genre of poetry which was oriented
toward performance; his tragedy Medea played an important role in the
evolution of "recitation drama."ll
The Fiction ofViva-Voce Performance 37
Given his track-record, it can scarcely be doubted that Ovid also com-
posed theMetamorphoses for recitation. One need only point to the poem's
many examples of rhetorical and dramatic speeches whose effect depends
upon viva-voce delivery. Although there is no evidence that Ovid himself
read the work publicly before his exile, it seems likely that he would have
done so had he the chance. It is impossible to say how he intended to
perform the poem. We know that Vergil took four days to read four books
of the Gem;gics to Octavian, with help from Maecenas when his voice failed
(Donat. Vit. Ve1¿1. 2 7) . Horsfall ( r 99 5: r 7) considers this an exceedingly
gentle pace, even for someone with laryngitis. Vergil also read three books
of theAeneid to Augustus and Octavia- the second, fourth, and sixth (Vtt.
Ve1¿1. 32) . It is easy, then, to see how Ovid could have performed individual
books or sequences of books ( pairs, triads, pentads) in theMetamorphoses.
Ovid's exile, or his exile poetry, should not obscure the future that he
envisions for himself in the epilogue to theMetamorphoses. He predicts that
he will be recited throughout the Roman empire:
quaque patet domitis Romana potentia terris,
ore legar populi ...
(Met. 15.877-78)
[And wherever Roman power extends over conquered lands, I will be
read by the lips of the people.]
This is a clever variation on the poet's conventional claim to immortality
through his poetry. 12 Ovid imagines himself ( or his work) being read "by
the lips" of the people, conflating the commonplace of fame ("to be on the
lips of m en") with the ancient norm of reading aloud. Properly speaking,
the verb legar ("I will be read'') is a brachylogy for mea carmina legentur
("my poem will be read"), which extends the metonymic convention of
identifying a poet's corpus with his name ( e.g., "I read Ovid") .13 Yet the
figurative association of the poet with his own work takes on a new mean-
ing in the context of theMetamorphoses, for it represents the last of a series of
transformations, outdoing even the future apotheosis of Augustus. It is not
enough that Ovid be metamorphosed into his book ( or books), for the
corporeality of the written text is hardly proof against the gnawing tooth of
time, much less book worms and the dusty neglect of libraries. 14 Rather, he
envisages the realization of the text through the living medium of the hu-
man voice.
 Chapter 2
From a modern perspective- one that is radically textual- it may
seem odd that Ovid emphasizes recitability as the key to his survival. One
might point out that he and his poetry have survived to the present pri-
marily through books and silent reading, and largely without the benefit of
performance. In fact, Ovid is currently enjoying a renaissance among poets
and novelists in North America and Europe, but his Latin is seldom recited
or heard. The charm of Ovid's narrative and "his sweet witty soul" live on
through the medium of texts, many of which are translations. One might
therefore be tempted to argue that the oral-aural dimension of the Meta-
morphoses is inessential to its influence and success. In a certain sense, this is
right: the culture of reading has changed since Ovid composed the Meta-
morphoses. It is also true that we no longer have access to Latinas a living
language, and hence no longer have access to the Metamorphoses as the oral
form of entertainment it was intended to be. Professional philologists may
be adept at recreating and comprehending the musicality and metrical qual-
ity of the verse, but it cannot be said that modern readers of Ovid experi-
ence his poetry through recitation. This is not to deny the possibility ( or
reality) that ancient readers were receptive to theMetamorphoses as contin-
uous script. On the contrary, as his letters from exile attest, Ovid was keenly
aware of the textual reception of theMetamorphoses, not to mention the rest
of his poetic corpus. M y point is that the Metamorphoses was a poem that
stood Janus-faced between two worlds, a world in which poetry was per-
formed aloud, and a world in which poetry inhabited books. Both worlds
existed side-by-side throughout antiquity and right through to the Renais-
sance. However, it was the former that proved to be more vulnerable to
the vicissitudes of time, as the spoken Latin language, to whose universal
power Ovid attests, gradually lost its sway over educated discourse.
Given the inherent tension between the explicit orality and implicit
textuality of theMetamorphoses, we may ask how Ovid presents the produc-
tion and reception of his poem. In what ways does he orient the poem to a
listening audience, and in what ways does he accommodate readers? Are the
~erences in reception between listener and reader less significant for the
ancients than they are for us? 15 The assumption in the first chapter is that the
recipient of the Metamorphoses is a reader. The method of describing the
reader's developing response would not be incompatible with the experi-
ence of a listener. But this begs the question, who is the reader or audience of
the Metamorphoses? How does Ovid represent or construct the recipient of
his poem? Questions such as these have not received the kind of critica! at-
tention one would expect. Many Ovidians invoke the name of the reader
The Fiction ofViva-Voce Performance 39
and assume that what they mean is self-evident ( the work of Sharrock on the
Ars Amatoria is a notable exception) . Yet literary theorists have begun to
realize that the reader is a deceptively difficult concept to define in relation
to the text. One need only compare a fraction of the different reader-
constructs that have been proposed o ver the years: the mock reader ( Gib-
. son), postulatedreader (Booth), impliedreader (Iser), superreader (Riffa-
terre), ideal reader ( Culler), narratee ( Genette, Prince), model reader
(Eco), and informed reader ( Fish) .16 What kinds of readers or audiences
are involved in theMetamorphoses? In the chapters that follow, I propase a
description of the audience that is based upon the critica! assumptions of
structuralist narratology. Although this type of narratology is not new to
Ovid'sMetamorphoses, its principies have been applied to the poem only in a
limited way- specifically, to the analysis of the poem's interna! narrators
and audiences. Little has been said, however, about the primary narrative
transaction between poet and audience. To appreciate what is at stake, it will
be helpful to review the critica! premises upon which my discussion is
grounded.
The whole of narrative is divided into three parts. The terminology for
these parts varíes according to theorist ( or translator) .17 I have opted to use
those terms that are most easily distinguishable: Chatman's "story'' and
"discourse" and Genette's "narrating.'' The story is what is narrated; ideally
speaking, it consists of an objective sequence of events, characters, and
settings. However, no story exists outside of discourse, which is the means
by which the story is expressed. That is, every story has a structure or arder
that re:flects the point of view and subjective emphasis of its narrator or
focalizer ( the person through whose eyes the story is told) . Finally, there is
the act of narration, or narrating, which produces the discourse. Clearly the
three categories of story, discourse, and narrating are interrelated and insep-
arable, but discourse is the nexus of someone narrating a story.
Discourse can thus be analyzed in terms of its relationships to story
and narrating. The relationship between discourse and story is essentially
the time-honored one between form and content, signifier and signified.
The relationship between narrating and discourse, on the other hand, is
represented by those signs in the discourse that do not refer to the story but
to the act of narrating the story. In this respect, the so-called "narrating
instance" or "situation of enunciation'' defined by Genette ( 1980: 212-15)
is a helpful critica! concept because it enables one to distinguish between
two different fictional worlds, "the world ofwhich one tells and the world in
which one tells" ( 236, emphasis mine). The world in which one tells is to be
40 Chapter 2
defined not only by the act of narrating but also by the speaker and ad-
dressee and by the spatio-temporal circumstances in which the narrating
takes place. As we shall see, what characterizes the Maamorphoses is the
interest that it generates in the narrating instance- the world in which
one tells.
In the remaining pages of this chapter, my purpose is to ask what form
of utterance theMetamorphoses takes. I make the case that Ovid presents the
"narrating instance" of the poem as though it were an oral performance, in
which he delivers his song to a listening audience. N owhere in the Meta-
morphoses does Ovid represent himself explicitly as a writer or his poem as a
text, although he does represent examples of writing in the course of his
narrative. The fiction of viva-voce performance in the Metamorphoses turns
out to be a critica! point of difference from his elegiac poetry in which he
experiments with different forms of textuality; in particular, the difference
between the "orality'' of theMetamorphoses and the "textuality'' of the Fasti
opens up new territory over which the question of each poem's generic
identity may be contested. It is also instructive to examine the tension be-
tween oral and written modes of communication within theMetamorphoses
and evaluate its significance. Finally, once the the plausibility of Ovid's fic-
tion of oral performance has been established, I situate it within the context
of Roman literary history in which the conventions of singing and writing
were charged with polemical meaning. We see that Ovid follows the exam-
ple ofVergil and Horace in embodying the new ideal of the poet as singer.
The N arrating Instance
The unity of discourse in the Metamorphoses depends on the narrating in-
stance. That is to say, there is nothing intrinsically unified about the story
( or stories) of the poem that compels the audience to assent that it is about
a single subject. Metamorphosis, mutability, love, violence, artistry, and
power are just sorne of the unifying themes that critics have proposed over
the years. The variety of possibilities suggests that it is the individual reader
who finds a pattern that makes sense- if sense can be made- of the work's
multiplicity of characters and actions. Yet the question of unity in theMeta-.
morphoses need not be restricted to the story. N arrative discourse also may
be unified by the narrating instance: the act of recounting stories and, by
extension, the spatio-temporal context in which speaker and addressee are
located. In the Metamorphoses, this principie of unity is complicated, of
The Fiction ofViva-Voce Performance 4I
course, by the introduction of numerous tale-tellers and their audiences
within the story-world. If, however, we consider the primary (externa!)
narrating instance, represented by the poet-narrator and his audience, an
obvious but seldom-emphasized fact emerges. The poet-narrator does not
represent himself as a writer but as a singer. His presentation of the poem
takes place in the context of a public performance. Given this fi.ction of
narrative communication, it may be necessary to distinguish between an
implied author (writer) and narrator (speaker) to account for the tension
between the poem's implied textuality and its pretense of orality. What are
the implications of such a distinction for the reception of the poem? The
implied author is responsible for the textual effects of the Metamorphoses
that are directed to an implied reader, while the narrator addresses himself
explicitly to a listening audience that receives the poem aurally. For this
reason we should be wary of assuming that the narrator addresses himself to
"the reader:' as is often stated or assumed in Ovidian scholarship. The
narrator addresses himself to a fi.ctional audience that does not have visual
access to the text; this audience is a surrogate for the reader. In the next
chapter we investigare the ways in which the distinction between implied
author and narrator proves fruitful for analyzing different dimensions of the
Metamorphoses, both as asan oral performance andas a written text. For
now, however, let us consider the evidence that supports the claim that the
Metamorphoses is represented as a viva-voce performance.
In the :first line of the poem, "In nova fert animus mutatas dicere
formas" ( r. r), the poet refers to his activity as "telling.'' It is not until Ovid
calls his work a "carmen'' ( L4), three lines later, that "dicere" can be se-
curely understood in the sense of "telling in song.'' Of course, the word
carmen can refer to a written poem, but the combination of dicere and
carmen seems to imply a fi.ction of oral communication. Sorne .scholars have
doubted, however, that Ovid's use of "dicere" refers to an elevated form of
utterance suited to song. Due, for example, contrasts Ovid's opening line
with that ofVergil's in theAeneid on the following grounds:
Ovid's preface clearly indicates that this carmen perpetuum will be different from epic
poems in the Homeric tradition, and the tone of the verse is quite moderate in
comparison with the dignified solemnity of Vergil's preface. Ovid says fert animus
and this combination contains an element of arbitrariness which is absent from
Vergil's cano. Ovid might have written about other things, but, eventually, he de-
cides to write about transformations; he does not take up Vergil's attitude as a
prophet whose song is inspired by divine power and obeys laws beyond his own
choice. In accordance with this moderate- but of course still epic- tone Ovid says
42 Chapter 2
dicere: he decides to tell about transformations whereas Vergil sings of weapons and
the man from Troy. ( 1974: 94)
The assertion that Ovid's proem does not aspire to be the vatic "song'' of
the Aeneid rests principally upon the difference between fert animus and
cano. Due tips his hand, however, when he assumes that dicere is a "moder-
ate" form of expression that is associated with writing rather than song:
"Ovid might have written about other things, but, eventually, he decides to
write about transformations." Yet are we entitled to assume that dicere is a
dead metaphor for the act of writing, and that the narrating instance of the
Metamorphoses is to be understood in terms of a poet writing about transfor-
mations? In addition, is there a marked difference in generic or stylistic
register between dicere and canere? 18
Let us start by investigating the second question~ There is much evi-
dence to support the thesis that dicere, though semantically different from
canere, can be used of vatic or elevated poetic utterance. Classical Latin
usage shows furthermore that dicere, like canere, may denote the oral deliv-
ery of verse in a poetic context. 19 The import of Ovid's "dicere" may be
illustrated by comparison with Vergil's sixth Eclogue, an intertext which was
examined in the first chapter:
cum canerem reges et proelia, Cynthius aurem
vellit et admonuit: "pastorem, Tityre, pinguis
pascere oportet ovis, deductum dicere carmen."
(Ecl. 6.3-5)
[When I was singing kings and battles, Cynthian Apollo tweaked my
ear and advised: "Tityrus, the shepherd ought to feed his sheep fat but
utter a slender song?']
It may be tempting to contrast "canerem" and "dicere" because the former
is employed with "reges et proelia;' (a weighty song), and the latter with
"deductum carmen" (a slender song). But later Vergil says of his light
bucolic poetry "non iniussa cano" ( 6.8, "I do not sing things that are
unbidden"), which suggests that dicere and canere are interchangeable.
Dicere and canere also are two sides of the same coin in Vergil'sAeneid.
In the second proem near the beginning ofAeneid 7, Vergil employs dicere
instead of canere to inaugurate the second half of the epic: "tu vatem, tu
The Fiction ofViva-Voce Performance 43
diva, mone. dicam horrida bella, 1 dicam acies" (Aen. 7.41-42, "You, god-
dess, you, be the memory of the poet-prophet. I shall tell ofblood-curdling
battles, I shall tell of battle-lines") .20 Vergil then goes on to identify the
second half of the poemas his greater theme ( 7.44, "maius opus"). We may
therefore conclude that dicere can be used in a solemn context in which the
poet represents himself as a vates, or poet-seer, who "tells in song" the
weighty theme of war. Ovid's preference of dicere to canere at the beginning
of theMetamorphoses may be dictated by the fact that theAeneid begins with
"cano." Ovid chooses the epic variant "dicere;' with which Vergil begins the
second half of his poem. Conversely, the Fasti follows the pattern of the
opening of theAeneid: "I shall sing the times together with their causes"
(F. r.1-2, "Tempora cum causis ... canam"; cf. Prop. 4.1.69). TheMeta-
morphoses and Fasti together represent the two different possibilities for an
epic beginning. 21
Ovid's use of the verb "tell" can be traced back to the invocations of
Muses by the early Greek epic poets, and specifically to the first line of the
Odyssey: "Avopa JlOt evvEnE, Moucra ("Tell me, Muse, of the man"). Here
the verb "tell" is used instead of"sing;' striking a variation on the first line of
the Iliad: Mfivtv aEtOE, Scá ("Sing, goddess, the wrath") .22 These and
others instances in Greek epic show that there is little significant stylistic
difference between the verbs aEÍOEtV ("sing'') and EVVÉ1tEtV ("tell") .23 The
same might be said for the pair canere and dicere in Roman epic. Ovid's
usage supports this conclusion; he employs dicere side by side with canere in
the context of singing to the accompaniment of a lyre. 24 InMetamorphoses 5,
the Muse Calliope introduces her hymn to Ceres: "illa canenda mihi est;
utinam modo dicere possim 1 carmina digna dea" (5.344-45, "She must be
hymned by me; would that I were able to utter hymns worthy of the god-
dess"). InMetamorphoses 1 o, Orpheus, son of Calliope, commences his own
song: "Iovis est mihi saepe postestas 1 dicta prius: cecini plectro graviore
Gigantas" ( 10.149-50, "Often before has the power of Jupiter been the
subject of my poetry: I have sung the Giants with a heavier plectrum"). In
the story-world of theMetamorphoses, the singers Calliope and Orpheus use
canere and dicere to designate the same form of utterance. Given Ovid's
representation of these singers within the poem, it is likely that we should
regard his use of the verb dicere as a properly elevated expression that is
compatible with the epic mode of singing.
As we have already seen, Ovid characterizes the Metamorphoses as a
carmen perpetuum ( 1 .4), which suggests that it is going to be the perfor-
mance of a song like that of Calliope and Orpheus. However, the word
44 Chapter2
carmen is ambiguous because it can also refer to written verse. This brings
us to the complicated question of the relationship between singing and
writing in Augustan poetry. According to one school of thought, a poet
"singing" must be regarded as a conventional cliché for composing written
poetry. 25 Is this the case with Ovid's Metamorphoses? Is the orality of dicere
and carmen merely the residue of poetic convention left over from a tradi-
tion that has shifted from ·oral performance to the essentially private me-
dium of writing and reading? Obviously Ovid's carmen perpetuum is a writ-
ten artifact, and readers since the Augustan age have approached it as such.
Even Ovid treats the poem as a text in the Tristia. On two occasions he
identifies the poem by the number of its book-rolls: "ter quinque volu-
mina" (Tr. I.I.II7; 3.14.19). He also asks pardon for the text's uncorrected
and unfinished state ( cf. Tr. I.I.II7-2o; I.?.II-40). Yet, the question to
raise is whether Ovid invites us to play an audience that is present at the
poem's performance. Are we expected to accept the fiction of the poem's
orality? What evidence is there to support the thesis that the communicative
fiction of the Metamorphoses is oral and not written? And what difference
does this distinction make?
The absence of explicit, self-conscious remarks about the textuality of
the Metamorphoses is one of the features that distinguishes it from Ovid's
elegiac works. Especially striking is the difference between theMetamorpho-
ses and the Fasti, the two works that invite closest comparison. We have
already seen that the poet of the Fasti begins by singing his theme ("ca-
nam'') . The pose as a singer, however, is not consistent. In his rededication
of the poem to Germanicus, Ovid takes up an explicitly textual mode of
communication, reflecting his absence as an exiled poet. 26 He indicates that
the prince will read often about his father and grandfather in the work (F.
1..1o, "saepe tibi pater est, saepe legendus avus"). What is more, Ovid
imagines the book itself shaking ( 1.19, "pagina ... movetur") beneath
Germanicus's critica! gaze ("iudicium docti"): it is as if he sent Apollo the
text to read ( 1.20, "ut Clario miss a legenda deo"). 27 The comparison of
Germanicus to Apollo is a well-chosen compliment in that it plays on·the
prince's own expertise in learned poetry as well as on his imperial creden-
tials for divine inspiration (Fantham 1985: 248-49; Newlands 1995: 54).
The analogy to Apollo Clarius may also be understood as an allusion to that
god's programmatic appearance in Callimachus's Aetia prologue, where
Callimachus met with Apollo 0cius when he first took his tablets on his
knee (Aet. fr. 1.21-22) .28 If Ovid is referring to this passage, which seems
probable given the fact that the Fasti is explicitly modeled on theAetia, then
The Fiction ofViva-Voce Performance 45
he is making Germanicus his Apolline poetic authority for the writing of his
poem. 29 Reference to this passage of theAetia is made again when the poet
introduces his theophanic interview with Janus. He represents himself as
equipped with writing tablets (F. 1.93, "sumptis ... tabellis") when Janus
visits his house ( 1.94, "lucidior visa est, quam ante fuit, domus").
As a poetic version of the Julian calendar, Ovid's Fasti was based on one
of the most familiar written documents displayed publicly in Rome and
local Italian cities. In particular, it was indebted to the Fasti Praenestini
composed by Verrius Flaccus, which may have circulated in a literary form
before it was published on great marble tablets in the forum of Praeneste
after A. D. 6. 30 At the beginning of the Fasti, Ovid invites comparison of his
poem with an official imperial calendar when he predicts that Germanicus's
achievements will eventually be added to "the honors of the Caesars mark-
ing the painted calendar" ( 1.11-12, "pictos signantia fastos ¡ . . . prae-
mia"). Here and throughout the poem, Ovid exploits the tension between
his calendar and the official calendar.
Sorne scholars seek to downplay Ovid's reliance on calendars. Carole
E. Newlands, for example, claims that the narrator's references to ancient
calendars are vague and unspecific ( 199 5: 66) . Yet the poet can also be quite
precise. When introducing March as the third month ( the first month in
the pre-Julian calendar), he invites his reader to notice that the month of
Mars did not hold the place of honor in the Alban, Faliscan, Hernician,
Arician, Laurentian, Aequian, Sabine, and Paelignian calendars ( 3.87-96).
Newlands also suggests that Ovid's divine informants do not live up to the
standard of the well-read Muse of the Hellenistic poets. However, in Book
6, Juno shows that she is "well read" in calendrical matters ( 6.59-63). She
directs the poet to consult the calendars of Aricia, Laurentum, Lanuvium,
Tibur, and Praeneste, the last of which must be a reference to the famous
calendar ofVerrius.
Alessandro Barchiesi takes a more difficult position. He alleges that the
poem has no intention of being confused with the "Fasti" from which it
takes its title. As he puts it, "Only gradually does the poem reveal that its
title is 'fasti'- in fact this will only be explicitly stated outside of the poem
(Tr. 2.549)" (1994: 93 = 1997a: 104). Barchiesi then quotes the negative
purpose clause "lest I be compelled to break off the thread of things" (F.
1.62, "ne seriem rerum scindere cogar" ) to illustrate the poet's departure
from calendrical order: "right from the beginning Ovid carefully avoids
breaking up his poetic narrative with too many dates." The passage that
Barchiesi quotes, however, is specifically concerned with the "black days"
 Chapter 2
(dies atri) following the Kalends, Nones, and Ides of each month. These
days were associated with military defeats and hence were taboo for public
and private business (religiosi). 31 Ovid states that his remarks about these
days apply to the calendar as a whole so that he may avoid breaking off his
discourse later in the poem ( 1.61-62, "haec mihi dicta semel, totis haeren-
tia fastis, 1 ne seriem rerum scindere cagar") . This is as it should be, for
"black days" usually are not indicated in the Roman calendar (Michels
1967= 63). Why then does Ovid mention them at all? The answer to this
question seems to be that Verrius Flaccus's calendar (Fasti Praenestini) had
notes on January 2, 6, and 14 that explained the character of black days for
the whole year (Michels 1967: 6 3 n. 9) .
Given these contexts, a different set of conclusions from Barchiesi's
becomes available. First, Ovid refers immediately, not gradually, to his
poemas "fasti" at r.61 ("totis ... fastis"). Second, there is nothing in Ovid's
statement that implies dissociation from the calendrical Fasti. Rather, the
poet seems to be explaining to Germanicus, who must be assumed to have
the authoritative calendar ofVerrius Flaccus, why there will be a departure
from Verrius on January 2, 6, and 14. Finally, Ovid's desire not to break off
his discourse for "black days" may be a playful reference to the fact that on
these days "people are not supposed to start anything new'' (Varro, DLL
6.29, "Dies postridie Kalendas, Nonas, Idus appellati atri quod per eos dies
nihil novi inciperent''). H Ovid is beginning his poem, then it might not be
auspicious for him to have an entry for his new poem on January 2, when
nothing new is supposed to be initiated. Ovid certainly has no intention of
avoiding "black days" in the months after January. In fact, he exploits nine
out of the next :fifteen dates for a variety of purposes: astronomical and
meteorological notices ala Afatus (2.73-78; 3.711-12; 4.165-78; 4.625-
26; 5.159-82; 6.197-98); annalistic mentions of Caesarian victories at
Thapsus and Mutina ( 4.377-86; 4.627-28); an aetion for the constellation
of Ariadne's crown ( 3.459-5 r 6) ; an aetiological interview with Flora about
the Floralia, which was postponed from the end of April to the open slot of
May 2 ( 5.18 3-3 78); and, finally, the narrator's request for advice about the
marriage ofhis daughter ( 6.219-34). Clearly, Ovid was not averse to break-
ing up his narrative with the "black days" of the calendar.
Ovid's concern with the format of the calendar is evinced in other
ways, too. Andrew Wallace-Hadrill remarks: "Ovid deliberately sets about.
making his poem sound reminiscent of Verrius. Just as the scholar had his
calendar inscribed on twelve separate monthly tablets, Ovid assigns one
book per month. Any contemporary seeing Ovid's new poem would find an
The Fiction ofViva-Voce Performance 47
image vividly evoked of the sort of public monument he would meet in the
forum at Praeneste, and doubtless too at Rome" ( 1987: 227; cf. Herbert-
Brown 1994: 26). One point where theFasti's textuality comes into focus is
at the end of the first two books ( cf. F. r. 72 3-34; 2. 86 3-64) . The poet
draws attention to the fact that his poem is divided into books and that the
end of the month coincides with the end of the book-roll. 32 Similarly, at the
beginning of the second book the poet prays that the book may proceed as
the month does ( 2. 1-2). H Wallace-Hadrill is right about Ovid's reliance
on Verrius, the allusion to the coincidence of book-roll with month also
may be an allusion to the format of Verrius's calendar which reserved a
tablet for each month.
Ovid is also attentive to the divisions of time "marked" on the calendar
( 2. 7, "signataque tempora fastis") . Each day has its place ( locus), and the
poet even comments upon the calendrical abbreviations that designate the
nature of the day ( cf. 3.429; 5. 727; 6.649) . Sometimes he authenticates his
version of the calendar by reporting verbatim what he finds in the official
calendar ( 1.289). Other times, however, he distances his poem from the
official calendar; for example, Ovid unrolled his official calendar three or
four times ( r.657, "terque quaterque evolvi signantes tempora fastos")
without locating the "Day of Sowing'' ( r.658, "nec Sementiva est ulla
reperta dies"). ·He then learns from an unnamed Muse that this day is a
movable feast ( 1.657-62). One of the most striking signs of the Fasti's
textual format is the occurrence of explicit cross-references directing the
reader from one day to another. 33 For example, the poet reports that the
calendar he is consulting has a place for the Agonia on May 21, but he tells
his reader to go back to January 1 to find out about the festival ( 5. 721-22) .
It has been suggested that Ovid is avoiding self-repetition, but could he be
humorously suggesting that the reader start reading the year all over again?
It is generally held that Ovid's appeal to sources is only a veneer and his
more usual procedure is to invoke a divinity to explain the cause of a
particular Roman festival. 34 Indeed, the poet-narrator conducts interviews
with all manner of informants, both human and divine. This dialogic di-
mension of the Fasti raises the question of how oral and written sources of
inspiration are to be integrated or reconciled. The Fasti's mixing of these
modes clearly owes something to the Aetia, which stages a. dialogue be-
tween the poet and the Muses (Books 1-2) and relies upon written testi-
mony (fr. 75 .53-56; 92.2-3). It is beyond the bounds of my argument to
explore the complex interplay between orality and textuality in the Fasti. 35
M y point is that Ovid, quite apart from the oral dimension of his interviews
 Chapter 2
with various authorities, also represents his poem as a written artifact mod-
eled on the written Roman calendar.
I have dwelt at sorne length on the signs of textuality in the Fasti. M y
reason for doing sois to establish a foil for theMetamorphoses, in which none
of these signs is found. In the latter work, the poet-narrator does not in-
scribe himself as a writer or his audience as a reader. At no point does he an-
nounce that the end of a book is coming, or that a new book is beginning. 36
The poet's silence about book boundaries is an epic convention. It arguably
originates from the fact that Homeric epic initially was not divided into
books and should, at one level, be conceived of as one continuous utterance.
Just as the Ovidian narrator does not speak about his own text, he does not
call attention to the mechanics of his own research. On no occasion does he
say that he has found a given story in a mythographical handbook, the way
that Callimachus cites Xenomedes in the Aetia. It might be pointed out,
however, that Ovid makes references to his sources through phrases such as
dicitur ("it is said")) fertur ("it is said") , ferunt ("they say'') , memorant
("they say''), and fama est ("the story is"). Scholars call these phrases ''Alex-
andrian footnotes;' as though the poet were employing a textual means of
authenticating his story. 37 Yet many of these references to tradition are
based upon the conventions of oral communication and can be traced back
to archaic poetry, long befare there were Alexandrians or footnotes. 38
Programmatic allusions at the beginning of theMetamorphoses suggest
further that Ovid presents himself as a singer and not a writer. He begins
the narrative proper with a description of chaos. Here he alludes to the
beginning of the song of Orpheus in the A13onautica of Apollonius Rho-
dius (Met. r. 5-6~A13. r .496-97), the context of which may be relevant to
Ovid's own undertaking. Apollonius reports how Orpheus sings to lyre
accompaniment so as to quiet the quarrel between the Argonauts Idas and
Idmon. His song is a cosmogony and theogony whose progress from the
primordial conflict of elements to the order of Zeus "parallels and pro-
motes" the reconciliation of the Argonauts (Brown 1989: 324). Ovid's
allusion to this scene hints that his own poem is to be compared with the
performance of the ideal singer of nature who is able to cast a spell over his
listeners. 39
Ovid was, of course, not the first to imitate the song of Orpheus in this
way. Vergil reinterpreted Apollonius's poetic ideal in the song of Silenus,
thereby exemplifying the mode of the carmen deductum in the sixth Eclogue
(3r-8r). But the song of Silenus is tied toa different sort of occasion than
that of the song of Orpheus. Two shepherds, Chromis and Mnasyllos, come
The Fiction ofViva-Voce Performance 49
u pon Silenus drunk and asleep in a cave ( r 3- r 7) . They bind the senex with
his garlands in the hope of redeeming an unfulfilled promise of song ( r8-
I9). This sylvan comedy is based loosely on an old tradition that Silenus
was a figure of wisdom who would reveal the secrets of nature when cap-
tured. Vergil thus depicts the drunken woodland seer as a primitive poet
who communicates his knowledge in a song that ranges from scientific
cosmogony to myths of love and metamorphosis- a model in miniature
for Ovid'sMetamorphoses. As Silenus sings, the Fauns and wild beasts dance
and the trees shake (27-30): the carmen deductum is thus accompanied by a
form of mstic ballet. If Ovid alludes to this tradition of Orpheus and Si-
lenus at the beginning of his work, it seems reasonable to conclude that
when he calls his poem a song, he intends it to be understood as such.
One final thematic argument can be made for viewing the narrating
instance of theMetamorphoses in terms of viva-voce performance. The poem,
as everyone knows, is deeply concerned with the act of storytelling. The
Ovidian narrator frequently relates a story in which another story is told by
one of the characters. This technique of inset narrative involves roughly
forty interna! narrators and sixty episodes over the course of the Metamor-
phoses. One-third of the poem's narrative is thus occupied with oral com-
munication between characters in the story-world. These interna! narrating
instances are far removed from the medium of reading and writing; they
consist, rather, of the various socia.J. situations that motivate individuals to
exchange stories that they have heard or witnessed themselves. Ovid's dra-
matization of storytelling does not, of course, prove in itself that the primary
narrator is himself engaging an audience of listeners. At intervals in his
poem, however, the poet reflects on his own art by introducing the singers
Calliope (5.338-66r) and Orpheus (ro.86-738), who perform songs like
the Metamorphoses itself to lyre· accompaniment. 40 There is no evidence to
suggest that the Ovidian narrator is singing to the accompaniment of the
lyre- in this respect, he observes a distinction found in Homeric poetry. On
the one hand, the Homeric narrator tells of bards who perform with the
lyre; on the other, he does not refer to his own mode of performance. It is
possible that by Homer's time singing epic to the lyre was antiquated, and
that the bard performed with a staff instead. The initiation of Hesiod in the
Theogony supports this view, for it is the staff rather than the lyre that the
Muses give to him as the sign of his calling. Although Ovid is not an oral
poet, and probably had no conception of what modern scholars mean by
oral poetics, he does imitate features of the narrating instance in Homeric or
Hesiodic epic- conventions of communication between poet and audience
 50 Chapter 2
that originated in a performance context. One of these conventions is to be
discreet about the circumstances of performance.
It _mi?ht be objected that there are a number of examples of writing or
textuali~ m the poem that allude to the poem's written status. The weaving .
compen~o~ between Minerva and Arachne, for example, is often adduced
as a meditanon on poetic composition. N ot only are the tapestries texts but
they concretize the poet's own metaphor for the creation of his work- Ovid
be~ins the poem, as we have already seen, with the metaphor of sp~ing,
whic~ e~ be extended to weaving ( 1.4, "deducite ... carmen") .41 Yet his
~escnpnon of the tapestries falls solidly within the epic domain. He con-
nnu~s a tradition of epic ecphrasis exemplified by the Homeric shield of
Achilles, the Apollonian cloak of Jasan, and the Vergilian shield of Aeneas.
To. be sur~, each of these ecphrases may allude to the epic's status as a
wntten arnfact, but the description of a work of art does not necessitate that
the epic's narrating instance is written. 42 This point may be extended to the
poet's report and representation of written texts. The presence of writing in
~e sto.ry-world of theMetamorphoses does not make the narrating instance
mconsis.tent. Quite the opposite, examples of writing in the Metamorphoses
hav~ an rm?ortant contrastive function and can tell us more about the poet's
chmce to smg ( cf. Lowrie 1997: 6o).
Writing in theMetamorphoses
The poem's first representation of writing is a witty anachronism. Io cannot
speak because she has been transformed into a cow. In an attempt to com-
municate wi.th her father, Inachus, she traces the letters of her mercifully
short ~~e ~ the sand: "littera pro verbis, quam pes in pulvere duxit, 1
corpons mdicium mutati triste peregit'' ( L649-50, "Her foot drew letters
in the dust as a substitute for speech and made available the sad evidence of
her changed body"). Io's clever use of writing, however does not achieve
its desired effect. Inachus does not rejoice in the recogniti~n ofhis long-lost
daughter, much less take pity on her misfortune. Instead, he complains that
she has lost the power of speech:
"retices nec mutua nostris
dicta refers, alto tantum suspiria ducis
pectore, quodque unum potes, ad mea verba remugis.''
(Met. I.655-57)
The Fiction ofViva-Voce Performance 5I
[''You are silent and you do not answer what I say with shared lan-
guage; you only draw sighs from the depth of your breast, and it is
only in your power to moa back at my words.'']
Even though lo can write her name in the dust, Inachus does not acknowl-
edge her writing as a viable substitute for oral communication. On the
contrary, he interprets her silence as a sign that she is no longer fully "hu-
man.'' In this early episode of the Metamorphoses, writing functions as a
token of recognition, but the spoken word remains the privileged mode.
Later in the poem, when the history of the world has progressed to the
stories of heroes and heroines, another woman loses the power of speech
and is forced to use letters instead of spoken words. The barbarous Tereus
cuts out the tongue of Philomela, in order to prevent her from telling the
world how he raped her and sinned against her sister- his wife, Procne
( 6.549-62). Philomela, cultured Athenian princess that she is, manages
to communicate with her sister Procne by weaving a written account of
the crime: "purpereasque notas filis intexuit albis, 1 indicium sceleris"
( 6.577-78, "and she wove purple letters on white threads as evidence of the
crime") .43 Procne unrolls this web as though it were a book-roll ("evolvit
vestes") and "reads the piteous tale of her own misfortune" ( 6.582, "for-
tunaeque suae carmen miserabile legit''). Contrary to expectation, she falls
silent ( 6.583, "et (mirum potuisse) silet''). Grief prevents her from speak-
ing ( 6.583, "dolor ora repressit''). Although her tongue seeks words, none
are sufficiently indignant ( 6.584-85, "verbaque quaerenti satis indignantia
linguae 1 defuerunt"). The momentary personification of Procne's mute
tongue pointedly recalls Philomela's own severed tongue, which murmured
vainly into the earth ( 6.558, "terraeque tremens inmurmurat atrae"). The
sequence of communication between Philomela and Procne dramatizes well
the composition and reception of a text. U nlike the earlier scene involving
lo and Inachus, writing proves to be a very effective means of communica-
tion when the normal channel of oral communication is blocked. In addi-
tion to conveying information, Philomela's message stimulates a powerful
empathetic response in the recipient, who "literally'' experiences the mute-
ness of the sender. What is more, writing empowers Philomela to direct her
sister secretly in a "Bacchic" conspiracy against Tereus, complete with infan-
ticide and cannibalism. Philomela's use of writing is, therefore, a sign of
abnormal communication- a sign that speech has been silenced and must
be kept silent.
Procne's reading of Philomela's text raises an important question.
52 Chapter2
Does she read aloud or silently? This was probably not an issue in Sopho-
cles's tragedy Tereus, the definitive Greek version of the myth, which Ovid
doubtless knew ( Otis 1970: 406). Ancient authorities indicate that the
Sophoclean Philomela wove her tale in pictures ( cf. Bomer onMet. 6.582).
By contrast, Ovid's Philomela weaves her tale in letters, probably following
a variant in his sources ( cf. Apollod. 3. 194) . What is striking about these
notae is that Procne reads them as a "carmen miserabile." Sorne commenta-
tors have drawn attention to the magical connotations of carmen, and sug-
gest that the message borders on being a "spell.'' If this is the case, then
Procne must read aloud or "incant'' Philomela's "carmen" in arder to actí-
vate the magical properties of the language. It would therefore be wrong to
assume with Otis ( 1970: 409) that Procne's reading and silence is a "transi-
tion from one silence to another.'' Quite the opposite, Procne reads the
words of her sister aloud, and then becomes speechless.
While I am not sure how far one can push the magical properties of
Philomela's "carmen miserabile;' a more obvious reading of this phrase
o:ffers itself. Philomela has composed a "pitiable poem.'' The association of
her writing with poetry and song receives further support from a significant
allusion. "Carmen miserabile" echoes Vergil, who uses the words "mis-
erabile carmen" ( G. 4.514) for the song of the nightingale whom he identi-
fies as "philomela" ( G. 4.5II). Now the Sophoclean version of the myth
makes Procne the nightingale, who mourns for the death of her son Itys,
and Philomela the mutilated swallow, whose voice is tuneless and twitter-
ing (Forbes Irving 1990: 249). Roman writers ( and their commentators)
usually reverse the transformations, making Philomela the nightingale;
they even identify her as the mother ofitylus or Itys. Vergil's text may tell us
why. The name Philomela may be understood as "lover of songs" and hence
more appropriate for the nightingale. Although this etymology is not dis-
cussed by O'Hara ( 1996a), I would venture that Vergil associates the name
ofPhilomela with the singing of the nightingale through the etymologizing
phrase "miserabile carmen" (Gr. melos = carmen) .
Ovid's surgically precise reference to the nightingale's song in Vergil's
Geor;gics has a number of implications. First, it foreshadows the eventual
transformation of Philomela and Procne into birds. It may also subtly cor-
rect Vergil by hinting that Procne is the proper nightingale. Be this as it
may, Kenney ( 1986: xxviii and 413) rightly observes that Ovid does not
specify later which sister becomes which bird in the transformation scene,
thereby refiecting the confiict between Greek and Roman traditions. Ovid's
own reticence about specifying which sister becomes the nightingale could
The Fiction ofViva-Voce Performance 53
be relevant to our interpretation of "carmen miserabile." That is, if the
phrase suggests the nightingale's song, which sister is responsible for the
"carmen miserabile"? Does it refer to Philomela's written voice orto Pro-
cne's reading? Or does Philomela, who is unable to speak, realize her voice
through her sister's reading? Alternatively, does Philomela provide Procne
with the script for her song? The dramatization of Philomela's writing and
Procne's reading results in the breakdown of distinctions between the two
sisters. Procne is her sister's avenging Fury ( 6.586, 589, 595), and Phi-
lomela is an accomplice in the former's culinary vengeance.
What inferences can be drawn about the relationship between Ovid's
narrative and the weaving of Philomela? To start with, Philomela uses
writing as a substitute for speech. Second, when read aloud, her written
words evoke the song of the nightingale. They also cause Procne to empa-
thize with her sister's mute condition and turn her into a Fury. This myth
of writing and reading, of composition and reception, may implicitly re-
vea! sorne of Ovid's attitudes toward his own "carmen" as a text that en-
acts transformations in its reader. The use of writing by Philomela, how-
ever, is specifically a device to overcome Tereus's attempts to silence her
voice.
Our last example of a writer in the Metamorphoses is a woman in lave
who, though able to deliver two dramatic soliloquies, cannot speak directly
to her beloved. The impediment to direct speech is the unspeakable nejas of
incest. Byblis has conceived a passsion for her brother Caunus that shame
prevents her from uttering openly (9.515, "pudor oratenebit''). She writes
him a love-letter instead, hoping that the folded wax tablets will conceal her
passion (9.516; cf. 9-573, "latentia verba"). Although the story of Byblis is
traditional, her act of letter-writing is an Ovidian invention, which enables
the poet to incorporare aHeroides-style epistle within theMetamorphoses. In
fact, Byblis's letter is closelymodeled onHeroides 11, which is an incestuous
letter written by Canace to her brother Macareus on a roll of papyms. It has
been well observed that Byblis is a likely candidate to write an epistle be-
cause her name sounds like the Greek word for book ( biblos) .44 Ovid's
purpose, however, is not simply to exemplify the Heroides in the Meta-
morphoses. As Tissol observes ( 1997: 42-52), Ovid introduces writing into
his narrative to dramatize the paradoxes of Byblis's passion through the
tension between spoken and written forms of communication.
In contrast to the implications of her name, Byblis does not inscribe
her love-letter on papyms. In this respect she di:ffers from her counterpart
Canace in the Heroides, who writes on a papyms roll (Her. 11.2, "libellus";
 54 Chapter2
4, "charta soluta"). The choice of wax is a suitable medium for representing
the mutability of Byblis's mind as she seeks to find the right words for her
incestuous lave.
Incipit et dubitat; scribit damnatque tabellas;
et notat et delet; mutat culpatque probatque
inque vicem sumptas ponit positasque resumit.
(Met. 9.523-25)
[S he begins and wavers; she writes and curses the tablets; she writes
again and erases; she makes a change, and blames and approves; alter-
nately she lays down the tablets after she has picked them up and picks
them up after she has laid them down.]
After Byblis tortuously commits her feelings to wax, the whole exercise in
amatory persuasion amounts to nothing because Caunus angrily throws
away the letter without reading it to the end ( 9. 574-75) . Byblis then wishes
that she had made her case in person befare Caunus, which would have
enabled" her to take advantage of her physical presence (9.601-9). Byblis's
failure in writing forms a sharp contrast with the efficacy of Philomela's
weaving. But it is not writing per se that is at fault. Rather it is the inap-
propriateness of Byblis's message and her reader's unreceptiveness to that
message.
Byblis's act of writing can, of course, be read metapoetically. Ovid's
portrayal of the heroine's difficulties in writing evokes the painstaking pro-
cess of poetic composition and indeed the self-criticism enjoined by Horace
in the Ars Poetica. Moreover, the rejection of Byblis's text by Caunus fur-
nishes a lesson in the "vulnerability" of the text when the author is absent
from the reader (Tissol 1997: 48). As we have already seen, Ovid himself
expresses anxiety about the text of the Metamorphoses while in exile and
wonders whether anyone is reading it (Tr. 3.14.23-24). Similarities be-
tween Ovid's epic persona and Byblis should not be overstated, however.
Byblis is a heroine suited to Ovid's elegiac oeuvre (Holzberg 1997a: 141-
42), even if her epistle is written in hexameters. More important, her act of
writing stands as a marked deviation from the epic norms of dramatic
speech. Byblis's pudor tells her that her passion is unspeakable, so she resorts
to the concealment offered by wax tablets folded together and sealed. But as
The Fiction ofViva-Voce Performance 55
Tissol slyly suggests, "Had she, like Myrrha, enjoyed the services of a nurse,
her outcome might have been different?' Ovid's inclusion of Byblis's letter-
writing is ultimately less a comment on his own art than it is an objective
correlative for the failure of communication and the frustration of an un-
voiced lave.
Another form of writing that occurs in Ovid's carmen perpetuum is
inscription. Inscriptions differ from the preceding examples in that they are
intended to be permanent. During the course of the Metamorphoses, the
poet records three stone inscriptions, each of which he identifies as a "car-
men" or "breve carmen.'' They include the epitaph set up by the nymphs of
Hesperia for Phaethon (2.327-28); a dedication of gifts to Isis by Iphis
(9. 794); and the epitaph of Aeneas's nurse Caieta ( 14.443-44). The first
example supports the trend that writing is associated with women in the
Metamorphoses; here one might also compare Alcyone's desire for a funerary
inscription that joins her name with Ceyx's ( 11. 706-7). N or does the case
of Iphis diverge from the pattern of gendered writing that we have been
tracing; the hoy discharges a dedication that he vowed as a girl. The last
instance of a stone inscription is the written voice of Caieta, who states that
Aeneas not only saved her from the fire of Troy but celebrated her funeral
rites by cremating her with a proper fire. The majority of inscriptions in the
Metamorphoses are associated with death; hence the desire to commemorate
the dead eternally through the permanence of writing. This is also true of
the botanic inscription of the letters Al Al, the Greek cry of woe, on the
hyacinth. In the song of Orpehus, we learn that Apollo inscribes his own la-
ment for Hyacinthus on the fiower's petals; these same letters are also asso-
ciated with the name of Ajax ( 10.206-8; 10.215-16; 13.397-98). Apollo's
inscription is the most striking exception to the rule of gendered writing in
theMetamorphoses. 45 The detail may be traditional, but it should be pointed
out that the inscription for Hyacinthus is meant to be nota substitute for
oral remembrance but rather its complement. In fact, in his eulogy, Apollo
says first that Hyacinthus will always be on his lips and the subject ofhis
song ( 10.204-5, "semper eris mecum memorique haerebis in ore. 1 te lyra
pulsa manu, te carmina nostra sonabunt") .
The ultimate example of writing in theMetamorphoses is the monumen-
tal record of fate. In the final episode of the poem, Venus wishes to prevent
the assassination of Julius Caesar. Jupiter intervenes and tells her that she
cannot change the dictates of fate. She can visit the house of the three Fates
herself and read what they have written:
 Chapter 2
"cernes illic molimine vasto
ex aere et solido rerum tabulada ferro,
quae neque concussum caeli neque fulminis iram
nec metuunt ullas tuta atque aeterna ruinas:
invenies illic incisa adamante perenni
fata tui generis. legi ipse animoque notavi
et referam, ne sis etiamnum ignara futuri.''
(Met. 15.809-15)
[''You will see there the archive of universal records in a huge building
made out of bronze and salid iron; safe and eternal, it fears neither the
shaking of the sky nor the anger of the thunderbolt nor any ruin; you
will find there the fates of your family inscribed in everlasting adamant.
I myself have read them and noted them clown in my mind and will
report them to you, so that you are not ignorant even now of the
future.'']
Here we are supposed to remember Jupiter's speech to Venus in the first
book oftheAeneid (1.257-96). Ovid elaborates upon the Vergilian refer-
ence to the "book" of fate: "fabor enim, quando haec te cura remordet, 1
longius et volvens fatorum arcana movebo" ( 1.261-62, "for I shall speak at
greater length, since this anxiety gnaws at you, and unroll and express the
secrets ofthe fates"). Commentator R. G. Austin ( 1971: 102) notes that the
word "volvens" probably is a metaphor for the unrolling of a book, but it
might mean no more than "turning over in the mind.'' Ovid's imitation tells
us that the former sense of "volvens" must be valid. His Jupiter transforms
Vergil's metaphorical book into the fantasy of an indestructible, monumen-
tal office of public records in which the documents of Fate are stored on
imperishable adamant.
However, Ovid is not simply '~outdoing'' Vergil. Jupiter's description
also must be related to the ecphrasis of the House of Fama (12.39-63),
which represents poetic tradition and authority in terms of the hazards of
oral communication. In contrast to fama, the Ovidian Jupiter authenticates
the truth ofJata on the grounds that he read these words in texts that are
absolutely immutable. What is more, he transcribed the text ("notavi") in
his memory. This means that Jupiter's prophecies of the apotheosis ofJulius
Caesar and the achievements of Augustus are represented as a written text
that is recited. Don Fowler ( 1997: 10) makes Ovid's Jupiter the male reader
The Fiction ofViva-Voce Performance 57
and male author of Fate in a male fantasy of closure. But why cannot the
Fates be the authors of the text over which they preside? Such a suggestion
meshes with the pattern of women writers that we have traced throughout
the poem. The Fates themselves do not speak despite the etymological
connection between Jata and fari ( "to speak") .46 Rather they must be read
by Jupiter, who is their spokesman.
This model oftext and reader clearly has import for the recitation of
Ovid's poem. In his epilogue, Ovid refers to his own work as invulnerable
tó the elemental forces and the ravages oftime (15.871-72). The associa-
tion between Ovid's poem and the adamantine tablets of fate is certainly
available, but there are important differences. The text that Jupiter re-
members is an inscription that eulogizes the Caesars upon their respective
deaths. Like the Res Gestae, or a funeral monument, it is an elaborate
epitaph-a substitute for the absence of the dead or deified (cf. 15.870,
"faveatque precantibus absens!"). In these circumstances, the reading of
fate is as closural as death. However, this sort of monumentality should not
be confused with Ovid's own act of narrating, which is associated with the
living voice,fama, and a world of change. Anyone who has participated in
the poem from beginning to end knows that the poet's continuous perfor-
mance dramatizes an unpredictable and changing world in which scripts are
constantly changing or subject to destruction. Jupiter's appeal to the au-
thority of a written text, which is invulnerable to change, departs from the
poem's norms and alludes to precisely the kind of work that Ovid has not
presented. Arguably, the poet- fioats the image of textuality, implicitly ac-
knowledging the "reality'' of writing, fixity, and the material permanence of
his work. Yet, in the end, he favors the eternity of song that lives on through
the voice of the people. 4 7
From this survey ofwriting in theMetamorphoses, it should be evident
that this form of communication is introduced in special circumstances that
deviate from the norm. More often than not, the act of writing is associated
with women, the loss of speech, and memorializing the dead. That writing
may be marked as feminine in the Metamorphoses is subtly revealed in the
tale of Iphis told by Vertumnus to Pomona in Book 14. Iphis vainly sends
his beloved Anaxarete love-letters ( 14.707). But this Iphis is hardly the
paragon of masculinity; his name is appropriate for a girl and evokes an
earlier Iphis who was a girl disguised as a boy. 48 Furthermore, when Iphis's
courtship of Anaxarete fails, he commits suicide in the typical manner of a
heroine: he hangs himself ( cf. Rem. 6oo-6o6). Much in this tale suggests
that Iphis is the archetypal elegiac lover ( cf. Myers 1994b: 238-39), but the
58 Chapter2
mention of Iphis's love-letters also invites comparison with Byblis and
Ovid's epistolary heroines.
To explore the implications of gendered writing in the Metamorphoses
would exceed the confines of this study, but I conclude from the evidence
reviewed here that the poet represents writing as a "marked" activity that is
distinct from his own utterance. He aims to "tell in song" the history of the
world to as wide an audience as possible. In this regard, he associates his
mode of speech more closely with the inspired prophecy of the vates ( cf.
15.879, "siquid habent veri vatum praesagia"). Such speech, it should be
observed, is not overtly gendered. Yet one must consider that the narrator's
own fiction of speech is ironic, for the implied writer of the Metamorphoses
must be aware of the paradox that writing is ultimately the means by which
his voice will be preserved.
Singing and Writing
We have been looking at the interplay between oral and written communi-
cation in the Metamorphoses. To understand better what the significance of
Ovid's oral fiction is, it helps to contextualize it within the Roman literary
tradition. Vergil's sixthEclogue, whose importance for theMetamorphoses is
undeniable, provides a convenient point of departure. We have already seen
that Apollo appeared to Tityrus when he was singing ("cum canerem reges
et proelia"). This moment of poetic initiation is obviously modeled on the
theophany in Callimachus's prologue to theAetia: "For, when I first placed
a tablet on my knees, Lycian Apollo said to me" (Aet. fr. 1.21-22). One of
the crucial differences between these two scenes, as FarreU ( 1991: 295)
recognizes, is that the writing tablets of Callimachus have given way to
singing. Although this detall may be a bow to the conventions of Theocri-
tean pastoral, Farrell suggests that "it derives from reflections of the poet's
craft in archaic poetry, a conception adopted by poets of all sorts in Ver-
gil's Rome.''
But why were poets in Augustan Rome representing themselves as
singers, especially when they were writers ?49 This development may appear
all the more surprising given the impact that writing had on the production
and reception of poetry in Hellenistic Greece and Republican Rome. Peter
Bing ( 1988) makes the case that Greek poetry experienced the shift from
oral culture to book culture jn the Hellenistic age, when poets first felt a
radical sense of discontinuity with the past. In the archaic and early classical
periods, non-dramatic poetry was composed primarily for public recitation
The Fiction ofViva-Voce Performance 59
and constituted what John Herington ( 1985: 3-40) terms "song culture.''
By contrast, Bing argues that Hellenistic poets began to write primarily for
readers and that poetry was largely experienced through books, as a private
act of communication ( 15, 17; cf. 20). The impetus for this new approach
to literature was the libraries of the Hellenistic world, especially the Mu-
seum of Alexandria, which raised consciousness about the importance of
books and enabled books to supersede performance as the primary reality of
verse. 5o As Bing puts it, the "'little world' of books ... assert [ s] itself as the
essential fact in the poet's life" (45). Consequently, Hellenistic poets began
to incorporate writing and reading as metaphors for the creative process.
This stands in contrast to archaic poets who conceived of themselves as
singers and composed for performance, even if they utilized writing to aid
their composition. It is only in the Hellenistic age that poets see themselves
as writers and their Muses as readers.
Bing's thesis is open to sorne objections. First, it is unclear that perfor-
mance or the signficance of performance declined. Furthermore, one may
question whether the reading of books became the dominant and most
meaningfulform of communication. 51 Here is not the place to enter into a
detailed analysis of Hellenistic poets' attitudes toward singing and writing.
I would only note that Apollonius Rhodius maintains the fiction of epic
song in theA127onautica and that Callimachus could still represent himself as
a singer. However, it is true that the Hellenistic age saw a heightened
awareness of writing and reading in the production of poetry. What is
interesting is the tension between the two forms of communication.
Self-consciousness about poetry as a written medium makes its pres-
ence felt in Rome in the opening chapters of its literary history. As early as
Plautus and Ennius, the poet is cast as a writer. In Plautus's Pseudolus, to cite
a famous case, the clever slave of the same name finds himself in the position
of having to raise money:
sed quasi poeta tabulas quom cepit sibi
quaerit quod nusquamst gentium; reperit tamen,
facit illud veri simile, quod mendacium est,
nunc ego poeta fiam.
(Plaut. Pseud. 401-404)
[But justas a poet, when he has taken his tablets to hand, seeks what is
nowhere in the world, yet finds it and makes that which is a lie look
true, now I'll become a poet.]
60 Chapter2
The slave compares himself to the poet who invents fictions with the aid of
stylus and wax tablets. One may be tempted to view this is an example of the
metatheatrical Plautus wherein slave turns playwright ( cf. Slater 1985: 126;
Lefevre 1997: 111-12). However, Farrell ( 1991: 298) makes the interesting
suggestion that Plautus is alluding to Callimachus's Aetia prologue. Bing
appropriately quotes Pseudolus in an epigraph to his first chapter on poetic
inspiration and the poet's self-image in the Hellenistic age, for it is a fine
example of how writing manifests itself in the creative process. Be this as it
may, it should be observed that Pseudolus, like his poetic counterpart,
associates writing with the creation of a script that is to be performed.
Writing does not replace performance; in fact, it has become part of perfor-
mance. If one compares theAetia passage, Apollo's injunctions about writ-
ing likewise anticipate oral performance: the poet has the option of chirp-
ing like a cicada, or braying like an ass.
Ennius, by contrast, presents a different situation. In the Annals, he
makes no pretense of being a singer, even though he claims to be Homer
himself. Rather he represents himself as a rerum scriptor ( cf. Skutsch 1985:
168), a writer of history. He calls his own literary hexameters "poemata"
(Ann. 12) instead of carmina. His purpose, according to Skutsch, was to
distinguish his work from the Carmen Belli Punici by N aevius, whose asso-
ciation with the native Italian "song culture" was outmoded. The title of
Ennius's work is itself an allusion to the annales maximi. Ennius thus associ-
ated his historical epic with a written record rather than with song. 52 In the
proem to the seventh book, he explains why he refuses to treat the history of
the First Punic War, which had been treated by Naevius: "scripsere alii
rem 1 Vorsibus quos olim Faunei vatesque canebant'' (Ann. 206-7, "Oth-
ers have written the history in verses that once u pon a time the Fauns 'and
prophet-seers used to sing"). At the same time that he passes over the First
Punic War, Ennius distances himself from the epic technique of N aevius. 53
In particular, he disparages N aevius's Saturnian verse by associating it with
uncivilized Fauns and superstitious seers. J. K. Newman (1965: 86-87)
argues further that Ennius does not use the verb canere of his own poetic
composition precisely because he wants to distinguish it from the "song'' of
the disreputable vates. On the contrary, as author of the first Roman epic in
Greek hexameters, Ennius claims to be the first who is "dicti studiosus"
(Ann. 209, "a lover of the word"), which suggests a different source of
inspiration from that of the Fauns and seers. It is now debated whether this
translation of philologos constitutes an allusion to the technique of the
scholar-poets of Alexandria. 54 It is reasonably certain, however, that Ennius
The Fiction ofViva-Voce Performance 61
drank deeply from the springs of Greek poetry, and that he was equipped
with scholarly commentaries as he read and imitated Homer. Like the
Hellenistic poets, Ennius was eager to define himself as a readerly writer.
In spite of his polemical opposition to singing and his emphasis u pon
the written quality of his work, Ennius would have doubtless expected his
work to be read aloud. Evidence for the performance of his work spans four
centuries. Suetonius opens his treatise on literary critics with the notice that
the first Roman writers- Livius Andronicus and Ennius- used to recite
what they themselves had composed (Gram.1, "si quid ipsi Latine compo-
suissent praelegebant''). Suetonius also reports that, after Crates revolu-
tionized literary studies in Rome, Q. Vargunteius recited Ennius to large
audiences (Gram. 2). As late as the Antonine period, a professional reader
known as an Ennianista could recite theAnnals from memory to a packed,
enthusiastic theater in Puteoli ( Gell. NA 18.5) . The popularity of Ennius in
performance shows that the poet's choice to represent his narrating instance
as an act of writing does not preclude the recital or enjoyment of his poetry
in performance.
The Roman poet's self-image as a writer continues to be a mark of
distinction and learning in the late Republic. When Catullus refers to the
composition of his poetry, he does not present himself as a singer or per-
former (Wiseman 1985: 124-26). His chosen medium for expression is
writing, whether it be through the well-pumiced book-roll, wax tablets, ora
sheet ofpapyrus (cf. Catull. 1, 14, 14b, 22, 35, 36, 42, 44, so, 95). Corre-
spondingly, he conceives of his recipient as a reader like himse~ who is
erudite, if not privy to the a:ffairs of the elites in Rome and Verona ( G. W.
Williams 1968: 49). One common explanation for Catullus's writerly self-
image is his high social rank. He does not seek to earn a place for himself in
society through the public performance of his poetry. His emphasis on
writing might be contrasted with the oral improvisations of professional
poets such as the Greek Archias who, at the bidding of patrons, extempo-
rized occasional verse or recited encomia in public ( cf. Cic. Arch. 18) .
It would be overly simple, however, to assert that writing excludes an
oral element to Catullus's poetry, or that poetry comes to be largely experi-
enced through reading. It is possible that Catullus recited his own poetry-
erotic and invective- in a private convivial setting. The poet's self-repre-
sentation as a writer does not rule this out; it merely means that he adopts
the fiction of communication through a written medium. In sorne of the
longer poems, the fiction of communication is hymnic or not specified.
T. P. Wiseman ( 1985: 127-29) thinks that these poems may have been
 62 Chapter 2
written for performance. The epithalamial hymns are the most obvious can-
didates for ensemble production. Wiseman also speculates that Catullus
could have performed poem 64, "The Wedding of Pdeus and Thetis;'
which contains opportunities for performance in the lament of Ariadne and
the song of the Fates. In the final analysis, however, Catullus's persona as a
writer is illustrative of the impact that the bookishness of Alexandria had on
Republican poetry.
Catullus's contemporary Lucretius, author of De Rerum Natura, also
identifies himself as a writer and represents his didactic addressee as both a
listener and a reader. At the beginning of the work, he invokes Venus to
hdp him write rather than sing: "te sociam studeo scribendis versibus esse"
(Lucr. 1.24, "I am eager that you are my ally in writing verses"). Monica
Gale (1994: 137) points out that Venus is not supposed to provide infor-
mation or inspiration, as the Muses customarily do, but is to be the poet's
" soc1a. ... '
. " or .t1ttKoupo<; ("ally'') . T he translingual pun on the name of Epi-
~urus nnplies that Venus may provide information-and inspiration after all,
masmuch as she embodies the pleasure of translating Epicurus into Latin.
Lucretius later remarks on the difficulty of translating Epicurean doctrine
~to his own impoverished language (r.r36-45), but he also reports hav-
~g spent. many pleasant nights finding the right words and poetry to en-
lighten his patron Memmius. The reference to nocturnal poetic activity
( 1.142, "noctes vigilare serenas") marks Lucretius as a poeta doctus in the
Hellen~stic mold. It also signals that the reader should give the poem the
same kind of attention in private study.
Lucretius exploits the textuality of his poem to exemplify and autho-
riz~ i~s truth. In a famous analogy, he illustrates the theory of atoms by
pomtmg to the changing combinations ofletters within his verses:
quin etiam passim nostris in versibus ipsis
multa dementa vides multis communia verbis
cum tamen inter se versus ac verba necessest '
confiteare et re et sonitu distare sonanti.
tantum dementa queunt permutato ordine solo.
at rerum quae sunt primordia, plura adhibere
possunt unde queant variae res quaeque creari.
(Lucr. 1.823-29)
[Indeed you also see here and there in my verses themsdves many
letters common to many words, when neverthdess it is necessary that
The Fiction ofViva-Voce Performance
you admit that the verses and words differ among themsdves in their
sense and sound as they are spoken. Such power have letters when
their order alone is rearranged. But the dements of things are able to
bring to bear more things, whence the variety of each thing is able to
be created.]
The striking thing about this passage is not that letters are like atoms, but
that the De Rerum Natura itself becomes a visible analogy for the universe
( Clay I 98 3: 3 3-3 5) . This is a far cry from the Plautine parody of a poet who
takes writing to be the medium of lying illusions. In Lucretius's hands, the
text itself becomes living proof of the truth of Epicurean doctrine.
What is more, the authority of Lucretius's text springs from its faithful
transcription ofEpicurus. By contrast, it questions the authority of conven-
tional oral channds of divine inspiration to which epic poets lay claim. In a
famous passage, Lucretius attacks the vates, priests and poets, who make up
dreams ( "somnia") that cause irrational terror ( r. r 02-6). The polemic
recalls Ennius's ridicule of the vates as singers. However, Lucretius also
groups Ennius with the same vates who purvey made-up dreams about the
immortality of the soul; he illustrates his point with the example of Ennius's
dream-meeting with Homer (r.r2o-26). Although Lucretius praises En-
nius, he also represents him as a singer: "Ennius ut noster cecinit'' ( r.ro7,
"Justas our Ennius sung''). We have already noted that Ennius does not use
the verb canere of his own poetry on account of its negative association with
vatic utterance. Lucretius casts Ennius as a singer because the latter propa-
gates the falsehood that he is the reincarnation of Homer (who was also a
singer) .55 In Lucretius's book, the singing vates is the enemy of truth. His
own careful translation of the teachings ofEpicurus suggests, however, that
he knows what it is to be properly "dicti studiosus.''
From the foregoing discussion, we can see that Roman poetry from its
origins was a self-consciously literary enterprise, whose practitioners vied
for the prestige that was associated with careful reading and writing. In the
Augustan age, however, a new aesthetic emerged in which poets revived the
self-image of the "singer.'' This shift has already been remarked upon in
Vergil's sixthEclogue, but it occurs in two other major texts of the period. In
the Odes, Horace styles himself a lyric singer in the tradition of Sappho,
Alcaeus, and Pindar. In the Aeneid, Vergil imitates Homer by presenting
himself as a singer inspired by the Muse. Critics since Wilamowitz have
contended that "singing'' in Augustan poetry is a dead metaphor for written
poetic composition, but this confuses the narrating instance with the act of
 Chapter2
writing or dictating. The case of Vergil best illustrates the point. The cir-
cumstances of the Vergilian narrator are fictive and presumably different
· from the conditions under which the poem was composed. When Vergil
says that he is "singing'' it would be a mistake to understand this utterance
as a figure of speech for "writing." To be sure, the flesh-and-blood Vergil
wrote or dictated theAeneid ( cf. Donat. Vtt. Ve12J. 22-24), but the fi.ction of
narration that he adopts is not the same as the act of composition.
Sorne may point out that Vergil would not have actually sung his
poetry but merely recited it. Such an objection is of little consequence.
Professional rhapsodes did not sing; they recited verse in a stylized form of
speech that had "a certain incantatory quality, above the level of ordinary
colloquial utterance but well below the level of song.''56 Classical writers
thought of Homer as just such a rhapsode, and considered the epic poet to
be more akin toan actor than toa singer. It is likely that Vergil and those
members of his audience who frequented Greek cities would have been
acquainted with this tradition of epic performance, for which there is in-
scriptional evidence as late as the third century A. D. (West 1996). Given the
reviva! of public performance in Rome, one should not dismiss the "sing-
ing'' ofVergil as hollow convention. If anything, the new social significance
of poetry in Rome gave credibility to the fiction of "singing.'' In pointed
contrast to the self-presentation of Ennius and Lucretius, Vergil turns away
from the conventions of writing and embraces the older ideal of the singer.
Horace similarly recreatesthe fiction of song in lyric. Considered together,
the projects of Vergil and Horace formed a new body of performance
literature for Rome that could rival that of Greece and that could be re-
enacted perpetually in communal settings.
Social circumstances and Augustan antiquarianism- sorne call it ro-
manticism- gave rise to the Roman emulation of the Greek poetic ideal of
the singer. Although one perhaps should not make too much of it, the Au-
gustan poets began usmg the term vates, the old Roman word for "priest'' or
"prophet:' as an elevated term for poeta. 57 The word seems to have returned
to currency because of the stimulus ofVarro, who associated the vates with
the origins of poetry in his influential treatise De Poematis. Befare Varro,
however, Ennius and Lucretius disparaged the ancient vates as artless and
untrustworthy. 58 Vergil and (perhaps even more so) Horace were responsi-
ble for making the vates an acceptable, and even hallowed, name for the
poet. They syncretized the old Roman seer who sang in verse with the
image of the Greek primitive poet who sang about the gods and the uni-
verse. 59 Orpheus, Musaeus, and Linus thus carne to be regarded as the
The Fiction ofViva-Voce Performance
Greek forerunners of the Roman vates, who knew the secrets of nature and
enlightened the world with their song. 60
It is within the Augustan milieu of what might loosely be called a
reviva! of the song culture of ancient Greece, that Ovid presents theMeta-
morphoses as a form of public performance. N owhere along its course does
the poet-narrator break the fiction of orality and refer to himself as writing.
Only in the epilogue does he allude to the fact that he will be read in the
future, implying the transformation of his song into text. But even then he
will be recited aloud as his readers attempt to dramatize the fiction of the
poem's original performance. 61 The fiction of the poet's performance was
not out of keeping with a time when works of poetry continued to be
recited or intoned. Ovid himself or a professional interpreter could perform
the part of the vates and the audience in turn could take on the role of the
poem's fi.ctional addressee.
The rhapsodic simulation sustained throughout the Metamorphoses
must therefore be accounted a distinctive feature of the poem. It is clear
from his earlier poetry that Ovid was alive to the possibilities of public
performance. In theAmores, for example, there are a number of poems in
which the elegiac poet addresses himself specifi.cally to a listening audience
and so pretends not to be writing for a reader ( cf. McKeown 1987: 63-73).
The larger part of Ovid's elegiac oeuvre, however, is occupied with the
pretense of written discourse. 62 One thinks especially of his epistolary ele-
gies, including the Heroides and the books from exile. In addition, Ovid
frequently acknowledges his readers in the Amores, the Ars Amatoria, and
Fasti. The Metamorphoses, by contrast, is strikingly silent about its own
textuality and its reader.

3 ··-..
The Divided Audience
One must have a mind of winter ...
- Wallace Stevens
H one accepts the premise that the narrating instance in theMetamorphoses is
the imitation of an epic performance, it is possible to define Ovid's fictional
audience as a group of listeners. This raises important questions about what
the reader's relationship to this audience of listeners is, and what the au-
thor's relationship to the narrator is. To answer these questions, I will
continue my narratological approach to the structure of narrative discourse
in the Metamorphoses, outlining a typology of the different levels of teller
and audience. This application of narratology to Ovid'sMetamoípliosésis;;s
stated earlier, not new. Ml!:ch excellent work has been devoted to interna!
~~~:~~:~ and audiences, e¿abllllg a:·5ett~r understaridhig ofhow~sp~~ifi~
narrative transactions in the story-world motivate, structure, and slant the
presentation of a story. But crucial issues about the the externa! frame of
communication have not been fully addressed. One of the aims of this
chapter is to present a systematic description of the roles that are available in
narrative communication. Another aim is to provide readers with a better
sense of what parts they play in the performance of the text. Before we can
discuss the reader or the audience, however, it is necessary to be clear about
who is presenting theMetamorphoses.
Whose Voice Is It, Anyway?
In narrative discourse, it is generally agreed that there is a narrator, a story,
and an audience. However, the narrator need not be the same as the author
W~() comroses the story. H the narrator is unreliable, for example, one
might perceive dlstance between the author and the narrator. For this rea-
The Divided Audience
sm(~e :&;oti\ posits an "implied author" who is neither the historical
.J
···~·-·-·-····--.
;,;.;;;;;;ew,;;;;;;:;,·"''·'"'"'.;;:;,cc.:.:c-o:;;.o:.;'Cc·:·--··
author nor the narrator but the gtiidiñg intelligence that motivates a work
of fiction ( 198 3: 70-77; r 51). The implied author is an ideal version of the
real author- the latter's identity we cannot presume to know without com-
miting the biographical fallacy. What role does the implied author play in
narrative communication? Chatman explains:
He is not the narrator, but rather the principie that invented the narrator, along with
everything else in the narrative, that stacked the cards in this particular way, had
these things happen to these characters, in these words or images. Unlike the narra-
tor, the implied author can tell us nothing. He, or better, it has no voice, no direct
means of communicating. It instructs us silently, through the design of the whole,
with all the voices, by all the means it has chosen to let us learn. ( 1978: 148)
The implied author isthus the intention that informs the work of fiction, or
the creative intelligence to which we respond as readers. As we will shortly
see, the idea of the implied author has important ramifications for defining
the role of the reader. As Booth puts it, "Our reactions to his [ the implied
author's] various commitments, secret or overt, will help to determine our
response to the work'' ( r 98 3: 71) . But how does the implied author make
his commitments known? Does he dramatize the narrator in his own right?
Does he share the narrator's beliefs and characteristics?
In m~~~r?- fiction, the k~~~tor~is often radically.di~erent from the
implied ~th~r>l3ut in ancieñt.ficti¡:;~ the distance between impliedauthor
anlnarrator·~ñ{á.y be less pronounced or not pronounced at all. In Homer's
narration, to cite an obvious and pertinent classical example, it is virtually
impossible to detect any difference between implied author and narrator,
for the authority of the latter never comes into doubt. 1 For this reason, one
may question whether such a distinction is useful, even if it is theoretically
valid. 2 Homer's reliable narration, however, does not warrant the general-
ization of Scholes and Kellog that the unreliable narrator is "quite uncharac-
teristic of primitive or ancient narrative" ( r 966: 264) .
If we turn to the Metamorphoses, we may ask whether the distinction
between an implied author and a narrator is worth making. This question
has been asked before, but it has received contradictory answers. In his
book The World of Ovid)s Metamorphoses, Joseph Solodow argues eloquently
against making a distinction:
.:"· ···_:·-:::::~;~· ~""""""""·''""'~'"'""'-~·'-"---"~~·-~~--·--·~--·-· --·
[B] ut is that narrator Ovid himself or is he instead a persona, a sovereign figment of
the poet's with his own character, interests, and view of the world? Many may be
inclined toward the latter view. I cannot bring myself to agree, however. I can find

68 Chapter 3
no sign of distance bet:vveen narrator and poet. N ever does the one permit us to see
through him to his maker. N othing he says betrays him as ignorant, mistaken, naive,
or foolish. Still, he might be an all-encompassing fiction, as completely the manufac-
turer of the narrative as Ovid is of him. In that case I wonder what the worth is of
assuming such a persona; I do not see that it is in any way fruitful. Not only does the
hypothesis gain us nothing, but it needs to answer severa! difficult questions, such as
why the "signature" at the end of the poem is so personal, or why the voice here is so
similar to that in Ovid's other poetry. ( 1988: 41)
¡·------------~-\
!,~~lQ4.QW.1's clearly aware of the theoretical commonplace that distinguishes
the author from the narrator; however, he does not detect any distance
between 1ñealithoc-~dtile--ilat-t-at:ür_ill_hls~~adillg-üfrl1e-Metamo1j)lioses:
Yet, on_~_may doubti1i~-~~~~rti~iliha~'tlie per~<)n~IYoi~e_friifíE-epiTogue to
the Met~.;~IPh~~~s~-~-~fp~~s~ably throughout the.p()e~, is "so similar to
that in pvid')S other P()et:ry.''!he poet's.E!~~~?_-~<?rt:aJit:y.!h~QgghJlJs
verse is "coií~entionai~- ifnot ubiquitous, and Ovid's version of the topos
aliüoes'to.Horace's own epitaph in Odes 3.30. Furthermore, Ovid shows a
great propensity for role-playing in his other poetry, and the roles he as-
sumes are strikingly different. The distinction between author and persona
is, in fact, a working assumption of much Ovidian criticism. 3 Niklas Holz-
berg identifies five distinctive pVídían.persoñae} poeta/amator, praeceptor
amoris, mythologus, antiquarius:"·an_a_..:-~étíjjatiis(Í997b: 4-5). In each of
Ovid's poetic collections- and even in his "autobiographical" letter to pos-
terity (Tr. 4.10) -we must be wary of conflating the(~~tho~ with the p_s~:­
sona he adopts. ~· ... ·
'"'"'":~:~~::::~:This idea is not a discovery of modern criticism; Roman poets and
their audiences were well aware of it. Catullus addresses imagined charges
of immorality occasioned by his erotic poetry. He claims that his personal
life is morally upright, and that his character should not be judged by what
he says in his poetry: "for it is right that the pious poet himself be chaste,
but it is not at all necessary that his little verses be" (Catull. 16.5-6, "nam
castum esse decet pium poetam 1 ipsum, versiculos nihil necesse est'') .4 In
Tristia 2, Ovid exploits the Catullan topos in an attempt to persuade Au-
gustus that heis not immoral: 5
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.
(Tr. 2.353-56)
The Divided Audience 69
[Believe me, m y character stands apart from poetry. M y life is modest,
my Muse risqué. And the great part of my works is false and made up:
it has permitted more to itself than to its author.]
If readers in antiquity were aware that the poet could take a pose, readers in
the Middle Ages were no less aware of Ovid's proteanism. Ralph J. Hexter
sums up his study of commentaries on Ovid in medieval schooling: "There
were severa! medieval Ovids, or at least . . . the medieval Ovid wore sev-
era! masks. Titles of the type Ovidius epistularum, Ovidius sine nomine, and
Ovidius de Ponto testify to multiple medieval perceptions of the poet. . . .
And lest we forget theMetamorphoses, we must add Ovidius maior, who is in
turns scientist, theologian, and fabulist" ( 1986: 211).
One feature common to all the roles Ovid plays is the distance he
creates between his implied self and his persona. John Fyler wrote sorne
y
ears ago: "It is now common -and will soon be commonplace-to say
-----·--·····-····--··-----···--·------·-------~-·-~-------------------··-"''"''"''-••"•'""''''
that the elemeñts of Ovid's C()mjc ir()?Y are juxt~po~ition at1d anuntrust~
wordir--~arraiJ:y~~'P~f:iºiit!~'-(-~97-~ =· . ~96Y~-Fyl~~-~so--argliés iliat iliere~- ís. no -
rea~~n-to-;_~~ept the premises of the confident praeceptor amoris in theArs
Amatoria, for to do so would be to misunderstand Ovid ( 201). In Fyler's
view, Ovid (the implied author) does not believe that love can be ra-
tionalized. R. J. Tarrant makes a similar argument for Ovid's ironic presen-
tation of persuasive rhetoric in the Ars: "What seems beyond question is
that despite an apparent equation of the praeceptor with the poet, Ovid has
created an identity for his speaker that invites readers to view him with
amused detachment and the claims he makes for his ars with a large degree
of scepticism'' ( 1995: 68-69). If 0:~--~~-~~-,P~:~<:>~~ in ~e Ars proves
unr~~a!Jle, th~re ~us: be aJ:lothe~ ~vid b~hind the ~askw1t:h ~!:~~-~~-- ,
re¡d~r sha;~;~-p'Osig<?!!-§I~gf>~í_<).E!!Y~}iY'e .mayasl<.accorCfiñgly whether the
vokéoftfíe. nat=;~tor in theMetamorphoses, which Solodow characterizes as
s~ep~~~ aJ:ld se!f-consci()l!s--(-6.4)"~-is síffig_~ to that of the boas~ praeceptor
amoris who, as Tarran~ ~e~~~s, "i~n()res the implication of~s own st~te-.
iñérits?'''IfSolodow áoesriot níean the persona, but the Ovid bd:líñd'ilie
mask:·it is worth pointing out that that Ovid is voicelús~ . alfímp'lied as
authors are.
---Tocóllapse critica! distinctions and to equate poet and narrator is a
common critica! move and especially at home in books of an introductory
nature. It is another thing, however, to attack critica! distinctions as wrong-
headed. G. Karl Galinsky not only identifies Ovid with the narrator, but he
claims that it is misguided to assume that the elegiac Ovid is different from
 70 Chapter 3
the epic Ovid: "When we read theMetamorphoses, we should keep in mind
that they were written by a man who had written several volumes of poetry
befare. Although an artistic personality can undergo sudden and profound
changes, scholarship in this century sometimes has tended to dissect our
poet too neatly into an 'elegiac' and an 'epic' Ovid and ignored the many
links that exist between the two"( 1975: 25). Here Galinsky is alluding to
Heinze's influential thesis about the generic difference between the epic and
elegiac treatments of parallel episodes in the Metamorphoses and the Fasti.
His answer to the Heinzian dissection of these two poems is to demonstrate
"that both the Amores and the Metamorphoses are the result of the same
ingenium" ( 32). Later in his book he editorializes against "the persistence
of the erroneous notion that the Ovid of the Metamorphoses is totally dif-
ferent from the Ovid of theAmores" ( 178). Although I cannot find anyone
who has published such a view, I must confess that I would subscribe to a
qualified version of it. I agree in principie that there are important con-
tinuities between Ovid's elegiac and epic poetry for which Heinze's rigid
distinctions fail to take account. However, the voice that narrates theMeta-
morphoses must not be confused-;ith -th~ voice-ofth.e'poeta
amcitoi'íll the
Amores.·------------------~····- ---·-
'~- --·-
---rrliis does not rule out the possibility that the speakers of theAmores and
the Metamorphoses share characteristics or preoccupations that collectively
constitute the Ovidian ingenium. One could point to eroticism, learning,
wit, urbanity, irreverence, and playfulness- all that we call Ovidian, but this
is to dwell ata level of generality. Booth ( 198 3: 71-72) observes that justas a
letter writer adapts himself to different addressees and purposes, so too does
an author present himself in a different light depending on the demands of
the work in question. Different works of an author manifest different ver-
sions of himself; conversely, no single version of an author would emerge
from the reading of all of his works. Ovid's collection of fictional letters
written by heroines suggests that he was very much aware of how he could
adopt different personae for different addressees. As Anderson observes, '~
gü_ü~~i?1ffarov=1d's art tonsists m creating the illusion that w~ are indeed
~~En~. ~ese 'Y2m~ii:_-diii~ttlY''-(l973:-66). übvlouSly~the-.~ther part of
Ovid'Sards-the manipulation of the epistolary fiction and his allusion to the
other fictional texts that these her9ir1~§ ~abit. 6 It might be taken as a given
that Ovid is the true author of thdHeroides) but we also arrive ata sense of an
implied author by reading betweeh-the lines of these letters. The H eroides is
obviously an exceptional case in Ovid's poetic corpus ( and in all ancient
poetry), but investing in a critical distinction between implied author and
The Divided Audience 71
narratoria! persona may enable a more nuanced response to the ironies of
characterization and tone in Ovid's self-preseritation.
In the same year that Solodow t:'ejeq~~ the distinction between p~e~
and n::lJ:r.a~<::>~ in theMetamorphoses, ifritz Gr~)not only made the distmction">
but pursued its implications: "But wh:o"fs--the person who recounts all of
this? Evidently, it cannot be the historical Ovid, or the skeptic of the Tristia
and theArsAmatoria. Itis_r:ª-._ther the figure of the narrator whom the poet
creat~~-.:1~~ intermediary betweeñ1ilffisdfandhisnarrative; the e:Xistence of
such a fictive' 'riarrator, "welf'establlsliedm 'riarráfive t:fieories of modern
literature, has always been somewhat neglected in the studies of Ovid the
narrator" ( 1988: 63). Although one may question Graf's premise that the
personae of the Tristia and theArs Amatoria are equatable, they do provide
a plausible foil for thenarrator of the Meta'fl'!:_qr,pkqse.s. Graf's purpose is to
argue that the narrator of theMetamorphoses believes in the gods and in the
pertinence arid validlty ~~tlle ~yili~hé"riarrat~s (64)' adopting the attitude
of apious poet-priest (vaiúf~ Furihermore, when a question re:garding the
truth ofa m)rth surfaces, the narrator expresses disbelief-not to under-
mine the credibility of the myth but to reinforce it, and at no point does he
shatter the illusion of his conviction ( 65-67). These same expressions of
disbelief, however, raise our doubt about the events that are narrated, un-
dermining belief in the reliability of the narratot;,. and suggesting that Ovid
doe.s not take his narrator seriously. By means of irony, according to Graf,
Ovid subtly s1:1ggests that his narrator is too ingenuous and credulous. 7
The textual evidence that Graf uses to prove tliatthere is a distinction
between author and narrator is precise!y the same that Sqjqqow adduces to
show that the narrator cioes not beli~ve in_the my:tbs}lc::tells ( 1988: 64-73).
According to Solodow, the narrator is a disbeliever who is the first to admit
his unreliability, which paradoxically makes him reliable: "How much more
real seems a world at the center of which stands a fellow human!" ( 73).
Galinsky similarly views Ovid's self-irony and strategy of pseudo-naiveté as
a sign of his skill and control over his fictions ( 1975: 173-74) . The crux of
the disagreement betweef!_.~Oj?dow and Graf involves where to place em-
phasis: does Ovid gently mock:· ~e narrator, and so call into question his
reliability, or does the na:Frator 'gently mock himself and so reinforce his
reliability? It may be possible to add more to this debate, but for now the
points raised by Graf are not decisive for distinguishing between the im-
plied author and the narrator.
Let us consider another kind of argument for retaining the distinction
between implied author and narrator. Currently it is assumed that Ovid
72 Chapter 3
composed theMetamorphoses andFasti during the same period of time (A. D.
1-8), as complementary works. 8 This paired composition offers an excel-
lent testing ground for the question of whether the narrators of each work
are the same or subtly different. Heinze ( 1960), for instance, makes a
distinction between an objective epic narrator and a subjective elegiac nar-
rator. However, because the features that Heinze chose to emphasize as
particularly elegiac ( apostrophe, generalizing second-person address, dis-
continuity of narrative style, and editorializing about the story) can be
found in the epic narrator's style, it may be better to approach the question
of persona from a new direction. First, the narrator of each poem occupies a
different position in relation to his discourse. TQ.l!~<: ~~- !~f.t:llÍJ:l(.)lQgy qf
Genette ( 1980: 244-45; cf. Myers 1991a: 71-72 ), the 11arr~~()r of theMeta-
morp/Jpses is thé heterodie.getic type, which me:ms tllat~e does 11o~ Partid~
pat~-~- ~s: storyas a character but '"observes"··events trom -ata.r...'tfils.Ts
probably: w~a~-H~~~ and oth_ers m~an by ()vid's eJ?iC ~~!~5~."~~the
M(!amorphoies. The speaker of the Fasti, ori the other hand, is homodiege-
tic, \vhicñ means that he is a character who is. personally involved in the
story-world of his poem. The narrator in the Metamorphoses has. the priv-
ilege of omnipresence- he ís able to jump from place to place and Il1ake
coiuiections that reveal his bird's-eye view of the world; he also shows a
certaÍil de~ree of oll1llÍscience, wit1lllis c~p~~~ty ~?.i.~J:IP:~Id~.-theJl~ªcis gf
his ch'araders;botfi human arid divme: and'llis ability to range through time
from the past to pre~ent, sU111rilatiZihg or expatidfug upo11 eve~~~:,~!:~~:~.
The Fasti narrator, by contrast, is closer to a fully dramatized character in his
story who admits the limitations of his knowledge, interviews informants
about the origins of Roman religious festivals and customs, and even par-
ticipates in the ceremonies he describes. In formal terms, one might con-
elude that the observer-type of narrator in theMetamorphoses approximates
the epic norm, whereas the narrator-agent of the Fasti assumes a narratoria!
stance closer to that which Callimachus adopts in the Aetia or in the mi-
metic Hymns.
Ovid's persona in the Fasti is not easy to grasp, but critics generally
refer to it as didactic. N ewlands makes the case that the narrator of the Fasti
is diffident and tentative, a kind of student-teacher learning on the job, who
increasingly relies on the authority of his informants rather than on his own
scholarly research ( 1995: 52'-57; cf. 1992: 33-37). To throw this persona in
relief, she contrasts the experienced but over-con:fident praeceptor amoris in
the Ars Amatoria who requires no divine inspiration because he has all the
answers to his subject. John F. Miller ( 1991: 141) comes up with a slightly
different formulation. He asserts that the Ovidian persona is really a com-
The Divided Audience 73
plex of masks ( teacher and student of religious antiquities, instructor in the
rites themselves, observer of ceremonies, panegyrist, and "priest'') that
does not permit a unified view of the narrator. 9 Miller is also careful both to
compare and contrast the Ovid of the Fasti with the earlier erotic Ovid:
"Humorous turns resembling those of his erotic poems stamp the Fasti as
Ovidian; but, in the world of the poem, they exist alongside, not in funda-
mental opposition to, the new Ovidian voice respectfully celebrating Rome
and Roman religion.'' However we view the persona of the narrator in the
Fasti- and clearly this is a problem- it is safe to say that Ovid mythologus
does not aim to present himself as the bumbling antiquarian-priest-cele-
brant of the Fasti. The narrator in theMetamorphoses is harder to character-
iz~, despite the fact that he is. continually intruding into his narrative and
editÓrializing. As we saw in the previous chapter, however, the poet identi-
fies withthevatic figures ofOrpheus and Silenus.
So far we have considered the interaction of the narrator with his story,
but we have said nothing about the narrator's relationship to his addressee.
This is a critica! issue that typically is neglected in the study of Ovidian
personae. Ovid addresses the Fasti toan imperial patron: Germanicus or
later Augustus. The former is specifically pictured as the reader of Ovid's
versified calendar. Although the imperial addressee may fade into a gener-
alized addressee, the poem begins by establishing a line of communication
with a specific individual, who is more or less a model reader for the work as
a whole. The narrator of theMetamorphoses, by contrast, addresses a gener-
alized audience that ineludes Augustus ( cf. 1.204). N onetheless, there is a
clear difference between theFasti and theMetamorphoses in the nature of the
explicit addressee. This in turn has an effect on the narrator's own self-
presentation, for in each case he pursues a different rhetorical purpose. If
one regards the Fasti from the perspective of the addressee, the narrator is
presenting himself as an antiquarian who is engaged in the program of
memorializing the achievements and honors of Augustus. More important,
he is occupied with a topic near and dear to the emperor's heart, the Roman
calendar. If we are to detecta subversive undertone in the poem's panegyric,
we must posit an implied author who does not take his narrator's "propa-
ganda" seriously. 10 The ambiguity of the Fasti thus may be understood as a
tension between the implied author and his persona. TheMetamorphoses, on
the other hand, projects a generalized addressee who has an interest in the
wondrous stories of Greek myth. In contrast to the Fasti, Ovid retells most
of these stories without giving them an explicit Augustan significance. To
be sure, the few examples of panegyric at the beginning and end of the
poem are important, but the larger part of the poem is free of direct political
 74 Chapter 3
associations. However, if the myths are meant to be read as a reflection of
imperial power and the dangers of dissent in Rome, it is necessary to as-
sume an implied author who intends us to read his narrative as political alle-
gory. In both the Fasti and theMetamorphoses, one might view the implied
author as more or less . the S~~ P<:>.~t;l)utit.Ts.iffiportant torecogmze lliat
thenarrator.ofeachw~~k-~aries signÍficantly in his relation to his discourse
and addressee, as ~ell ~S in his narrat:ive style and thematic emphases.
Ifthe¡illpÍied ~'uthor distances himself from his narratoria! persona, it is
logical to a~sume cliat: ilie riirrator alsó máy distance himsdffrom .i:Iie cfiar-:
act~~s who·t~ll.. s~oríes in his narrative. As it w~s pointed ouf earliér, the
Metamorphoses has ~oughly f()rty inte~J:lal narrators. Some-óvidianshave de-
bat~whether-th~-v~lc~-~f the external narrato; is the same as the voices of
the ·¡¡;:t~~;~~~~~t~~~Ji Yet the steady stream ofcommentary.on-mternhl
- narrators has settled the question beyond doubt: the distinction between the
external narrator and internal narrators is not a critical boondoggle but of
practica! value in appreciating Ovid's transformations of inherited myth. 12
Still, it is not enough to view the inclusion of internal narrators as a device
for finding new ways of telling au old story. Itifact~ ·the oft~dted OVidian
parallei-ürodysseus tdling Calypso the fall of Troy in various ways (Ars
2.128, "ille referre aliter saepe solebat idem") does not do justice to the
subtlety and richness of narrative communication in theMetamorphoses. The
primary narrator does not tell the same storyto the same audience over and
over again. On the contrary, he creates different narrative situations with dif-
ferent audiences. In this respect, Frederick Ahl rightly emphasizes the fact
that storytelling is audience oriented: ''we must consider not only what Ovid
may wish to suggest to us but what the secondary narrator seeks to suggest to
his audience" ( 1985: 202-3). Although critics have attended to the various
internal narrators and audiences in theMetamorphoses with considerable suc-
cess, sorne doubt about the identities of "Ovid" and "us" remains. In the
foregoing discussion I have attempted to clarifywho Ovid may be by distin-
guishing among an actual author, implied author, and narrator. Now it is
time to turn to the question of who ''we" are in narrative communication.
Levels of Audience
Justas there was an actual author who wrote theMetamorphoses, there were,
are, and will be actual audiences who receive and interpret the poem-
whether in the original Latin or one of the many languages into which it has
The Divided Audience 75
been translated. 13 Actual audiences, like the actual author, make the com-
munication between sender and recipient possible. They bring to the poem
their own habits of reading and comprehension, which may reflect educa-
tional upbringing, the books they have read, the friends with whom they
share literary experience, and the social and cultural values they hold. Au-
diences who employ similar strategies and norms of interpretation can be
said to belong to "interpretive communities."14 An elementary example of
an interpretive community is the schoolroom, in which most readers of
Latin (since antiquity) have learned to read their authors. Grammarians
perpetuate methods of reading that are traditional, but these methods are
not necessarily static; they change or become "modernized" over genera-
tions to address new needs. These changes are reflected in the continua!
revision of texts and commentaries.
Broadly speaking, the interpretation of theMetamorphoses does not and
cannot remain constant; it takes radically different forms in different times
and places. An interesting case in the history of the reception of Ovid'sMeta-
morphoses is the rise of allegorizing criticism in France from the Middle Ages
to the Renaissance. The Metamorphoses occupied a privileged place in the
medieval curriculum not only because it was a mythological 'Who's Who;'
as Curtius puts it, but also because it was believed to contain hidden philo-
sophical, moral, and Christian truths. 15 Early signs of allegorizing criticism
appear in theAllegoriae ofArnulf of Orléans at the end of the twelfth century.
A generation later, John of Garland composed the Integumenta Ovidii (c.
1230), a poem o~ 520 verses that professes to discover the true meaning of
the Metamorphoses. In the early fourteenth century, the anonymous Ovide
moralisé made available to the larger public a vernacular poetic translation
and allegorization of the Metamorphoses. Also popular were Latin prose
treatises and commentaries such as Pierre Bersuire's Ovidius moralizitus (c.
1 348), which summarized Ovid's stories and interpreted them in light of
moral and Christian teachings ( e.g., Actaeon as Christ). Such reading hab-
its continued into the sixteenth century, but by the end of the fifteenth
century Renaissance humanists such as Ra:ffaele Regio ( 1493) had begun to
reject allegorizing and moralizing in favor of rhetorical commentary.
Modern critics might deplore the anachronistic moralizing and alle-
gorizing of the Middle Ages and Renaissance. Yet the very theme of meta-
morphosis encourages such readings; for Ovid invites his audiences to view
outward formas essentially ambiguous: the laurel, for example, is not sim-
ply a tree; it conceals the virgin Daphne and is a concrete expression of her
desire for eternal chastity. Christian audiences "translated" the Metamor-
 Chapter 3
phoses' play with appearances into their own moral and religious categories
to make the text relevant, edifying, and authoritative. That said, it is impor-
tant to bear in mind that interpretive communities in the Middle Ages and
Renaissance were not monolithic or restricted to one mode of interpreta-
tion. Readers of theMetamorphoses looked for other things besides symbolic
· meanings. School commentaries show that there was interest in grammar,
rhetoric, mythology, philosophy, and even Ovid's infiuence on contempo-
rary Latin poetry. This is to say nothing of the infiuence of the Meta-
morphoses on scientific treatises. 16 Amusing as the different guises of Ovid
may seem to us- moralist, scientist, and Christian- they are a useful re-
minder "that there are as many 'Ovids' as there are audiences and ways to
receive him" (Hexter 1986: 11 n. 20).
The case of"Ovid moralized" should not lull us into a false sense of our
own interpretive objectivity. We cannot escape the history of changing
readings of the text and arrive at apure reception of the author's or the text's
original meaning. As Charles Martindale (1993: 7) puts it, "our current
interpretations of ancient texts, whether or not we are aware of it, are, in
complex ways, constructed by the chain of receptions through which their
continued readability has been effected?' Obviously, most modern readers
would not seek to understand Ovid's text in terms of Christian allegory. But
the text can be asked new questions that are relevant to modern concerns.
Mary-Kay Gamel argues, for instance, that Ovidian texts offer special op-
portunities for feminist investigation because they dramatize the problems
of Roman social and political relations with special attention to questions
of gender ( 1990: 172) . At the same time, she acknowledges "that the moti-
vation for my rereading of Ovidian texts is similar to that which produced
Ovide moralisé. Whether the results of my rereading are more or less appro-
priate to the texts themselves, or to feminist analysis, others will judge. The
variety of readings ancient texts have received proves not that all readings
are equally valid or that these texts are 'timeless' but that readings, like texts,
are located within history?'
The history of actual audiences of theMetamorphoses would be a collec-
tion of the stories of its reception from its first circulation clown to the
present. To write such a history would be a vast, encyclopedic undertaking,
running from Ovid's comments on his work in the exile poetry to the most
recent scholarly debate and literary interpretations (including translations,
poetry, and fiction) inspired by the poem. 17 The reception of theMetamor-
phoses is complicated by the fact that the po,em was translated into vernacular
languages in the Middle Ages and Renaissance; the poem was also imitated
The Divided Audience 77
both in the original Latin and in vernacular translations. This means that the
reception of Ovid cannot be conceived of as a single stream running from
antiquity. Rather, a plurality of vernacular traditions arise in the late Middle
Ages and Renaissance- sometimes running parallel courses, sometimes
criss-crossing. Chaucer, for instance, read Ovid directly, but he also read
French and Italian writers who read Ovid. 18 The infiuence of the Meta-
morphoses cannot be limited to literary channels of reception, either. It had a
profound effect on visual artists and musical composers, whether directly or
indirectly through translations. Clearly the study of Ovid's actual audiences
could occupy severallifetimes.
Fascinating and enriching as the historical and cultural implications of
the reception of theMetamorphoses might be from age to age, the impact of
ancient, medieval, renaissance or baroque readings on modern readings is
difficult to gauge. M y own understanding of the poem is primarily shaped,
I assume, by institutionalized methods of reading that are fostered by the
discipline and traditions of classical philology. I rely on texts collated,
emended, punctuated, and paragraphed by editors to whose better judg-
ment I generally defer. Also important are the dictionaries, grammars, mod-
ern commentaries, translations, and secondary literature that makes sense
of ancient texts. Equipped with this scholarly apparatus, I am in the posi-
tion to "perform" a text that is, I assume, reasonably close to the original. In
arder for my reading to be successful, however, I must enter into the poem's
fiction of narrative communication and accommodate myself to the audi-
ences that are implied and inscribed in the work itself.
This brings us to the second t:ype of audience. Just as Ovid creates an
implied version of himself in theMetamorphoses, he also creates an implied
audience. 19 Although actual audiences cannot be expected to forget them-
selves entirely when they read, they are nonetheless expected to accommo-
date themselves to the implied audience, or communication will fail. The
idea that a real audience or reader must take on the part of a hypothetical
audience or reader scripted by a text has been booted around and refined by
literary theorists of various persuasions for nearly half a century. Among
classicists, it has found a spokesman in Conte who defines the "reader-
addressee" as a rhetorical projection of the text:
The author conceives the form of the reader as a communicative function, foresee-
ing it and articulating his discourse so as to entwine the reader's reactions with the
literary act. In short, the text's form and intentionality determine the reader's form.
This is a model of directed reception, for this kind of reader's form is defined pre-
cisely by a structure of constraints: strategies, conventions, codi:fications, expressive
 Chapter 3
norms, selections of contents, all organized within a competence. This competence
is the force that makes sure that a text's score is correctly performed. ( 1994: x:x)
Although Conte's unitary model of the "reader-addressee" may not do
justice to the complex embedding of narrative communication in Ovid's
Metamorphoses, it nonetheless helps to secure the outermost frame of fic-
tional communication between implied author and implied audience. The
main assumption behind this model is that the implied author is not en-
gaged in art for art's sake but sets out to shape the response of a hypothetical
audience with a specific cultural mindset, command of knowledge, and
understanding of poetic conventions. This audience may have resembled an
actual audience in Ovid's day- one that would have been in the best posi-
tion to perform the role prescribed for it. By contrast, readers who are
separated from the implied author by the divide of historical and cultural
change have difficulty participating with the implied audience and must rely
on a scholarly apparatus to enjoy the text.
The implied author and the implied audience repn~sent the ideal poles
of textual communication in theMetamorphoses, but, as the term "implied"
indicates, they are not explicitly identified in the text. We already observed,
following Chatman, that the implied author does not have a voice per se,
but communicates through all the devices in the work, lexical and non-
lexical ( e.g., the arrangement of the narrative through juxtaposition, echo,
and reversa!). 20 Although the implied author has no means of speaking to
his implied audience, there is nonetheless another level on which direct
communication does take place. In writing the Metamorphoses, the implied
author adopts a narratoria! persona: in this case, an epic poet "singing" a
continuous song. When the Ovidian poet says in the proem that his inspira-
tion moves him to tell of metamorphosis and he prays to the gods for help,
this is not meant to be the record of a real event, but rather a fictional
rendition, or imitation, of a bard (vates) beginning to rhapsodize. This
pretense necessitates the involvement of a second type of audience, a nar-
ratoria! audience, which is the fictional counterpart to the narratot. That is,
the epic narrator does not address himself to the implied audience or reader
but to an audience that believes in the illusion of the performance itself.
Equally important, it shares with the narrator a willingness to entertain the
"reality'' of the story-world. This is not to say that it is naive and credulous,
but rather that it is able to suspend its disbelief and to be enchanted by the
poet's song. 21 Of course, the narrator expresses disbelief in certain details
and events, but this is a strategy to win the trust of his audience in his
The Divided Audience 79
storytelling. 22 In sorne cases, the narrator's expressions of disbelief cast
doubt on the veracity of the story or call attention to the discourse by which
he authenticates his narrative, but they do not undermine the fiction of the
narrating instance. As long as we are playing the role of the narratoria!
audience, we entertain the poet's fictions, and when the fictions seem iffi..,
plausible, we still believe in the poet's performance. The implied author and
implied audience, however, are positioned outside the poem's fictional dis-
course, and they are implicitly engaged in a written form of communica..:
tion. In contrast to the narratoria! audience, the implied audience can read
and reread the text. It knows that the narrator's performance is a fiction,
and that his characters and events are fictions. What distinguishes the im-
plied audience from the narratoria! audience, then, is a difference of belief.
Yet the implied audience is in a paradoxical position because it too is ex-
pected to play the part of the narratoria! audience and entertain the illusions
of the story-world. 23
The narratoria! audience does not take the form of a definite character
in the text. Its response is not indicated by the narrator. Rather it is a role
that actual and implied audiences are expected to play in the act of receiving
the poem. 24 Although the poet-narrator does not refer directly to the cir-
cumstances of his performance and does not explicitly name or identify
his audience, he nonetheless makes its participation felt throughout the
poem. 25 Any time he speaks in the first person, he is implicitly speaking to
someone. From time to time, the poet addresses his listeners with a gener-
alizing second person singular. He also has the habit of making parenthetic
asides while narrating. As von Albrecht's study ( 1964) of Ovidian paren-
thesis demonstrates, the poet uses this device to establish a rapport with his
audience, whether to answer its questions orto anticipate its objections.
Despite the ongoing dialogue that the Ovidian narrator carries on with his
audience, he never reveals how it actually responds or what it is doing. For
this reason, it is better to think of the narratoria! audience not as a definite
character in the text but as a role to play.
To clarify this point further, I will introduce the fourth type of au-
dience that is relevant to reading the Metamorphoses: namely, the interna!
audience ( s) in embedded narrative. It is well known that the Ovidian nar-
rator frequently allows secondary narrators to tell stories to audiences in-
side the poem's narrative. It is consequently necessary to distinguish be-
tween the externa! narrative frame and interna! narrators and audiences. As
already noted, the multiple interna! narrators take command of roughly a
third of the poem's verses. 26 This means that the main narratoria! audi-
80 Chapter 3
ence is not the addressee for a significant portion of the poem, but is shifted
to the position of an eavesdropper, overhearing stories at one remove or
more. Ovid's use of framed narratives serves a number of different structural
and thematic purposes, one of which is to vary the voices of narration by
introducing more direct and personalized communication between narra-
tor and audience inside the story-world of the poem. Many of the poem's
embedded narratives take the form of first person accounts of events that
present a point of view that is different from the primary narrator's omni-
scient third person narrative. Similarly, interna! audiences occupy a vantage
that is different from the narratoria! audience's; at times they are granted
the power to speak, whether to ask a question of the narrator or to express
their own opinion.
Ovid's interna! audiences tend to conform to the function of a narratee
as it is defined by Gerald Prince ( 1980: 20-23). In Prince's terminology, the
narratee is not just the fictional counterpart of a narrator, but a character
who serves as a relay between the narrator and the reader and who may help
characterize the narrator or clarify a theme. As such, the narratee is a coded
position in the text that the reader is expected to process and interpret in
order to understand the form and meaning of a story. In theMetamorphoses,
interna! audiences often dramatize responses that the narratoria! audience
cannot approve. In such cases, we might say that the narratoria! audience is
cued to differentiate its own response from that of the interna! audience.
The most obvious and frequently discussed example occurs early in the
poem, when Mercury aims to tranquilize Argus with the story of Syrinx
( 1.676-723). In this story that i.J:?.volves a second story, there are two layers
of narration, externa! and interna!, and two sets of audiences with two
different responses. If one were to record what happened in chronologial
order, the sequence would be: (a) Argus, charmed by the novelty of Mer-
cury's panpipe ("fistula"), asks its origin; (b) Mercury tells the story of
Syrinx up to the point where she meets Pan; (e) all of Argus's eyes close;
( d) Mercury stops narrating; (e) he beheads Argus. The Ovidian narrator
breaks his narrative off at ( b) and postpones (e), ( d), and (e), until he has
finished Mercury's story of Syrinx ( b) in indirect discourse. Thus the wake-
ful narratorial audience- in contrast to the sleeping internal audience-
learns how Pan pursued Syrinx; how she escaped his clutches through a
reedy transformation; and how she carne to be fetishized as his musical
instrument, thereby answering the aetiological question (a) that Argus first
posed to Mercury ( 1. 700-712 ). When Ovid finishes with this digression,
he returns to the main narrative by indicating that Mercury was going to say
The Divided Audience 81
such things ( 1. 713, "talia dicturus") but saw thatArgus had fallen asleep.
The surprise is that the poet has not been summarizing what Mercury said,
but only what he intended to say. In other words, our poet-narrator breaks
dramatic illusion and continues the story of Syrinx in an "off-the-record"
communication with his own audience. As Konstan notes (1991: 17), the
narrator pays his audience the compliment of finishing the tale; he posits an
audience that, unlike Argus, wishes to know what happens to Syrinx.
Argus is not the only poor listener in the Metamorphoses. In the first
three books of the Metamorphoses, the narratoria! audience is introduced to
two more interna! audiences ( the raven and Pentheus) that fail to listen to
or believe in the tales that they hear. But, like everything else in the Meta-
morphoses, the nature and composition of interna! audiences continually
change, and the distance between the narratoria! audience and interna!
audiences varies. The interaction between interna! narrators and their au-
diences functions as a mirror or foil for the relationship between the pri-
mary narrator and narratoria! audience. 27 The responses and interpretations
of interna! audiences thus might suggest to the narratoria! audience proper
and improper responses to the stories it hears.
To visualize the form of narrative communication in the Metamorpho-
ses, it may be helpful to schematize the path the discourse takes based on
Chatman's model ( 1978: 151):
Actual Author>
Implied Author> Narrator> [Interna! Narrator( s) >
STORY>
Interna! Audience ( s) ] >N arratorial Audience> Implied Audience>
Actual Audience
The actual author and audience are externa! to the act of narrative com-
munication that is structured by the text. The square brackets refer to the
optional insertion of interna! narrators and audiences. On a number of
occasions in the Metamorphoses, the embedding of narrative becomes more
complex. That is, interna! narrators introduce their own interna! narrators.
One example should suffice to illustrate this technique. In Book 5, an un-
identified Muse tells Minerva about the song Calliope sang in the contest
against the Pierides ( 5. 341-661) . The tertiary narrator Calliope in turn
introduces a fourth-degree narrator, Arethusa, who relates her own story to
Ceres (5.577-641). When Arethusa introduces the direct speech of Al-
82 Chapter 3
pheus, the nesting of speech inside of speech must be represented with four
sets of quotation marks in modern typographic conventions:
The poet-narrator tells that
The Muse says
"Calliope says
'Arethusa says
''Alpheus says, 'quo properas, Arethusa?'"'"
(5.599, ''Where are you rushing, Arethusa?")
But this is only one side of the equation. Let us look at the whole course of
narrative communication:
lA>
N (heterodiegetic) >Minerva Asks Muse About Nine Noisy Birds>
N 2 (Muse: homodiegetic) >Muses and Pierides>
N 3 ( Calliope: heterodiegetic) > Hymn to Ceres>
N 4 ( Arethusa: homodiegetic) >Arethusa>
A4 (Ceres)>
A3 (Nymph-Judges/Pierides)>
A2 (Minerva)>
NA>
lA
One might observe that the relationship between the narrator (N 1 ) and the
Muse (N2 ) is mirrored in the relationship between the interna! narrators
Calliope (N 3 ) and Arethusa (N4 ). There is a slight difference, however, in
that Arethusa is a homodiegetic narrator who narrates a tale of attempted
rape which more closely mirrors the thematic structure of the preceding
episode, in which the unidentified Muse (N2 ) tells Minerva a homodiegetic
account of how Pyrenaeus threatened the virginity of the Muses ( 5.269-
93).
The narratoria! audience may draw the conclusion that the song of
Calliope is a positive refl.ection of Ovid's own discourse, for it appears to be
a miniature version of the Metamorphoses in its thematic, generic, and nar-
ratological aspects. 28 But caution may be advisable. In her seminal study of
the theme of artistic failure· in the Metamorphoses, Eleanor Winsor Leach
(1974: II4-I5) points out that the Muse who relates the singing contest
between the Muses and Pierides has suppressed the song of the Pierides,
which is a gigantomachy (5.319-30). Consequently, neither Minerva (A2)
nor the narratoria! audience is able to judge the song contest fairly. Con-
versely, the song of Calliope is
The Divided Audience
a perfect piece of authoritarian art ... no more accurate a reflection of the mytholog-
ical ethos of the Metamorphoses than the debased gigantomachy, yet, like the earlier
poem, it does not ring wholly false. The nymphs, as might be expected from the
honori:fic treatment given to their kind in the tale, vote in favor of the Muses, but the
Pierides clamor for victory. Perhaps the reader might second them had he been
allowed to hear their song in its entirety. Ovid leaves the situation ambiguous.
Leach nonetheless suspects foul play. Hinds is more willing to accept the
Muse-narrator's representation of the Pierides as "rank bad poets" ( 1987:
I 30). In his view, the song of Calliope subtly negotiates the uncertain
boundary between epic and elegiac discourse and so is emblematic of Ovid's
own art ( I 3 I- 3 3) . All the same, Hinds grants that there "is certainly some-
thing in Leach's ... cynical view of the nymph-judges' verdict" ( 165 n. 27)
and later wonders "if the Muses are unfair to the 'facts' of the Pierid case in
other ways too" ( 166-67 n. 40). Patricia Johnson and Martha Malamud
( 1988: 30-3 3) do not equivocate: they see in the song of Calliope a por-
trayal of authority that the poem calls into question. More recently, Ander-
son takes the position that the song of Calliope is purposefully defective:
Here, the poet has devised his own manner of presentation, choosing to introduce a
situation of rivalry and bitter competition, which distorts the nature of the tradi-
tional hymn. It also makes an ineffective poetic structure and an unappealing major
character, Ceres ... The metamorphoses, which form the most overt intrusion in the
hymn and derive from post-Homeric, Hellenistic poets like Nicander, expose the
inadequacy of the Muse, but also enable a better poet to continue his regular topic
and to characterize Ceres and the Muses as vengeful deities, who use metamorpho-
sis cruelly and thoughtlessly for self-satisfaction. This is an artful composition; but
the artist conceals himselfbehind the stumbling Muse. ( 1997: 526-27).
This analysis differs from what Anderson wrote thirty years ago, when he
suggested that the nymphs awarded Calliope the prize "because her desul-
tory, asymmetrical song constituted the kind of 'epic' structure which Ovid
himself chose for hisMet?' ( 1968: 103). Yet Anderson's apparent reversa! is
not self-contradictory. He simply distances himself from the model re-
sponse offered by the approving nymphs and resists equating the song of
Calliope with theMetamorphoses.
This raises the question of which audience we play when we read. As
the narratoria! audience, we view the song contest through the narrative
transaction between the Muse and Minerva. We are not in a position to
judge whether the nymphs are a naive audience, but we are certainly invited
to share their point of view, especially given the fact that the Muse and
Minerva do ( overdetermination) . Even if the Pierides are presented in a
 Chapter 3
biased light, it is extremely difficult to recuperate anything positive about
their performance. They are importunate and impious; furthermore, they
celebrate the victory of the giants over the Olympians. Not only is their
choice of theme gauche, it also casts them in the dubious role of giants who
are usurping Olympian Helicon. It is unlikely that the narratoria! audience
is supposed to sympathize with the Pierides or their song, and their trans-
formation into raucous birds makes them even less likable. Whether or not
the Pierides are given short shrift, their opposition to the Muses is both
foolhardy and arrogant. What about the song of Calliope? Is it good or
bad? The poet-narrator may push his audience to dissent from the verdict of
the nymphs and Minerva; however, to do so would be to occupy the same
position as the gigantic Pierides. When Leach says that Ovid leaves the
situation ambiguous, the corollary is that he paralyzes the audience with
doubt. One way to resolve this uncomfortable bind is for an actual reader to
allegorize the song of Calliope as a statement of Ovid's poetics and hence to
find in ita positive reflection of theMetamorphoses. Ingenious as the allegory
may be, it nonetheless vindicates the nymph-judges and acquiesces in the
distribution of power authorized by Olympus. The oppositional reading,
on the other hand, is an ironic one that would assume communication
between implied author and implied audience; this communication by-
passes the narrators (N-N3 ) and audiences (NA-A3 ) who are enmeshed in
responses that assent to the Olympian dispensation.
As our narratological model makes plain, any given object-story in the
Metamorphoses may be inflected through a number of different frames. It
should be pointed out, however, that the intricate inset narrative we have
just considered in Book 5 is rather exceptional in the Metamorphoses. Al-
though third-degree narration occurs on four other occasions, the majority
of embedded narratives are of the simpler second-degree type. 29 As the
poem continues, however, the primary narrator increasingly defers to inter-
na! narrators. This means that the story-world becomes increasingly medi-
ated and distanced from the narratoria! audience. The latter audience is
shifted to the position of an implied audience as interna! audiences are
made the addressees. There are, of course, moments when the different
frames of communication can blur, and one can forget which narrator is
speaking. But the interplay between levels of narration is one of Ovid's
characteristic effects as fabulist.
Even if the separation between narratoria! audience and interna! au-
diences is theoretically unassailable, one may question whether the separa-
tion between the implied audience and the narratoria! audience is useful. 30
The Divided Audience 85
In many respects the narratoria! audience verges on being implied, because
the narrator does not specify its identity. Conversely, the implied audience
is expected to play the role of the narratoria! audience. So what distin-
guishes it from the narratoria! audience? I have already suggested that the
two audiences are to be differentiated by degrees of belief and disbelief, but
there is another reason to posit a double frame for narrative communication
in the Metamorphoses. The fiction of performance that underlies the Meta-
morphoses requires that we differentiate between the implied author, who
writes the poem for a reader, and the narrator, who recites his poem for an
audience of listeners. Conversely, the narrator's audience is figured as a
listener, whereas the implied audience may be understood as a reader. In the
previous chapter, I argued that the narrator does not refer explicitly to the
textuality of his poem. A corollary to the fiction of oral communication is
that the narrator does not address an implied reader. Galinsky asserts that
"Ovid frequently addresses the reader directly'' ( I975: 2r); however, this is
a misleading interpretation of the narrator's use of the generalizing second
person singular. Strictly speaking, this "you" applies to the narrator's au-
dience, and not to the reader. The conventions of the epic genre would be
violated if the narrator were to break the illusion of his performance and
address a reader who is externa! to the narrating instance ( cf. Genette r98o:
260). This illusion is not even broken in the epilogue when the poet-
narrator predicts that he will be read by the lips of the people ( r 5 .878, "ore
legar populi") . Although the imagined reading of the Metamorphoses pre-
supposes a text in the future, the keynote is placed on the poem's recitation,
which would recreate the fiction of the original performance· and hence
immortalize the poet.
A completely different picture of the Metamorphoses emerges in the
Tristia, but this picture only reinforces the distinction that I have been
drawing. In Tristia r. 7, Ovid alludes to the epilogue of the Metamorphoses
when he prays that his poem willlive, delight readers, and be a reminder of
himself (Tr. r.7.25-26, "nunc precor ut vivant et non ignava legentum 1
otia delectent admoneantque mei") . Ovid goes on to ask the reader to a:ffix
to the head of the first book of theMetamorphoses a disclaimer consisting of
three elegiac couplets, the first line of which addresses the reader as some-
one who is in physical possession of the written text: "whoever you are who
touches the book-rolls" ( Tr. r. 7. 35, "quicumque volumina tangis") . In the
following verses, Ovid alleges that he did not have time to make final
revisions, and that whatever defect the rough poem contains within its
books, he would have it corrected if he had been permitted (Tr. r. 7.39-40,
86 Chapter 3
"quidquid in his igitur vitii rude carmen habebit, 1 emendaturus, si li-
cuisset, erat''). The narrator of theMetamorphoses never acknowledges "the
reader" this directly, nor does he mention the poem's physical form or text
this explicitly. Hinds argues trenchantly that Ovid's strategy is to rewrite the
Metamorphoses asan exile poem "to book his return" to Rome ( 1985: 25-
27) . That is, Ovid represents the Metamorphoses in the same mournful and
neglected condition as the Tristia, so as to remind the reader of the poet's
absence and pitiable condition. I would suggest, further, that Ovid's rewrit-
ing of the Metamorphoses transforms that poem into a book, something it
pretends not to be. By identifying the Metamorphoses as a written artifact,
Ovid implicitly equates himself with lo, Philomela, and Byblis- characters
who resort to writing when they are not able to speak. The exiled Ovid thus
recasts the Metamorphoses as a text that testifi.es to the suppression of his
voice, a mute reminder of his absence from the audience he would have
wanted most to reach.
The fi.ction of viva-voce performance in theMetamorphoses would have
lent itself well to public recitation. Furthermore, the premise of Ovid's
immortality ("ore legar populi") involves the notion of his poetic persona
living on in the reader's ritual reenactment of the performance scripted
in the text. However, the suitability of the Metamorphoses to public per-
formance should not lead to the facile conclusion that it is not intended
for the lector doctus. Recent scholarship has vindicated the poet from charges
of superficiality ( cf. Hinds 1988), but it was not long ago that the enter-
taining qualities of the Metamorphoses were taken as a sign of change and
decline in Roman literature. That Ovid wrote for more than one audience
is not surprising; this approach is also characteristic of his earlier poetry.
As McKeown observes of theAmores, "[I]t should not be forgotten that
the poems were written for oral delivery as well as for prívate reading''
(1987= 63).
In the Metamorphoses, the tension between the fi.ction of oral perfor-
mance and the "reality'' of the poem's textuality is one that is negotiated
silently between the implied author and audience. 31 The highly allusive and
learned manner of the poem intimate that the fullest appreciation of its
artistry can come only through elose reading. If we accept the premise that
the listener's reception of the poem is di:fferent from the reader's- the one
hearing the poem in time as an event, the other viewing it in space as an
artifact- it is possible to distinguish two di:fferent modes of reception. The
narratoria! audience hears the poem "for the first time" in temporal se-
The Divided Audience
quence, having no foreknowledge of how the narrative will turn out. It
does not encounter the poem as a fixed text, but as a flow of words, images,
characters, and scenes. The implied audience, on the other hand, is not
limited to the time-flow of the poet's performance. It can approach the
Metamorphoses as a written work and has the luxury of rereading. Equally
important, the implied audience is able to appreciate the physicallayout of
theMetamorphoses, an aspect of the work that is not always available to the
narratoria! audience. One of the most important ways that Ovid appeals to
an implied audience is by accommodating his narrative to the physical space
of the papyrus book-roll.
The Implications of Papyrus
It is a truism ·that the Ovidian narrator disregards book divisions in the
Metamorphoses. Not only does the narrator's discourse overrun book bound-
aries ( cf. 1-2,2-3,6-7,8-9, 12-13, 13-14), he also makes no reference to
the boundaries themselves, which is hardly surprising given the fact that he
presents his poem as a continuous viva-voce performance. However, it also
was an epic convention that strong pauses in the narrative correspond to
book divisions, at least since the time when the Alexandrian editors divided
Homer's epics into books (Fowler 1989: 94-95). Because the book-roll was
a primary unit of composition for long works of epic, it is felt that Ovid's
transgression of book boundaries is significant, but interpreters have dis-
agreed about the significance. 32 Sorne argue that Ovid wishes to emphasize
the continuity of his narrative by doing away with structural restraints (Birt
1959: 138; cf. R. Coleman 1971: 471; Martindale 1988b: 17). Others view
Ovid's technique of continuing his narrative across books as a strategy to
keep the reader in suspense (Lafaye 1971: 82; Tolkiehn 1915; Wilkinson
1955: 149; Due 1974: 117; Fowler 1989: 96-97). Both views are defensible,
depending on whether one considers the poem from the perspective of the
narrator or from the perspective of the implied author. Ovid the narrator has
no reason to observe book divisions, but Ovid the implied author plays with
them. He mayor may not allow a narrative pause to coincide with a book's
end. 33 To investigate the significance of each of the book divisions is beyond
the scope of this study. 34 I willlimit myfocus to the end of the first two books
of theMetamorphoses. M y purpose is to explore the kind of narrative commu-
nication that occurs between implied author and implied audience at the
88 Chapter 3
moment when one book ends and another begins. The division of the poem
into books functions as a silent or non-lexical form of communication- one
that is distinct from the narrator's communication with his audience.
The most famous example of Ovid overrunning a book boundary
occurs in the transition between Books 1 and 2. In the final columns of the
book-roll, Ovid introduces Phaethon, who wants to prove that he is the son
of Phoebus-Sol. Phaethon's mother urges him to visit his father. AB Pha-
ethon journeys from his native Ethiopia eastward, the book terminates,
compelling the pre-codex reader to reach for a new roll. Given the fact that
this is the first transition between books, Ovid would appear to be pro-
grammatically flouting the principie that the papyrus roll was the primary
unit of literary composition and reading. The final words of Book 1, "pa-
triosque adit inpiger ortus" ( 1. 779, "and he went hastily to his father's
rising-place"), hardly representa point of stability and closure.
In fact, Ovid's ending of Book 1 is a calculated reversa! of closural
conventions. The final word "ortus" connotes a "beginning.'' Its ostensible
meaning is "quarter in which the sun rises" ( OLD, s.v. 2); however, the
secondary meaning of "birth" or "origin" ( OLD, s.v. 5) also comes into
play, for this is the object of Phaethon's eastward journey. In addition, ortus
can refer to the dawning of a new day ( OLD, s.v. 3), a meaning that
foreshadows Phaethon's desire to make the sun rise as proof of his paternal
origin. Book 1 thus ends on the note of Phaethon's search for beginnings.
The narrative search coincides with the end of one book-roll and the begin-
ning of the next. This point may be developed further. It seems scarcely
coincidental that the end of the book coincides with the edge of the known
world. 35 Ovid may even draw the reader's attention to the correspondence
between geographical boundaries and the physical space of the papyrus roll.
Six lines befare the end of Book 1, Clymene informs Phaethon that his
father's house is adjacent to their land: "unde oritur, domus est terrae
contermina nostrae" ( 1. 774, "his house, from where he rises, is adjacent to
our land"). The adjective "contermina" means literally "forming a bound-
ary with.'' Phaethon's journey thus involves a boundary-crossing, which is
reflected in the fact that he also traverses a book boundary. Furthermore,
Book 2 begins with a description ofPhoebus's palace and the doorways into
which Phaethon enters, once again implying a correlation between places in
the story-world and places in the physical text. 36 Finally, the ecphrasis of the
doors of the sun-god constitutes an allusion to the cosmogony that opened
Book 1, and so hints at its own status as a book beginning. 37 In this light,
the book border appears to be far from arbitrary. It divides Phaethon's own
The Divided Audience
land from his father's, and more significantly, the human world from the
celestial. Indeed, Phaethon's boundary-crossing assumes the proportions of
a celestial journey, an apotheosis, and a return to cosmic origins in the
elemental sense. 38 All of these associations are available without the knowl-
edge that Phaethon's eastward journey coincides with the end of one book
and the beginning of the other. However, the awareness shared by implied
author and implied audience of this textual crossing raises another level of
interpretation which is metapoetic. Holzberg (forthcoming, 1998) associ-
ates Phaethon with the poet, because the narrator's own "fert animus" is
applied by Clymene to her son: "si modo fert animus, gradere et scitabere
ab ipso!" ( r. 775, "go and find out from himself, if your mind so moves
you"). Yet Holzberg also observes that Phaethon is a figure for the reader,
who is journeying from one book-roll to the next. This textual dimension of
the narrative, which would be unavailable to the narratoria! audience, o:ffers
a structure of reading to the implied audience making its way through the
poem. Phaethon's journey to the palace of the Sun, however, is only a
precursor to his more terrifying and disorienting journey through the sky,
which may likewise be interpreted as a metaphor for the reader's experience
of theMetamorphoses.
Ifwe look at the transition between Books 2 and 3, Ovid reverses the
procedure I have described at the end of Book 1, once again playing with
the dynamics of the book-roll. AB is well known, the story of Jupiter's
abduction of Europa continues across books, but the continuation in the
third book proves to be a red herring. 39 This episode, however, is worth a
second look because of the di:fferent responses available to the narratoria!
and implied audiences. First, the familiarity of the narratoria! audience with
the story is a given. The Ovidian narrator does not introduce Europa by
name in the tale, although he does name her elsewhere in the poem ( cf.
6.104; 8.120). He expects his audience to be able to guess who the royal
daughter is (2.844, "filia regis") who plays on the shores of Sidon ( cf.
2. 840) . The suppression of the name is not just a game that the narrator is
playing with his audience's expectations, it may also have a thematic func-
tion. 40 Jupiter desires to keep his a:ffair secret from both Mercury and Juno.
The irony, of course, is that the audience knows full well what Jupiter is up
to when he takes the form of a pretty white bull to attract the attention of
Europa as she plays with her companions. Entranced by the bull's beauty
and strangely peaceful face, the maiden draws near and o:ffers him flowers.
The narrator then speaks from Jupiter's point of view: "gaudet amans et,
dum veniat sperata voluptas, 1 oscula dat manibus; vix iam, vix cetera
90 Chapter 3
differt" ( 2.862-63, "The lover is gleeful and until the expected pleasure
comes he kisses her hands; hardly then, hardly does he put off the rest'').
The story moves gradually toward the fulfillment of Jupiter's desire, as
narrator and audience share in a Bolero-like build-up leading to the mo-
ment when Europa boards the bull. 41 He inches toward the water's edge
and sets out to sea. The book eloses with a description of Europa:
pavet haec litusque ablata relictum
respicit et dextra cornum tenet, altera dorso
inposita est; tremulae sinuantur flamine vestes.
(Met. 2.873-75)
[ She is afraid, and as she is carried away she looks back at the receding
shore and holds his horn with her right hand, while her other hand is
placed on his back; fluttering in the breeze her dress billows.]
This image closely parallels a moment in Moschus's epyllion ( cf. Europa,
125-29; Otis 1970: 395-96). However, Moschus continues the story for
another thirty-five lines: Europa asks the bull who he is and complains of
her plight; the bull answers that he is Zeus and that she will be his bride; the
pair arrive in Crete; and consummation takes place. Given this set of expec-
tations, Ovid's parting look at Europa's billowing clothes ("sinuantur") at
the end of Book 2 would appear to signa! further undress in Book 3. The
implied audience, at least on a first reading, would be compelled to unravel
the next papyrus roll. The delay at the end of the book increases its suspense
and desire. As Konstan remarks in a similar context (Pan's pursuit of Syr-
inx) : "The narrative desire to hear the end of the tale is thus an analogue of
the erotic desire that motivates the god in the tale. The passion that gener-
ates the plot and terminates with its conclusion corresponds to the reader's
need to undo the tension of the narrative and find repose or satisfaction in
the completed myth, to the extent, at all events, that the reader's empathy is
aligned specifically with . . . masculine desire" ( 1991 : 20) .
Ovid's technique of dividing a tale between two books harks back to
the earlier experience of the transition between Book 1 and Book 2, where
the book boundary likewise coincided with a journey from one world to
another. Phaethon travels from Ethiopia to the Far East; Europa from Asia
to the western continent that will bear her name. Phaethon and Europa not
only travel in different directions, but Phaethon hurries to meet his father,
The Divided Audience 91
and Europa is carried away from hers. When readers turn to Book 3 to find
out what is in store for Europa, they find this:
Iamque deus posita fallacis imagine tauri
se confessus erat Dictaeaque rura tenebat
cum pater ignarus Cadmo perquirere raptam
imperat ...
(Met. 3.1-4)
[And the god had already laid aside the deceptive shape of a bull and
revealed himself and was reaching the fields of Dictaean Crete, when
Europa's father, ignorant of the affair, commanded Cadmus to search
everywhere for the abducted girl.]
The surprise at the beginning ofBook 3 is that the slow build-up in Jupiter's
courtship ofEuropa leads toa transition anda new story. Fowler quips: '~s
often in Ovid, the frustration is sexual as well as narratological" ( 1989: 96) .
Or is it? From a Lacanian perspective, the deferral of the implied audience's
desire would be precisely the point. Viewed retrospectively, however, the
icon of Europa seated on the bull assumes a new significance, symbolizing
both the rapaciousness of Jupiter's sexual desire and the helpless fear of his
abducted victim. Ovid, in fact, capitalizes on the book's end to redefine the
shape of the story for his implied audience. 42 In so doing, he also subtly
reasserts the autonomy of the book as a unit of composition and reading.
This applies to the beginning ofBook 3 as well, for rather than continue the
journey and story of Jupiter and Europa from Book 2, it picks up the new
narrative thread of Cadmus's search for Europa, his exile, and the founda-
tion ofThebes. 43
The abrupt ending of the Europa tale would not be lost, of course, on
the narratoria! audience, but the change in narrative rhythm is not unusual.
Ovid typically retards the action befare a peripeteia to heighten suspense,
but once the denouement has occurred he rushes to the end so that his
audience's attention does not flag (von Albrecht 1981 a: 21 1-12) .44 In fact,
the elliptical brevity of"se confessus erat'' ( 3.2, "He had revealed himself")
is not much different from Ovid's earlier accounts ofJupiter's lovemaking. 45
The important point for my argument is that the suspense created by the
end of the book-roll and the anticlimax of the next book-roll is more an
effect of the poem's textual· dynamics than of the narrator's continuous
92 Chapter 3 The Divided Audience 93

performance. Nonetheless, the implied author of theMetamorphoses is con- order to find out what happened to the other "cornu:' the reader must reach
cerned with the division of the poem into books even if the narrator is not. for the "cornua" of the next book-roll. Thus the interna! narrator's narrative
Here the implied audience sees the voiceless hand of the editor that creates discourse spans two books without a break. N eedless to say, Achelous does
the suspended ending of Book 2, much as the Alexandrian editors of Ho- not know that he is a fictional character in the narrator's discourse, nor does
mer divided the Iliad and Odyssey into books. he intend by his discussion of "horns" to illude to the ending of the eighth
In summary, the rationale for differentiating between the implied au- book. Ít is the implied author and the implied reader who can observe that
dience and a narratoria! audience proves to be fruitful because it accommo- there is another level of meaning to Achelous's "horns.'' To this set of spec-
dates the different modes of reception that Ovid constructs in the Meta- ulations about "horns" and the ending ofbooks,-let us return to Jupiter and
morphoses. As a written epic, the poem is unquestionably the product of a Europa one last time. N ot only are Jupiter's programmatically small horns
chirographic mindset. Yet it also effaces its own textuality by imitating an (2.855, "cornua parva") the focus of Europa's attention, but as the book-
"oral" performance. Of course, the text is always there, underlying the roll comes to an end, Europa is pictured as holding onto one of them
performance: the poet is not engaging in spontaneous oral composition. (2.874, "dextra cornum tenet''). So might the reader be holding on to the
But the text can be realized in different ways: as a dramatic fiction oras a horn of the book and wondering, like Europa, what next?
series of book-rolls. It is in this sense that the Metamorphoses is a poem
divided between two worlds. The distinction between two frames of com-
munication, an outer written frame and an inner oral frame, enables us to
attend to the different effects that the poem generates for its different au-
diences. We have seen that it is possible to detecta tension between these
two modes of reception in the divisions between books. But this does not
exhaust the possibilities.
One last example of Ovid's play with the textuality of his poem may be
introduced. Barchiesi suggests that the "horns" (cornua) of Cipus memori-
alized in Book 15 ( 620-621) gloss the end of the book-roll and the end of
theMetamorphoses (1994: 252-51 = 1997b: 187; for another type ofbook-
ish gloss, cf. 1994: 256-57 = 1997b: 190). To support this reading, he cites
Martial's statement about a book having been unrolled to its "horns": "ex-
plicitum no bis usque ad sua cornua librum" ( 11. 107. 1) . The "horns" of a
book seem to have been the knobs (cornua) on the rod (umbilicus) around
which the papyrus is wound. 46 Thus to have finished reading a book-roll is
"to have unrolled it to its horns.'' Barchiesi's observation is ingenious, but
his case could be more persuasive. First, if Cipus's "horns" allude to the end
of the book-roll and hence to the end of theMetamorphoses, why does this
allusion come 250 lines before the end of the book-roll? Second, there are
better examples of "horny'' endings in theMetamorphoses, in which a meta-
poetic allusion to the "horns" of a book plays with ideas of closure and
continuation. In his discussion of book divisions Holzberg acutely points
out that, at the end of Book 8, Achelous begins to discourse about one of
his horns, which has been broken ( 8.882-84); in effect, the reader reaches
not only the "cornua" of the book-roll, but the one "cornu" of Achelous. In

4 and not simply art for art's sake, then his foregrounding of the narrator in
Assembling an Audience
An author makes his reader very muchas he makes his characters.
- Henry James
In recent criticism on Ovid's Metamorphoses, a consensus has begun to
emerge that the poem's main source of unity is the personality of the poet. 1
Solodow, for example, states :. "One thing does stand out, dominating and
informing the whole: the narrator himself, the poet Ovid. His distinctive
voice we learn to recognize as we read the poem, we feel him present
everywhere mediating the transmission of the stories, we rely on him as a
kind of guide through the vast confusion of the world. He alone unifies the
poem" ( 1988: 37). It is, of course, a characteristic of narrated discourse that
the characters, settings, and events of the poem do not appear befare the
audience's eyes as in a staged drama. They are framed, ordered, and slanted
by a narrator whose own assumptions, beliefs, and values shape the story-
world. 2 But to say that Ovid alone unifies the poem is an oversimplification.
As Solodow's repeated use of the pronoun ''we" indicates, the fiction of
Ovid's presence can only be realized through the cooperation of an audi-
ence with whom the poet communicates.
Ovid illustrates the necessary participation of a poet's audience in Book
ro. Orpheus, bereft of Eurydice, begins to pluck his lyre in solitude on a
barren hilltop; it is not long, however, before he is shaded by a grave of
charmed trees (ro.86-142) and thronged bybirds and beasts (ro.143-44).
The response of the trees to Orpheus's song can be explained by the fact that
they were once human beings ( cf. Heliades, Daphne, Lotis, Attis, and
especially Cyparissus) . Yet Ovid's fantasy reveals a central assumption of
ancient poetics: a poet does not perform alone but conjures a listening
subject upon whom he casts his spell. The poet-narrator of theMetamorpho-
ses likewise does not sing in isolation but performs befare an audience
whose response he seeks to shape. This is not a trivial point. H we accept the
Assembling an Audience 95
premise that Ovid's storytelling is fundamentally an act of communication,
theMetamorphoses entails the involvement of an audience.
Although much has been said about the ludie persona of the Ovidian
narrator, there has been little detailed or systematic treatment of his addres-
see in theMetamorphoses. The main task of this chapter is to identify the signs
of the narratoria! audience and the devices by which the narrator invites the
audience's participation. Even if this audience is not directly named and
specified, it is nonetheless possible to divine its presence and competence
from the way the narrator expresses himself, the literary code and style in
which he communicates, and the frames of reference- poetic, mythologi-
cal, and topical- he expects the audience to share. Equally important, when
the narrator describes an object or scene, identifies a character, explains a
detail, or comments on the story, he does so for the sake of his audience,
whose response he seeks to shape. The more the narrator intrudes into his
narrative, the more the communication with the audience is foregrounded.
Forms of Address
Ovid begins theMetamorphoses in epic fashion, with a brief proem in which
the poet-narrator speaks briefly in his own person, states the theme he is
moved to present, and invokes the gods to aid his undertaking. The strange
thing about the epic beginning, and epic discourse in general, however, is
that the poet does not identify or address his immediate audience. Why the
avoidance of direct address to the audience became a rule in epic- or, to be
more precise, why Homer, the source of the epic norm, avoids this mode of
communication-is open to speculation. As Ruth Finnegan (1977: n8)
says of epic: "Direct address to the audience is ... peculiarly appropriate to
oralliterature. It is surprising that it does not occur more often.'' Andrew
Ford ( 1992: 31) takes a different position: "Epic leaves the relationship
between individual poet and particular audience wholly implicit; it pre-
tends to be an impersonal tale, universally interesting, told for its own sake.''
The degree to which Homer pretends to be impersonal and objective is, of
course, open to debate. 3 Scholars have recently pointed to a number of
subtle, but by no means trivial, techniques by which the Homeric narrator
discreetly communicates with his audience. 4 All the same, it is undeniably
an epic convention to leave the audience undefined, or implied, and not to
draw it directly into the poem through formal, direct address. The same
 Chapter 4
pattern is observable in the Homeric Hymns, notwithstanding the excep-
tional address of the Delian maidens by the blind Chian rhapsode in the
Hymn toApollo ( 169-76; cf. Obbink 1993: 58, n. 16). Hesiod likewise does
not name or address an audience in the Theogony, in marked contrast to his
Works and Days, which is addressed to his wayward brother, Perses. The
norm of an implicit, indefinite audience is also characteristic of later epics
such as Apollonius'sAwonautica and Vergil'sAeneid.
Ovid therefore observes epic protocol when he does not explicitly
identify or characterize his audience at the beginning of theMetamorphoses.
The studied anonymity of the narratoria! audience remains true for the
remainder of the epic, with the possible exception of an apostrophe to
Augustus in Book 1, which I discuss later. N owhere in the poem does the
Ovidian narrator refer to or invoke the reader (i.e., candide lector), as he
does so frequently in his exile poetry. 5 N or should we expect him to, if the
poem is cast as an epic performance. Moreover, as a rule, Ovid does notad-
dress the recipient of his narrative direq::ly with either the indicative or the
imperative, much less use second person pronouns or adjectives that refer
to the audience. 6 Here one may contrast Ovid's secondary narrators who
frequently particularize their addressees ( cf. vonAlbrecht 1964: 189-90).
Ovid's choice not to address or to define the identity of his audience
need not have been a foregone conclusion. In recent years, scholars have
underscored the aetiological and didactic characteristics of theMetamorpho-
ses. 7 Given the poem's thematic interests, it is possible that Ovid could have
selected a didactic framework of communication. Within theMetamorphoses
itself there is a model for the kind of relationship Ovid could have conceiv-
ably struck up with his audience: the speech ofPythagoras (15.75-478).
The vegetarian philosopher addresses himself to his audience in the very
first words of his speech: "Parcite, mortales, dapibus temerare nefandis ¡
corporal" (15.75-76, "Mortals, resist defiling your bodies with unspeak-
able feasts"), and he continues to harangue his listeners with vocatives such
as "genus o mortale" (15.139, "O human race") and "o genus attonitum
gelidae formidine mortis!" ( 15.153, "O race thunderstruck with the cold
fear of death!"). Pythagoras also shifts his mode of address to the didac-
tic "you" (15.186, "cernis"; 15.200, "adspicis"; 15.362, "nonne vides").
This explicit form of didactic address strikes a counterpoint to Ovid's own
method of communication. As Galinsky remarks, "The Pythagoras episode
serves Ovid to demonstrate in how different a manner from his own he
could have treated subjects of metamorphosis in myth ( 1975: 107; cf. Ga-
linsky 1998).
Assembling an Audience 97
By committing himself to one kind of communicative strategy in the
Metamorphoses, Ovid in sorne sense repudiates the strategies that he em-
ploys in other works. For the sake of comparison, let us briefiy consider the
way that Ovid constructs his addressee in the Fasti, the poem that is most
closely related to theMetamorphoses. Cast in the format of the Roman calen-
dar, the Fasti has a quasi-didactic purpose: it aims to explain the origins of
Roman festivals and to describe the performance of rituals. Originally, Ovid
addressed the poem to Augustus ( cf. Tr. 2.549-52). After the emperor's
death, however, he rededicated the work as a whole to Germanicus in the
hope of winning a recall from exile. 8 Ovid not only invokes the prince as a
source of poetic inspiration, he also makes him the poem's privileged reader
(F. r. 7- rr) . Germanicus is introduced to the contents of the poem as
follows: "sacra recognosces annalibus eruta priscis" (F. 1. 7, "you will recog-
nize rites unearthed from ancient annals"); "invenies.illic et domestica festa
vobis" ( 1.9, "you will find there festivals that also pertain to your house");
"saepe tibi pater est, saepe legendus avus" ( 1. 1 o, "often will you read of
your father, often of your grandfather") . In the first book, Ovid addresses
Germanicus by name three times, once as Caesar ( 1. 3 1), and twice by his
cognomen (r.63; 285). The latter appeals frame the Janus episode and so
mark the ongoing dialogue between poet and prince. Later, in the same
book, the poet clearly remembers his addressee when he celebrates the
anniversary of the naming of Augustus: "et tuus Augusto nomine dictus
avus" ( 1 .590, "and your grandfather was given the name of Augustus").
This notice clearly fulfills Ovid's proemial promise that Germanicus would
find festival days pertaining to his family ( cf. F. 1.9-10). The majority of
second person appeals in Book 1 (r.45, "ignores"; 1.49, "putaris"; 1.75,
"cernis"; 1.591, "perlege") are directed to Germanicus, not to an implied
general reader. Only three instances in Book 1 can be attributed to a generic
addressee (1.315, "tibi"; 1.318, "adde"; r.631, "siquis amas"), such as one
commonly finds in didactic poetry. In short, the opening book of the Fasti
possesses a fairly consistent addressee in Germanicus; the explicit address of
the prince in the proem is not simply a portrait head placed on the torso of
the poem's reader construct. 9
This generalization is less true for the rest of the poem. The only other
address of Germanicus outside of Book 1 comes in Book 4, where Ovid
refiects upon his exile from Sulmo ( cf. F. 4.81-84) .10 The standard explana-
tion for this lack of consistency is that Ovid did not finish revising the
poem. Yet the fact that he does not rub out Augustus as the original recip-
ient of the work may be telling. The address of Augustus in the proem to
 Chapter 4
Book 2 anticipates the Nones of Febmary, the anniversary of his assump-
tion of the title Pater Patriae, a passage of panegyric in which Ovid ad-
dresses the emperor at length (F. 2.127-44) .1 1 Thus the addressee of the
Fasti resembles a palimpsest, accommodating both Augustus and Germani-
cus- with Tiberius lurking in the background. Ovid's partial revision could
be viewed as an accident of history, but it also re:flects the continuity of
imperial succession in the domusAugusta; fathers and sons were assimilated
both as leaders andas readers ( cf. Fantham 1985: 260). The implied wider
audience of the Fasti therefore approaches the text with the knowledge that
the inscribed reader is a Caesar. The wider audience mayor may not identify
with the model reader, but it cannot dismiss Germanicus or Augustus as
window-dressing. The imperial persona is both addressee and subject of
Ovid's work ( cf. Barchiesi 1994: 34-36 = 1997a: 43-44).
The Fasti is nota purely didactic poem, but the poet's address of a
personified addressee is a feature of didactic discourse. Typically in didactic
poetry the poet-teacher directs his instmction toan individual addressee. At
the same time that the didactic poet orients his message toward a specific
persona, he communicates implicitly or explicitly with a generalized au-
dience. The archetype for the didactic relationship between poet and named
addressee is Hesiod's Works and Days, in which the poet lectures his brother
Perses how to lead his life. Hesiod's characterization of his addressee in-
evitably distances the implied audience from the act of communication ( cf.
J. S. Clay 1993: 23-24). But as the character ofPerses recedes, anda gener-
alized "you" emerges, the wider audience is drawn closer to the poet. In
Roman poetry, this pattern of address is exemplified by Lucretius's De
Rcrum Natura, in which the poet writes, on the one hand, to his Roman
patron Memmius and, on the other, to human beings in general. Vergil's
Geor;gics has two explicit addressees- the patron Maecenas and Roman
farmers- as well as a wider audience of sophisticated readers. Ovid sim-
ilarly constmcts a two-fold addressee in the Fasti: the imperial patron and
an implied wider audience who is invoked through generalizing second
person appeals ( cf. N ewlands 1992: 37) .
Recent studies of the addressee in didactic poetry have shown that the
relationship of the wider audience to the didactic poet and his personi-
fied addressee is flexible ( cf. "Mega N epios" in Materiali e Discussione 31
[ 199 3] ) . The wider audience may or may not be encouraged to identify
with the didactic addressee, and it may or may not feel superior to the
addressee. The more defined the addressee becomes, however, the greater is
the potential for the addressee to be distanced from the wider audience.
Assembling an Audience 99
However, the didactic speaker can overcome this distance by deploying the
generic or didactic "you" which blurs the distinction between the addressee
and the wider audience. 12 Given the practica! nature of didactic poetry,
the didactic ''you" is always a potential role for the "implied" audience
to play.
It is precisely this bifocal strategy of communication that Ovid avoids
in theMetamorphoses. The poet-narrator approaches his audience in anony-
mous and generalizing terms, which approximate the norms of epic narra-
tive. This does not mean that the poet ignores his audience. N or does it
mean that the audience plays a negligible part in the narrative transaction.
On the contrary, as Ovid narrates, he resorts to a variety of devices through
which he acknowledges the presence of his audience and seeks to guide its
response. Let us now consider what kind of an audience Ovid fictionalizes.
Capacities of the N arratorial Audience
In Chapter 1, we saw how the proem consists of a series of literary allusions
that move the audience to ask what kind of poem the Metamorphoses is.
Ovid assumes a recipient that has the ability to recognize and interpret these
allusions. Therefore, even though poet-narrator does not address or par-
ticularize his audience directly, he creates an implicit image of it through
the evocation of a shared poetic memory. 13 Two examples may illustrate the
point. First, if one accepts the reading of "illa" in the second line of the
poem and the interpretation that the gods have transformed the poet's
elegiac couplets into hexameters, then it is necessary for the audience to
know at one level that the Ovidian nairator is or was an elegist. 14 Second,
the allusion to the prologue ofAetia (Met. 1.4 "perpetuum ... carmen" ~
Aet. fr. 1.3 af:tO"f..l<X btTlVEKÉ<;) presupposes that Ovid's audience knows Call-
imachus and is conversant in the terminology of Callimachean literary de-
bate, as it was conducted in Augustan poetic circles. 15 The same audience
may also expected to catch the even more tenuous allusion to Vergil's sixth
Eclogue (Met. 1.4 "deducite" ~ Ecl. 6.5 "deductum carmen''). Out of these
references emerges a network of poetic memory, a set of linked associations,
which poet and audience share that enrich the primary message. This com-
plicit shaping of literary history creates a background that enables com-
munication between poet and audience and provides a general framework
within which the message or meaning of the text can be organized ( Iser
1978: 81). Ovid thus begins theMetamorphoses by positing an audience that
 roo Chapter4
is attuned to the programmatic resonance of his proem and that recognizes
the literary historical implications ofhis project. His is aRoman audience of
the Augustan age- rhetorically educated, hellenized, and well versed in
Greek and Roman poetry. 16 The identity of such an audience is necessarily
complex, but this should not surprise. As Calvino observes: ''Who are we,
who is each one of us, if not a combinatoria of experiences, information,
books we have read, things imagined? Each life is an encyclopedia, a library,
an inventory of objects, a series of styles, and everything can be shuffied and
reordered in every way conceivable" ( 1988: 124).
The narratoria! audience is, as argued in Chapter 2, not a definite
character in the text, but a role to play. N onetheless, the role carries with it
certain expectations. To begin with, Ovid's audience does not require an
introduction to Greek mythology; it is already familiar with many of the
stories and characters that the poet is retailing. It can recognize, for in-
stance, who Prometheus is when he is introduced at the end of the cos-
mogony as "satus lapeto" ( r. 82, "the son of Iapetus") . Ovid's frequent use
of periphrasis or antonomasia to introduce well-known mythological fig-
ures demands that the audience be able to identify these characters ( cf.
Bernbeck 1967: 44-56, esp. 48-49). What is more- and this may be felt to
be a departure from epic practice- Ovid sometimes does not name major
characters at all: e.g., Callisto (2.401-520 ), Europa (2.833-75), Atalanta
(8.317-40), and Mnestra (8.738-878). In such cases, the poet-narrator
leaves a gap in his narration to which the audience must respond with its
extratextualknowledge (cf. Davis 1983: 55-56).
Recent scholarship has demonstrated that Ovid's deceptively simple
and entertaining storytelling displays redoubtable sophistication in many
areas of mythological and poetic learning. Yet at no point does Ovid tell his
stories so allusively that they can only be understood by a few experts. 1 7 On
• the contrary, he looks forward to being recited on the lips of the people
(r5.878, "ore legar populi"), which suggests an orientation toward a gen-
eral audience. The accessibility of theMetamorphoses is enabled in part by the
fact that Ovid builds up the audience's competence through the repetition
and continuation ofnarrative patterns within the poem. As Hinds observes,
"Ovid's dialogues with the past repay the closest attention.... But in the
final analysis the Metamorphoses renders its sources superfluous . . . the
primary intertextual reading the poem insists on is one interna! to itself"
( 1996: ro85). If the narratoria! audience experiences the poem in a linear
mode, as a single continuous performance, it gradually evolves a new set of
capacities for the enjoyment and interpretation of successive episodes.
Assembling an Audience IOI
Signs of the Audience
It is possible to develop a profile of the narratoria! audience by measuring
what it is supposed to know. However, a number of explicit markers in the
narrator's discourse signal the audience's presence and participation in what
might be termed an "indirect dialogue" (cf. von Albrecht r 98 r a) . As is well
recognized, the narrator of the Metamorphoses is far from self-effacing. He
frequently breaks dramatic illusion to make transitions between tales, aetio-
logical remarks, editorializing or epigrammatic comments, contrary-to-fact
statements, and other forms of authorial commentary. His ludie train of
thought and continua! banter point to another party in communication. 18
The poet's dialogue with his audience becomes explicit when he uses gener-
alizing second person address, rhetorical question, parenthesis, and other
forms of narrative commentary.
GENERALIZING SECOND PERSON SINGULAR
The most revealing sign of the audience's presence in the Metamorphoses is
the narrator's use of potential subjunctives in the generalizing second per-
son singular. A more detailed analysis of this neglected feature of Ovid's
style is undertaken in chapter 6, but its main aspects can be introduced here.
The so-called imaginary second person is not the same as a direct form of
address to the audience; however, it is the closest thing to direct address
permitted in epic discourse. I have found thirty examples in the discourse of
the primary narrator and nineteen examples in the direct speech of charac-
ters. 19 The first case of such second person address occurs early in the poem.
The poet reports the story of the creation of a new race of mankindfrom the
blood of the giants defeated in their war against Jupiter.
sed et illa propago
contemptrix superum saevaeque avidissima caedis
et violenta fuit: scires a sanguine natos.
(Met. r.r6o-62)
[But that race too was contemptuous of the gods, very desirous for
cruel slaughter, and violent: you would have known that they were
born from blood.]
102 Chapter 4.
The verb "scires" ("you would have known") is a figure of speech, be-
cause Ovid shifts from third person narrative to the second person ( see
appendix B) . The effect of the switch of persons is to invite the audience's
confirmation of the truth of the myth. The past potential "scires" is not,
however, a direct address to the narratoria! audience, much less to the
implied reader ( cf. von Albrecht 1964: 198 and n. 274; 4-06 n. 191). The
second person of a hypothetical subjunctive den~tes an indeterminate sub-
ject. Haupt and Ehwald ( 1966: ad loe.) translate "scires" as "man hatte
erkennen mogen" ("one might have recognized") .2° For those averse to
modal verbs, the OLD (s.v. "scio" 3c) suggests "it was easy to see (that)."
These different translations show that the "you'' in "scires" does not auto-
matically constitute a form of direct personal address, but is the grammati-
cal equivalent of the French "on;' German "man;' Greek n~, and English
"one" ( cf. Wackernagel 1950: 109-10). Imaginary second person address
thus appeals to a generalized and abstract person without specifying its
identity.
Although it may be grammatically imprecise to say that the generic
second person is a direct address to the audience, it is difficult to believe that
poets were not aware of the potential for double meaning inherent in the
"you;' and did not exploit it to communicate more or less directly with a
hypotheticallistener that stands for the audience. The English grammar of
Jespersen and Haislund ( 1949: 153) observes of the generic second person
in English: "the original purport of the pronoun is never entirely forgotten,
and you cannot be used except when there is a possibility of applying what is
said to the hearer ( or reader) ?' It is difficult to know how much personal
appeal there is in the Latin generalizing second person ( context is obviously
a key determinant), but the original grammatical shift from the third to the
second person must have refiected a desire to put a generalizing statement
into a dialogic framework that involved the addressee directly. 21 One argu-
ment for the personal appeal of the imaginary second person in the Meta-
morphoses is that interna! narrators employ the device to communicate with
their audiences, even when using forms of personal address. Jupiter ha-
rangues his fellow Olympians on the topic of mankind's wickedness and
seeks to move them with his own paranoid anxiety: "in facinus iurasse
putes" ( 1.242, "you would think they have taken oaths for crime"). This
statement not only resembles Ovid's own "scires a sanguine natos" ( 1. 162),
but it also clearly addresses a specific audience.
Ovid's use of the imaginary second person is relatively frequent and
consistent throughout theMetamorphoses. The primary narrator exploits the
Assembling an Audience 103
device at least one time in each book, with the exception of Books 1o and
15, in which his presence ·is significantiy diminished. In sorne books, the
primary narrator's second person appeals increase dramatically: Book 6 and
Book 11 have six examples each. In both cases, the increased frequency of
generalizing second person address comes after an extended sequence of
embedded narrative that coincides with the end of a pentad: Minerva's
meeting with the Muses (5.269-678) and the song of Orpheus ( 10.148-
738). This pattern may be accidental, but it suggests that the primary narra-
tor foregrounds communication with his audience at particular points of
his performance.
FIRST PERSON PLURAL
A device related to the generalizing second person is the first person plural
referring to both the narrator and his audience. This "we" is not a common
feature of epic narrative; rather it is characteristic of didactic discourse. The
Ovidian Pythagoras repeatedly employs the first person plural with his
audience (cf. 15.96, 109,215,216,217,237,410,421,457,458,461, 462).
The primary narrator employs the ''we" only four times ( 1.414-415; 2. 330;
6.452; 15.745), and interna! narrators twice (7.419; 12.394). The first in-
stance, however, comes at a turning point in the middle of Book 1. Deuca-
lion and Pyrrha have repopulated the world by throwing stones behind
their backs ( 1. 399-413). After a vivid description of stones softening into
human fiesh, the narrator concludes the story by inviting the audience to
contemplate the origin of its own nature: "inde genus durum sumus experi-
ensque laborum 1 et documenta damus, qua simus origine nati" ( 1.414-15,
"Therefore we are a hard race and inured to labors and manifest the origin
from which we were born"). The first person plural verbs foreground the
narrating instance in such a way that the world ofwhich one tells converges
with the world in which one tells. Thus poet and audience share a common
ancestry in a traditional Greek myth. 22 It should be observed that this
example of dialogue with the audience echoes and contrasts with the earlier
example of"scires a sanguine natos" ( 1.162; cf. Nicoll 1980: 178-79). Poet
and audience identify themselves with the race of stones rather than with
the race of blood.
At a later point in the poem, Ovid employs the first person plural to
draw the audience's attention to its own memory of earlier parts of the
Metamorphoses.
104 Chapter4
ecce venit magno dives Philomela paratu
divitior forma, quales audire solemus
naidas et dryadas mediis incedere silvis,
si modo des illis cultus similesque paratus.
(Met. 6.451-54)
[Lo! Philomela arrives rich in her magnificent dress, richer still in her
beauty, such as the naiads and dryads we often hear of going into the
middle of the woods, provided you give them the same dress and
accessories as Philomela.]
Here the audience participates in the act of imagining the beauty of Philo-
mela. The comparison to nymphs is not drawn from the visual experience of
everyday life, but from what the audience is accustomed to hearing ("audire
solemus"). ''We" are thus encouraged to remember literary descriptions of
beautiful nymphs entering graves. This could, of course, be an appeal to the
audience's knowledge of a poetic topos. 23 However, given "our" direct expe-
rience of such scenes in theMetamorphoses, the poet is reminding "us" rather
of nymphs such as Daphne and Syrinx.
After making this cross-reference, the narrator directs the audience
to think of the same nymphs in the finery ofan Athenian princess ("si
modo des illis cultus similesque paratus"). Solodow responds ( 1988: 57):
"Strange simile, in which poet nearly undoes his own comparison! ... All
this leads us to feel vividly the presence of the narrator in his simile?' So it
does, but equally important is the interactive quality of Ovid's dialogue with
the audience. The recollection of nymphs such as Daphne and Syrinx turns
out to be an important background for reading the tale of Tereus's rape of
Philomela. After reminding the audience of nymphs entering graves, Ovid
next describes how Tereus burned with flames of desire upon seeing Phi-
lomelaforthefirsttime ( 6.455-57). The parallelism withApollo's ownlove
for Daphne is unmistakable ( 1.492-96; cf. Jacobsen 1984). The poet's ex-
plicit comparison of Philomela to nymphs is thus part of an intratextual
strategy that evokes the tale of Daphne and Apollo. Equally important, the
poet's cues to the audience are evidence for the continuity of the narrating
instance in theMetamorphoses.
Toward the end of the poem, Ovid employs the adjective noster to
characterize himself and his audience as Romans. In the transition be-
tween the penultimate and ultimate episodes of the poem, the poet-narrator
Assembling an Audience 105
makes the notorious chronologicalleap from Aesculapius to Julius Caesar:
"hic tamen accessit delubris advena nostris 1 Caesar in urbe sua deus est''
(15.745-46, "He nevertheless carne to our shrines as a stranger, but Caesar
is a god in his own city'') . The logic of the transition depends on the
antithesis between the exotic Aesculapius and the native Caesar. However,
the opposition between the pronouns nostris and sua may also be telling.
Feeney ( 1991: 21 o-13) interprets the Republican cult of Aesculapius as a
foil for the new Imperial cult. According to Feeney, "The run of Ovid's
narrative splits the welding to reveal starkly the appropriation of the corpo-
rate by the individual?' Ovid's emphasis on the possessive adjectives noster
and suus at the end of the Aesculapius episode signals the difference be-
tween Republican and Imperial Rome.
.RHETORICAL QUESTION
Closeness between narrator and audience also may be promoted through
rhetorical questions that acknowledge the audience's presence and evoke its
response to the narrative. Of course, not all rhetorical questions in the
Metamorphoses are directed toward the audience; for example, when Ovid
describes Jupiter's dilemma about handing lo over to Juno, he interjects the
deliberative question "quid faciat?" ( r.617, "what is he to do?"). Clearly,
this query is not aimed at the audience. The poet is representing Jupiter's
own question to himself (quid faciam?). The voice is Ovid's, but the point
of view is Jupiter's. 24 By m y count, there are eight audience-oriented rhe-
torical questions (r.4oo; 3.6-7; 3.142; 4.68; 4.653-54; 4.704; 10.61; and
15.61 3). The first rhetorical question posed to the audience occurs in the
myth of Deucalion and Pyrrha: Ovid is about to describe the metamorpho-
sis of stones into human beings, when he makes an aside to the audience:
"saxa ( quis hoc credat, nisi sit pro teste vetustas?) 1 ponere duritiem coe-
pere" ( I.400-401, "The stones (who would believe this, unless antiquity
were the witness?) began to lay aside their hardness") . Sorne critics cite
Ovid's rhetorical question as a typical example of self-irony, through which
he expresses skepticism about the veracity of the myth and sows seeds of
doubt in the minds ofhis listeners. 25 More subtly, von Albrecht ( 1964: 213;
cf. 1981a: 209-210) suggests that the poet anticipates the disbelief of a crit-
ica! audience and seeks to share with it a knowing smile and aesthetic
detachment.
Yet why would Ovid wish to distance the audience from the first meta-
106 Chapter 4
morphosis that he tells in his own voice? 26 (Jupiter narrated the poem's first
metamorphosis- Lycaon- without any disclaimers.) Ovid's commentary
on the imminent metamorphosis of stones into human flesh is itself a ploy to
win the audience's confidence by showing that he is aware of how improb-
able the story is. Yet there is scarcely a danger that Ovid and his audience
would naively believe the story ( cf. Stinton 1976: 65). Rather the poet's in-
sistence on the traditional authority of the story prepares his listener for the
marvelous quality of the event that he is about to describe. John J. Winkler
explains well the nature of the "unbelievable but tiue" claim:
This standard claim is wholly conventional, and if we know the conventions of
taletelling we also know how to translate it. When the narrator stoutly affirms that
his story is incredible ( to be sure) but true (nonetheless), we do not deprecate the
implausible and applaud the truth. On the contrary, each half of the narrator's claim
is conventionally and automatically translated or converted into the opposite sense:
we surely hope that the tale will be astounding, incredible, and marvelous and we
justas surely assume that it is in fact untrue. ( 1985: 32)
Ovid's rhetorical question to the audience thus does not aim to explode
dramatic illusion; rather, it defines the appropriate frame of mind for the
imaginative reception of the metamorphosis, which Winkler calls "the im-
mune co-presence of fictional belief and fictional disbelief."27 Like the ear-
lier examples of the generalizing "you" and "we;' the device of the rhetorical
question momentarily indicates to the audience how it should respond to
what it is about to hear.
NEGATION
Another technique the poet uses to communicate with the audience .is
"presentation through negation."28 Contradictions ar~ often significant
from an audience-oriented perspective because they reveal the beliefs, ex-
pectations, or hopes of the audience that the narrator wishes to correct. An
early example of such a form of dialogue is the negative enumeration of
what the golden age is not: sixteen negations occur in twelve lines ( 1.89-
1o 1) . The main thrust of Ovid's statements is that the golden age will never
return. 29 Furthermore, when he says that the golden age did not need laws
ora vindex ("champion''), he implicitlyrejects the idea thatAugustus, who
had styled himself vindex libertatis) brought about the return of a golden age
through his imposition of law and order in Rome. 30 Ovid thus begins the
Assembling an Audience 107
Metamorphoses with a "clear and emphatic rejection of the topos of aureum
saeculum?' (W. R. Johnson 1970: 143).
N egation need need not be so emphatic. A simpler example is Ovid's
statement that laurel did not exist at the time that Apollo founded the
Pythian games: "nondum laurus erat longoque decentia crine 1 tempora
cingebat de qualibet arbore Phoebus" ( 1.450-51, "laurel did not exist yet,
and Phoebus used to encircle his temples, beautiful in their long locks, with
a chaplet from any tree"). With the word nondum, the poet implicitly
corrects the assumption that the laurel tree had always existed. The negative
statement, furthermore, prompts questions from the audience: how and
when did the laurel originate and how did it come to be associated with
Apollo? Ovid answers these questions with the story of Apollo's love for
Daphne.
The technique of gainsaying the audience's beliefs can be joined with
other devices that engage the audience's attention, such as the generalizing
second person and rhetorical question. In the introduction to the tale of
Actaeon, the narrator vigorously refutes the belief that the young hunter
committed a crime when he inadvertantly discovered the bathing Diana:
at bene si quaeras, fortunae crimen in illo,
non scelus invenies; quod enim scelus error habebat?
(Met. 3.141-42)
[But if you look into the matter well, in his case you will find the crime
of misfortune, not of sin; for what sin was there in his error?]
In presenting the matter of Actaeon, the poet tells the audience in the
generalizing second person what verdict it will draw. 31 He draws attention
to the crux of the case with a rhetorical question: "quod enim scelus error
habet?"32 This prompts the audience to view Actaeon sympathetically as a
tragic hero in the Aristotelian sense: "someone not preeminent in virtue
and justice . . . who falls into adversity not through evil and depravity, but
through sorne kind of error" (Poetics 1453 a 7-11, trans. S. Halliwell). The
main thrust of Ovid's defense of Actaeon is to counteract the suspicion that
he had an erotic motive in spying Diana. 33 Consequently, at the critica!
moment of Actaeon's discovery ofDiana, Ovid returns to the keynote of the
youth's hapless ignorance: "per nemus ignotum non certis passibus errans 1
pervenit in lucum: sic illum fata ferebant'' ( 3.175-76, "erring through an
108 Chapter4
unknown wood and with uncertain footsteps he arrives in the grove: so the
fates were carrying him"). Actaeon's error is literal: he wanders without
purpose into the forbidden presence of the bathing Diana. For this reason
he is transformed into a stag and becomes the hunter hunted by his own
hounds. 34 When the tale has come to its grisly end, the poet implicitly
confirms the injustice of Actaeon's fate a second time, although he is careful
to distance himself from directly impugning Diana's cruelty. The anger of
Diana is said to have been satisfied only when Actaeon died of multiple
wounds (3.251-52, "nec nisi finita per plurima vulnera vita 1 ira pharetra-
tae fertur satiata Dianae") .
The story does not end here. The narrator goes on to report the post-
mortem responses to Diana's behavior:
Rumor in ambiguo est: aliis violentior aequo
visa dea est, alii laudant dignamque severa
virginitate vocant; pars invenit utraque causas.
(Met. 3.253-55)
[General opinion took two forms: to sorne the goddess seemed more
violent than was just; others were full of praise and called her worthy of
her strict virginity; each side found its reasons.]
By staging this debate at the end of the tale,· the narrator represents the
options that his audience has for judging Diana. We already know on which
side of the controversy Ovid stands; however, it becomes clear why he
begins the tale by defending Actaeon. He is anticipating the apologists of
Diana who are full of praise for the goddess. 35
PARENTHESIS
One of the most obvious means bywhich the poet conducts a dialogue with
his audience is the parenthesis or aside. Ovid's use of this rhetorical device,
which Quintilian calls "interiectio" ( 8.2. 15), has been exhaustively treated
by von Albrecht ( 1964). Nonetheless it would be useful to review briefly
sorne of the audience-oriented features of Ovidian parenthesis, because
they may not be widely appreciated. A parenthesis, although sometimes
difficult to distinguish from a subordinate clause, is essentially is a form of
Assembling an Audience 109
paratactic remark that amplifies or explains the sentence or clause to which
it is related. Many parentheses in the Metamorphoses would have been easy
for an ancient reader and listener to recognize because they tend to begin
and end at the main metrical breaks of a verse. 36 They come in a variety of
forms, including statements, rhetorical questions, wishes, commands, and
exclamations (von Albrecht 1964: 61-76). However, the vast majority
(more than three quarters) are statements which explain an element in the
story or substantiate it (von Albrecht 1964: 1o 1-14) .
Von Albrecht identifies 179 examples of parenthesis in the Metamor-
phoses ( 1964: 19-25). 37 Although this may seem disproportionately fre-
quent ( the ratio is once every 67 lines), it is necessary to make sorne critica!
distinctions in order to arrive at a more accurate assessment of the fre-
quency of this form of interaction between poet and audience. Statistically,
the primary narrator is responsible for only 48 percent of the total text of the
Metamorphoses ( 5,622lines), which means that the remaining 52 percent of
the Metamorphoses is direct speech by dramatic characters and narrators
inside the story-world ( 6,267 lines) .38 If we distinguish between the dis-
course of the primary narrator and the direct speech of characters, only 6 3 of
the parentheses identified by von Albrecht are employed by the narrator
( 3 5 percent) whereas 116 appear in the direct speech of characters ( 65
percent) . The narrator thus makes a parenthetical remark once every 91
lines, which is considerably less frequent than the overall incidence in the
poem. By contrast, the rate of parenthesis in the direct speech of characters
occurs with almost double this frequency- approximately once per 54
lines. These figures, however, do not reflect the changes in narrative com-
munication during the course of the poem. In the first four books the
primary narrator resorts to parenthesis once every 67 lines, which correlates
with the average for the whole poem. In the following books of the poem,
however, the narrator's use of parenthesis becomes less frequent. After the
first pentad the rate is roughly once every 1oo lines, although it should be
noted that Book 9 (once every 66 lines) and Book 15 (once every 59 lines)
are closer to the overall norm. By contrast, fictional speakers in the poem
use parenthesis without significant change in frequency. The conclusions to
draw from these statistics, crude as they may be, are that: (a) Ovid's charac-
ters use parenthesis more frequently than he himself does; and (b) the poet-
narrator exploits the device more frequently in the early books than in the
later books. One might also add that parenthesis is the mark of lively and
interactive speech and may be more at home in dialogue than in impersonal
narrative. Therefore, Ovid's intensive use of parenthesis in the first pentad
IIO Chapter4
of the poem may aim to promote a relationship between the narrator and
his audience.
The narrator's parentheses clearly have a psychological effect on the
listener, depending upon how they are deployed in a sentence. In the exam-
ple of the transformation of stones treated above, the parenthesis is posi-
tioned after the first word of the sentence ( 1.400, "saxa") and has an antic-
ipatory effect, creating suspense and molding the listener's response to what
is about to happen. A parenthesis positioned in the middle of a sentence
leads to hyperbaton and the insertion of a thought which may either antici-
pate or supplement what has been said. Ovid's prayer to the gods in the
proem includes a parenthesis that anticipates the verb: "di coeptis (nam vos
mutastis et illa) 1 adspirate meis" ( 1.2-3) . A parenthesis at the end of a
sentence tends to supplement what has been said causing the listener to
dwell on a point. Thus Ovid comments on the behavior of Phoebus after
the death ofPhaethon:
conligit amentes et adhuc terrore paventes
Phoebus equos stimuloque dolens et verbere saevit
(saevit enim) natumque obiectat et inputat illis.
(Met. 2. 398-400)
[Phoebus harnessed the crazed and still terror-stricken horses, and as
he inflicted pain with the goad he raged with the whip (he raged
indeed), and he blamed the horses and charged them with his son's
death.]
The repetition of "saevit'' in parenthesis is an obvious form of authorial
commentary ( cf. von Albrecht 1964: 90; Anderson 1997: ad loe.). The
narrator invites the audience to disapprove of the unseemly vindictiveness
ofPhoebus.
Many parentheses have the object of anticipating a question of the
audience and so give the impression of a dialogue. A good example comes
at the beginning of the accouiit of Deucalion and Pyrrha, when the couple
makes landfall on Mount Parnassus: "hic ubi Deucalion (nam cetera texerat
aequor) 1 cum consorte tori parva rate vectus adhaesit'' ( I.318-r9, "Here
is where Deucalion (for the sea had covered the rest of the world) was
carried by his little raft and moored with his partner in marriage" ) . The
parenthesis is positioned in the middle of the sentence where it interrupts
Assembling an Audience III
the syntax and anticipates the audience's question, ''why did Deucalion land
here atParnassus·andnot somewhere else?" (vonAlbrecht 1964: 197-98; cf.
1o6) . The narrator thus acknowledges that the audience is scrupulously
following the story and demands justification for every detall. The effect
of such over-explicitness can also lead to humorous effects. For instance
when Jupiter commands lo, "'ne fuge me'" ( r. 597, "'Don't run away from
me"'), Ovid quickly adds in parenthesis: "fugiebat enim" ("for she was
running away''). Here Sara Mack acutely points out: "Ovid comically pits
reader against narrator, giving us with avuncular condescension the infor-
mation he seems to think we need" ( r 988: r r 7) .
A:POSTROPHE
The rhetorical figure of apostrophe, the address of someone ( or some-
thing) other than the main audience, should also be considered in a survey
of devices that initiate communication between poet and audience. In epic,
apostrophe literally means the narrator's "turn away'' from the main audi-
enceto address a character, deity, or abstraction in his narrative. 39 This devi-
ation from the normal mode of communication commands the audience's
attention. Scholars have been concerned with the question of whether the
device is emotive, a metrical convenience, or a rhetorical mannerism of little
significance. While metrical pressure may have given rise to apostrophe in
Homer, it is nevertheless evident from the ancient reception of his poetry
( both in scholarly exegesis and literary imitation) that the device was felt
to be artistically and emotionally expressive. 40 Just as Homer addresses
Patroclus shortly befare his death inlliad r6, so too Vergil addresses Dido
in Aeneid 4 ( 408- r r) as she watches Aeneas and the Trojans depart from
Carthage. In each case, the device is a sign of the poet's compassion for his
doomed character.
The communicative nature of apostrophe, however, deserves closer
attention. When directly addressing a character in the story, the poet trans-
gresses the boundary between the world in which one tells and the world of
which one tells. 41 The distance between past and present collapses, as poet
and audience are brought face to face with the character addressed. It is
within this detemporalized dimension of the "apostrophic now'' that the
poet dramatizes his own response and provides a model for the audience's
response. Elizabeth Block remarks: '~postrophe, overtly verbalizing emo-
tion toward either a real or imagined object, thus asks the audience to
II2 Chapter 4
respond, ideally, as the narrator responds to the situations or evaluations
that he introduces" ( 1982: 9);
The Ovidian narrator resorts to apostrophe once every 90 lines ( 64
times), which is twice the rate of addresses to the audience in the second
person subjunctive and equal to the rate of parenthesis; secondary narrators
employ the device less frequently than the primary narrator: once every 150
lines (24 times). 42 Ovid's rate of parenthesis is higher than Vergil's, who
deploys the figure in theAeneid ( and Gem;gics) once every 180 lines (Ham-
pel 1908: 41). One may be tempted to infer that this is a sign that Ovid is
more subjective or sympathetic in his narration than Vergil. But caution is
advised. Ovid's apostrophes are not always emotive. Sorne are metrically
convenient. Others are employed for variation in lists of names (Vergil does
this too) . Above all, Ovid relies upon apostrophe to inaugurate transitions
between scenes in the poem- whether to introduce a new character into
the narrative or to bring an episode to an end. Apostrophe is thus a means
by which the poet focuses the the audience's attention on turning points in
,the narrative.
To illustrate Ovid's use of apostrophe, let us look at three examples
from Book 1. I pass over the poem's first apostrophe to Augustus ( 1 .2oo-
20 5), which is directed toward a privileged member of the audience, and
which is discussed in detail in chapter 7. If the first apostrophe of the poem
is honorific, the second is not. Ovid introduces the monstrous Python: "illa
quidem nollet, sed te quoque, maxime Python, 1 tum genuit'' (1.438-39,
"the Earth indeed would not have wished it, but you too, greatest Python,
she bore then''). The apostrophe to the serpent is ironic. Normally, the epic
poet apostrophizes characters with whom he sympathizes. Por example, the
first mythological character that Vergil addresses in the Aeneid is Dido
( 4.408-1 1) . Ovid clearly does not mean his audience to sympathize with
the monster who causes terror to the new peoples of the world ( 1.439-40)
and is slain by Apollo ( 1 .440-47) . Framing the narrator's apostrophe to
Python is his apostrophe to Apollo's next victim, Daphne. Peneus has just
granted his daughter her wish for eterna! virginity. The poet eloses the scene
by pointing out to Daphne the dramatic irony of her wishes: "ille quidem
obsequitur; sed te decor iste quod optas 1 esse vetat, votoque tuo tua forma
repugnat'' ( 1.488-89, "he indeed complied, but that prettiness of yours
forbids you to be what you wish, and your beauty fights against your
prayers") . Alliteration, chiasmus, and antithesis all point up the paradoxical
situation of Daphne's divided self (virginity versus beauty), which Apollo's
desire will push to the point of her wish for transformation.
Assembling an Audience II3
The apostrophe to Daphne, like that to Python, is tinged with irony
rather than with pathos. But Ovid also employs the device to arouse sympa-
thy. Quite unexpectedly, he delivers an obituary for Argus after his behead-
ing by Mercury: ''Arge, iaces, quodque in tot lumina lumen habebas 1
exstinctum est, centumque oculos nox occupat una?' ( r. 720-21, ''Argus,
you lie dead, and that light which you used to have for so many eyes has
been put out: one night monopolizes a hundred eyes") . The pathetic force
of the address ''Arge, iaces" is unmistakable ( cf. Aen. 9.485-86). Ovid
addresses Byblis in the same way after she falls clown weary from wander-
ing: "Bybli, iaces, frondesque tuo premis ore caducas" (9.651, "Byblis you
lie on the ground, and you press fallen leaves with your mouth"). Similarly,
Hecuba mourns over Polyxena: "nata, iaces, videoque tuum, mea vulnera,
pectus" ( 1 3.49 5, "My daughter, yo u lie dead, and I see your breast, m y
wounds").
Ovid's tone poses a problem because only moments befare Argus was
Mercury's dupe. The semantic wordplay on lumen and lumina, followed by
the antithesis between one night and one hundred eyes, may undercut the
pathos of ''Arge iaces:' but these devices may equally contribute to the
maudlin mood. The very next line helps to place the tone of Ovid's epitaph
in proper perspective: "excipit hos volucrisque suae Saturnia pennis col-
locat'' ( 1. 722-23, "Juno plucked these eyes out and put them on the feath-
ers ofher bird"). It suddenly becomes clear that Ovid has been speaking for
Juno and dramatizing her sorrow in his own voice. The obituary for Argus
places the audience in the position of sharing Juno's point of view.
With the series of apostrophes we have seen in Book 1, Ovid directs his
audience's attention to critica! points in his narrative. Apostrophe can intro-
duce a new character into a narrative ( Python) ; it can focus attention on a
dramatic reversa! in the life of a,character (Daphne) ; finally, it can mark the
end of the life of a character (Argus). Here is not the place to explore the
significance of each example of apostrophe in theMetamorphoses. Su:ffice it
to say that, in principie, it foregrounds the narrating instance and promotes
the complicity between poet and audience in formulating responses to the
characters and events of the story-world.
ÜTHER SIGNS OF DIALOGUE
The generic "you" and "we:' rhetorical questions, presentation through
negation, and parenthesis constitute a set of routines by which the poet-
II4 Chapter4
narrator of the Metamorphoses reminds the audience of the narrating in-
stance and its role as a participant in narrative communication. A number of
other devices can be added to the list. For instance, the poet uses contrary-
to-fact conditions to call attention to events that did not take place in the
story-world ( cf. Solodow 1988: 45-46 and 57-60) .43 Such conditional
statements are common in the transitions between episodes, where the
seams of Ovid's discourse show the most. The device can also be used for
humorous effect in the course of telling a story; for example, in the Calydo-
nian boar hunt, the narrator says that N estor would have perished before
the Trojan war, had he not pole-vaulted into a tree with the mighty effort
of his spear (8.365-68). While burlesquing the heroic ideal, the narrator
draws the audience's attention to the arbitrariness and fictionality of the
narrative.
Ovid's well-known concern with the fictionality ofhis narrative is also
evident when the narrator ( or an interna! narrator) refers to his literary
sources with phrases such as "it is said;' "fame has it;' and "they say'' ( e.g.,
dicitur,fama est,ferunt,fertur,feruntur, memorant). 44 The frequency of such
expressions is not trivial and deserves closer study. 45 They occur about once
every 16o lines in the narrator's speech. This is less than the rate of parenthe-
sis but slightly more frequent than the use of the generalizing second per-
son. Such references to tradition reveal that the speaker does not have direct
access to the events that he is narrating; rather, he is reporting them second-
hand from literary memory. The narratoria! audience finds itself being
drawn into believing Ovid's stories, only to be made aware at sorne point
that it is "listening to fictions rather than watching events unfold" (Mack
1988: 135; cf. Nagle (1988b) 46-47 and (1989) ·97-100). Ovid thus di-
vides the audience's attention between the act of storytelling and the story
itself. The oscillation between discourse and story, medium and message, is
one of the defining features of theMetamorphoses. Homer or Vergillay more
emphasis upon the narrative illusion of the story, but the Ovidian narrator
confronts the audience with the nuts and bolts of the discourse and engages
it in negotiations about what to believeand disbelieve.
Conclusion
Sorne of the markers of the narratoria! audience that we have seen are more
explicit than others. The generic "you" and "we" are as direct an acknowl-
edgment of the audience as one finds in Ovid's epic narration. Rhetorical
Assembling an Audience II5
questions, negations, and parentheses all show that the poet is presenting
his story to a listener whose response he anticipates and seeks to shape.
Most of these devices can be found in the narrative epics of Homer, Apol-
lonius, and Vergil; Ovid differs from his predecessors, however, in the
increased frequency with which he implements them. Just as the poet's
presence can be felt throughout the segments of the poem that he narrates,
so too is it possible to discern the outlines ofhis counterpart in the commu-
nicative process. The audience is not given a voice, but its involvement in
the performance of the poem can be inferred from Ovid's own cues and
commentary.
The audience's participation in narrative communication is also re-
:flected in the story-world. Interna! audiences actively request and respond
to stories and so provide a model for the externa! audience's relationship to
the poet-narrator. Conversely, the poet-narrator implicitly defines the inter-
ests of his audience through his representation of the dialogue between
interna! narrators and their audiences. Let us conclude the chapter by exam-
ining a dialogue at the marriage feast of Perseus and Andromeda in the
Ethiopian court of Cepheus. Perseus begins the after-dinner conversation
by asking questions of an ethnographical sort (4. 765-66, "cultusque genus-
que virorum 1 quaerit Lyncides moresque genusque locorum") .46 Ovid
does not report the Ethiopian interlocutor's response because this material
is proper to historiography and not what his fictionalized audience wants to
hear about. After the Ethiopian interlocutor finishes his report, he wants to
know how Perseus obtained the head of Medusa ( 4.769-71, "qui simul
edocuit 'nunc, o fortissime; dixit 1 'fare, precor, Perseu, quanta virtute
quibusque 1 artibús abstuleris crinita draconibus ora'") . Perseus answers
the question but finishes his account befare expected (4. 790, "ante exspec-
tatum tacuit tamen"). Implied.is an intertextual contrast with the banquet
speakers Odysseus and Aeneas, who tell their stories at great length. The
perfunctoriness and brevity of Perseus's account are accented all the more
by the fact that Ovid summarizes the hero's narrative in indirect discourse.
Such a summary suggests that Ovid's audience would have little interest in
Perseus's conquest of Medusa because it is a hackneyed topic. The interna!
audience, however, has a different set of interests because it is hearing the
story for the first time.
Another member of the Ethiopian audience asks why Medusa alone
among the Gorgons had snakes in her hair ("cur sola sororum 1 gesserit
alternos inmixtos crinibus angues;' 4. 790-91) . Perseus responds by compli-
menting the question: "'since you ask things worthy to relate, hear then the
II6 Chapter 4

cause. of what is asked'" ( 4. 793-94, "'quoniam scitaris digna relatu, 1

accipe quaesiti causam' "). What follows is a narrative typical of the first 5
four books of the Metamorphoses, combining rape and revenge. Medusa is
raped by N eptune in front of the temple of Minerva, and the offended Discourse and Time
goddess transforms Medusa's hair into snakes. In this case, Ovid allows
Perseus to tell the story in propria persona, implying that the narratoria!
audience relishes this sort of aetiological arcana.

Beginning with creation of the world, and man of slyme,

And so proceeding with the turnes that happened till his tyme.
-Golding

In the proem to theMetamorphoses, Ovid prays to the gods to make his song
continuous from the origin of the world to the present day ( r. 3-4, "prima-
que ab origine mundi 1 ad mea perpetuum deducite tempora carmen").
Given this temporal framework, it is reasonable to expect that the poem's
main source of continuity is chronological. Critics observe, however, that
the chronological thread is frequently broken and argue either that the
poem is discontinuous or that its continuity is thematic. The purpose of this
chapter is to reexamine the issue of time in theMetamorphoses and to suggest
that the poem's continuity be conceived of as the time of narrating rather
than simply as the historical time of the story-world. If the temporal con-
tinuity of the poem's chronological framework proves to be a ghost struc-
ture, the temporal continuity of the narrating instance- the interaction
between poet and audience- is what makes the Metamorphoses a carmen
perpetuum. The ostensible linearity of a world history of metamorphosis
thus furnishes a pretext for a second narrative, or metanarrative, which is
that of the poem's own performance.
The plan of the chapter is to review the evidence for the poem's conti-
nuity and to investigate two different features of Ovid's narrative discourse
that exhibit the continuity of the narrating instance: transitions between
episodes and anachronisms in the presentation of the story-world. The
transition is the most obvious manifestation of the narrating instance when
poet and audience conspire to keep the poem going. Anachronisms are of
interest because they break the illusion of continuity in the story-world, yet
imply continuity at the leve! of the discourse. In order for an anachronism
to be effective, the audience needs to know what has preceded. Therefore,
rr8 Chapter 5
even though the continuity of the story-world breaks clown, the continuity
of storytelling remains valid.
Forms of Continuity
Ovi4_g~Q.~_!Jle Metamorphoses by situating his chosen theme in the ·frame-
work o~ a worldhlsroiy. 1 lll a-gerieralway~ilie-poemfollows a chroriol(jgicál
pat1:ern; it unfolds as a succession of stories which can be divideqjntQthree
píiª~es- focusing on_gods, heroes, and.hlstorical figures respectively. 2 Fur-
ther~ore, the poet-narrator frequently reminds his listeners of relative
chronology, remarking whether an event has recentiy occurred or has yet to
happen. 3 Ovid also makes available a triumphal Augustan reading of the
poem's first and last books. As Walter Ludwig ( r 96 5: 82) describes it,
the continuity of the poem is "a great arch from Chaos to the Cosmos of the
Augustan order, in which the world manifests its destiny?'4 Chronological
order of universal history may indeed be an operative assumption of the
Metamorphoses. However, there are other factors in the poem that compli-
cate and contradict chronological order, leading to the conclusion that
this form of continuity is often honored more in the breach than in the
observance.
Viewed on the ground, so to speak, Ovid's carmen perpetuum is not a
causally connected explanation of the evolution of the world, such as one
finds in Book 5 of Lucretius's De Rerum Natura ( cf. Burrow 1988: 99).
Even if the poem begins with creation and ends with Augustus, one would
be hard pressed to make a case that it evinces "a linear narrative thrust''
(pace P. R. Hardie 1993: r 3). If and when the poet-narrator connects stories
according to a chronological principie, the idea of relative synchronicity
stands out. L. P. Wilkinson ( r 9 58: 2 3 8) puts the matter well when he says
that wh~t sustains the illusion of reality in the vast middle of the poem is the
idea of"meanwhile" rather than "after that?' 5 Simultaneity breeds a sense of
timelessness in the story-world. Furthermore, instead of cc::msistently chron-
icling the fortunes of a single character, people, or place in a continuous
sequence of time, Ovid jumps from one story or group of stories to another
based on association and analogy. Often he connects episodes with a simple
adverb or conjunction, which may be either contrastive (at, sed, tamen) or
continuative (nam, quoque) . The best known of Ovid's transitions are those
that unexpectedly reveal common ground between essentially unrelated
matters through the "stepping-stone" technique ( cf. F. J. Miller 1921).
Discourse and Time II9
Others transitions pretend to reveal common ground, but then remove it,
as in the transition "through absence;' or the "transition through contrary-
to-fact condition?' ( cf. Solodow 1988: 43-46). The critica! point about
such transitions is that they rely less u pon narrative continuity than they do
upon surprising coincidences that the poet discovers in his material. Conse-
quently, the impression one has in a linear reading is not of a single contin-
uous history, but of a variety of exemplary situations, which succeed each
other by virtue of unexpected logical connections.
One factor above all counteracts the audience's sense of temporal pro-
gression in the Metamorphoses: the anachrony of the frame tale. When the
primary narrator allows a character to tell a story, there is a discrepancy
between the order of the poem's narrative and the order of the events in the
story-world, for the character tells a story that occurs earlier in time. Robert
Coleman ( 1971: 471) observes that the technique of the tale-within-a-tale
"enable [ s] the poet to resolve difficulties of chronology and to bring to-
gether stories that are thematically related in one way or another?' That
Ovid synthesizes the linearity of narrative epic ( cf. carmen perpetuum) with
the inset narrative technique of Hellenistic and N eoteric epyllia ( cf. carmen
deductum) is an old idea. 6 However, Ovid's use of interna! narrators and
audiences should not be underestimated. It is nothing short of staggering.
Forty character-narrators present sorne sixty tales which take up almost a
third of the poem's narrative ( cf. Appendix A) . H storytelling within the
world of the poem is a counterweight to chronological continuity, it be-
comes absolutely de rigueur in Books r r- r 5 - the part of the poem that
scholars allege is the most historical and linear. 7 The narrative achieves a
peak rate of anachrony with seventeen interna! narrators. H there is any
place in the poem where chronological continuity is least convincing it is
precisely at the point when the audience's own extratextual sense of histor-
ical continuity would be the strongest.
Given the discontinuities of chronological sequence in the Metamor-
phoses, should one assume that Ovid's carmen perpetuum refers to sorne other
mode of continuity? Or is the idea of continuity an imposture? Is Ovid's
announcement of a carmen perpetuum simply a front for a poem that is
basically a miscellany of discrete tales? These questions raise the issue of the
structural intentions of the poem. There can be little question that the
multiplicity of the Metamorphoses is a defining feature of the poem. It is
an encyclopedia of styles and stories- a congeries of subjects, voices, and
views of the world. But is there something that connects the variety? The
path of least resistance ( and least risk) is to treat the poem as a set of
120 Chapter 5
individual epyllia or episodes superficially linked by transitions, chronol-
ogy, theme, verbal echoes, and the intrusions of the poet. 8 Gaps are gaps;
they are not to be filled in or interpreted. Thus the narrative structure of the
Metamorphoses has more in common with the Hellenistic catalog poem than
it does with narrative epic. In particular, its structure can be compared with
poems such as Callimachus's Aetia or Nicander's Heteroeumena, which
were, in all likelihood, collections of unrelated tales arranged by various
extrinsic organizing devices such as theme, genealogy, geography, or the
frame tale- all devices that Ovid implements. From this standpoint, it is
not theMetamorphoses as a whole or its external narrative framework that is
important, but rather the smaller units of composition. As for the arrange-
ment of the tales themselves, one may simply invoke the stylistic principie of
variatio. A "collectivist'' would therefore interpret the poet's declaration of a
carmen perpetuum as a typically Ovidian pretense and read the poem as a
clever assemblage ofgenerically varied epyllia.
It would certainly be a mistake to dismiss the centrifugal and discon-
tinuous tendencies of the Metamorphoses. However, a collective reading of
the poem must always involve a certain degree of denial about the signifi-
canee of the poem's structures of cohesion, including the chronological
framework, thematic connections, transitions, and cross-references. If the
poem is a discors concordia, as many have suggested, the tension between
unity and disunity would depend upon the assumption that the poem was
unified in the first place. Let us turn now to sorne of critical approaches that
take the idea of a carmen perpetuum seriously.
Faced with the contradictions of the poem's chronology, sorne critics
have suggested that the Metamorphoses is a carmen perpetuum because of its
thematic continuity. 9 Ovid often clusters together tales that have similar
character types and similar narrative patterns. Different themes also emerge
as the poem progresses. 10 Attempts to describe an underlying structural
plan, however, have met with strong resistance. 11 N eedless to say, the prem-
ise that there is a deep and unchanging design in the Metamorphoses runs
counter to its proteanism: the poem's lack of formal determinacy seems to
be arule. 12
Other approaches to the poem's thematic continuity seek to identify a
representative set of thematic or programmatic issues that lie at the heart of
theMetamorphoses, such as the poet's self-reflection in the creative process or
his resistance to a monologic fiction of imperial order. This type of crit-
icism, for all of its strengths, tends toward a paradigmatic and synchronic
reading of the poem. The reader selects and analyzes a representative epi-
Discourse and Time 121
sode or scene as a mirror for the poem as a whole. Such an approach
privileges sorne moments in the poem over others. Moreover, features of
narrative, genre, and style are explicated with little regard for their order in
the narrative. The Metamorphoses is thus detemporalized and its continuity
is understood as an immanent thematic unity. The idea of thematic co-
herence is obviously an important part of understanding theMetamorphoses.
N evertheless, it is difficult to see that this is what Ovid means by a carmen
perpetuum in the proem. Furthermore, if one follows the poet's lead and
reads through the poem continuously in time, the primary experience is not
one of thematic unity, but of thematic multiplicity and change.
What remains constant or perpetual, however, is the continuum of the
poem's performance. Such an interpretation of carmen perpetuum is conso-
nant with other forms of discourse that are characterized by the adjective
perpetuus. Cícero, for example, employs the phrase oratio perpetua for a
continuous set speech, which is to be distinguished from altercatio, the give
and take of debate. 13 Ovid's carmen perpetuum is likewise an uninterrupted
and undivided utterance. One may contrast it with the Fasti whose narrat-
ing instance consists of a dialogic (intradiegetic) framework in which the
poet interviews various divine interlocutors about the origins of Roman
religious customs. 14 Consequently, there are times in the Fasti when the
poet is, fictionally speaking, not the narrator but an audience. In theMeta-
morphoses, the Ovidian narrator is continually (perpetuum) doing the speak-
ing, even when he is impersonating characters in the story-world who tell
stories. The idea of unbroken speech is also supported at the level of the
poem's textuality. The narrator's strong pauses do not coincide with book-
ends. The framing fiction of the poem is that the poet's utterance is contin-
uous from beginning to end. This poet will have your ear.
If Ovid's carmen perpetuum. refers to the continuity of the discourse, is
the idea of a chronological carmen perpetuum therefore of peripheral impor-
tance? I would argue not. Chronology is not meant to mislead the audience
from the true plan of the poem, but rather to give it a guideline by which to
frame its own experience of reading. That is, the historical continuity of the
Metamorphoses is a metaphor for the consistency building of reading: one's
progress through the poem is like the passage of time. It is also reasonable
to assume that the narratorial audience should regard the subject matter of
the poemas notionally linear, even when it may be discontinuous or circu-
lar. The discontinuities of the story-world can only be perceived against a
background of presumed continuity. For this reason, we may hypothesize
two levels of continuity: the putative chronology of the story-world and the
122 Chapter 5
continuity of the narrating instance. But where is the continuity of the
narrating instance manifested? To answer this question we must move to
the disputed territory of the Ovidian transition.
Transitions
The transitions between episodes continually remind the audience of the
poem's narrating instance. 15 When one story comes to an end, the poet
must find a means to cross over to the next. These are moments when it
would appear that the absence of something to narrate could threaten the
continuity of the performance. Yet it is precisely at these moments that the
framing fiction of the poet's negotiation with his audience provides a meta-
narrative thread. Although most of the stories Ovid tells are traditional, the
transitions between them are occasions for spontaneous invention and free
association. For this reason, these brief interludes between dramatic scenes
possess an improvisational quality, as the narrator picks and chooses new
possibilities for narration. It is easy to see from the transitions how critics
might conclude that the unifying key of the Metamorphoses is the poet's
personality. But this is only part of the discourse. The poet's choices also
should be related to an audience whose interest he needs to hold but whose
expectations cannot be too easily satisfied. The real danger to the continuity
of the poem is not the end of any given story. Rather it is the audience's own
disengagement, or, in a worst-case scenario, the fate of Argus. The transi-
tions are therefore a crucial juncture where the poet can stay in touch with
his audience, test connections, and win its confidence.
There is an old and venerable tradition of censuring Ovid's transitions
as trivial, frivolous, and self-indulgent.l 6 To be sure, sorne of them may be
arbitrary or far-fetched, but they are neither detachable nor easily reduced
to a single formula. Transitions are a recurrent and indeed central part of the
experience of reading the poem. The most important ancient evidence for
the impact of Ovid's transitions is found in Quintilian.
llia vero frigida et puerilis est in scholis adfectatio, ut ipse transitus efficiat aliquam
utique sententiam et huius velut praestigiae plausum petat, ut Ovidius lascivire in
Metamorphosesin solet, quem tamen excusare necessitas potest res diversissimas in
speciem unius corporis colligentem.
(Quint. 4.!.77-78)
Discourse and Time 123
[That indeed is an artificial and childish affectation in the rhetorical schools, that the
transition itself be an occasion for sorne epigram and seek to win applause for this as
though it were a juggling trick, justas Ovid is wont to joke in hisMetamorphoses; he
is nevertheless excused by necessity for gathering together subjects of the most
diverse nature for the appearance of unity.]
Quintilian's obiter dictum about Ovid is precious testimony for the fact that
the Metamorphoses continued to be read, admired, and imitated in the late
first century A. D. The context of the comment, however, is often neglected.
Quintilian is instructing the orator to signpost transitions between the
different parts of his speech. He strongly discourages the practice of making
transitions by means of epigram, a technique that he identifies with ·the
rhetorical schools of his day. To illustrate the practice, Quintilian adduces
the example of Ovid's transitions in theMetamorphoses, but then excuses the
poet on the grounds that he has no other way to give his diverse and
disconnected material the appearance of unity. The orator, by contrast, has
no such need to trick his audience: "Oratori vero quid est necesse surripere
hanc transgressionem et iudicem fallere, qui, ut ordini rerum animum in-
tendat, etiam commonendus est'' ( 4. 1. 78, "But what necessity is there for
an orator to hide this transition and to deceive the judge, who must also be
reminded to pay attention to the sequence of matters?").
Quintilian introduces Ovid into his discussion as an example for the
ideal orator to avoid. Ovid's rhetorical aim is to persuade his audience that
his poem is undivided; the orator's aim should be the opposite. Although
Quintilian is critica! of Ovid's transitions in principie ("frigida et puerilis
adfectatio"), he is aware that they are a necessary means by which the poet
unifies his material: "res diversissimas in speciem unius corporis colligen-
tem" ("gathering together subjects of the most diverse nature for the ap-
pearance of unity''). Quintilian chooses his words carefully; his diction
echoes the activity of the Ovidian demiurge who shapes the earth into the
form of ball: "magni speciem glomeravit in orbis" ( 1. 35). Furthermore, the
phrase "in speciem unius corporis". is precisely the sort of vocabulary that
Ovid deploys for metamorphosis ( on species, cf. Anderson 1963: 2). Galin-
sky ( 1975: 79-91) argues that "speciem unius corporis" is an accurate
characterization of the poem's impressionistic thematic coherence. How-
ever, Quintilian says nothing of thematic coherence. He is concerned specif-
ically with the transitions that shape the multiplicity of the Metamorphoses
into a single body of continuous discourse.
124 Chapter 5
In the Renaissance, the transitions of the Metamorphoses were recog-
nized as the basis of the poem's continuity. For instance, the editor and
critic Raffaele Regio ( 1493) criticizes an earlier editor, Bonus Accursius,
because he inserted Lactantian plot-summaries between stories and thus
broke up Ovid's narrative "which had been so elegantly joined together"
( commentary on Met. 1 .4, "quae ... tam eleganter fuerant copulata") .17
Further evidence for the positive reception of Ovid's transitional technique
appears in the anonymous The Fable ofOvid Treating ofNarcissus, written in
1560 ( quoted by Hollis 1970: xii): "Hys tales do ioyne in such a goodly
wyse 1 That one doth change upon anothers ende?' Here we have the
insight that the transitions are moments of metamorphosis in which one
story changes into another. In a similar vein, Kenney ( 1986: xxi) observes:
"the transitions are integral in another way, as being themselves demonstra-
tions of metamorphosis in action, verbalizations of the continuous flux of
events, which in the real world do indeed flow into one another in ways
which are now easy and natural, now unexpected or indeed incredible?'
If transitions are instances of change and continuity, it is important to
observe that these changes occur at the level of discourse. Sorne modern
critics defend Ovid's technique on the grounds that he rarely employs a
transition that is not grounded in the story-world (Wilkinson 1958: 235;
Frécaut 1968: 248) . Such defenses of the poem's narrative logic are du-
bious, because they assume that Ovid is interested in maintaining the reality
of a mythological world. More often than not, however, transitions are
points where the world in which one tells takes precedence over the world
of which one tells. This point is not new. Bernbeck views transitions as one
of the places where the poet interposes himself most visibly between the
story-world and the audience.
What determines the [poem's] train of thought in particular is not the inherited
material of the mythological tradition, btit the diverse inventions and ideas that the
poet hits upon. This happens within individual scenes and still more in the transi-
tions, in which the connection of two stories is often established not through a
mythological-historicallink, but through parallels of inconsequential, tangential,
and variously distorted details. ( 1967: 124)
Bernbeck places particular emphasis on the interactive aspect of Ovid's
narrative discourse. He argues that the poet leaps from one scene to the
next without proper epic transitions. Consequently there are gaps in the
narrative that the audience must fill in with its own knowledge. Transitions
Discourse and Time 125
thus present opportunities for dialogue between poet and audience. As Iser
( 1978: 169) puts it, "Whenever the reader bridges gaps, communication
begins. The gap functions as a kind of pivot on which the whole text-reader
relationship revolves?'
Mack ( 1988: 1 12) criticizes Ovid's transitions because they often mask
inherent connections between two tales. She points to the example of the
transition between the Daphne and lo tale. All the rivers gather to console
Peneus except for Inachus who has lost his own daughter ( 1.568-87). She
daims that this transition is hardly "significant'' because it does not encour-
age the reader to see the similarities between the two tales. The transition by
absence creates a gap in the text. Yet, by showing how the tales are similar
Mack fills in the gap and so enters into dialogue with the narrator. As she
observes in the related context of the narrator's parenthetic asides, "one
fi.nds oneselftalking to him and reacting'' ( 1988: II7).
What emerges in a reading of the Metamorphoses is a relationship be-
tween the poet and audience that triangulates with the story-world. Ovi-
dian criticism tends to tip the balance of power between poet and audience,
reducing the audience to a passive partner whose role is to admire the poet.
But audiences have more power than that. Let us turn to another aspect of
Ovid's narration that demands the audience's active participation and that
leads to a complexer and richer understanding of discourse and time.
Transforming Time
Earlier I suggested that there are two levels of continuity: that of the story-
world and that of the discourse. The history of the world justifies a linear
reading of the poem, but the order of the discourse continually undermines
the audience's attempt to build a consistent temporal framework. One
cause of historical discontinuity within the Metamorphoses is the frequent
incidence of chronological contradictions or anachronisms. 18 Sorne schol-
ars assume that such inconsistencies are intrinsic to an unsystematic mytho-
logical tradition and are an insignificant byproduct of Ovid's synthesis of
incompatible sources. As critics are increasingly recognizing, however,
chronological inconsistencies may be a deliberate poetic device by which
the poeta doctus demonstrates his knowledge of different mythological tradi-
tions and raises questions about narrative reliability and the construction of
the past. 19 Similarly, anachronisms within theMetamorphoses may be signifi-
I26 Chapter 5
cant if the audience attempts to build a consistent chronology. By scram-
bling the order of events and providing evidence for alternative chronolo-
gies, the poet challenges and reshapes the audience's understanding of time.
What evidence is there that Ovid may have projected an audience with
the expectations of a systematic chronology of Greco-Roman myth? Ga-
linsky asserts that "any effort to establish a systematic chronology ... would
be futile for the simple reason that such a chronology did not exist in
classical times" ( I 975: 8 5). This statement does not gibe well with the pro-
liferation of universal chronicles in the first century B.c. We know, for
example, that Castor of Rhodes assembled a six-book Chronological Epitome
(FGrH 250), which was the first systematic chronology to cover the myth-
ical period of Greek prehistory, from the period of the Assyrian king Ninus
°
(2r23 B.c.) to Pompey's settlement ofthe East (6r B.C). 2 Catullus may
have been familiar with this chronographic work (Weber I983: 270-7r),
and Varro used it in De Gente Populi Rnmani, a historical work that placed
Rome's remote past in a Greek context. Varro divided the past into three
periods: the obscure; the mythical; and the historical (Varro, De Gente
PopuliRnmani, fr. 3 Peter; cf. Wiseman I979: rs8-59). The mythical period
ran from the flood to the first Olympiad and was reckoned by Censorinus to
be roughly sixteen hundred years (De Die N at. 2 I. I ) .
Another important chronological compendium from the same time in
Rome was the three-book Chronica of Cornelius Nepos. According to Ca-
tullus, this was the first universal history attempted in Latin ( I .s-6, "ausus
es unus Italorum 1 omne aevum tribus explicare cartis 1 doctis"). Evidently
this work included the reign of Saturn and so must have covered the mytho-
logical period before the Trojan war ( cf. Wiseman I 979: I 58) . A little later,
Diodoms Siculus took the trouble to work out a systematic mythological
chronology in his Library of History. In his preface to the fourth book, he
acknowledges the difficulty of the chronological contradictions of Greek
myth ( 4. I .2), but makes an effort to present what he calls an "archaeology''
of heroic deeds ( 4. r .4). His point of departure is the rape of Europa, Cad-
mus, the foundation of Thebes, and the birth of Dionysus- the material
with which Ovid begins the third book of the Metamorphoses. Whether or
not Ovid was fainiliar with the work of Diodoms, much less the work
of Castor or N epos, is impossible to demonstrate. Yet Roman audiences
would surely have been familiar with the Greco-Roman impulse to write
universal histories and systematize mythological chronology. Hence Ovid's
own framework for a universal history could reasonably arouse the expecta-
tion of a systematic chronology.
Discourse and Time I27
Ovid's audience can also be assumed to be aware of the problem of his-
torical anachronisms. For example, inMetamorphoses rs, the poet-narrator
follows the tradition that N urna Pompilius, the second king ofRome, was a
student of Pythagoras in Croton. The narratoria! audience, however, must
know that the story was a chronological impossibility. 21 Cicero (Rcp. 2.28-
29; Tusc. 4.2) and Livy ( r.r8.2-5) point out that Pythagoras did not come
to Italy until the fourth year of the reign of Tarquinius Superbus (c.
530 B. C.), I40 years after Numa's death. The Ovidian narrator, however,
exploits the audience's awareness of the anachronism to launch one of the
greatest non-events in his poem.
N urna travels to Croton where he learns from an old man the founda-
tion story of the city ( r 5. 9-59) .22 Ovid then makes an abmpt transition in
which he makes no further mention ofNuma but introduces Pythagoras as
an exiled resident of Croton (r5.60-74). The gap in Ovid's transition to
Pythagoras compels the narratoria! audience to assume that Numa has
something to do with Pythagoras, even though the narrator studiously
avoids making the connection. Pythagoras then lectures to a general audi-
ence-again, without specific reference to Numa (r5.75-478). All the
while, the narratoria! audience may assume that Numa is among these
auditors. Finally, at the end of the speech, Ovid returns to N urna, who was
last mentioned 4 70 lines earlier when he arrived in Croton:
Talibus atque aliis instructo pectore dictis
in patriam remeasse ferunt. ultroque petitum
accepisse Numam populi ~atialis habenas
(Met. I5.479-8I)
[After he had been indoctrinated by such arguments and others like it,
they say that he returned to his homeland and that upon petition N urna
voluntarily acccepted the reins of power over the people of Latium.]
This transition from the speech of Pythagoras toNurna is deceptively indi-
rect. In lines 479-80, the audience must assume that it was N urna who had
heard the speech of Pythagoras before returning to his homeland, for Ovid
does not name N urna untilline 48 I. More important, the narrator distances
himself from the "truth'' of what he says by attributing it to tradition
( "ferunt'') . H poet and audience know that the meeting between N urna and
Pythagoras is an anachronism, then the "ferunt'' acknowledges the fiction-
128 Chapter 5
ality ofNuma's meeting with Pythagoras. lt reminds the audience that it has
been listening to a story, not an event that actually occurred.
Anachronisms within the Metamorphoses also constitute a significant
form of communication between poet and audience. They deauthorize any
single version of mythological history by opening up alternative possibili-
ties and force the audience to reevaluate its understanding of the poem's
narrative. To illustrate how chronological problems involve the audience in
theMetamorphoses, let us consider a few exemplary cases.
CALLISTO
One does not need to read long in the Metamorphoses to discover that the
poet plays with the audience's sense of time. When Phaethon loses control
of the solar chariot and veers off course in Book 2, the first sign of global
warming is recorded near the north pole: "tum primum radiis gelidi caluere
Triones 1 et vetito frustra temptarunt aequore tingi" ( 2. r 71-72, "then
for the first time the rays of the sun made the cold Triones hot, and they
vainly tried to bathe in the forbidden sea"). The Triones ("Plow-oxen") or
Septentriones ("Seven plow-oxen'') is an old Roman designation for the
group of stars that the Greeks identified as the Great Bear (Ursa Maior) or
Wain- the constellation that never sets below the horizon. Of course, it is a
witty paradox that the arctic constellation should try to cool off in the sea;
however, the full significance of the joke can only be understood with
reference to the famous Homeric ecphrasis of Achilles's shield. Homer
concludes his description of the heavens on the shield by saying that the
constellation of the Bear does not "partake of the baths of Ocean" (Il.
18.489, ot11 o' a¡.tJ.topÓ<; ecrn AoE-rp&v '!lKEavot:o [ = Od. 5.275] ). In allud-
ing to this passage, Ovid not only presents his audience with a humorous
example of oppositio in imitando ( cf. Giangrande 1967: 8 5) ; he programmat-
ically illustrates the "counter-classical" disintegration of the Homeric imago
mundi ( cf. W. R. Johnson 1970: 126).
So far so good. Yet, at the same time, Ovid deliberately sets up a
chronological inconsistency with the very next episode. After Jupiter re-
stares the world to arder after Phaethon's conflagration, he rapes Callista
( 2.401-40) and sets in motion her transformations into a bear ( 2.466-95)
and the constellation of the Bear ( 2.496-505). Juno then petitions Oceanus
and Tethys to ban the new constellation from their waters: "'gurgite caeru-
leo Septem prohibete triones, 1 . . . ne puro tingatur in aequore paelex'"
(2.528-30, "'keep the Septentriones from the blue deep ... so that my
Discourse and Time 129
husband's mistress may not bathe in the pure sea'"). Here Juno explicitly
identifies the Septentriones with Callista and echoes the earlier passage in the
Phaethon episode (cf. 2.172, "vetito ... aequore tingi"). The story of
Callista thus explains why the constellation of the Bear is forbidden from
bathing in the sea and patently prefigures the earlier mention of the Sep-
tentriones in the Phaethon episode.
The Callista story poses other chronological problems that complicate
the audience's expectations of linear narrative. Callista is the daughter of
Lycaon, the Arcadian tyrant, whose transformation into a wolf was narrated
by Jupiter in arder to justify the destruction of the human race by flood
( r. 16 3-243) . Callista therefore belongs to a time befare the flood, sorne
thousand lines earlier in the poem. lt is possible, of course, that Callista is a
survivor of the flood, but Ovid states categorically that all humans and ani-
mals were destroyed except for Deucalion and Pyrrha ( cf. 1.325-26). Fur-
thermore, the new generation of Epaphus and Phaethon suggests that the
era ofLycaon is past. Consequently, when Ovid introduces Callista after the
tale of Phaethon, the audience is faced with a temporal inconsistency.
Instead of glossing over this problem, the poet-narrator takes trouble
to flaunt it. After Callisto's transformation into a bear, he remarks that she
feared wolves, even though her father was among them ( 2.49 5, "pertimuit-
que lupas, quamvis pater esset in illis") . Here the au9Jence is asked to
remember Lycaon's transformation and to view Callisto's fate as a seque! to
her father's. When Jupiter transforms Callista into a constellation, Juno
laments the insult to her power and envisions a new scenario for Jupiter:
"vindicet antiquam faciem vultusque ferinos
detrahat, Argolica quod in ante Phoronide fecit!
cur non et pulsa ducit lunone meoque
conlocat in thalamo socerumque Lycaona sumit?"
(Met. 2.523-26)
["Let him champion her old appearance and take away her beastly
features, as he did befare in the case of the Argive lo! Why does he not
drive off Juno too, marry the mistress, install her in m y bedroom, and
take Lycaon as a father-in-law?"]
First, Juno recalls the end of the lo tale ( 1. 734-46), when Jupiter liberated
lo from Juno through a false promise of marital fidelity. N ext, she suggestts
that Jupiter remarry and take Lycion as socer. This brilliant stroke of sarcasm
 130 Chapter 5
depends on the auclience's memory of Jupiter's representation of Lycaon as
his arch enemy. Juno's references to earlier events in the poem lead to a
reconstruction of the auclience's experience of time. The episodes of flood
and fire fade into the background as the earlier episodes of Lycaon and lo
move to the foreground. The chronological inconsistencies in the Callista
episode could lead to the bland conclusion that temporal order does not
matter in theMetamorphoses ( cf. E. A. Schmidt 1991: 21). Yet, in the pro-
cess of reading the poem, what emerges is a series of challenges to the
auclience's attempts to build a consistent chronology. The auclience gradu-
ally learns that the narrative's chronological order is constantly changing:
events are shuffied and reordered to create rhetorically effective views of
past and present.
THERAVEN
The next instance of play with chronology follows the Callisto episode
(2.531-41), as the poet-narrator introduces the series oftales involving the
raven, crow, Apollo, and Coronis ( 2.542-632). The transition begins with
Juno taking leave of Ocean and Tethys:
Di maris adnuerant: habili Saturnia curm
ingreclitur liquidum pavonibus aethera pictis,
tam nuper pictis caeso pavonibus Argo,
quam tu nuper eras, cum canclidus ante fuisses,
corve loquax, subito nigrantes versus in alas.
(Met. 2.531-35)
[The gods of the sea had assented: Juno entered the clear sky with her
chariot drawn by painted peacocks, peacocks painted as recently by the
bloodshed of Argus as you had been suddenly transformed into black
plumage, talkative raven, though you had been previously white.]
The poet-narrator shifts attention from Juno to her peacocks and then
remembers the time when their feathers were decorated with the eyes of
Argus ( I. 722-23). The poet thus establishes a chronological relationship
and point of continuity between the lo and Callisto tales. Then, without
warning, he addresses a "you" which turns out to be the raven that was once
Discourse and Time I3I
white but is now black. The apostrophe is a typical device by which the poet
brings a new character to the auclience's attention, but this character has no
immecliate relation to the narrative context at the end of the Callisto tale.
The occasion for addressing the raven is that his plumage changed at the
same time as the peacock's, an event that occurred six hundred lines earlier
in the poem. In order to tell this story, the poet must stage a flashback to the
time of Argus's death.
Temporal regression does not end with the transition between Callisto
and the raven. Ovid must backtrack further in time to narrate how the raven
witnessed the adultery of Coronis and how he intended to inform Apollo of
the crime ( 2.542-47). On his way to Apollo, the raven meets the crow who
attempts to warn him from his purpose by telling the cautionary tale of her
own fall from clivine grace- another occasion for a flashback. The crow had
informed Minerva about the clisobeclience of the daughters of Cecrops and
instead of a reward she lost her position of clivine favor to the owl (2.549-
6 5) . N ot content with her treatment by Minerva, the crow tells yet an earlier
story about how Minerva was responsible for transforming her into a bird
when she was threatened with rape by Neptune ( 2.566-88). The narrative
pattern of this story recalls the attempted rapes of Daphne and Syrinx in
Book I, and so suggests that the poem's narrative continuum has not pro-
gressed but is circling backward. Finally, the crow complains of the owl's
elevation in honor by alluding to the "famous" story of Nyctimene's incest
with her father ( 2.589-95). After this series of flashbacks, the raven finally
accomplishes his business of repeating the crow's mistake- with clisastrous
results for Apollo and Coronis ( 2.598-630). Instead of receiving the reward
he seeks, he is banished from the ranks of white birds ( 2. 6 3 I- 32).
In the hundred lines that follow the Callisto episode, Ovid turns time
on its head in order to pursue a miniature "Ornithigonia.'' The unsystem-
atic treatment of time is not a product of careless composition or a sign of
facile temperament, as critics once used to maintain. In Ovid's hands, the
formal narrative technique of the flashback becomes an object lesson in how
time can be broken up into segments and reordered for rhetorical purposes.
The raven's error, for example, seems all the more egregious because he
does not pay attention to the crow's cautionary tales. However, the raven
may have sorne right to be skeptical. The crow ostensibly warns him against
bearing bad news, but undermines her own argument by suggesting that
she was unjustly punished by Minerva. Instead of telling her own history
from the beginning-ab ovo, soto speak-she reorders events to accentu-
ate her victimization and the injustice of the incestuous owl's position of
 132 Chapter·s
honor. When the poet-narrator makes the order of the narrative discourse
run counter to the temporal order of the story-world, he invites the au-
dience to ask what purpose the restructuring of time serves.
ATLAS
We have already seen that the Ovidian narrator deliberately commits a
chronological error in the Phaethon episode that can only be detected later
in the Callista episode. A different sort of problem arises when he intro-
duces Atlas in the Phaethon episode. When the conflagration reaches its
worst point, Tellus makes an appeal to Jupiter to prevent the world from
returning to chaos (2.279-300). She points out that the ordinarily stalwart
Atlas is struggling to bear the heavens on his shoulders: ''Atlans en ipse
laborat 1 vixque suis umeris candentem sustinet axem" ( 2.296-97). Com-
mentators often assert that Tellus is referring to Mount Atlas and remark
that this is an anachronism because Atlas will not be turned into a mountain
until the Perseus episode in Book 4. 23 This reading from hindsight is mis-
leading. From the narratoria! audience's perspective, the knowledge that
Atlas will be transformed into a mountain is not available. Furthermore,
Ovid has already enumerated the mountains that are on fire in ·an epic
catalog, and Atlas is not among them ( 2.216-26). Finally, Tellus's language
does not indicate that Atlas is a mountain. 24 The idea of Atlas struggling
("laborat'') because the world-axis is burning his shoulders ("vixque suis
umeris . . . sustinet'') evokes an anthropomorphic figure ( cf. Anderson
1997: ad loe.). This Atlas is the Titanic son of Iapetus and Clymene, who
famously strains under the weight of heaven as punishment for his part in
the gigantomachy ( cf. Hes. Theog. 517-20, 746-48; Hyg. Fab. rso) .2s
From Tellus's brief description, the audience might envision the Hellenistic
and Roman type of Atlas bearing the celestial sphere on his shoulders. In
the ideological environment of Augustan iconography and myth, the figure
of Atlas could be said to guarantee "the continued stability of the universe
against a return to the primeva! confusion of the divisions of the universe"
(P. R. Hardie r 986: 374) . Accordingly, when the giant threatens to drop his
burden, Tellus sounds the alarm with etymologizing urgency: "si freta, si
terrae pereunt, si regia caeli, 1 in chaos antiquum confundimur" ( 2.298-
99, "H the seas, lands, and palace of heaven perish, we are confounded with
primeva! chaos") .26 The shift from a mythological picture of Atlas to the
Discourse an.d Time 133
imagery of cosmic dissolution implies that Atlas may also be regarded as the
personification of the world-axis (cf. P. R. Hardie 1983: 223). There is
nothing in this passage, however, to suggest that Atlas is a mountain.
When Ovid reintroduces Atlas in the Perseus episode ( 4.62r -662),
the narratoria! audience may recognize that its narrator not only departs
from the traditional mythological view of the giant, but also that he contra-
dicts the early account of Atlas given by Tellus. Atlas is now king of Hes-
peria and does not bear the weight ofheaven on his shoulders. Furthermore
he is on the lookout for a son of Jupiter who is fated to steal his golden
apples. Grimal ( r 9 58: 247) argues that this is a different, euhemerized Atlas
who is a later, human descendant of Iapetus. Consequently, there is no
contradiction with the earlier representation of Atlas in the Phaethon epi-
sode. However, the new Atlas retains the rare and distinctive Hesiodic
patronymic Iapetionides ( 4.632 "son of Iapetus"), which suggests that he
may be equated with the Titan himself. 27 When Perseus petrifies Atlas with
Medusa's gaze, the gods contribute to the metamorphosis by increasing the
size of his mountainous form so that he supports heaven (4.657-62). The
narratoria! audience is thus presented with a new version of the Atlas myth
that contradicts the traditional anthropomorphic image of Atlas repre-
sented by Tellus, but which provides a metamorphic explanation for why
Atlas supports heaven. 28
After introducing this new variant of the Atlas myth, Ovid promptly
allows it to be contradicted. A little over one hundred lines later, Perseus
tells the court of Cepheus the story ofhow he obtained Medusa's head. He
sets the scene with a geographical description of Medusa's home which is
fortified by the mountainous mass of icy Atlas ( 4. 772-73, "gelido sub
Atlante iacentem 1 esse locum solidae tutum munimine m o lis") . This is
blatant anachronism. Ovid's narratoria! audience would remember a dif-
ferent order of events: that Perseus decapitated Medusa and then trans-
formed Atlas with her stony stare. This contradiction casts doubt upon
Perseus's reliability as a storyteller. Conversely, one might view this contra-
diction as a sign of the primary narrator's own unreliability. Be this as it
may, the narratoria! audience knows more than the interna! audience. The
latter does not know that there is another version of the story wherein
Perseus transformed Atlas into a mountain. When Perseus tells his adven-
tures after the beheading of Medusa, the narrator summarizes in a way that
casts further doubt upon Perseus's story: "addidit et longi non falsa pericula
cursus" (4. 787, "and he added the perils of his long journey that were not
 134 Chapter 5
false") . The "non falsa pericula" should include the transformation of the
giant Atlas, but there is no indication that Perseus tells this story to his
Ethiopian audience.
The contradictory treatment of Atlas suggests the arbitrariness of the
events themselves. Stories are shaped to effect a particular response on a
given occasion. Ovid expects these discrepancies to be noticed; they are not
to be dismissed as the product of a miscellany of unrelated stories. N or is
the narrator simply displaying his doctrina by juxtaposing different mytho-
logical traditions about Atlas; rather, he expects his audience to remember
and to notice the different constructions of "reality'' depending u pon who
is the narrator. At the level of communication between narrator and nar-
ratoria! audience, this conflict leads to ambiguity and doubt about what is
believable and what is not, which version is authoritative and which is not.
The encounter between Perseus and Atlas produces yet another incon-
sistency that has to do with Hercules. Atlas has received an oracle from
Themis saying that a son of Jupiter will steal his golden apples (4.644-45).
The mythologically adept audience should recognize that this is a reference
to a forthcoming Herculean labor. When Perseus seeks hospitality from
King Atlas, he announces that he is a son of Jupiter and so is mistake:U for
Hercules. This case of mistaken identity proves unflattering to Perseus be-
cause he does not quite live up to the heroism ofhis illustrious half-brother.
When Atlas tries to send the wrong son of Jupiter away, a scuffie ensues in
which Perseus resorts to his magic weapon. The narrator excuses Perseus's
action on the grounds that he is "inferior in strength" (4.653, "viribus
inferior") and forestalls the audience's disapproval with a rhetorical ques-
tion: "quis enim par esset Atlantis 1 viribus?" (4.653-54, "For who could
be the equal of Atlas in strength?"). Hercules, the audience might answer;
according to tradition, he proves equal to Atlas in strength when he holds
up the sky. However, Ovid outwits the audience with a contradictory ver-
sion of the Atlas myth in which Perseus transforms the Titan into the
mountain that supports heaven.
Later in theMetamorphoses, Atlas is referred to as the anthropomorphic
mythological figure ofBook 2. Hercules claims to have borne heaven on his
shoulders (9.198, "hac caelum cervice tuli"), and so alludes to the time
when he persuaded Atlas to fetch him the golden apples of the Hesperides.
When the deified Hercules enters heaven, the narrator jokes that Atlas felt
the weight: "sensitAtlas pondus" (9.273). This a replay of the image of the
laboring Atlas in the Phaethon episode with the difference that the Titan
must now bear the additional weight of his enemy Hercules. Ovid returns
Discourse and Time 135
to Atlas one last time in the speech ofPythagoras. In a moment reminiscent
of Lucretius's praise of Epicurus, Pythagoras says that it pleases him to
travel through the stars, to leave the earth behind on a cloud, and to stand
on the mighty shoulders of Atlas ( 15.149, "validisque umeris insistere At-
lantis"). Is the philosopher speaking literally or figuratively when he men-
tions Atlas? Is this Atlas the mythological giant or the personification of the
world-axis? Or is Atlas the euhemerized astronomer, mathematician, and
philosopher, and hence a predecessor of Pythagoras himself ( cf. Diod. Sic.
3.6o. 1-3) ? The literal image of Pythagoras standing on the shoulders of
Atlas recalls Hercules's own earlier ascent to heaven, but it also has a comic
specificity that undercuts the philosopher's pretensions. 29
Each time Ovid mentions Atlas, his purpose is to deform and reform
the audience's conception of the giant as the figure who sustains heaven.
But. this is not simply play for play's sake. Atlas is an ideologically loaded
figure. In the Augustan context, he is neither the reminder of Zeus's victory
over the Titans, nor the slow-witted figure duped by Hercules. Vergil, for
example, reforms the mythological Atlas and closely associates him with
Aeneas in the Aeneid. As P. R. Hardie argues, Aeneas shoulders the burden
ofhis cosmic shield justas Atlas does the heavens ( 1986: 372-75; cf. Galin-
sky 1972: rr1). Atlas also stands for the emperor in imperial panegyric.
Ovidhimself describes the emperor inAtlantean terms in theFasti: "omine
suscipiat, quo pater, orbis onus" (F. r.6r6, "May he take upon himself the
burden of the world with the same omens as his father") .30 In light of these
associations, Ovid's changing representations of Atlas continue the re-
negotiation of the Titan's meaning. On the one hand, the poet exploits the
potential for comedy in the image of the giant straining to support heaven;
on the other, he introduces a new type of Atlas whose metamorphosis
explains a prominent geographical feature ofNorth Mrica.
HERCULES, ThoY, AND AcHILLES
The most frequently cited and perhaps least closely examined anachronism
in the Metamorphoses concerns that other figure of Stoic constancy: Her-
cules. The hero dies and is deified in Book 9 ( 134-272), but Ovid brings
him back into the main narrative 1,400 lines later, in connection with Lao-
medon's Troy (11.212-215). There is precedent in Homer for this sort of
contradiction; in the Iliad, Pylaemenes, king of the Paphlagonians, dies at
the hands of Menelaus in Book 5 (576-579) but later shows up as a griev-
 Chapter 5
ing father at the funeral of his son Harpalion in Book 13 ( 658-59). Sorne
Alexandrian scholars athetized the lines as intrusive. 31 However, one can
explain this inconsistency by recalling that in oral poetics plot-consistency is
not always a priority. The Homeric narrator aims to present the later scene
in the most effective way possible and does not concern himself with the
contradictory reappearance of Pylaemenes. There is little question that
Ovid was familiar with Homeric scholarship, and he may also have been
aware of the famous examples in which Homer nods. 32 Could it be, then,
that the Ovidian narrator deliberately nods in good epic fashion when he
reintroduces Hercules, appropriately enough, at the beginning of the Tro-
jan cycle?
Ovid could have avoided the anachronism by placing stories about the
dead and deified Hercules in the mouths of characters who report retro-
spective events in inset narratives that temporarily suspend the main chron-
ological thread. Thus N estor reluctantly remembers how Hercules killed
his brothers, during a pause in the Trojan war ( 12.542-56). Later when
N urna visits Croton, he hears the story of Hercules's visit to the house of
Croton which explains the origin of the city ( 15.23-57). Both of these inset
tales sidestep the problem of anachronism through narrative :flashback. This
is not to say that Ovid invariably uses embedded narrative to avoid anach-
ronism. By means of this very device, Ovid performs one of the most
stunning examples of chronological reversal, directly after Hercules dies
and goes to heaven, his mother Alcmene reports to Iole the homely story of
the hero's difficult birth (9.273-323). The irony of this juxtaposition is
not easily missed. Alcmene's labores (9.289) directly compete as a subject
for narrative with Hercules's canonicallabors ( cf. 9.277). Moreover, the
narrator Alcmene concludes with an image of Juno's wrath that supersedes
the goddess's better known persecution of Hercules. Juno transforms Alc-
mene's "midwife" Galanthis into a weasel, an animal that- according to
Alcmene ( and ancient folk-belief)- gives birth through its mouth (9.322-
23, "quae quía mendaci parientem iuverat ore, 1 ore parit''). 33 This biolog-
ical peculiarity is meant to be a cruel reminder of the servant's use of líes to
facilitate the birth of Hercules: it is the sign of a natural theology that is
informed not by reason but by irrational anger. So the labors of Alcmene,
and still more disquieting, the labors of the weasel are Juno's first acts of
resistance to Hercules. In the arder of the discourse, however, cause and
effect are reversed: the Sophoclean ( not to say Wagnerian) scene of Her-
cules's death and apotheosis ( the ultimate labor) comes before the sexual
politics and childbirth which are its cause.
Discourse and Time 137
Given Ovid's adeptness at incorporating Hercules into frame tales
after his death, it seems unlikely that the Trojan anachronism in Book 1 1 is
simply a case of poetic nonchalance. Furthermore, if one probes the text
more closely, it becomes clear that Hercules is not the root of the prob-
lem- he is only a symptom. The real inconsistency, surprisingly unnoted in
the standard cataloges of Ovidian anachronism, is Ovid's narration of the
foundation of Troy in Book 1 1. If we return to Hercules's death scene, we
discover that Troy is assumed to exist already in the world of the poem.
Ovid ostentatiously apostrophizes Hercules as his funeral pyre is kindled by ·
Philoctetes:
arcum pharetramque capacem
regnaque visuras iterum Troiana sagittas
ferre iubes Poeante satum
(Met. 9.231-33)
[And you arder Philoctetes to take the bow, spacious quiver, and the
arrows that are to see the Trojan kingdom a second time.]
At this point in the poem, the narratoria! audience cannot know that Ovid
will postpone the foundation of Troy until Book 1 1. Consequently it sup-
plies the necessary background information to understand the reference:
Hercules has already conquered Troy once with his arrows, and Philoctetes
will bring the same arrows to Troy a second time. Solodow ( 1988: 62)
states that Ovid's use of the future participle "visuras" is a typical extraneous
side comment that has no immediate significance and is designed to call
attention to the narrator. But why cannot this passage be an invitation to
the audience to participate in the construction of a mythological future in
the putative history of the world that Ovid is telling?
Interestingly, this cross-reference is not left dangling. Ovid is careful to
return to Herculean details mhis treatment of the Trojan war. In the debate
for the arms of Achilles, Ajax gives a chronology of the first sack of Troy
which corresponds with Hercules's death scene in Book 9; he mentions that
his father Telamon was a companion of Hercules ·at the first sack of Troy
(13.23) and that he next took part in the Argo's expedition to Colchis
( 1 3.24) . This would mean that the foundation of Troy should have taken
place sorne time in Book 6, for the Argo sets sail at the end of Book 6
( 721). Ajax argues further that it is Ulysses's fault that Philoctetes has been
 Chapter 5 Discourse and Time 139

stranded on Lemnos and that he hunts birds with the Herculean arrows that this is also one of the poem's most striking anachronisms. In seeking ·to
were intended for the destruction ofTroy ( 13.53-54, "volucresque petendo create the illusion of chronological continuity, Ovid simultaneously violates
1 de bita Troianis exercet spicula fatis") . After winning the debate, Ulysses the chronological framework that he earlier intimated and makes mytho-
makes the trip to Lemnos to fetch the Tirynthia tela ( 1 3. 399-40 3) . The links logical time circle back on itself. This and other chronological contradic-
between Book 9 and Book 1 3 are thus secure. tions are not casual. They challenge the participants of the performance to
The conclusion to be drawn is that Ovid postpones the early history of revise their notions about the poem's chronology, to redefine the character
Troy to Book 1 1: its foundation by N eptune and Apollo ( 1 1. 194-205) ; the of time itself, and to reconsider the purposes to which time is put.
perjury and punishment of Laomedon ( 205-212); the rescue of Hesione
by Hercules; and the sack of the city with Telamon ( 11.213-17). There is
another chronological inconsistency associated with the early part of Book
1 1. The mention of Telamon's marriage to Hesione leads to the subject of
Peleus's marriage to Thetis ( 11.217-65), an event which Ovid presents as
prior to the first sack of Troy and which is generally accepted to be prior to
the Argonautica. In Apollonius's A13onautica, for example, Chiron holds
up the baby Achilles for Peleus to see as theA13o sails away (A13. 1.558; cf.
Val. Fl. 1.130-33, 255-59). Even if one accepts the Catullan version of the
myth ( cf. Catull. 64), in which Peleus meets Thetis at sea, the marriage
would still belong to the time period following the episode of Theseus and
Ariadne ·in Book 8 ( 174-82). 34 Indeed, during the_ Calydonian boar hunt,
Ovid introduces Peleus as the father of great Achilles (8.309, "magnique
creator Achillis"). The periphrasis implies that Peleus has already married
Thetis and become a father. Of course, the early mention of Achilles could
be read as a proleptic cross-reference, but the narratoria! audience cannot
know that Achilles will not be produced until Peleus rapes Thetis three
books later: "et potitur votis ingentique inplet Achille" ( 11.265). Given a
conventional chronology, the audience may assume that Peleus has already
fathered Achilles in Book 8.
The reintroduction of Hercules in Book 1 1 is therefore part and pared
of a larger web of anachronism involving the foundation of Troy and the
marriage of Peleus and Thetis, both of which should have occurred already
in the poem's historical continuum. It should be clear, furthermore, that
Ovid's transpositions of the foundation of Troy and the marriage of Peleus
and Thetis are a deliberate structural strategy to furnish new points of
origin for the narrative of the final books of the poem. That is, Ovid deliber-
ately violates his earlier chronological scheme to provide new beginning
points for the final pentad (i.e., from the foundation ofTroy and the birth
of Achilles to the present). Yet it is a commonplace of Ovidian criticism that
the foundation of Laomedon's Troy ( 1 1. 194) marks the end of the heroic
period of the poem and the beginning of the historie period. Paradoxically,

6 17.366) .2 This type of address also occurs three times in the speech of one
Directions to the Audience
. eight different passages, deploying nine different verbs (A1¿1. r. 725-26;
"Don't use 'you' when you are impersonal. 'You' is very personal,
and your use of it just now was not precise!y what you meant."
"I don't just see that."
"Why you said just now to me, 'whisky and beer- anything that
will make you drunk'- make me drunk, don't you see?"
"Well, .it would, wouldn't it?"
''Yes, of course:' she smiled, "but it would be nicer not to bring
me into it."
- Jack London, .Martin Eden
In theMetamorphoses, the Ovidian narrator operates within the conventions
that govern narrative communication in epic. He narrates in the third per-
son and refrains from identifying and speaking directly to an addressee. 1
N onetheless, he has a number of devices at his disposal to communicate
more or less continuously with his audience. One of the least understood
features of the narrator's communication with his audience is his use of the
generalizing second person singular. Ovidian commentators often assert
that the address of an imaginary "you" is unepic. Bómer, in his note toMet.
3.453, observes that these potential subjunctives are typical of the Meta-
morphoses but alleges that they are not epic. A. S. Hollis concurs: "involve-
ment of the reader even in this small degree is an un-epic touch'' ( 1970: on
Met. 8.323). Similarly Anderson observes: "an apostrophe to the audience
breaks the usual decorum of epic, but Ovid feels no compunction about that
rule" ( 1972: onMet. 6.23). This critica! orthodoxy in Ovidian studies, how-
ever, has seldom been questioned ( cf. Horsfall 1979: 323 n. 17).
The first thing to observe about.generalizing second person address is
that it is a well-established feature of the epic narrative discourse which
Ovid inherits from Homer, Apollonius, and Vergil. The narrator of the
!liad employs the second person singular optative ofa verb of saying, think-
ing, or perceiving ( <paÍ11c;, yvoí11c;, 1úotc;) with the particle av or KE(v) and
Directions to the Audience 141
sorne form of negation on five occasions (Il. 4.223; 4.429; 5.85; 15.697;
character to another (3.220; 3.392; 14.58). In contrast to the !liad, the
Odyssey has only one instance of imaginary second person appeal, which
appears in the speech ofNestor to Telemachus ( Od. 3.124). Homeric schol-
ars have not explained why the Odyssean narrator avoids the generalizing
second person, but his practice proves to be the exception rather than the
rule in epic.
Apollonius Rhodius uses the generic second person twelve times in
1.765-67; 2.171-74; 3.1265-67; 4.238-40; 4.428-29; 4.927-28; 4.997). 3
The trend continues in Roman epic. In theAeneid, the Vergilian narrator
uses the device five times (Aen. 4.401, "cernas"; 8.650, "aspiceres"; 8.676,
''videres"; 8.691, "credas"; 11.528, "velis"). There are four examples in
Lucan'sDeBello Civili; 4 nineteen examples in Statius's Thebaid; 5 nine exam-
ples in Silius Italicus's Punica; 6 and three examples in Claudian's De Raptu
Proserpinae. 7 Valerius Flaccus is the only post-Augustan epicist who avoids
the generalizing second person- the exception, not the rule. 8 Finally, the
imaginary second person address enjoys a healthy N achleben in medieval
Latin epic. 9 .
Information about generalizing second person address in epic dis-
course can be found in the ancient commentaries and treatises devoted to
Homer and Vergil. In Macrobius's Saturnalia, one of the interlocutors,
Eustathius, argues tendentiously that the second person appeal is a feature
ofHomer's narrative style that Vergil plagiarizes; he describes the usage as
follows: "saepe Homerus inter narrandum velut ad aliquem dirigit ora-
tionem" (Sat. 5.14.9, "Often Homer directs his speech in the course of
narrating as if to someone") . Interestingly, the Macrobian speaker does not
equate the address of a hypothetical second person with direct address to
the audience. The phrase "velut ad aliquem" ("as if to someone") appears
to be a translation of a phrase that appears in the Homeric scholia. For
example, the bT-scholiast responds to Il. 5.85 ("you would not have dis-
cerned [ yvoí11c;] on which side of the battle line Diomedes was") with
approval: "the effect of the apostrophe as if to a person is pleasing'' ( Schol.
bT onll. 5.85b Erbse, i¡úu -ro -rflc; ano<npoqrflc; m~ npo~ npóa(mrov) .1°
Discussion of the generalizing second person also appears in the A-
scholia attributed to the Alexandrian grammarian Aristonicus, who worked
on the Aristarchan recensions of Homer in the Augustan age. He transmits
earlier commentary on those verses in the Homeric text which were marked
142 Chapter 6
in the margin with the diple ( >), the sign by which Aristarchus indicated an
explanation or critica! observation in a separate commentary ( cf. Pfeiffer
1968: 21 8) . Although sorne scholars take a dim view of his reliability as a
witness for Aristarchus ( cf. van der Valk 196 3: 1. 55 3-92), Aristonicus pres-
ents a consistent interpretation of Homer's use of the generic second per-
son, which could well derive from Aristarchus. For the Homeric verse Il.
4.22 3 ( "then you would not have seen brilliant Agamemnon slumbering''),
Aristonicus records the following explanation under the lemma tóotc;: 1Í
Ót1tA:f¡, O'tt ou 1tpoc; U<pEO"'toc; 7tpÓO"ffi1tOV' cf).}..,' UV'tl 'tOU tóot nc; av ( Schol. A
on Il. 4.223c, "The diple, because [ the verb] is not [ addressed] to a real
person, but is [used] instead of the expression "one would have seen").
Here Aristonicus, or his source, feels that it is necessary to clarify that "you
would not have seen'' is not addressed to a real person, but that it is an
idiom equivalent to the more proper Attic construction of potential state-
ments with the indefinite third person pronoun nc; ("one would not have
seen") . Aristonicus makes the same point for seven out of the eight occur-
rences of the imaginary second person in the Iliad. He recognizes the po-
tential ambiguity about who the "you" is and seeks to disabuse the reader of
the impression that Homer is speaking to someone.
In his commentary on Vergil'sAeneid, Servius explains that "cernas" in
Aen. ·4.401 ("you would see [cernas] them moving and rushing out of the
whole city'') is a figure of speech: "honesta figura si rem tertiae personae
in secundam referas, hoc est "si quis cernat'' ( Serv. onAen. 4.401, "It is a
worthy figure of speech ifyou should puta matter proper to the third person
into the second person, namely "if someone should see") . Servius, like the
Homeric commentators, is careful to distinguish between the generic sec-
ond person anda direct address to the audience. He also deftly illustrates his
explanation of the figure of second person address with a lefOn par exemple:
the verb "referas" is just such a generalizing second person appeal. Servius's
explanation raises a question. To what degree is the generalizing second
person address felt to be personal? Wackernagel ( 1950: 109) observes that it
is customary usage in both Greek and Latin to ascribe to an addressee an
action applicable to anyone. He explains the appeal in Homer: ''An ideal
persori is addressed, roughly, 'if you, listener of the poet, had been there'?'
The rhetorical treatise On the Sublime, uncertainly attributed to "Lon-
ginus;' takes a more literal view of antimetathesis- the switch from third to
second persons- exemplified in Homer and other authors: "Change of
persons gives an equally powerful effect, and often makes the audience feel
themselves set in the thick of danger. . . . All such passages with a direct
Directions to the Audience 143
personal address put the hearer in the presence of the action itself. By
appearing to address not the whole audience but a single individual ... you
will m ove him more and make him more attentive and full of active interest,
because he is roused by the appeals to him in person" ( On the Sublime,
26.1-3, trans. W. H. Fyfe, rev. by D. A. Russell). Here the rhetorical theo-
rist parts company with the grammarian; he views the generalizing second
person appeal as a form of direct address. Furthermore, such a personal
address "turns hearing into sight'' by making the listener an eyewitness
and a participant in the narrative fiction. For this reason antimetathesis
becomes a conventional device to promote ena1'lfeia or vividness in set-piece
descriptions. 11
The use of the generalizing second person has been well documented in
Homer, Apollonius, and Vergil, but the implications of such scholarship for
the reception of theMetamorphoses has not yet been fully explored. The pur-
pose of this chapter is to trace the develópment of the epic convention and
to construct a framework for understanding the types and degrees of partid-.
pation that are required of Ovid's audience in the production ofhis poem.
Homer
In the Iliad, all of the narrator's appeals to the audience occur in battle
scenes and aim to heighten vividness. The narrator's directions to the au-
dience are not straightforward statements such as "you would have seen or
said or thought something?' Although each example of second person ad-
dress has a different emphasis, two basic modes may be discerned: one
introduces a negative comparison, and the other a contrast between ap-
pearance and reality. The first example of the poet's communication with
the audience in Book 4 illustrates well the effect of negative comparison:
"Ev8' OUK av ~pt~OV'ta tóotc; 'Ayaf..LÉflVOVa Ótov,
ouóf: KU't<l1t'tcOO"O"OV't '' ouó' OUK teéA.ov'ta flÚXE0"8at,
aAAfx flÚAa 0"1te'ÚÓOV't<l flÚX'IlV te; K'OÓtávttpav.
(Il. 4.223-25)
[Then you would not have seen brilliant Agamemnon sleeping, nor
shirking, nor unwilling to fight, but hastening eagerly to battle where
men win glory.]
144 Chapter6
Here the poet invites the audience to contrast what Agamemnon is doing
( driving to battle) with what he is not doing ( sleeping or skulking) . By
defining an antimodel of behavior, the poet underlines the heroic qualities
of Agamemnon. Implicit in this negative comparison is a denial of Achilles's
claim that Agamemnon is lazy and lets others do the fighting for him. Yet
the audience may also observe the dramatic irony of Agamemnon's desire to
fight. Inspired by Zeus's false dream, Agamemnon leads his army into a
series of defeats without Achilles. The second person address thus calls
attention to a critica! turning point in the narrative and engages the au-
dience as a witness. to Agamemnon's folly (pace de Jong 1989: 6o).
The other type of second person address in the !liad involves a contrast
between appearance and reality, often to express wonder. Thus the poet
describes the fighting by the Greek ships in Book 15:
<paíns K' aK~f1-cas K(xt a-cctpéas aA.A.~A.ounv
UV'tEcre' EV 1tOAÉ~cp, ros ecrcru~Évms e~áxov-co.
(Il. 15.697-98)
[You would have supposed that they were facing each other in war
unwearied and unworn, so furiously were they fighting.]
The narrator invites the listener to compare Greeks and Trojans with men
who were not suffering battle fatigue. Of course, the combatants have been
fighting all day, but to the hypothetical observer they appear to be fresh
troops. This discrepancy between appearance and reality highlights the
mettle of the heroes and increases the audience's admiration for them. In
this instance and in others, the second person potential has a strong visual
appeal and underlines the extraordinary nature of what is narrated.
Insofar as generic second person expressions articulate a comparison
between appearance and reality, they easily lend themselves to hyperbole or
to the formulation of a simile. As Antenor says of Odysseus: "you would
have thought ( <paíns K') that he was a surly man and quite foolish" (Il.
3.220) . In this case the deceptive likeness of Odysseus is immediately belied
by his great voice, which "snows" its listeners. The generic second person
makes the audience experience the contrast between appearance and reality
and so feel wonder and admiration at the breach of conventional categories
of understanding. It is this technique that Apollonius, Vergil, and Ovid pick
up and develop.
Directions to the Audience 145
Apollonius Rhodius
The Alexandrian scholar-poet Apollonius Rhodius not only recognizes
how Homer employs the generalizing second person in the Iliad, he also
increases its frequency of usage and adapts it to new ends in the A1¿Jo-
nautica. Apollonius begins by employing the generic second person as a
structural frame for the ecphrasis of a work of art- Jason's cloak. At the
beginning of the description, he suggests the listener would be blinded by
the cloak's brilliant center: "You would cast your eyes more easily at the
rising sun than look at its red gleam" (A12J. I. 725-26). The diction and
form of the appeal is strikingly un-Homeric and epitomizes Apollonius's
difference from his epic predecessor. Homer might have said, "you would
have supposed you were looking at the rising sun;' and stressed the extraor-
dinary brilliance of the cloak by means of comparison. Apollonius, how-
ever, occupies the listener with the difficulty of viewing the cloak's center
and so shifts the emphasis from the object .of perception to the act of
perception ( cf. Goldhill 1991: 31o) .
After positioning the listener as viewer and interpreter of Jason's cloak,
Apollonius embarks on a vivid description of seven scenes embroidered in
its fabric. The last portrays Phrixus and the ram with the golden fleece. The
poet concludes the vignette with another second person appeal: ''As you
looked at it, you would be silent and deceived in your mind, since you
would expect to hear sorne wise utterance from them, in the expectation of
which you would gaze long u pon them" (A12J. 1. 76 5-67) . Here Apollonius
develops the Homeric technique of contrasting appearance with reality. 12
Whereas Homer turns his listener into a witness who is deceived by the fury
of battle, Apollonius makes his audience believe that the mythological fig-
ures woven on a cloak appear real enough to speak.
Only three ofApollonius's second person appeals are devoted to mak-
ing the audience visualize events in the story-line proper (A12J. 3.1265-67;
4.238-40; 4.997); In each of these cases, Apollonius links second person
address with the introduction of a comparison or a virtual simile. 13 Con-
sider Jason's arming scene befare the contest with the bulls, in which he
brandishes his shield and spear: ''You would suppose ( <paíns KEV) that
stormy lightning was shooting through the dark sky and flashirig in dif-
ferent directions from clouds, when they bring the blackest rain" (A12J.
3.1265-67). Here a particular event in the mythological world is compared
with an essentially different phenomenon from the realm of common expe-
rience shared by poet and audience; such a procedure is typical of the epic
 Chapter6
simile, which mediates between past and present ( cf. Edwards 1987: 103-
4) . In many respects, the comparison is an apt one. It suggests the super-
natural and even cosmological power that Medea's magical drugs give Jason
and his arms. Furthermore, the imagery of lightning augurs Jason's success
in yoking the bulls and in battling the earthborn men. It aligns him implic-
itly with Zeus, who defeated the Titans with his thunderbolt ( cf. Hunter
1989: onA1¿1. 3· 1265-67). Yet what is striking about this comparison is the
fact that the poet makes it the response of his audience. Richard Hunter
( 1993: 132) interprets cpa.Í11c; KE in its more literal sense to mean "you would
say this if you were the narrator:' as if the audience would choose this
particular simile to communicate the cosmological significance of Jason's
war dance. 14 In the process, Apollonius divides the audience's attention
between the object of perception and the means by which it is perceived and
represented. The seams of the discourse momentarily peek through the
fabric of the story as the narrator plays with the technique by which epic
description is made vivid.
Apollonius can imitate Homer's technique of making the audience an
eyewitness of events in the story-world. For instance, he describes the re-
ception of the Argonauts by the Phaeacians in Book 4: ''You would have
thought ( <pa.Í11c; KEV) they were rejoicing over their own children" (A1¿1.
4.997; cf. Hom. Il. 15.697-98). But this example is the exception rather
than the rule. Apollonius's purpose is to exploit Homeric models to pro-
duce un-Homeric effects. To illustrate this point, let us look at the appeal to
envision the Colchian fleet setting sail after Jason and Medea:
ouOÉ KE <pa.Í11c;
'tÓO"O"OV V11Í't11V O"'tÓAOV Ef..Lf..LEVat, aAA' oirovrov
iA.a8ov U0"1tc'tOV eevoc; E1tt~pof..LÉEtV 1tcAÚycO"O"tV.
(A1¿1. 4.238-40)
[You would not have supposed that such a naval force was an armada,
but that it was a huge flock of birds making noise on the sea.]
Hunter (1993: 132) calls this a "simile in the making.'' 15 As we saw in our
earlier Homeric examples, the generic second person may introduce~ com-
parison that is virtually a simile. Here, however, the audience is assumed to
command the imagistic and aural resources of the Homeric simile to arrive
at an unexpected result. 16 Instead of apprehending the Colchian ships di-
Directions to the Audience 147
rectly, the audience thinks that it sees and hears a flock of birds- so nu-
merous are the ships.
To sum up, Apollonius continues and develops the technique of the
generic second person appeal in Homer, reusing the same vocabulary and
syntactic constructions. On the one hand, he exploits the device's kinship to
the simile; on the other, he applies it to the epic ecphrasis, which is itself an
extension of the resources of the epic simile. In contrast to Homer, Apol-
lonius is less concerned with evoking admiration for the marvelous events
that he is describing than he is with revealing the problematics of the
audience's perception of events, objects,. and settings in the story-world.
Charles R. Beye ( 1982: 25) concludes that "what is immediately apparent
in theA1¿1onautica is how much Apollonius needs his reader.... He insists
upon the presence of his reader, bringing him into the poem time after
time.'' The thematization of the audience's participation in theA1¿1onautica
is an important precedent for Ovid's method in theMetamorphoses.
Vergil
The fragmentary nature of early Roman epic does not permit us to general-
ize about how epic poets before Vergil may have used the imaginary second
person. Vergil's use of the figure, however, reconfirms its status asan epic
convention. Like Homer, Vergil exercises restraint in application of the
device: there are only five examples in theAeneid. 17 The first instance of this
device in theAeneid could not come at a more critical point in the narrative.
The narrator invites the audience to view the scene of the Trojans departing
from Carthage: "migrantis cernas totaque ex urbe ruentis" (Aen. 4.401,
"you would see them moving and rushing out of the whole city''). Here the
vivid present subjunctive helps to place the distant scene before the au-
dience's eyes as it happens ( cf. Austin 1955: ad loe.). Vergil's "cernas" is
more or less comparable to the Homeric narrator's description of what
"you" would see Agamemnon doing (Jl. 4.223), in that it serves to focus
attention on physical movement in the story-world ( cf. Curtius 1990: 443-
44). But a critical difference emerges. Whereas Homer makes the audience
see the action from his viewpoint, Vergil reveals to his audience that it is
seeing the departure of Aeneas from the standpoint of Dido. First comes
the famous simile comparing the Trojans to ants (4.402-5), which implies
the audience's spatial distance from the scene. Then the poet cuts away
suddenly to address Dido directly:
 Chapter 6
quis tibi tum, Dido, cernenti talla sensus
quosve dabas gemitus, cum litora fervere late
prospiceres arce ex summa, totumque videres
misceri ante oculos tantis clamoribus aequor!
(Aen. 4.408- I I)
[What. feelings did you have, Dido, seeing such things, what groans
did you give, when you watched from the height of your citadel the
shores boil with activity far and wide, and when you saw before your
eyes the whole sea churned up with such great shouts!]
Here we have perhaps the most famous specimen of Vergil's "subjective
style" a point in the narrative where the poet transgresses the boundary that
separates the narrating instance from the story-world. The distinction be-
tween past and present collapses as the poet draws near to Dido and asks her
what she feels as she views the departure of Aeneas. As has been recognized
before, Vergil's apostrophe to Dido echoes his earlier appeal to the au-
dience: "tibi ... cernenti" (4.408); cf. "cernas" ( 4.4or). The perspective of
the generallzed "you" is thus subtly elided with that of Dido ( cf. Block
I982: I4-I5)_1 8
Vergil also uses the generallzing second person in the ecphrasis of
the shield of Aeneas; in fact,. he resorts to the device three times. 19 The
first example focuses the audience's eye on the image of Porsena: "illum
indignanti similem similemque minanti 1 aspiceres" (Aen. 8.649-50,
"you would have regarded him [ Porsena] as like one fu1l of outrage and
like one posing a threat'') . The emphasis on the likeness of Porsena re-
calls the Homeric description of the deceptive appearance of Odysseus.
What is deceptive about Porsena, however, is that he is only the picture of
aman.
The second and third cases of second person address neatly frame the
battle of Actium. First Vergil describes the array of naval forces: "totumque
instructo Marte videres 1 fervere Leucaten" (Aen. 8.676-77, ''You could see
all of Leucate glowing with battlelines drawn up") . Later follows the clash
ofships:
pelago credas innare revulsas
Cycladas aut montis concurrere montibus altis,
tanta mole viri turritis puppibus instant
(Aen. 8.69r -93)
Directions to the Audience I49
[You would believe that the Cyclades, torn up from their roots, were
floating on the sea, or that lofty mountains were colliding with moun-
tains, of such a great mass were the turreted ships in which the men
pressed to battle.]
We have already seen that Homer uses the second person to make the
audience a spectator of battle scenes and to increase admiration for heroes.
Vergil follows Homer in this respect. However, the battle scenes are images
represented on a shield and not events in the story-world. In the latter
regard, Vergil is indebted to Apollonius for the technique of making the
audience behold a work of art.
In the first two examples of second person address in the shield de-
scription, Vergil aims at the ena"'lJeia, or vividness, appropriate to an ec-
phrasis. In the last example, the verb "credas" softens the hyperbole of
likening the naval battle at Actium to masses of land or mountains clash-
ing together. But there may be more to "credas." As P. R. Hardie ( r986:
roo-ro3) has convincingly shown, the comparison of the ships with is-
lands and mountains suggests the traditional projectiles that the giants
employ in their war against heaven. Could it be, then, that Vergil's "credas"
invites the audience to interpret the battle of Actium allegorically as an
example of gigantomachy and cosmic struggle for rule of the universe?
We have already seen in Apollonius that the poet could cue the audi-
ence to interpret Jason's war dance in terms of Zeus's thunderbolt (A"'lf.
3.r265-67). Vergil similarly capitallzes on the generic second personad-
dress to signa! the role of the audience in the production of an allegorizing
reading.
The Apollonian description of Jason's cloak is the primary model for
Vergil's strategy of address in the ecphrasis of the shield of Aeneas. But there
is one important difference in Vergil's technique. In theA"'lfonautica, Apol-
lonius does not say that there is a character in the narrative who views the
cloak of Jason when he describes it ( the Lemnian women view the cloak
later) ; rather, the reader or hearer has the privilege of surveying its embroi-
dered scenes outside of the story's narrative time ( cf. Frankel I968: roo-
I02). Vergil, by contrast, closes his ecphrasis with reference to Aeneas as
the viewer: "Talla per clipeum Volcani, dona parentis, 1 miratur" ( 8. 729-
30, "He wondered at such things all over Vulcan's shield, the gift of his
mother"). At the end of the ecphrasis, Vergil makes it clear that "you" have
been occupying the same point of view as Aeneas, who takes joy in looking
at the pictures ( 8. 730, "imagine gaudet''). Unlike Aeneas, however, the
150 Chapter6
Roman audience is not "rerum ignaros" ( 8. 730, "ignorant of the deeds"); it
is able to read and understand the history of Rome that culminates in
Augustus's victory at Actium.
Our final example of generalizing second person address in theAeneid
comes at the end of a geographical description devoted to a mountain pass
vulnerable to attack from a concealed platean:
planities ignota iacet tutique receptus,
seu dextra laevaque velis occurrere pugnae
sive instare iugis et grandia volvere saxa.
(Aen. 11.527-29)
[There lies a hidden platean and a safe retreat, if you wish to rush to
battle on the right or left, or if you wish to stand on the ridge and roll
clown boulders.]
Here the audience is presented with a threatening landscape that recalls
Livy's description of the Caudine Forks ( 9 .2. 7-8), a passage that likewise is
marked by the generalizing second person. Livy uses the rhetorical device to
make his reader see the scene from the perspective of the· Roman army
trapped on a plain between two mountain defiles. Vergil's purpose is more
devious. He invites his audience to adopt the point of view ofTurnus who is
planning to ambush Aeneas. As in the case with Dido, Vergil mobilizes the
generic second person address so that the audience comes to occupy a
vantage point that is opposed to Aeneas's.
All the examples that we have examined in theAeneid have one thing in
common. They place the audience in the position of one of the characters in
the narrative and are distinctly concerned with the problem of point of
view. In the case of the departure of the Trojans from Carthage, the au-
dience is made to sympathize with Dido as she watches from a distance. The
shield description is a more complicated case because it involves a difference
in knowledge between the audience and Aeneas. But the sharing of the
perspective and the gap in knowledge between the ideal viewer and Aeneas
lead to the realization of the tragic irony of Aeneas's destiny. Finally, there is
the geographical excursus in which Vergil represents Turnus's thoughts of
ambushing Aeneas and ascribes them to the audience. Like the earlier scene
with Dido, the audience is asked to adopta perspective hostile to Aeneas.
N either Dido nor Turnus are unsympathetic characters. The purpose of
Directions to the Audience 151
Vergil's narrative technique is to make the audience experience the conflict-
ing viewpoints of Aeneas's antagonists.
Vergil's manipulation of second person address requires further com-
ment because it is a technique that Ovid takes over in the Metamorphoses.
Ordinarily, the epic narrator tells the story from his own perspective. How-
ever, the narrator can complicate his narrative by presenting the story ex-
plicitly or implicitly through the eyes of a character. When the narrator
mediates the perceptions, thoughts, emotions, or even indirect speech of
a particular character, it becomes necessary to distinguish between "who
speaks" and "who sees.'' In order to take into account this distinction,
literary critics have developed the category of "point of view'' or "focaliza-
tion.''20 That is, the epic narrator can "focalize" his own point of view or the
point of view a character ( cf. de Jong 1989: 37 and Fowler 1990) . In the case
of generalizing second person address, however, the narrator explicitly fo-
calizes the audience's point of view. Both Homer and Apollonius represent
the audience's point of view as more or less independent spectators of
events or objects in the story-world. Vergil, by contrast, uses second person
appeal to put the audience in the shoes of a character in the narrative.
TheMetamorphoses
In the Metamorphoses, Ovid goes beyond his epic predecessors in the fre-
quency of use of the generalizing second person. Thirty examples appear in
the primary narrating instance and nineteen in embedded narrative. 21 Most
of these appeals induce the listener to respond to visual phenomena in the
story-world. Sometimes this entails intensified perception of an event or
object; at other times, the audience is directed to make a comparison be-
tween appearance and reality. Like Apollonius, Ovid can emphasize the role
of the audience as a participant in the narration of the poem; or, like Vergil,
he can align the audience's point of view with that of a character in the
narrative. Ovid also develops the second person appeal to a new end: he
attributes to the hypotheticallistener judgments and interpretations about
the narrative. The address of the imaginary second person tends to occur at
turning points in the narrative- especially at the end of a scene or episode,
when communication between poet and audience becomes more audible.
Although each instance of the generalizing second person deserves to be
read and interpreted within its particular context, a few exemplary cases will
suffice to illustrate the contexts in which Ovid enlists the audience's atten-
152 Chapter6
tion. In the course of this discussion, I will have occasion to revisit the
theoretical model of levels of audience developed in Chapter 3.
AUTHENTICATING THE lNAUTHENT1C
In the course of theMetamorphoses, Ovid frequently describes the process or
result of metamorphosis; humans are transformed into mammals, birds,
reptiles, plants, minerals, water, and air. 22 It may therefore not surprise that
the poet-narrator uses generalizing second person address to make the au-
dience a spectator of eight scenes of metamorphosis. 23 The first time that
the poet uses second·person address during a scene of metamorphosis oc-
curs in Book 4- toward the end of the Theban cycle. Ino, the foster-mother
of Bacchus, is driven mad by Juno and jumps from a cliff into the sea where
she and her son are transformed into sea deities ( 4.416-542). Ino's com-
panions mourn the apparent tragedy and complain of Juno's old gmdge
against Semele ( 4.545-48). The vindictive goddess responds by transform-
ing her detractors into rock formations and birds (4.543-62). On the rhe-
torical principie that seeing is believing, Ovid describes the petrifaction of
one woman who had been tearing her hair: "duratos subito dígitos in crine
videres" (4.559, "you would have seen that her fingers had suddenly hard-
ened in her hair"). 24 The second person address puts the narratoria! au-
dience on the spot. The narrator continues to assume the audience's hypo-
thetical presence in the vicinity when he says that those who were turned
into birds "even now'' haunt those waters (4.561, "nunc quoque gurgite in
illo"). The appeals to the audience's powers of autopsy authenticate the
miraculous transformations, but the e:ffect may be di:fferent if one knows
that they has been invented by Ovid ( cf. Bomer onMet. 4.543-62). That is,
the implied audience may observe that the second person appeal ironically
makes the audience a witness of the poet's fantasy. 25
As if imitating the poet-narrator, the Muse Calliope also resorts to
vivid second person appeal to authenticate the metamorphosis of Cyane,
which commentators believe is also an invention ( cf. Bomer onMet. 5.409-
39). Calliope describes in detall how the nymph Cyane dissolves into tears
after the rape of Proserpina by Pluto (5.425-37). The description begins
with an appeal to her audience ( nymphs and Pierides) to visualize the
liquefaction of Cyane: "molliri membra videres" ( 5.429, "you would have
seen her limbs soften") . She then enumerates the body parts that turn into
water: limbs, bones, nails, hair, fingers, legs, feet, shoulders, back, sides,
Directions to the Audience 153
breasts, and blood. At the end this catalog, the audience is invited to con-
firm the nymph's complete dissolution: "restatque nihil, quod prendere
possis" ( 5.43 7, "and nothing remained, which you could grasp") . As much
as Calliope seeks to make this metamorphosis vivid and emotionally mov-
ing, sorne critics find it pedantic and artificial ( cf. Kenney 1973: 144-45;
Anderson 1997= 542-43). The potential for sympathetic or skeptical re-
sponses can be explained in terms of the poem's di:fferent audiences. Cal-
liope's visual appeals may be appropriate for a sympathetic jury consisting
of nymphs, but the narratoria! audience, which occupies the position of an
implied audience, may consider the Muse's treatment too fastidious and
manipulative.
Ovid employs second person address once more in a self-conscious
fashion to authenticate an invented metamorphosis in Book 11. The Thra-
cian women who dismembered Orpheus are transformed into trees by
Bacchus ( 11:67-84). The episode has no source ( cf. Haupt and Ehwald
1966: onMet. 11.67f.) and appears to grow out of its context. It forms a
ring-composition with the catalog of trees in the previous book ( 10.86-
1o5) and pays tribute to Orpheus who had the power to charm trees ( cf.
Galinsky 1975: 90) . The transformation of the Thracian women begins
with the rooting of toes and continues with bark crawling up thighs,
breasts, and shoulders. After vividly describing the encasement of each
woman's body in solid oak, the poet draws attention to the one homolo-
gous part that exhibits continuity between old and new forms: "porree-
taque bracchia veros 1 esse putes ramos et non fallare putando" ( 11. 83-84,
"you would think that their stretched arms were real branches and you
would not be deceived in your thinking") .26 On one level, this is a typical
play on appearance and reality that underscores the marvelous aspect of
metamorphosis; on another, Ovid engages in wordplay of a semantic vari-
ety. He calls attention to the metaphorical use of the word "bracchium" to
mean anything resembling an arm, i.e., a branch- an ambiguity that the
English word "limb" possesses. 27 Second, he reinforces his point with a pun
on the concrete sense of "putando:' which originally was an agricultura!
term for trimming, pmning, or lopping ( cf. OW s.v. 1a).28 The invitation
to test the literal truth of the metamorphosis of the Thracian women could
therefore be reworded, as if to say "you would think their outstretched
limbs were branches, and you would not be deceived in pmning.'' The
poet's emphatic appeal to the audience ("putes ... et non fallare putando")
seeks to win assent for the truth of the fiction; however, at a deeper level, the
same appeal can be read as a sign that the poet is deceiving his audience.
154 Chapter6
METAMORPHIC lMAGES
Like Apollonius and Vergil, Ovid deploys the generalizing second person
address in set-piece descriptions of a work of art. The imaginary "you" first
appears at the begining of the description of Arachne's tapestry: "verum
taurum, freta vera putares" ( 6. 104, "you would have thought the bull real
and the sea too") .29 Here the speetator is supposed to marvel at the veri-
similitude of Jupiter's form and his abduction of Europa. The deceptive
realism of Arachne's artistry is a mark of praise and directs the audience to
regard her work with admiration from the beginning. 30 Yet there is also
irony in the second person appeal. The narrator suggests that the audience
would be tricked into thinking that the bull is true-to-life ("verum"), al-
though it knows already that Europa herself was deceived by the false image
of the bull ( 6.103-4, "elusam ... imagine tauri 1 Europam"). Arachne is
the consummate artist because she successfully mediares the apparent truth-
fulness of Jupiter's taurine form. Like Jupiter, she has the special power to
fashion false images that deceive the viewer into thinking they are real.
Earlier in the poem, the Ovidian narrator makes a similar appeal to the
audience when he describes the taurine form of Jupiter and so suggests that
he is like a work of art. 31 In ecphrastic style, the narrator details the purity of
the bull's whiteness (2.852), the muscle definition in his neck and hispen-
dulous dewlap ( 2.854), and finally his little horns: "cornua parva quidem,
sed quae contendere possis 1 facta manu, puraque magis perlucida gemma"
(2.855-56, "The horns were indeed small, but the sort which you would
wager were handmade, and more splendid than pure gemstone"). Here the
perfection of the horns is not measured by their size, as one might expect,
but by their artistic appearance. 32 Solodow ( 1988: 210) points out that
Ovid inverts the ecphrastic convention whereby the poet praises a work of
art for its verisimilitude. Therefore, when the narrator addresses the au-
dience, he transposes the conventions of viewing art to the contemplation
ofJupiter's taurine form. He concludes the description in Vergilian fashion
with reference to the character in the story-world who is viewing the bull:
"miratur Agenore nata, 1 quod tam formosus" (2.858, "the daughter of
Agenor marveled because he was so beautiful"). 33 The narrator thus slyly
maneuvers the audience into the position of sharing Europa's wonder at the
paradox of a bull with false horns.
One of the most frequent forms of metamorphosis in Ovid's epic is
petrifaction, which provides an occasion for the ecphrastic description of
statue-like figures. In two instances, Ovid uses the second person subjunc-
tive to call attention to the lifelike qualities of figures frozen in stone. Per-
Directions to the Audience 155
seus exposes Nileus to the petrifying stare of Medusa; the latter is in the act
of boasting falsely about his parentage and nobility when he is stricken
dumb. The narrator quips: "adapertaque velle 1 ora loqui credas" (5.193-
94, ''you would believe that his opened mouth wanted to speak"). "Credas"
suggests that Nileus has become a statue whose realism deceives its viewer
into thinking it wants to speak. This conceit may be indebted to Apol-
lonius, who says that one would expect Phrixus and the ram on Jason's
cloak to speak (A12J. 1. 765-77). In Ovid's narrative, however, the audience
could believe that Nileus's mouth wished to speak because it was just speak-
ing. Medusa's gaze ironically transforms the false hero's lying nature into
lying art, and in the process Nileus becomes a "truer" representation of
himself. Two books later, Cephalus uses the same ecphrastic topos of ver-
isimilitude when he describes how his gift-hound Laelaps pursued a giant
fox and how sorne god transformed the pair into marble. He concludes the
account by saying: "fugere hoc, illud latrare putares" ( 7. 791, "you would
have thought this one was fleeing and that one barking'') . The reading
"latrare" has been questioned, but the idea that the statue appears so real
that one would think it were barking is clearly a variation on the earlier
petrifaction of the boasting Nileus ( cf. Anderson 1972: onMet. 7. 791.) .
In embedded narrative, an interna! narrator's second person appeal
to an interna! audience raises questions about the degree of participation
of the narratoria! audience. When Orpheus tells how Pygmalion sculpts
snowy ivory into the figure of a woman, he invites his audience to behold
the realism of the statue:
virginis est verae facies, quam vivere credas
et, si non obstet reverentia, velle moveri:
ars adeo latet arte sua. miratur et haurit
pectore Pygmalion simulati corporis ignes.
(Met. 10.250-53)
[Her face is that of a real virgin. You would believe she was alive and
wished to m ove, if modesty were not stopping her. To such a degree is
art hidden by art. Pygmalion marvels and drinks in his breast hot desire
for her life-like body. ]
Here Orpheus makes the imaginary second person experience the decep-
tiveness of Pygmalion's art, just as the primary narrator does in the descrip-
tion of Arachne's tapestry. Orpheus then reveals that Pygmalion is also the
156 Chapter6
viewer of his own creation and that the audience therefore shares the artist's
point of view. 34 Thus Orpheus prompts his audience to share Pygmalion's
passion for the sculpture of a women- a passion which the narratoria!
audience may resist.
When Pygmalion falls in love with his statue, he forgets that it is made
of ivory, a material conventionally associated with false dreams. 35 The nar-
ratoria! audience, by contrast, is faced with the choice of identifying with
Pygmalion's delusion or believing in the "fact'' of the artificiality of the
statue. For these reasons one should be cautious about asserting that Pyg-
malion's desire is a myth about the reader; rather, it is a myth about one sort
of reader- one who loses his wits and believes too much in what he reads.
As Feeney puts it, "knowing what ( or how) not to believe is as integral a
part of the experience as knowing what ( or how) to believe- otherwise
everything collapses" ( 1993: 237). Pygmalion's confusion is similar to that
of the person who leaped on stage to stop Othello from killing Desdemona.
In the traditional version of the Pygmalion tale, the inability to separate art
from life assumes the proportions of a pathological madness: Pygmalion
engages in vain sexual acts with a statue of the goddess Aphrodite. 36 Or-
pheus retells the story so that the statue turns into a real woman. In the end,
contrary to rational expectation, Pygmalion's seemingly misguided belief in
the realism of the statue does not lead to agalmatophilia. On the contrary,
Orpheus sees to it that Pygmalion's fantasy of bringing art to life is fulfilled.
Many readers of this episode are ready to believe the fiction na1vely and
view it as a celebration of the power of art and love. Tissol resists such a
reading: "only by special pleading can Pygmalion sustain his burden as
archetypal artist: he is more lik:.e the lottery winner of modern times, who
through pure accident receives a large reward for having made a poor
investment'' ( 1997: So). Orpheus, the author of this story, certainly has his
motives for telling a story of wish-fulfillment. Caught in the loop of "repeti-
tion compulsion" he attempts to master his loss of ·Eurydice by telling
stories that repeat and vary the theme of bringing the dead back to life.
Orpheus's privileged audience is the figure Cyparissus, the cypress tree,
who sympathizes with the poet's predicament because he accidentally killed
the stag that he loved and continually mourns his loss ( 1o. 1o6-42) . But the
wider narratoria! audience might distance itself from the elegiac fictions of
the bereaved interna! narrator and audience.
A similar problem of point of view arises earlier in the embedded
narrative of Calliope. The interna! narrator impersonates Arethusa who
tells the story of her transformation to Ceres. She describes herself as a
former virgin huntress who was seduced into bathing in the river Alpheus.
Directions to the Audience 157
She prompts Ceres to envision the calm and crystal clear waters: "quas tu
vix ire putares" ( 5.589, "which you would have thought scarcely moved").
Here the generic second person turns the interna! audience, Ceres, into the
focalizer- the person who sees and feels what is happening in the story-
world. By this device Arethusa invites her listener to identify with her
surprise and terror when the seemingly safe waters of the river produced
the lusty river god Alpheus. The narratoria! audience, however, may resist
Arethusa's invitation to focalize her deception; it already knows from the
misadventures ofNarcissus (3.407-10) andHermaphroditus (4.297-300)
that seductively peaceful water and virginallandscapes are potentially dan-
gerous places ( cf. H. Parry 1964; Segal 1969a: 55-56). Generalizing second
person address therefore may have different effects depending on which
audience is participating in the narrative transaction. Interna! audiences
may identify with Arethusa, while the narratoria! audience may recognize
the dramatic irony of her desire to bathe in Alpheus's waters.
CoMPARISON
So far we have been looking at examples of antimetathesis that involve the
audience in the apprehension of the deceptive appearance of nature and art.
Ovid also uses this device to produce various forms of visual comparison
that are akin to similes. At the beginning of Book 5, the wedding feast of
Perseus and Andromeda is suddenly thrown into confusion presaging bat-
tle. The narrator concludes the description of this transformation with an
aside to the audience:
inque repentinos convivia versa tumultus
adsimilare freto possis, quod saeva quietum
ventorum rabies motis exasperat undis.
(Met. s.s-7)
[And you could compare the banquet that turned into a sudden brawl
with a calm sea which the savage fury of the winds makes rough with
the swelling of waves.]
Solodow ( 1988: 57) aptly calls this a "do-it-yourself simile." Ovid attributes
to his listener the requisite literary competence to find the appropriate
image from the epic tradition to depict the sudden change from peaceful
158 Chapter6
banquet to impromptu battle. In particular, one might remember a mo-
ment in Iliad 2: ''And the assembly was moved like the waves of the sea, the
!carian sea, which the East and South winds whip up as they shoot down
from the clouds of Zeus the father" (Il. 2.144-46). What is remarkable
about this play with the audience's literary memory is the momentary break
in the dramatic illusion and the literary self-consciousness revealed by the
shamelessly prosaic adsimilare . .. possis ( cf. Anderson 1997: onMet. 5.5-7).
This switch to the second person does not exactly involve the listener in the
fray, as the author of On the Sublime suggests it does. Rather it calls atten-
tion to the mechanisms by which epic narrative is made vivid, ás if to say:
"you would introduce this simile, if you were an epic poet?' This overt
commentary on poetic technique is no less engaging, but here the axis of
interest shifts from the world of which one tells to the world in which one
tells. Ovid's play with the conventions of epic discourse is of thematic
importance because it anticipates his parody of epic conventions in the
battle episode as a whole.
Another topic for parody in theMetamorphoses is the convention of the
epic storm at sea. In the midst of his overblown account of the storm that
engulfs Ceyx at sea, the poet-narrator makes an ecphrastic appeal to the
listener: "inque fretum credas totum descendere caelum, 1 inque plagas
caeli tumefactum ascendere pontum" (11.517-18, "you would believe that
the whole sky carne down into the sea, and that the swollen sea rose into the
regions of the sky'') .37 "Credas" is a formula of cautious assertion (similar
to videtur) that aims to modulate the hyperbole. 38 Yet by this point in the
storm description, the audience has been overwhelmed with so much hy-
perbole that the imaginary second person no longer has its proper function
of mediating the awe or fear of an eyewitness. Rather it has the effect of
parody in that it carries the exaggeration of appearances to an unbelievable
extreme. Instead of making the listener experience the marvelous nature of
the storm, this second person address exposes the seams of the discourse,
for it alludes to the proverbial collapse of the sky ("caelum mere"), and to
the proverbial wave that reaches heaven. 39 Justas Vergil uses "credas" in his
shield description to cue the audience to interpret the battle of Actium in
terms of physical allegory, so too does Ovid's usage point toward allegorical
interpretation. Yet the allegory leads nowhere. The narrator's communica-
tion with his audience is ironic; he pushes the epic code and the theme of
universal catastrophe to the point of discursive collapse.
In the cases discussed, the appeal to an imaginary second person not
only refers to the discourse, but also alludes to literary tradition. Phrases
Directions to the Audience 159
such as "putes" ("you would think") or "credas" (''you would believe")
can have an effect similar to citations of authority: such as, "ferunt'' ( "they
say") and "fama est'' ("the story is"). A particularly rich example occurs in
the story that Venus tells Adonis about the foot race between Atalanta and
Hippomenes: "posse putes illos sicco freta radere passu 1 et segetis canae
stantes percurrere aristas" ( 10.654-55, "you would think that they were
able to skim the top of the sea with dry feet and to run across the standing
ears of white wheat''). Venus bids Adonis to imagine the speed of the
runners in terms that defy gravity. The hyperbole of running over the sur-
face of the sea or a field of wheat is traditional; Homer describes the speed
of the magic horses of Erichthonius in the same way (Il. 20.228-29). Bor-
rowing from this Homeric passage, Apollonius introduces the Argonaut
Euphemus as one who could run over the sea without getting his feet wet
(A1¿1. 1.182-84). Vergil, in turn, follows Apollonius when he introduces
Camilla as one who could run over water (Aen. 7.808-rr); however, he
also restares the Homeric detall of running over wheat, which Apollonius
suppresses. 40 Ovid joins this tradition with a triple allusion. He applies the
two-fold hyperbole of speed to Hippomenes and Atalanta, which not only
points to the different sexes of the runners in Apollonius and Vergil, but
also to the original plurality of Erichthonius's horses. Hence, the verb
"putes" can be read as a cue to construct a literary memory. Once again,
however, it is necessary to draw a distinction between interna! audiences
and the narratoria! audience. The complex literary allusion to Homer, Apol-
lonius, and Vergil is not significant for the narrative transaction between
Venus and Adonis, nor is it significant for Orpheus and his audience. As far
as these interna! audiences are concerned, "putes" is an invitation to imag-
ine Atalanta's marvelous speed. However, at the level of discourse between
poet-narrator and narratoria! audience, the verb "putes" signposts a famous
literary allusion.
JUDGMENT
Most of the second person appeals in theMetamorphoses are related in sorne
way to imagining marvelous objects or events in the story-world. There are
a number of examples, however, in which the audience is invited not to
visualize a phenomenon but to make a judgÍnent or draw a conclusion. The
first example of the imaginary second person in theMetamorphoses falls into
this category: "scires a sanguine natos" ( 1. 162, "you would have known
r6o Chapter6
they were born from blood") . It is right to observe that this type of appeal is
not the norm of the second person addresses in epic; it does not prompt the
audience to visualize a scene or to make a comparison between appearance
and reality. The generalizing second person scires is rather a characteristic
form of Ovidian communication, which does not appear elsewhere in Au-
gustan poetry and is paralleled later in satirical prose. 41
In Book 6 of theMetamorphoses, Ovid uses the same device to involve
the audience as arbiter of a contest. He has just introduced the character of
Arachne ( 6. 7-23). He clases the description of her lineage and skill in the
arts of spinning and weaving with the comment: "scires a Pallade doctam"
( 6.23, "you would have known that she had been taught by Pallas"). At first
glance, this would appear to be a sign of the audience's approval of her skill.
However, Arachne attacks the audience's assumptions about what con-
stitutes good art:
quod tamen ipsa negat tantaque offensa magistra
"certet'' ait "mecum! nihil est, quod victa recusem.''
( 6.24-25)
[Nevertheless, she denied this and because she was offended by so
great a teacher she said: "Let her compete with me. There is nothing I
would refuse, should I be defeated.'']
Arachne's defiant declaration of artistic independence from Minerva and
her foolhardy challenge to the goddess immediately set up a distance be-
tween herself and the narratoria! audience. In the weaving competition that
follows, however, Arachne demonstrates her creative autonomy. But befare
the narratoria! audience may award Arachne the palm, Minerva preempts
judgment by destroying both the mortal artist and her work.
Heinze ( r 960: 353) argues that this sort of second person address is a
characteristic feature of the Fasti)s subjective narrative style. He observes
that it expresses the narrator's participation in the story and invites the
listener's participation too. Heinze goes on to contrast how the narrator in
the Metamorphoses maintains an epic distance. However, it should be clear
that Heinze seriously underestimated the epic narrator's use of the gener-
alizing second person ( cf. Lamacchia r 960: 3r 3 n. 2). What then are we to
make of Ovid's deployment of scires in the Metamorphoses? Is this evidence
for stylistic blurring between the Fasti and the Metamorphoses? Certainly,
Directions to the Audience I6I
one could make the case that the usage reflects the elegiac narrative style of
theMetamorphoses; however, I prefer to view it as an Ovidian innovation to
a technique already developed in Vergil'sAeneid.
The comment with which Ovid concludes the myth of the race of
blood, "scires a sanguine natos:' illustrates this point well. The very next
lines reveal that Jupiter has seen the same things that Ovid had been report-
ing: "quae pater ut summa vidit Saturnius arce, 1 ingemit'' ( r.r63-64,
''When the Saturnian father saw these things from the top of his citadel, he
groaned"). The first example of second person address in theMetamorphoses
thus shifts the audience into the position of sharing Jupiter's dismay over
the human race. For this reason I cannot agree with Anderson's interpreta-
tion of"scires" ( 1997: onMet. r.r62): "Ovid invites us, as it were, to cross
the distance that separates us from the mythical account, to recognize our-
selves in these human beings.'' On the contrary, Ovid aligns the audience's
perspective with the Olympian Jupiter, much the way we have seen that
Vergil directs his audience to focalize the perspective of a character in the
narrative. Indeed, it is as if Jupiter were a member of Ovid's audience who
reacts with indignation to what he hears. In the narrative that follows,
however, the poet-narrator represents Jupiterina violent rage as he con-
venes an emergency meeting of the gods, arbitrarily decrees mankind's
destruction, and tells the tendentious story ofLycaon's cannibal banquet. In
the process, the narratoria! audience finds itself in the uneasy position of
choosing between impious opposition or pious acquiescence to Jupiter's
vilification of mankind. This raises a new set of problems about the relation-
ship of the primary audience to interna! narrators and their audiences- a
tapie that repays closer attention.
 The Danger of Disbelief 163

3000
7 Distribution of Discourse
(Lines per Pentad)

The Danger of Disbelief

2000

1500

The emperor said I could write what I liked.

- Alasdair Gray, Five Letters from an Eastern Empire 1000

Over the past decade, Ovid'sMetamorphoses has moved toward the center of
Latín literary studies. One of the strengths of recent criticism has been the
pars pro toto approach to the poem, which has enabled a new generation to
read selected passages of the text closely and to pose new questions about
poetics, politics, narratology, and gender. One of the shortcomings of this
method of reading, however, is that tesults of local investigation are often
isolated and inapplicable to a global. interpretation of the poem. This is
particularly the case with narratological analysis of the poem. The general
purpose of this chapter is to describe an obvious but unpublicized global
feature of narrative discourse in the Metamorphoses and to explore its im-
plications for our understanding of the narratoria! audience's role in the
performance of the poem.
Let us begin with the simple question of who speaks in the Metamor-
phoses. Analysis of the distribution of discourse between the primary narra-
tor and characters reveals a striking pattern in the poem. 1 In the first three
books, the primary narrator is responsible for roughly 70 percent of the
narrative; in the middle three books, 46 percent; in the last three books,
only 34 percent (figures are based on Avery 1937: 96). If we chart the allo-
cation of discourse by pentad ( see graph), the trend of the declining pres-
ence of the narrator and the rising involvement of his characters is equally
clear. This global pattern of inversion also occurs within individual pen-
tads. In Books 1-5, the narrator speaks by book 77 percent, 71 percent,
63 percent, 48 percent, and 32 percent of the text; in Books 6-10, the
percentages of the primary narrator's discourse are 71, 45, 49, 45, and 17; in
the final pentad, 70, 30, 28, 41, and 33. The conclusions to be drawn from
these data are: (a) the primary narrator is prominent at the beginning of the
500
o
Books 1-5 Books&-10 Books 11-15
• Primary Narrator 2280 1807 1641
IJ Characters 1588 2199 2480
poem and each pentad; ( b) as the poem continues, he gradually recedes
into the background and allows his characters to narrate in his place.
What are the implications of this structural feature of the Metamor-
phoses? First, it should prompt us to reexamine the common claim the poet's
voice and personality dominates, informs, and unifies the whole of the
Metamorphoses. The importance of the Ovidian narrator, especially in the
early books and the beginning of the second and third pentads, is indisputa-
ble. However, Solodow's assumption ( 1988: 37) that the narrator Ovid is
"present everywhere ... guiding the reader through the vast confusion of
the world" should be qualified. Without counting direct speech ( 1 5 per-
cent), more than a third ( 37 percent) of the Metamorphoses is narrated by
character-narrators to their audiences. In the last three books of the poem,
interna! narrators are responsible for 66 percent of the narration. Why then
does the poet-narrator gradually yield the stage to his characters, especially
as he brings his narrative clown to his own times? What effect does the shift
of narrative communication have on the externa! audience's reception of the
narrative?
 Chapter 7
If one focuses on Books 12 to 14, the poet avoids narrating in his own
voice the events surrounding the Trojan war, especially those of the Iliad,
Odyssey, andAeneid. He lets his characters narrate eyewitness accounts in-
stead. Through this technique he presents a series of subjective first person
accounts that are not unified by a single authorial vision. The shift from
third person to first person narrative in this stretch of the narrative is not
simply an Ovidian transformation of his epic models; it reflects a global
strategy in the poem, in which the third person narrative of the poet is
replaced by the first person narratives of his characters. By speaking less and
less in his own voice, Ovid ironically fulfills Aristotle's prescription that the
epic poet should be a mimetes (Poetics 1460 a 7-11). However, instead of
acting out a drama, the prim;;uy narrator's impersonations lead to the dra-
matization of storytelling itself. Indeed, the House of Fama (12.39-63),
which introduces the epic cycle in the final books of the poems, signifies the
fundamental shift away from the poet's own voice to the voices of char-
acters, as the poet effectively becomes a mouthpiece for fama ( cf. Zum-
walt 1977). · rules of a poetic game. To support his reading, Wilkinson ( 19 55: 192)
Given this global shift in who speaks, let us ask how Ovid represents
interna! audiences in theMetamorphoses and how they mirror the narratoria!
audience's belief and disbelief in the stories that they hear. In the early
books of the poem, the poet-narrator repeatedly demonstrates that skepti-
cal audiences suffer consequences for their disbelief in the stories that they
hear. Incredulity is furthermore associated with impietas and contempt for
the gods. The poet, it appears, is cautioning his own audience against
skepticism. Just as tobacco companies are obligated to label a pack of ciga-
rettes with a health warning, so too it would appear that Ovid follows the
officialline that disbelief in the gods and their authority leads. to disaster. 2
Yet, if Ovid were nota disingenuous narrator, such caveats would be un-
conscionably didactic. For all of the admonitions against skepticism, for all
of the skeptics who suffer punishment in the Metamorphoses, the narrator
seems to push his audience to the brink of disbelief precise!y at points when
belief is most urgently called for. This ·kind of play with belief and disbelief
may appear harmless, but it takes on a different complexion when the
emperor Augustus is invoked as a privileged member of the audience and
when the myths told are read as allegories of imperial power. Belief be-
comes a test of loyalty and disbelief a sign of political opposition. This
conflict is introduced programmatically in the poem's first dramatic episode
in which Jupiter tells his fellow gods the story of the assassination attempt
by Lycaon; the narratoria! audience is confronted with the dilemma of
The Danger of Disbelief 165
believing or disbelieving the story. Befare examining this scene in detall,
however, it will be helpful to look at how Ovid represents the problem of
belief and disbelief in theMetamorphoses.
Belief and Disbelief
L. P. Wilkinson reports the story of a lecturer on the Metamorphoses who
exclaimed: ''What an extraordinary thing that such a skeptical man should
have believed all this!" ( 1955: 190). Although Wilkinson lends little cre-
dence to the anecdote, he nonetheless cites various passages in Ovid's po-
etry that prove the poet could not possibly have believed in the fantastic
stories of transformation that he tells in the Metamorphoses. 3 According to
Wilkinson, the astonished lecturer misunderstood Ovid's literary inten-
tions. That is, the poet does not believe in the reality of the mythological
gods but accepts them along with the myths because he is playing by the
quotes Heinze ( cf. 1960: 315) : "The question how this mythical world of
the gods should be represented by Ovid in his poetry is not one of belief,
but of style, and he answered it differently for the Metamorphoses and the
Fasti?' In Heinze's view ( 1960: 321), the narrator of theMetamorphoses does
not express genuine disbelief in the marvels he tells, nor does he seek to
rationalize them. In the Fasti, by contrast, the poet continually questions
the credibility of stories that he narrates or rejects responsibility for what he
is telling. Heinze concludes that the poet's expressions of astonishment in
theMetamorphoses elicit wonder appropriate to the epic genre in contrast to
the skeptical elegiac narrator of the Fasti.
Since the 196os and 1970s, critics took issue with Heinze's pronounce-
ments about the Metamorphoses and Fasti ( cf. Little 1970). Among other
things, Ovid in the Metamorphoses carne to be read as a skeptical and even
irreverent narrator of myth. Galinsky sums up this position well:
Another ... source of poetic self-irony is Ovid's conviction of the fictitious nature of
the myths. For this reason, Ovid likes to distance the reader from the story in order
to call attention to what is more important than the substance of the myth, i.e. the
way in which it is told and thus ultimately to the story-teller. But since Ovid essen-
tially wants to have it both ways- not to believe in the verity of the myths, but
to tell them anyway- the ironies that undermine the credibility of a given story
often are inseparable from the poet's ironic attitude to himself and his creations.
(1975: 175)
I66 Chapter 7
Solodow agrees and coneludes: "Ovid does retell mythology, with all its
incredible episodes, but at the same time he encourages our skepticism
through the expression ofhis own" ( 1988: 71). Given these descriptions of
the ironic narrator in theMetamorphoses, Wilkinson's story of the astonished
lecturer makes little sense. How is it that he could have missed the Ovidian
narrator's skepticism, especially when he was predisposed to believe that
Ovid was a skeptic in the first place? A solution to this problem is offered by
Graf, who suggests that the narrator is indeed credulous but the product of
an ironic implied author ( 1988: 63).
The lack of a clear consensus about the narrator's commitments sug-
gests that deciding where to stand is a problem in its own right. The source
of the problem seems to be the narrator's pretense ofbelief in the myths that
he tells. The narratoria! audience must decide whether to believe or dis-
believe in the pretense. This does not rule out the narrator's expressions of
skepticism or irony, but the question is whether such skepticism shatters
dramatic illusion or reinforces it. It is becoming increasingly clear, however,
that the Metamorphoses accommodates both belief and disbelief and that
the dynamic interplay between the two responses is what is important. In
his essay on closure inMetamorphoses 15 and Fasti I, Barchiesi introduces
Ovid's general poetic strategy with a description of two different roles that
the reader can play:
The poet introduces his audience to a scene full of illusions, and holds open a
perpetua! alternative between naive participation and detachment, credulity and
irony. The reader confronted with so many tricks one after another gets used to
assuming an alias, becoming a "duped" reader who is seized by narrative unawares.
This credulous reader who loses his way seems endowed with a voice of his own, a
voice that sometimes sounds demanding and official- dare I say, imperial? The
authoritative voice implies a privileged reader, set apart from the anonymous major-
ity and able to make himself heard in the poetic text; he pays dearly for his privilege
because he is- much more than the general reader- a decoy, a "duped" reader.
( 1994: 245 = 1997b: I8I)
Barchiesi's description of the dynamics of reading in the Metamorphoses
clearly tips the balance in favor of the skeptical reader. 4 Yet it has the advan-
tage of moving beyond the critica! impasse over what the narrator's views of
myth, Augustus, or imperial ideology are. 5 The responsibility for deciding
between belief and disbelief lies squarely with the audience. Barchiesi's
analysis of the "duped" imperial reader raises a question. How can such a
reader have a voice? Barchiesi can assume that the point does not need
demonstration in his analysis of Book I 5 of the Metamorphoses because it is
The Danger of Disbelief
concerned with myths that have Augustan implications and can be inter-
preted from an imperial perspective. But what about the rest of the poem?
One way that the Ovidian narrator gives a voice to the privileged
reader is to dramatize the participation of such a reader in the story-world
of the poem. Two general types of audience can be discerned: believers and
disbelievers. The tension between a skeptical and a credulous reading of the
Metamorphoses receives its fullest exposition during an altercation at the
banquet of Achelous, an episode that is generally recognized as the center of
the poem. Theseus asks the name of a cluster of islands visible from the river
god's seaside grotto (8.573-76). 6 Achelous explains that the islands were
associated with five naiads, the Echinades. He washed them out to sea in a
flood of anger because they forgot to invite him to a sacrificial festival
( 8.577-89). Counterbalancing this tale of spite and spate, Achelous tells
the story ofhis love for Perimele, whose maidenhood he once took ( 8.590-
6 I o). Her incensed father threw her off a cliff into the sea, and Achelous
caught the girl as she swam and he prayed to Neptune for help. The sea god
responded by transforming the girl into an island. Following this denoue-
ment, Ovid describes the different reactions of the audience:
Amnis ab his tacuit; factum mirabile cunetas
moverat: inridet crecientes, utque deorum
spretor erat mentisque ferox, Ixione natus
"ficta refers nimiumque putas, Acheloe, potentes
esse deos" dixit, "si dant adimuntque figuras?'
obstipuere omnes nec talla dicta probarunt,
ante omnesque Lelex animo maturus et aevo
sic ait: "inmensa est finemque potentia caeli
non habet, et quicquid superi voluere, peractum est?'
(Met. 8.6II-I9)
[After this the river was quiet. The wondrous event had moved them
all. Ixion's son derided the believers, and, as he was a scoffer at the gods
with a brash attitude, he said, "You telllies, Achelous, and think that
the gods are too powerful, if they give and take away physical forms?'
All were dumbfounded and disapproved such words, and above all,
Lelex, mature both in mind and in age, who spoke thus: "Limitless is
the power of heaven and without end; and whatever the gods have
willed has cometo pass?']
r68 Chapter 7
Achelous's tale oflove and transformation had moved the audience to won-
der. This mood of uncomprehending astonishment, however, is punc-
tured by Pirithous, who derides the credulity of the listeners ( "inridet ere-
dentes"); he accuses Achelous of telling lies ("ficta refers") and denies that
the gods have the power to change forms. 7 Pirithous's critica! heresy pro-
vokes another stunned reaction and disapproval.
The elder spokesman Lelex, whom Ovid identifies as mature in both
mind and age ("animo maturus et aevo") and hence as a figure of authority,
answers the objection. He tells the miracle tale of Philemon and Baucis that
illustrates at once the metamorphic power of the gods and the theme of
piety rewarded and impiety punished ( 8.620-720). At the end of his tale,
Lelex vouches for the reliability of his informants who would not have
wished to lie (8.721-22, '"haec mihi non vani (neque erat, cur fallere
vellent) 1 narravere senes;") . He claims too that he himself saw the trees
into which the gods transformed Philemon and Baucis (8.722, "'equi-
dem ... vidi"'). He garlanded them and said the prayer: "'cura deum di
sint, et qui coluere, colantur'" ( 8. 724, "'Let those who worship the gods be
gods, and let those who have worshipped be worshipped' "). Sorne readers
argue that Lelex too strongly affirms the authenticity of his story and there-
fore that Ovid implicitly raises our suspicion. 8 But one must also take into
account the identity of Lelex's privileged audience-the skeptical Piri-
thous- who is liable to question the veracity of the report about Philemon
and Baucis. The narratoria! audience is thus confronted with the choice of
whether to side with Pirithous or Lelex; moreover, it must decide how to
reconcile these conflicting points of view.
Feeney ( 1991: 230-32) astutely observes that Ovid dramatizes in
Lelex and Pirithous the divided belief that he considers an integral part of
entertaining fictions. 9 However, he also notes that most readers of Ovid
tend to follow the model of either Lelex or Pirithous. Sorne focus on Ovid's
shattering of dramatic illusion; others emphasize his conviction and cred-
ibility. Feeney reframes the whole question to accommodate the views of
both Lelex and Pirithous:
Ovid is not interested in irrevocably exploding our ability to give necessary credence
to his :fictions, nor is he interested in letting us forget that :fictions are his subject. By
splitting our response up into these two polarized alternatives he is making us realize
that to swim successfully in the sea of theMetamorphoses we must be both Lelex and
Pirithous .... The double vision that comes from being both Lelex and Pirithous
may indeed be seen as a necessary condition for reading any :fictions. ( r 99 r : 2 3 r )
The Danger ofDisbelief I69
To make this point, he invokes the useful concept of the duality of belief
theorized by Robert Newsom:
in entertaining fictions (or making believe) we divide our beliefs between real and fictional
worlds . . . an essential part of reading stories or of entertaining any kind of make-
believe is "having it both ways." It is insisting on our belief in the :fictional world even
as we insist also on our belief in the world in which the reading or make-believe takes
place. (r988: r34-3s,Newsom'semphasis)
Feeney nonetheless concedes the allure of disbelief: "there will always be
readers who prefer to side with Pirithous throughout, and I am myself
often one of those readers" (1991: 232). He adds, however, that read-
ers who concentrate on authorial manipulation can always talk themselves
into a position of skepticism. But disbelief is not always healthy. In an-
tiquity resistance to literary deceptions could be considered a sign of igno-
. rance ( cf. Plut. Quomodo Adul. r se-d). Educated readers know how to play
by the rules of fiction, so that they may be the wiser for having been
deceived.
In theMetamorphoses, the Ovidian narrator is clearly aware of the deli-
cate balance between belief and disbelief when entertaining fictions. As a
rule, however, he does not represent skepticism as an ideal response. In fact,
in a poem noted for its amorality, it is striking how often incredulous charac-
ters are singled out as morally dubious. Pirithous is no exception to the rule.
The narrator introduces him as "deorum 1 spretor" (8.612-13, "scoffer
at the gods"). The phrase is a variation on Vergil's "contemptor divum"
(Aen. 7.628), which was applied to the notoriously impious Mezentius. 10
Next the narrator states that Pirithous is "mentisque ferox'' ( 8.6r 3), which
means that he possesses the arrogance and boldness typical of those who
transgress against the divine. Third, Ovid reminds his audience that Piri-
thous is "Ixione natus" ( 8.6 r 3), the son of one of the archetypal sinners in
Greek myth. Ixion violated the hospitality of Zeus by attempting to rape
Hera and was later bound to a spinning wheel in the underworld as punish-
ment ( cf. 4.461, 465).
Perhaps most important, Ovid paints Pirithous as a latter-day Lycaon
( cf. Otis r 970: 202-3) . When Pirithous scoffs at the credulity of his fellow
banqueters ( 8.6 rr- r 2, "factum mirabile cunctos 1 moverat: inridet cred-
entes"), he follows a well-established pattern of behavior in the poem.
Jupiter describes a similar outburst of derision when he arrives at Lycaon's
house:
170 Chapter7
"signa dedi venisse deum, vulgusque precari
coeperat: inridet primo pia vota Lycaon."
(Met. 1.220-21)
["I gave a sign that a god had come, and the common folk had begun
to worship me. Lycaon first mocked their pious prayers."]
There are two opposed reactions to Jupiter's advent. On the one hand, the
common people, the majority, had begun to pray ("precari 1 coeperat'');
on the other, Lycaon started to mock ("inridet primo") their reverent
prayers. Not only is the motif of the different responses to Jupiter's divinity
the same as that at the banquet of Achelous, but Lycaon's derision ("in-
ridet ... pia vota") prefigures Pirithous's ("inridet crecientes"). There can
be little doubt that the Ovidian narrator directs his audience to regard
Pirithous in the mold of Lycaon.
If Lycaon's disbelief in Jupiter's divinity instigated a flood in Book 1,
Pirithous tempts fate with his own skepticism. He is the guest of the river
god Achelous, whose own stream is ,in flood and who claims to have
washed away nymphs because they offended his divinity. Lelex draws Pi-
rithous's attention to the danger of flood in his tale about the hospitality
that Philemon and Baucis show the gods ( 8.620-724). Jupiter and Mercury
reward the old couple for their piety and punish their inhospitable neigh-
bors with a flood. In Lelex's tale lies a warning to Pirithous not to anger the
gods. If Pirithous is a skeptic and skeptics are impious, what implications
does this have for Feeney's point that to swim in the sea of the Meta-
morphoses we must be both Lelex and Pirithous? How is this possible, if to
be Pirithous is to be a contemptuous blasphemer of the gods? Is one sup-
posed to identify with such a character? Is one supposed to listen to Lelex
with the same skepticism? After Lelex finishes speaking, the narrator says
that the tale and the teller had moved them all, especially Theseus ( 8. 725-
26, "cunctosque et res et moverat auctor, 1 Thesea praecipue"). What
happened to Pirithous? Was he moved too? The poet does not say. Nor
does he say whether Pirithous su:ffered for his doubt in the power of the
gods. However, in the next installment of Pirithous's story, which is related
by Nestor in 12.210-535, the tables are turned. Pirithous hosts unruly
centaurs at his wedding who attempt to steal his bride.
Pirithous is the last character in theMetamorphoses to express disbelief
in a story told by an internal narrator. His debate with Lelex represents the
The Danger of Disbelief 171
climax of the dialectic between belief and disbelief that informs the first half
of the poem. However, the stories told at the banquet of Achelous recapitu-
late, above all, the themes of the first book of the poem ( cf. Crabbe 1981:
23 15-18) . We have aiready seen that Pirithous is likened to Lycaon, but the
similarities run deeper. The issue of the audience's belief and disbelief is
foregrounded in the first mythological episode in Book 1: the assembly of
the gods (concilium deorum), in which Jupiter decrees the destruction of
mankind on account ofLyc4on's disbelief in his own divinity ( 1.163_:243).
"Firsts" command attention because they establish a pattern that structures
the reader's reception of what follows. Furthermore, we might expect that
the tale of Lycaon will be authoritative and reliable, coming as it does from
the mouth of Jupiter. Finally, it is told within the context of an epic con-
cilium deorum, a device often used for defining the plot of an epic and its
moral issues (Anderson 1989: 92) .
The beginning of the Metamorphoses dosely parallels the first book of
Homer's Odyssey, in which Zeus assembles the gods and defends them from
the charge that they cause the su:ffering of mankind ( 1.26-43). He claims
rather that it is the wickedness of men that is the cause and illustrates his
point with the tale of Aegisthus's inhospitable behavior toward Agamem-
non. This story serves as a paradigm for Odysseus's justified punishment of
Penelope's suitors. In the Metamorphoses, however, Jupiter tells the tale of
Lycaon's inhospitality to justify the total destruction of mankind. Ovid's
concilium deorum thus raises the problem of divine justice all over again. Yet
is Lycaon's a tale of divine justice? On the surface it would seem to be.
Lycaon sins against Jupiter and pays the penalty. Solodow ( 1988: 169)
contends, however, that Lycaon's transformation into a wolf is not caused
by Jupiter and that it is therefore not a punishment. Anderson ( 1989)
argues further that Ovid carefully sets up Lycaon as a paradigm and then
fashions the story to sabotage its exemplary status. Ovid manages this disso-
nance by representing Jupiter as a clumsy and biased narrator of Lycaon's
crime and punishment who has little interest in theodicy. There is much to
recommend this skeptical reading, but to read this way is also to risk com-
mitting the same error as Lycaon.
The Lycaon episode, may not be paradigmatic from the standpoint of
truth and justice, but it certainly is from the standpoint of belief and dis-
belief in the authority of Jupiter. We have already seen that Ovid draws a
sharp distinction between two types of audience in the middle of the poem
represented by the skeptical Pirithous and the credulous Lelex and that the
same distinction is fundamental to the story of Lycaon. In the latter tale,
172 Chapter7
however, Ovid overtly politicizes the setting of the concilium deorum and the
tale ofLycaon by imposing an analogy between Jupiter and Augustus. More
important, the poet-narrator addresses Augustus directly, which suggests
that the emperor is a privileged member of the narratoria! audience. If this
is so, the other members of the audience must consÚ:ler the political implica-
tions of their own responses. To believe in Jupiter's story of the wickedness
ofLycaon and the justice ofhis punishment is to uphold the prerogatives of
the ruling order; conversely, to doubt Jupiter's authority is to run the risk of
treason. What is interesting about this antinomy is that the narrator invites
his audience to doubt Jupiter's tale at the same time as he hints that such
doubt may be interpreted as disloyalty to the emperor. In short, Ovid places
the narratoria! audience in a bind; it may either repeat the error of a skepti-
cal Lycaon or acquiesce in accepting an official fiction. In these circum-
stances, the category of implied audience once again becomes useful, for
that audience is in the position to behold the spectacle of the narratoria!
audience's ambivalence. Nevertheless, if the implied audience is to play the
role of the narratoria! audience properly, it also must reckon with the conse-
quences of disbelief.
Augustus in the Audience
The memory ofLycaon causes Jupiter to conceive a mighty wrath worthy of
himself (Lr66, "ingentes animo et dignas Iove concipit iras"). He sum-
mons an assembly of the gods: "conciliumque vocat'' ( r. r 67) . The phrase
echoes Vergil (Aen. r 0.2) and so suggests that Ovid is going to represent an
assembly of the gods in the epic tradition. 11 At this point Ovid does not
reveal what Jupiter is planning. He leaves it to the audience to surmise that
Jupiter intends to make public the story of Lycaon. Next we are told that
the gods obeyed at once (1.167, "tenuit mora nulla vocatos"); while they
hasten obediently to Jupiter's palace, the poet kills time by giving the audi-
ence a guided tour of the city of heaven with an ecphrasis of the est locus
type. In particular, he develops a witty parallel between the gods who dwell
on the Milky Way and the Roman ruling class that lives on the Palatine
( r. r 68-76). The Romanization of architectural, social, religious, and topo-
graphical details ( 1.172, "atria nobilium"; 173, "plebs"; 174, "penates";
176, "Palatia caeli") literally brings the gods down to earth. 12 The passage is
noteworthy above all for introducing an implicit analogy between Jupiter
and Augustus, an analogy that is all the more compelling if the audience is
The Danger of Disbelief I73
aware that Augustus sometimes held impromptu meetings of the Sertate on
the Palatine. 13 Ovid transforms the divine machinery of epic into an image
of contemporary Roman reality, ostensibly paying compliment to the em-
peror. The insertion of encomium has caused sorne critics problems because
it seems to cast Augustus in a bad light; after all, he is being compared with
a violent and angry Jupiter. It is unlikely, however, that the narratoria!
audience would find Ovid's portrayal ofJupiter questionable or uncompli-
mentary to Augustus at this point. Furthermore, the analogy to Augustus
could have the opposite effect of defusing critica! questioning of Jupiter's
conduct.
Perhaps more troubling is the change in tone and the anthropomor-
phic treatment of the gods. What does Ovid's lighthearted and fanciful
conceit of a Palatine in heaven have to do with Jupiter's wrath? One could
argue that the digression heightens suspense. Yet the humorous portrayal of
the gods de.fl.ates the atmosphere of serious moral crisis. Anthropomor-
phism normally is an epic technique to make gods believable characters.
Ovid gleefully pushes the technique to the point of incongruous specificity,
making the gods appear all too human- or rather all too Roman-as the
potentes caelicolae worship their own penates ( 1. r 72-73). If Lycaon's crime
will be to confuse the human and the divine and not to believe that Jupiter is
a god, the Ovidian narrator begins to take a step in this direction in his own
portrayal of the gods. Ovid's digression on the Milky Way offers the au-
dience an altogether different perspective on the concilium deorum than is
customary in epic. However, this is not simply burlesque, because it also
includes an element of panegyric. Ostensibly, Ovid likens the gods to Ro-
mans not to ridicule them, but to compliment the emperor. The audience
may play along and accept the conceit at face value, but it also may be
inclined to smile in disbelief. Ovid continues to exploit and deepen this
ambivalence throughout the episode.
After the detour on the Milky Way, the poet-narrator resumes the story
and observes that the gods have taken their seats in an inner chamber faced
with marble ( r. r 77, "marmoreo superi sedere recessu"). The parallel with
the marble temple-complex of Apollo on the Palatine, in whose library
Augustus held Senate meetings, does not seem too far afield (Feeney I99I:
199). Jupiter sits on a throne loftier than the rest: "celsior ipse loco"
( 1. r 78) . This absolute use of the intensive pronoun ipse is striking and
suggests Augustus himself. 14 Even when Jupiter shakes his head of terrifying
hair ( I.I79-8o, "terrificam capitis concussit terque quaterque 1 caesa-
riem"), causing earth, sea, and stars to move, Ovid manages to enjamb the
174 Chapter7
word "caesariem" which alludes punningly (yet once more) to the em-
peror's presence. Of course, the extended analogy does not entitle one to
conclude that Jupiter and Augustus are one and the same; on the contrary,
Jupiter's frenzied anger may be contrasted with the image of the emperor's
serenity. 15
Jupiter's ranting speech raises further questions. An impressively oro-
tund opening (cf. I.I82, "non ego pro mundi regno") leads to the incred-
ible proposition that the human race poses a greater threat to Olympus than
the giants who assaulted it. The only solution is genocide: "perdendum est
mortale genus" ( I.I88) .16 Anderson ( 1989: 94) points out that this drastic
decision should be of considerable interest to Ovid's human audience. Jupi-
ter counters any objection with an innovative twist on a medica! metaphor
often used in política! discourse: "cuneta prius temptanda, sed inmedicabile
corpus 1 ense recidendum est, ne pars sincera trahatur" ( I. I 90-9 I, ''All
means must be tried first, but an incurable body must be cut away by the
blade, lest the healthy part becomes infected") .17 This raises the question of
what the uninfected part of the body is. What follows is pure bathos. Jupiter
has an. obligation to protect his plebeian clients whom he excludes from
heaven: "sunt mihi semidei, sunt, rustica numina, nymphae 1 Faunique
Satyrique et monticolae Silvani" ( 1.192-93, "I have demigods, rustic di-
vinities, nymphs, fauns and satyrs, and sylvan deities upon the mountain-
slopes"). Jupiter's paternalistic concern for these gods, who are perhaps
best known for their sexually promiscuous and loutish behavior, comes as a
surprise. The narratoria! audience has been led to believe that the assembly
of the gods would be concerned with the rule of the universe, not the
política! rights of satyrs and fauns. The inconsequentiality of Jupiter's posi-
tion is all the more striking when one thinks that one hundred lines earlier
man had been created to be the crown of creation ( I. 76-77) . N ow the
human race must be destroyed to protect lower-class gods.
In order to underscore the seriousness of the threat that man poses to
these deities, Jupiter reveals that he himself was the object of a treacherous
plot by Lycaon: "struxerit insidias notus feritate Lycaon" ( I .198, "Lycaon
notorious for his ferocity plotted against me"). The gods greet Jupiter's
news with a unanimous uproar (1.199, "confremuere omnes") and make
passionate demands to punish the perpetrator ( I.I99-2oo, "studiis ardenti-
bus . . . deposcunt''), thereby showing their loyalty to Jupiter. Given the
degree of Jupiter's indignation, this is a prudent response; however, it also
shows that the gods do not have the slightest inkling who Lycaon is, much
less what he did or what happened to him. 18 The narratoria! audience, by
contrast; may be expected to know the story of Lycaon. When Jupiter says
The Danger of Disbelief I75
that Lycaon is notorious for his ferocity ("notus feritate"), the phrase func-
tions as a cue to his fame in mythological tradition. 19 This is a point that
deserves closer attention because it raises the issue of what the audience's
extra-textual knowledge is.
The poet-narrator begins the whole episode by saying that Lycaon's
crime had not yet been made public because of its newness ( I. I 64, "facto
nondum vulgata recenti") . At first glance, the phrase "nondum vulgata"
appears to be a typical example of a class of phrases by which the poet
displays a concern with the relative chronology of the myths he is telling. 20
By saying that Lycaon's crime had not yet been made public, however, Ovid
is implying that the tale is already well known to his audience. 21 It is also
possible that "nondum vulgata" could have a programmatic meaning. Or-
dinarily, afabula that was vulgata was grounds for rejection in the discourse
of the Augustan recusatio. In the proem to the third Gem;gic, Vergil rejects
various mythological themes that have already become commonplace:
"omnia iam vulgata" (G. 3.4). 22 When Ovid introduces the story ofLycaon,
he inverts the recusatio-motif when he says that it was "nondum vulgata"
and thereby evades the ban on familiar themes by representing the very first
telling of this story, from Jupiter's own lips.
Yet if Ovid's audience is already acquainted with Lycaon, it may be
struck by a new feature of the story: the unprecedented detall of Lycaon's
assassination attempt on Jupiter. Given the implicit analogy that Ovid has
drawn between Jupiter and Augustus, this would appear to be an extremely
topical allusion; Augustus himself was subject to a number of assassination
attempts in the years following Actium. 23 Ovid draws attention to this link
in his inaugural epic simile, which focuses on reactions to such plots:
sic, cum manus inpia saevit
sanguine Caesareo Romanum extinguere nomen,
attonitum tanto subitae terrore ruinae
humanum genus est totusque perhorruit orbis;
nec tibi grata minus pietas, Auguste, tuorum est,
quam fuit illa Iovi.
(Met. I.200-205)
[Just so, when a band of traitors raged to snu:ff out the Roman state
with the blood of Caesar, was the human race shocked by such great
terror of the sudden catastrophe, and the whole world shuddered; nor
was the piety of your people less gratifying to you Augustus than it was
to Jupiter.]
 Chapter7
Scholars debate which Caesar's blood (Julius or Augustus) is at issue here,
but Ovid is deliberately vague and would seem to admit both possibilities. 24
The close of the simile, nonetheless, points toward plots against the life
of Augustus. 25 It seems unlikely, however, that Ovid is referring toa spe-
cific conspiracy: this was a chronic, and indeed defining, problem of the
principate. 26
The most surprising part of the simile, in my view, is the apostrophe to
Augustus himself. The technique of apostrophe is not itself unusual; it is
common for Homer to close a simile with an address to the character with
whom the simile is concerned. 27 In Ovid's text, this should be Jupiter. But
instead he appeals to Augustus with unblinking directness. First comes the
personal pronoun ("tibi"), then the vocative (''Auguste"), and finally the
impressive substantiva! use of the personal adjective ("tuorum"), which
neatly equivocates between the pietas of family members toward a pater-
familias and the pietas of Roman citizenry toward the pater patriae. This, the
first apostrophe in the Metamorphoses, gives Augustus a place of honor.
Solodow (r988: 56) remarks that Augustus is "nota character within the
narrative, but a contemporary figure present only in the simile;'' Yet is the
princeps present only in the simile? Why cannot Augustus also be a priv-
ileged member of the audience? After all, it is for his benefit that Ovid calls
the divine habitation of the Milky Way the "Palatine of heaven" ( r. r 76,
"Palatia caeli") and draws the analogy between the concilium deorum and the
Roman Senate. It should not be surprising that Ovid momentarily singles
out the emperor as a privileged member of his audience. We know that
Augustus attended poetic recitations. 28 Moreover, we know that he heard
Vergil read the Georgics after Actium (Donat. Vita Verg. ro 5-9) . Indeed,
Ovid's appeal to Augustus closely parallels Vergil's invocations of the prin-
ceps in the Georgics. 29 Although the younger Caesar is not expressly an ad-
dressee like Maecenas and the agrestes, he is arguably a member of Vergil's
fictional audience.
If Ovid's apostrophe to Augustus represents him as a privileged mem-
ber of his audience, it also makes the wider audience aware of the emperor's
point of view. Ordinarily, the purpose of an epic simile is to encourage the
audience's imaginative participation in the narrative by comparing some-
thing in the mythological world with something the audience knows from
experience. In Homeric epic, similes most often incorporate events from
daily life, assimilating the heroic past to the present world of poet and au-
dience. Ovid's first simile begins in this vein, with a generalized memory of
horror at plots against a Caesar, but then shifts apostrophically to the em-
The Danger of Disbelief I77
peror's own gratitude for the pietas of his supporters. This movement from a
universal shared experience to the response of Augustus defines a model for
the reception of Ovid's own poem when the emperor is in the audience.
Skepticism about an assassination attempt upon Jupiter or doubts about his
justice become politically dangerous; expressions of loyalty and faith are
greeted with favor. If Ovid's audience is losing faith in Jupiter's authority,
the presence of Augustus f6rces the audience to reconsider its doubt.
Reading from Lycaon's Perspective
Endowed with the authority of Augustus, Jupiter proceeds to tell the gods
of the crime and punishment of Lycaon, a story that illustrates the savagery
of mankind and justifies genocide. Far from winning assent, however, Jupi-
ter's narration proves to be both patently manipulative and inconsistent in
its details. Jupiter begins by insisting too strenuously on his impartiality and
hence the truth of his narrative. He claims to have heard about the infamy
of the age ( r.2rr, "infamia temporis"), and desired to prove the rumors
false ( r .2r2, "quam cupiens falsam"). To this end he visited earth in human
disguise ( r .2r 3, "deus humana lustro sub imagine"). Jupiter thus poses as a
private investigator to find out the truth. 30 Rather than bore his listen-
ers with a detailed presentation of the evidence for mankind's sin ( r .2r4,
"longa mora est, quantum noxae sit ubique repertum, 1 enumerare"), Jupi-
ter coneludes that the infamy itself was far less than the truth ( r .2r 5, "minor
fuit ipsa infamia vero"). The gods have to take his word for it.
Jupiter next gives a prejudiced account of his travel through Arcadia to
the house of Lycaon. The keynotes are savagery and inhospitality. Jupiter
begins by saying that he had crossed Maenalon, a mountain bristling with
the lairs'Of wild beasts ( r.2r6, "latebris horrenda ferarum"). This epithet
not only suggests the dangerous landscape of Arcadia but also foreshadows
the transformation of Lycaon into a wolf. 31 When Jupiter arrives at his
destination he once again resorts to evaluative and affective vocabulary. He
tells his audience that the house ofLycaon was inhospitable ( r.2r8, "inhos-
pita tecta") and that the king himself is a "tyrannus;' a term that conjures up
the negative image of political brutality. What is conspicuous here is how
heavy handed Jupiter is in his judgments, despite his alleged desire to prove
rumors of human wickedness false. He condemns Lycaon before he has
even introduced him. Moreover, the narratoria! audience, which is familiar
with the story, may begin to sense the degree to which the traditional story
 Chapter7
is being distorted for ideological purposes. Indeed, in sorne traditions of
the myth, Lycaon is not an outrageous villain but a pious king ( cf. Forbes
Irving 1990: 90-95).
Jupiter next says that he gave a sign that a god had arrived. This would
appear to defeat the purpose of his human disguise; however, Jupiter wants
to highlight Lycaon's skepticism. He explains that the common people had
begun to pray ( 1.220-21, ''vulgusque precari coeperat"), while Lycaon
derided their prayers ( 1.221, "inridet primo pía vota Lycaon"). This scene
reprises Ovid's earlier antithesis between the manus inpia that attempted to
assassinate Caesar and the pietas shown by Augustus's supporters. Yet Jupi-
ter's rhetoric leads him into blatant self-contradiction, for in the process of
making Lycaon's behavior appear exceptionally bad, he undermines his
own claim that all of mankind must be destroyed because of its universal
cormption. Here he gives evidence to the contrary: everyone except Lycaon
had undertaken pia vota. lt may be argued that this local inconsistency
should not be taken too seriously, but it raises doubts about Jupiter's claims
and his impartiality.
Lycaon's disbelief in the divinity of his visitar is clearly motivated by
the fact that Jupiter is still disguised as a human. This prompts Lycaon to
undertake his own investigation into the truth: "'experiar deus hic discri-
mine aperto 1 an sit mortalis: nec erit dubitabile vemm'" ( r .222-23, "'I
will soon find out by a plain test, whether this person is god or mortal: nor
will the tmth be in doubt' ") . Lycaon does not say what his test will be, but
Jupiter reports that the tyrant plotted to kili him in his sleep that night
( 1.224-25, "nocte gravem somno necopina perdere morte 1 me parat'')
and comments mordantly that this was Lycaon's method of testing the tmth
( 1.225, "haec illi placet experientia veri"). As I have already noted, this is a
new detall in the myth of Lycaon; its mentían here clearly fulfills the expec-
tation that Jupiter raised when he said that Lycaon had plotted against him.
It was u pon this basis that Jupiter argued that mankind should be destroyed
for the safety of the satyrs and fauns. However, Lycaon never actually at-
tempts to kili Jupiter in his sleep; Jupiter says he only prepared to do so
( 1.225, "parat'').
This non-act is an anticlimactic conclusion to the assassination motif
and raises the question of how Jupiter knows that Lycaon plotted to murder
him. At this point of his story, Jupiter adopts the position of an omniscient
narrator. Yet his omniscience vitiates the danger of the assassination in the
first place (Anderson I 989: 96) . Jupiter continues his account from an
omniscient perspective, explaining that Lycaon was not content with this
The Danger of Disbelief I79
first plan; he also kilied and cooked a Molossian hostage to serve his guest
( 1.226-30). Here again, Jupiter's version of the story departs from other
versions of the cannibal banquet, in which Lycaon kilis a child and serves it
to the god. One may accordingly ask why Jupiter finds it necessary to make
the victim a Molossian hostage. Molossians come from Epims, which is
hardly a geographical neighbor of Arcadia, as any Roman would know. It
may be that the Molossian has a special claim to the protection of Jupiter
because of the god's oracle at Dodona. In expecting his audience to be
horrified at the sacrifice of such a hostage, however, Jupiter once again
undercuts his thesis that all men deserve to die.
Jupiter next describes in ghoulish detall the boiling and roasting of the
hostage's flesh ( I .228-29). However, he does not reveal his identity until
Lycaon serves the meal.
quod simul inposuit mensis, ego vindice flamma
in domino dignos everti tecta penates.
(Met. 1.230-31)
[Once he set this on the table, I, with m y avenging thunderbolt, brought
the house clown on its household gods, worthy of their master.]
The effect of this sentence is striking. First, the emphatic change of subject
indicated by the juxtaposition of "ego" with "vindice flamma:' Jupiter's
thunderbolt, marks the god's sudden transformation from a human at Ly-
caon's table to the god hurling a thunderbolt from on high. There is no
point in attempting to assimilate the action to naturalism: this is an example
of the phantasia that characterizes divine action. The narrative discontinuity,
however, is less of a problem than the account of those who suffered from
his wrath. As the sentence unfolds, Jupiter takes satisfaction in cmshing the
household gods, whom he calls worthy of their master (domino dignos ...
penates). The theological difficulty of the final word penates compelled the
editor Bentley to emend the text to ministros. Bomer explains that penates is a
metonymy for a part of the house. After Ovid has made a joke about the
Olympians having their own penates, however, it becomes difficult to avoid
the conclusion that Jupiter is directing his anger toward the household gods
of Lycaon, who are guilty by association. This vindictiveness stands at odds
with his earlier paternalistic concern for the rustic gods.
Lycaon, on the other hand, escapes into the countryside and changes
r8o Chapter7
into a wolf. Jupiter spends the next eight verses ( r.232-39) describing and
emphasizing the continuity between the man and the wolf. The vividness of
the picture is itself a kind of proof of man's savagery. Solodow and Ander-
son argue, contrary to common opinion, that Jupiter is not the agent of
Lycaon's metamorphosis. Solodow ( I988: r69) makes his case on the
grounds that Jupiter does not say that he actually transformed Lycaon. In a
certain sense, this is correct. Jupiter's rhetorical point is that very little
separates Lycaon the man from Lycaon the wolf. Yet, why infer that Jupiter
was not the catalyst of the change? Jupiter's destruction of Lycaon's house
( r.230, "everti") recalls the standard punishment of tyrants in Greco-
Roman society: razing of the house. 32 Moreover, the razing the house is
generally coupled with another punishment- often exile. The destruction
of Lycaon's home (a sign of human arder) and the end of his kinship line
removes the last marker of his humanity, at which point he goes into exile
and his wolfish identity takes o ver. 33 The fact that Jupiter is not directly
involved in Lycaon's metamorphosis makes it the least prejudicial and most
credible part of his story.
Jupiter concludes his speech with a rallying cry against humanity. He
paints a picture of the forces ofhell ruling on earth ( r.24r, "qua terra patet,
fera regnat Erinys"), sets befare the eyes of the gods a conspiracy ( r.242,
"in facinus iurasse putes"), and calls for summary execution of the crimi-
nals. The response of the gods to Jupiter's rhetoric is instructive:
Dicta Iovis pars voce probant stimulosque frementi
adiciunt, alii partes adsensibus inplent.
(Met. 2.244-45)
[Sorne proclaimed their approval ofhis words with a shout and goaded
his rant, while others played their part in applause.]
Given that one part of the audience (pars) approves Jupiter's plan, one
might expect that the other part will disapprove. This, in fact, is the normal
pattern in theMetamorphoses. 34 Moreover, debate amongst the gods is a fre-
quent feature of divine assemblies. The surprise here is that the others (alii)
do not dissent; they merely express assent in a different way ( cf. Feeney
I99I: 200). Here Ovid gives a voice to the "duped" reader: the loyal re-
sponse of the Olympian gods as orchestrated by Jupiter himself.
The narratoria! audience, on the other hand, is faced with an impossi-
The Danger ofDisbelief I8I
ble choice: respond to Jupiter with disbelief and become the lone wolf op-
posed to social arder; or join the consensus that accepts o:fficial fictions
without question. This dilemma is exacerbated if the emperor is in the au-
dience watching for signs of loyalty and disloyalty. 35 To make matters worse,
Ovid repeatedly pushes the audience to the brink of indecorous laughter
with his satirical portrayal of the gods. The audience thus runs the risk of
committing an interpretive error similar to Lycaon's and of "conspiring''
against Jupiter. Yet if Ovid has a "hermeneutic alibi" in the deliberate ambi-
guity of his representation of Jupiter and Augustus ( cf. Hinds I988: 26;
Bretzigheimer r 99 3: 2 3), he also warns his audience of the consequences of
disbelieving o:fficial myths. In the final analysis, Ovid is not openly mocking
Augustus. Rather he is representing the complex political considerations
that shape audience response in a society whose ideological imperatives po-
larize public discourse. The Lycaon tale illustrates how belief and disbelief-
issues that define one's response to fiction- underpin Augustus's authority
and legitimate the ideology of imperial arder.
Ovid repeatedly returns to the conflict of belief and disbelief after the
Lycaon episode. In later examples of the pattern, however, the political re-
percussions are less explicit. That is, the controlling presence of Augustus
fades after the first book and only returns again in the final book. However,
Augustus's own quasi-divine power has defined what is at stake in the pull
between belief and disbelief. Skeptics of divine power and metamorphosis
invariably come to a bad end.
The Fate of So me Fictional Audiences
Ovid frequently depicts the failure of artists in the Metamorphoses, and
thereby reflects on the problem of reconciling a personal creative vision
with authoritarianism (Leach I974). The Minyeides, the Pierides, Arachne,
and Marsyas- to name the most obvious examples- all run afoul of the
gods. Equally remarkable, however, are the failures of the fictional audi-
ences that populate the early part of the poem. After the credulous Olym-
pians, a series of uncooperative audiences su:ffer the consequences of their
inattention or disbelief. In Book r, Ovid playfully reflects on the danger of
the audience falling asleep during the performance of his poem. The usually
vigilantArgus slumbers as Mercury begins to tell the erotic tale that explains
the origin of the syrinx, or panpipe. If Argus is a poor audience, the raven is
not much better. He spurns the crow's cautionary tale about the danger of
182 Chapter7
telling tales (2.597, "nos vanum spernimus omen"), and is later dismissed
from the ranks of white birds for informing Apollo about the adultery
of Coronis (2.631-32). One book later, the impious Pentheus questions
Acoetes about his devotion to Bacchus ( 3.579-81), and the acolyte tells the
cautionary tale of the miraculous transformation of the Tyrrhenian sailors. 36
At the end of the tale, Pentheus refers to the story as longae ambages ( 3.692,
"long-winded rigmarole") and says that he lent an ear to it in order to calm
his anger ( 3.693). He then orders the storyteller to be tortured and killed
( 3.694-9 5) . As in the case of the raven and the crow, the narrative trans-
action between Acoetes and Pentheus proves gratuitous because the narra-
tor's story has no effect on the audience. The implication, however, is that
the narratoria! audience that overhears the tales is interested and engaged
in their subjects and thus distinguishes its response from that of the fool-
hardy skeptics.
The next occasion of interna! storytelling in theMetamorphoses follows
on the heels of Pentheus's dismemberment. Although this event persuades
the majority of Thebans to worship Bacchus, the Minyeides exceptionally
persist in their disbelief and stay at home, occupying themselves with spin-
ning and weaving, thus marring the festival (4.33, "intempestiva turbantes
festa Minerva") . So the pattern of the contemptor deum is repeated in a new
form. The sisters differ from Pentheus, however, in that they like to tell and
hear stories and thus reflect one of the central preoccupations of the poem.
The daughters of Minyas pride themselves on their doctrina; in the best
Callimachean manner, they avoid commonplace stories and select the rare
and exotic. The first of the sisters chooses to relate the metamorphosis of
the mulberry tree in Babylon because it is not commonly known ( 4.53,
"hoc placet; haec quoniam vulgaris fabula non est''). Later Alcithoe rejects
the story of the loves of Daphnis because they have become trite (4.276,
"'Vulgatas taceo' dixit 'pastoris amores 1 Daphnidis Idaei' ") .37 Instead she
promises to please the hearts of her listeners with the "pleasant novelty'' of a
story about the effeminizing waters of Salmacis (4.287, "dulcique animas
novitate tenebo") .
The Minyeides's emphasis upon novelty recalls Ovid's own program-
matic opening statement, "In nova fert animus.'' This, the poem's first ex-
ample of group storytelling, clearly represents a potential model of response
for the learned and discriminating members of the narratoria! audience. For
this reason, what the sisters have to say about the stories they hear might be
of special interest to the narratoria! audience. Leuconoe tells of Phoebus's
loves, Leucothoe and Clytie, who were transformed into frankincense and a
The Danger of Disbelief 183
sunflower, respectively (4.190-270). At the end of Leuconoe's tale, the
Ovidian narrator pays careful attention to the response she receives:
dixerat, et factum mirabile ceperat auris;
pars fieri potuisse negant, pars omnia veros
posse deos memorant: sed non est Bacchus in illis.
(Met. 4.271-73)
["She had spoken, and the miraculous event had held their ears; sorne
of the sisters say that it could not have happened, others are mindful
that true gods are omnipotent, but Bacchus is not among them.'']
This debate is obviously a forerunner of that between Pirithous and Lelex.
U nlike Lelex, however, the credulous listeners persist in the one impiety of
not believing in the new god. Despite their Callimachean credentials and
sophisticated approach to telling stories, the Minyeides are stigmatized as
disbelievers and are turned into bats.
The theme of uncooperative audiences recurs in the Perseus sequence.
The hero first appears in mid-flight carrying the head of Medusa, which
drips blood over Libya and spawns different varieties of snake ( 4.614-20).
Perseus lands in Hesperia and seeks hospitality from King Atlas. He intro-
duces himself as a son of Jupiter and promises to astound his host with tales
of his own wondrous deeds: "sive es mirator rerum, mirabere nostras"
(4.641, "If you are a marveler of deeds, you will marvel at mine"). In this
way, Ovid arouses the expectation in the narratoria! audience that Perseus
will tell the story of his conquest over Medusa as a flashback ala Odysseus
or Aeneas at epic banquets (cf. Nagle 1988c: 23-25). Atlas does not take
the offer; he is on the lookout for a son of Jupiter prophesied to steal his
golden apples ( 4.642-48). He turns Perseus away, casting doubt on the
veracity ofhis exploits: "'vade procul, ne longe gloria rerum, 1 quam men-
tiris' ait, 'longe tibi Iuppiter absit!'" (4.649- so, "Go far away, lest the glory
of your deeds, of which you lie, and your Jupiter be of little help to you.'').
Atlas's scorn is worthy of Polyphemus or the suitors in Homer's Odyssey.
Perseus reciprocates with a gift of another kind: "at quoniam parvi tibi
gratia nostra est, 1 accipe munus !" (4. 654-55, "Well, seeing that m y thanks
are worth so little to you, take my gift!"). Instead of hearing a story about
Medusa's head, Atlas becomes the object of one.
Perseus finally gets a chance to tell stories about Medusa during the
I84 Chapter7
banquet celebrating his marriage to Andromeda (4. 765-803). After he tells
these stories, the banquet is thrown into tumult when Phineus contests
Perseus's marriage to Andromeda (5.r-r2). In the battle royal that en-
sues, Perseus finds himself fighting as one against many. In the confusion, it
seems that he wages war not only with the followers of Phineus but also
with the audience that he was only recently entertaining.· One of the leit-
motifs of Perseus's encounters with his enemies is their disbelief in the
power of Medusa's head- after Perseus has been telling stories about it!
When Perseus can no longer wage conventional warfare, he announces that
he is going to use his magic weapon:
"auxilium" Perseus, "quoniam sic cogitis ipsi:'
dixit "ab hoste petam. vultus avertite vestros,
siquis amicus adest.''
(Met. 5. r 78-80)
["Since you yourselves force meto it:' said Perseus, "I shall seek help
from my enemy. Avert your face, if any friend is here.'']
Those who had heard Perseus's tale about Medusa's ability to transform
men into stone (4. 78o-8r) have an opportunity to show their belief in its
truth and save themselves (cf. Bartenbach 1990: 23). But Thescelus imme-
diately retorts with disbelief: "quaere alium, tua quem moveant miracula"
( 5. r 8 r, "Seek someone else whom your mirades may m ove") .3 & Like Atlas,
however, Thescelus becomes proof that such miracula are possible.
After Perseus petrifies Nileus, Eryx still refuses to believe in the power
of Medusa's head, and he chicles his transformed companions in epic fash-
ion to return to the fight.
increpat hos "vitio" que "animi, non viribus" inquit
"Gorgoneis torpetis" Eryx, "incurrite mecum
et prosternite humi iuvenem magica arma moventem!"
(Met. 5.195-97)
[Eryx upbraids these m en, "It is from a defect of courage, not from any
power of the Gorgon that you are paralyzed. Rush in with me and deck
this guy who wields magic arms !"]
The Danger of Disbelief r85
Eryx makes his msh, but is petrified in his tracks. The narrator intrudes and
comments that these men deserved their punishment ( 5.200, "hi tamen ex
merito poenas subiere") . Thus Perseus turns from the telling of miraculous
stories to performing them, transforming his disbelieving audience into
stupefied statuary- monuments of wonder, frozen forever as an object les-
son in incredulity.
The last of the overtly skeptical figures in the Metamorphoses is Pi-
rithous. One might expect other disbelieving audiences to emerge in later
books of the poem, especially because the frequency of embedded narrative
increases, but they do not. What then do we make of the negative press
given to skeptical audiences in the first half of the poem? One answer may
be that Ovid seeks to anticipate and forestall disbelief in his fantastic mythic
material. Through the negative representation of skeptical audiences, the
poet wins his point: disbelief is not an ideal response and is potentially a
perilous one in the story-world of theMetamorphoses. Yet the situation may
be more complex than this. Although Ovid makes an object lesson of dis-
believers, he and his audience hardly can be called naive believers. By dra-
matizing and demonizing dissent, Ovid forces his audience to examine its
own skepticism about the myths that are being told and to make a choice.
This exercise alone may not be interesting, but when one brings Augustus
into the equation, the stakes become very real. What Ovid represents, in
effect, is a model for how dissent is controlled in the early principate: he
makes his audience complicit in accepting myths that enshrine the impera-
tives of a new social order.
The N arrating Instance Transformed
The dramatization of the belief and disbelief of characters in the story-world
is a strategy by which Ovid represents and shapes his own audience's re-
sponse to myth. As the poem continues, however, the primary narrating
instance is increasingly replaced by fictional frames of storytelling in which
narrative transactions are carried out by fictional characters. Consequently,
the primary narrator does not take personal responsibility for what is said
and the narratoria! audience is no longer the direct recipient of the narra-
tive. The structural significance of the gradual displacement of the primary
narrating instance by secondary narrating instances has not been properly
appreciated in the scholarship. It undercuts two common claims about the
Metamorphoses: first, that Ovid's poetic persona or voice dominates and
r86 Chapter7
unifies the poem; second, that there is no real change in the poem. Why
does theMetamorphoses become increasingly mediated by interna! narrative
frames within each pentad and within the poem as a whole? What effect
does the shift of narrative communication to the characters in the story-
world have on the narratoria! audience's reception of the narrative?
The inversion of narrative communication in theMetamorphoses might
be accidental, but a similar pattern emerges in the Fasti. Newlands draws
attention to the growing importance of Ovid's informants in the Fasti: "In
Book r he asks and receives help from three informants, in Book 2 one, and
in Books 3 and 4 three again. This pattern fits with the fairly confident, exu-
berant demeanor of the narrator in these books. But in Book 5 he directly
interviews seven informants, and in Book 6 he interviews nine" ( r 99 5: 79) .
Newlands concludes that the poet's increasing reliance on informants re-
flects a growing hesitancy to speak in his own voice. The poet's diffidence is
tied, she explains, to the conflict he is encountering in writing a poem that
ostensibly honors the imperial family but leads him to a view of Roman
cultural identity that is at odds with official ideology. That is, Ovid finds in
the past not only models of exemplary moral and re~gious behavior but also
irrepressible sources of violence and licentiousness. On Newlands's read-
ing, the Fasti is a poem that dramatizes the gradual silencing of the poet as
he discovers that he can no longer speak about his chosen subject. 39
Toa certain extent, however, the narrating instance of the Fasti lends
itself to the diminution of the poet's role. That is, the Fasti's fiction of
communication is a series of scenes in which the poet enters into dialogue
with sources both oral and written. In this format of an aetiological in-
terview- a framework borrowed from Callimachus's interview with the
Muses in the first two books of theAetia- the poet necessarily stops speak-
ing and becomes the addressee of his interlocutors. The structure of 1Pe
narrating instance in the Metamorphoses is different. The poet-narrator of
theMetamorphoses does not take turns in conversation with the characters in
his poem. Consequently, he is never silent; on the contrary, in keeping with
epic convention, he is always speaking, even when he represents fictional
narrators in the story-world of the poem. In the Poetics, Aristotle praises
Homer because he speaks as little as possible in his own voice and "brings
on stage" characters with distinct personalities ( r46o a 7- r r). Aristotle's
purpose is to highlight the dramatic realism of Homer's narrative, in which
the narrator is a mimetes who plays the parts of his characters. The Ovidian
narrator is also a mimetes. He not only dramatizes the action ofhis narrative
through direct speech, he also adopts the personae of other storytellers.
The Danger of Disbelief
The relationship between the narrator's own voice and the voices ofhis
characters is admittedly a complex one that reflects the tension between
the one and the many in theMetamorphoses. In principle-and this is what
distinguishes the Metamorphoses from the Fasti- the whole poem is rep-
resented as the continuous utterance of the narrator, which contains the
poem's many characters. Although few may be tempted to follow Solodow
in maintaining that there is only one narrator throughout theMetamorpho-
ses (r988: 37-4r), Barchiesi offers a more nuanced and seductive view of
the "single-narrator" thesis:
The style of Ovid's narrative is not polyphonic: the poet of theMetamorphoses does
not go all the way to characterize stylistically the individual narrative "voices" which
serve him, by contrasting one with the other. Por this reason the difference between
the individual voices is, in a certain aspect, neutralized: if one reasons in terms of
style, the definition of a "single narrator" can be convincing. The polyphony of the
Metamorphoses is not a separation of the narrative voices, but an alternation of the
registers managed directly by the voice of a "single narrator:' according to a spec-
tacular logic. ( 1989: 55)
To be sure, interna! narrators in the Metamorphoses do not exhibit radical
differences in style, such as one finds in Petronius's Satyricon, but other fac-
tors distinguish them from the externa! narrator. For instance, interna! nar-
rators frequently do not narrate in the third person. In fact, more than half
of them give eyewitness or autobiographical accounts in the first person,
beginning with Jupiter's tendentious harangue in Book r and ending with
Hippolytus-Virbius's crack-up in Book r5. These narrator-agents (homo-
diegetic) may be differentiated as sharply from the omniscient narrator
( heterodiegetic) as any other character in the narrative. Jupiter and Hippo-
lytus-Virbius are, of course, figments of the narrator's imagination, but it
would be a critica! solecism to assume that the primary narrator takes re-
sponsibility for their first person stories or that it is his personal voice that
we are hearing when they speak. If Aristotle's description of Homer's mi-
metic qualities is valid, it might be better to say that the Ovidian narrator
acts out the roles of interna! narrators. These character-narrators may share
stylistic traits with and be implicitly manipulated by the primary narrator,
but their point of view is distinct. A final qualification to the single-narrator
thesis in the Metamorphoses can be made on the narratological grounds
laid out in this book. In narrative communication a speaker attempts to
entertain, persuade, or teach a specific addressee. The externa! narrator ad-
dresses a generalized audience, but interna! narrators orient themselves to-
188 Chapter7
ward definite audiences and consequently may adopt different rhetorical
strategies.
In the Metamorphoses the externa! narrator submerges himself in char-
acters who tell their own personal experiences. This shift from third person
to first person narrative is a recognized epic device, most notably deployed
in the Odyssey and imitated by Vergil in the Aeneid. The narrator of the
Metamorphoses typically shifts from third person to first person narrative
when he repeats a theme or a tale-type (idem aliter referre) . In Book 1,
Jupiter reports in his own voice an account of the wickedness of man that
repeats and varies the primary narrator's earlier catalog of moral depravity
in the iron age. In Book 2, the crow tells the story of her own transforma-
tion into a bird as she fied the erotic advances ofNeptune (2.569-88). This
story obviously reprises the trio of pursuit tales concerning Daphne, lo, and
Syrinx in Book 1. The difference is that the crow's tale of attempted rape is
told from the point of view of the victim. The technique of shifting from
third person to first person narrative is also exemplified at the end of the
first pentad in Calliope's "Hymn to Ceres?' At the close of the story of
Persephone's rape and reunion with Ceres, Calliope presents Arethusa as
the narrator of her own transformation into a spring after being pursued by
the river god Alpheus (5.577-641). Here Ovid, the implied author, imi-
tates the shift from third person to first person narrative in the Homeric
Hymn to Ceres, in which Persephone retells the story of her rape to her
mother (Hinds 1987: 92). But Ovid replaces Persephone's own story with
Arethusa's on the analogy that both maidens retreat into a locus amoenus of
cool shade and water and experience a violent sexual encounter. Calliope's
shift from third person to first person narrative need not be traced back to
Homer, however, for she is exploiting a technique of self-variation already
developed by the primary narrator in the first two books of his poem.
Arethusa's story looks back not only to Persephone's but also to the
stories of the river nymphs Daphne, lo, and Syrinx. Her narrative is ex-
plicitly represented as a fiashback to an earlier period ( 5. 576, "fiuminis Elei
veteres narravit amores"), recalling Apollo's first love for Daphne in the time
following the fiood ( 1.452, "primus amor Phoebi"). But is Arethusa a
fiimsy mask for the primary narrator, who simply wants to tell another
variation on the Daphne story? To answer this question, one must take into
consideration the fact that Ovid is impersonating an unidentified Muse
who reports verbatim the song of Calliope (in which Arethusa, a source
both literal and figurative, tells her own story in her own voice, from her
own perspective, and to her own private audience of Ceres) . In contrast to
The Danger of Disbelief
Calliope, in whose narrative she appears, Arethusa's rhetorical purpose is
not to praise Ceres. Rather, she sings the praises ofDiana (cf. 5.631-33).
Nonetheless, Calliope's implicit narratoria! control may be detected in her
representation of a storyteller with whom a jury of nymphs might sympa-
thize. All the same, we should not confuse Calliope's voice with Arethusa's,
nor should their voices be confused with the primary narrator's.
Ovid uses the same technique of repetition and variation in the two
set-piece descriptions of pitched battle in the Metamorphoses. One is nar-
rated by the poet himself ( 5. 1-2 35, Perseus and Phineus) ; the other is
narrated by N estor ( 12.210-535, Lapiths and centaurs). The voices and
points of view of Ovid and N estor are readily distinguishable. Ovid is a
heterodiegetic narrator who operates from a virtually omniscient point of
view. N estor, by contrast, is a homodiegetic narrator who was an eyewit-
ness and participant in the battle that he narrates. However, his reliability as
a narrator is rendered suspect when Tlepolemus points out that he pur-
posefully excludes Hercules from his account ( 12.536-77) .40 The primary
narrator thus opens up an ironic distance between himself and his interna!
narrator. Equally important, Ovid and N estor orient their narratives to
different audiences. N estor addresses himself to Achilles, who asks him
about the invulnerable warrior Caineus and his military record ( cf. 12. 177-
81) . This means that the externa! narratoria! audience must approach and
interpret the account of the centauromachy in light of the narrative trans-
action between N estor and Achilles.
If the primary narrator increasingly shifts the responsibility of narrat-
ing to his characters, it is necessary to qualify the statement that the narra-
tor Ovid is "present everywhere . . . guiding the reader through the vast
confusion of the world" (Solodow 1988: 37). This is true in the sense that
the narrator is always speaking, but it is not true in the sense that he adopts
the persona or point of a view of a character in the narrative. In the last three
books of the Metamorphoses, the Ovidian narrator transforms himself into
his interna! narrators, who manage 66 percent of the narration, which is
among the highest rates of direct speech in epic ( cf. Hunter 1993: 138).
Why does the narrator mediate an increasing proportion of the narrative
through his characters as the poem nears the present? I have already argued
that the increase of storytelling in Books 12 to 14 has todo with the subject
matter. Rather than repeat in his own voice the events surrounding the
Trojan war, especially those of the Iliad, Odyssey, andAeneid, Ovid recon-
figures the epic cycle from the point of view of characters in the story-world.
The effect is to break down epic omniscience, or the memory of the Muses,
190 Chapter 7
into a set of different personal memories that are not unified by the single
authoritative point of view of the epic poet. Conversely, the narratoria!
audience must adjust itself to the changing frames of narrative communica-
tion and play the role of interna! audiences. Ultimately this may be part
of Ovid's solution to the problem of making wondrous tales of metamor-
phosis believable: he invites the narratoria! audience to share the point of
view of characters in the poem. However, the decentralization of the poet's
authority also opens space for the narratoria! audience to disbelieve the
stories that it hears.
In the final book of the poem, where one might expect Ovid to make a
vatic last stand, he continues to avoid speaking in his own voice. Domi-
nating the first half of the book is the speech of Pythagoras ( 15.60-478).
The philosopher delivers his lecture before a crowd of silent initiates that
wonder at his words ( 15.66-67, "coetusque silentum 1 dicta mirantum").
The Ovidian narrator also indicates that Pythagoras's speech ''was indeed
learned, but also not believed" ( 15.73-74, "ora 1 docta quidem ... sed non
et credita") . In contrast to the beginning of the poem, however, the primary
narrator does not discourage disbelief. Pythagoras's "unbelievable" sermon
on the themes of vegetarianism, metensomatosis, and mutability includes
the report (15.430, "fama est'') that Rome is metamorphically changing
form by growing (15.434, "formam crescendo mutat'') and that she w~
someday be the capital of the world ( 1 5.43 1-3 5) . Although the narratoria!
audience can verify the truth of the rumor, the Ovidian narrator goes out of
his way to call attention to its dubiousness. To authenticate fama, Pytha-
goras cites a prophecy made by Helenus to Aeneas during the fall of Troy.
Helenus foresees aTrojan city in a foreign land made ruler of the world by a
descendant of Iulus ( apparently Augustus), who will himself be rewarded
with a home in the sky ( 15.439-49). 41 Here the narratoria! audience, with
its superior knowledge, is placed in the position ofinterpreting and con-
firming the prophecy that bears on the imperial destiny of Rome and Au-
gustus. Yet, for all of its vatic authority, Pythagoras's report of Helenus's
prophecy to Aeneas calls attention to its own deceptiveness.
Helenus consoles a weeping Aeneas, reassuring him that he will reach
a friendlier land than Troy (15.443, "amicius arvum''), where his descen-
dants will found the greatest city in history. This prophecy is a distillation of
all the prophecies for Aeneas and Rome in theAeneid ( cf. 1.286-90). Bar-
chiesi (1989: 85) suggests that Ovid is commenting ironically on Vergil's
Aeneid because Aeneas in Ovid's version would have known everything
before he left Troy and so would not have needed to go searching for his
The Danger of Disbelief 191
destiny through ambiguous prophecies, misleading signs, and backtrack-
ing. Be this as it may, the Pythagorean version of the prophecy of Helenus
does not make the prophecies of the Aeneid redundant; rather it outdoes
them in their deceptive optimism. It leaves out all of the suffering that
Aeneas will endure, not to mention the second Trojan war that he will face
when he finally reaches the "friendlier land" of Italy. In essence, Helenus's
prophecy is a gloss on the deceptiveness of optimistic prophecy in the
Aeneid, as it has been described by James J. O'Hara ( 1990).
The invention of vaticinia ex eventu, prophecies after the fact, belongs
to a long literary tradition, but it is Vergil in particular who lays emphasis
upon the potentially misleading ambiguity of such prophecies ( O'Hara
1990: 128-29). One of the ways Vergil casts doubt upon prophecies about
the Augustan present is to place them in the mouths of his characters rather
than to take responsibility for them himself. Ovid picks up where Vergilleft
off. He heralds the Augustan gospel at two removes from the primary
narrating instance in a speech within a speech. What is more, he makes
Pythagoras commit a flagrant anachronism in his remembrance of Hele-
nus's prophecy. Pythagoras guarantees its authority on the grounds that he
remembers having heard it ( 15.436-38). The audience will remember that
Pythagoras claims to have been the Trojan Euphorbus in a former life
( 15. 160-62) . In that same passage, however, Pythagoras remembers hav-
ing received a mortal chest wound from Menelaus, which is a precise recol-
lection of a moment in thelliad during the battle over Patroclus's body (ll.
17.43-60). J. F. Miller (1994: 476) notes that Pythagoras misremembers
his wound, which was in the neck. It is difficult to say whether the nar-
ratoria! audience is expected to catch this discrepancy, but the Ovidian
narrator offers a much more obvious inconsistency to his audience, which
has received no comment that I know of. Euphorbus-Pythagoras says that
he remembers (15.436, "quantumque recordor") that he heard Helenus
deliver his prophecy to a penates-bearing Aeneas ("penatigero Aeneas")
during the fall ofTroy ( 15.43 7, "cum res Troiana labaret''). The precision of
the temporal indication is important, because it lets us know that the mo-
ment of prophecy occurred roughly inAeneid 2. As we have already seen,
however, Euphorbus-Pythagoras died inlliad 17, fighting over the body of
Patroclus. This inconsistency suggests that Pythagoras has invented his
memory of Helenus's prophecy.
If Pythagoras's famously prodigious memory is unreliable, it should
not come as a surprise that he undercuts the Augustan spirit of Helenus's
prophecy when he admits that he has been digressing from his theme
192 Chapter7 The Danger of Disbelief 193

(15.453-54). He reiterates his lesson of universal flux, stating without closure. Ovid ends the narrative of theMetamorphoses with the very speaker
exception that the sky and whatever lies below it are subject to a change of with which he began. Whose authority could be greater than Jupiter's? One
forms ( 15.454-55, "caelum et quodcumque sub illo est, 1 inmutat for- disbelieves at one's own risk.
mas") . The contradiction between the Augustan prophecy and the philo- After Jupiter speaks his piece, Ovid briefly narrates the deification of
sophical vision of cosmic change is a dialectic that the poet implicitly sets in Julius Caesar ( 15.843-50) and then praises Augustus directly in his own
motion but does not take part in directly. Just as Pythagoras does not take voice, calling him superior to his father and comparing his rule to Jupiter's
responsibility for the prophecy of Rome's greatness or the apotheosis of a ( 15. 851 -6o) . He then turns from his primary audience to the Roman gods
descendant of Aeneas, so too Ovid himself does not take responsibility for associated with the imperial house and prays that they may ensure the
what Pythagoras says about changing times. He leaves it to the audience to emperor's long life and his future protection of Romeas a god (15.861-
reconcile the conflicting claims. 42 70). Here Ovid identifies himself as a vates ( 15.867) and dutifully echoes
Pythagoras is followed by yet another interna! narrator, Hippolytus- the end of Jupiter's speech. In· the epilogue, the poet takes a more defiant
Virbius, whose story of his own dismemberment ( 15.49 3-546) glances stance, predicting that he and his work will not be vulnerable to Jupiter's
back to the poem's mythological middle and fulfills in part the prophecy of avenging thunderbolt ( "Iovis ira:' 15.871 ) . However, the Metamorphoses is
Ocyroe ( 2.642-54) near the beginning. After Hippolytus finishes his story, not a poem that represents the poetas openly opposed to the imperial status
the greater part of the last 300 lines of the poem belong to the poet. Yet quo. The most that can be said is that he shifts the responsibility of praising
even here he takes an indirect approach. For the first time in the poem, the emperor to his characters. The latter may be unreliable and provoke
he invokes the Muses to explain the origin of the cult of Aesculapius in incredulity, but the narratoria! audience must decide for itself whether it is
Rome ( 15.622-25), an event that took place in approximately 291 B.c. The safe to reject the new metamorphoses of Augustan Rome.
foundation of the cult of Aesculapius is a story that Ovid would have
encountered in his historical sources, and it would have been an appropri-
ate subject for the Fasti. 43 Correspondingly, Ovid's invocation of the Muses
suggests a narrative strategy typical of the Fasti, in which the poet relies less
upon his own authority than that of his informants.
In the final event of the poem, the assassination and apotheosis of
Julius Caesar, a large part of the narrative is given over to a speech by Jupiter
to Venus prophesying the resgestae of Augustus and his eventual apotheosis
(15.807-42). Like Pythagoras, Jupiter speaks from memory. He remem-
bers having read (15.814, "legi ipse animoque notavi") about the fates of
Venus's family, which are inscribed on eterna! adamant ( 15.813, "incisa
adamante perenni") and stored in the house of the Fates. 44 Ovid thus shifts
responsibility for the panegyric of Augustus to Jupiter, who in turn cites as
his authority the imperishable and unalterable "annals" kept by the Fates.
Ovid's model for the prophecy of Jupiter is, of course, the famous scene in
Aeneid 1 when Jupiter refers metaphorically to the book of fate. 45 He reas-
sures Venus of Rome's glorious future as an imperium sine fine, and forecasts
the deification of Caesar ( 1.257-96). Like Vergil, Ovid couches the praise
of Augustus in an interview between Jupiter and Venus. His deferral to a
divine authority may be viewed as a poetic technique to temper flattery of
the emperor, but it also may be understood as a strategy of evasion- or of

8 esies the deification of Augustus. The celestial elevation of the Caesars is the
Translating Past into Present
Come my friends,
'T is not too late to seek a newer world.
-Tennyson
It is often said that the Metamorphoses is culturally autonomous and more
universal than the Aeneid. The idea of the cultural autonomy of the Meta-
morphoses rests on the assumption that Ovid's retelling of myth transcends
its Roman context ( cf. Kenney 1982b: 440-41 and Solodow 1988: 75). His
true subject is the human soul and the natural world in which its passions
and conflicts are emblematized. Sorne scholars, indeed, consider the poem's
Roman and Augustan themes irrelevant and best characterized as the natu-
ral references that any writer might be expected to make to his own social
environment (cf. Galinsky 1975:252-55 andLittle 1972: 178). G. W Wil-
liams ( 1978: 1oo- 1o 1) argues further that Ovid sought to escape from
political themes and the imperial present through Greek mythology; that is,
he did not make Greek myth "work" to new Roman ends, as his Augustan
predecessors did, but "reverted to using the material of Greek mythology in
ways that were basically Greek" ( 112).
The emphasis upon the non-Roman character of the Metamorphoses
would be more persuasive if Ovid had written a catalog poem about trans-
formations that were confined to the Greek world and did not have any-
thing todo with the Roman present. However, Ovid turns what could have
been an atemporal catalog poem into a universal histocy which reaches into
his own time and place (mea tempora). Consequently, the world of which
Ovid tells converges with the world in which he tells. This raises questions.
What could the fantastic phenomenon of metamorphosis possibly have to
do with the poet's own times? What events in the present could have given
rise to such a poem?
If we look for an answer at the end of the poem, we discover that Ovid
Translating Past into Present 195
mythologizes the origins of the cult of Divus Julius and that Jupiter proph-
last in a series of apotheoses that wind up the poem. One may read astrifica-
tion and deification as "but two more varieties of metamorphosis, to be
treated with as much oras little suspension of disbelief as the rest'' (R. Cole-
man 1971: 476; cf. Otis 1970: 351). However, Feeney rightly stresses the
"constitutional facts" of these apotheoses whose "celestial politicking ... is
drawn in terms of the power-structures which frame the world of the poet
and his audience" ( 1991: 219). What is different about these metamor-
phoses is that they are both Roman and contemporary ( cf. Porte 1985:
197). If theAeneid explains the origin ofRome, theMetamorphoses explains
the origin of the imperial cult and the new gods of Rome. The analogy
between Jupiter and Augustus at the beginning and end of the poem ( cf.
Feeney 1991: 219-20) is furthermore an invitation toread Greek myth as a
veiled allegory about imperial power.
In Tristia 1, the exilie Ovid offers just such an interpretation of the
Metamorphoses, which aligns the emperor with the vindictive gods. Ovid or-
ders the personified book of the Tristia to deliver a message to his brothers-
the books of the Metamorphoses: "his mando dicas, inter mutata referri 1
fortunae vultum corpora posse meae" (Tr. I.I.II9-20, "I bid you say to
these [se. books] that the face of m y fortune can be numbered among their
metamorphoses"). Here Ovid compares himself with the victims of divine
anger in theMetamorphoses. In addition, because the first book ofTristia is a
document of the poet's changed fortune, it may be read as a continuation of
the Metamorphoses. 1 Ovid thus presents the reader with an interpretive key
to theMetamorphoses: metamorphosis is a form of exile inflicted by an angry
god. Ovid's exilie reading may be tendentious, but, once read, it turns the
Metamorphoses into an indictment of imperial power. Yet what would have
happened if Ovid had not been exiled and had not written the Tristia or the
Epistulae ex Ponto? What would have happened if he completed the Fasti as
the proper sequel to the Metamorphoses? A counter-history of the reception
of the Metamorphoses must begin with the poem's inscribed audience. The
narratoria! audience experiences the poem for the first time, is endowed by
.the poet with a specific set of expectations, and does not know that Ovid has
been exiled by the emperor. What is the interest of such an audience in
Ovid's new poem?
The theme of metamorphosis is a topic of curiosity for Ovid's fictional
audience. 2 Yet the poet's aim is not to make metamorphosis stories more
readily available to this audience, much less provide a who's who of Greek
 Chapter 8
myth. As Leach observes, Ovid's was "a society whose fascination with
mythology is attested by a proliferation of mythological epics, mythological
dramas, and mythological pictures" ( I988: 467). Furthermore, a sophisti-
cated readership would not need a translation of Greek metamorphosis
stories; they could enjoy the works in the original. The novelty of Ovid's
work is its continuity with the Roman present. What could a fantastic and
improbable discourse of wonders have to do with Rome?
The answer is that the performance of the poem is itself an event of
cultural translation and transformation in the Roman tradition of transfer-
ring Greek l(ultU1;güter to native linguistic soil. 3 When Ovid bids the gods
to "bring down'' (deducere) Greek metamorphoses to his own times, he
echoes other Latin poets who have translated Greek sources ( cf. Lucr.
I.II7-r8; Verg. G. 3.ro-rr; Hor. Odes 3.30.I3-I4). Original translations
of Greek literature into the Latin language were, of course, not new in
Rome; however, Ovid's act of translation has a universal dimension that
responds to Rome's new position as the undisputed cultural capital of the
Greco-Roman oikoumene. 4 After the battle of Actium ( 3I B. c.) and the
conquest of Alexandria ( 30 B.c.), Rome's assimilation of the classical and
Hellenistic world quickened under the patronage of Augustus. On the
anniversary of his conquest of Alexandria, and on the first day of his epony-
mous month in 2 B.c;, Augustus dedicated the Forum Augustum. This
monumental complex advertised associations with Alexandria and its foun-
der, Alexander the Great ( cf. Galinsky r996: 207-8). Augustan Rome thus
laid claim to the political and cultural mantle of world empire. It was urbs et
orbis, as Ovid emphasizes repeatedly in his poetry. 5 The Metamorphoses en-
acts the Roman appropriation of the Greek mythic orbis and complements
the Fasti, which represents the urbs.
The idea of cultural transformation is dramatized in theMetamorphoses
as the transfer of Greek culture to Italy. The most notable example is the
migration of Aesculapius from Epidaurus to Rome ( I5 .622-745). Frankel
remarks: "the underlying idea is that Rome has become the center of the
civilized world, and the many place names (r5.649-59; 699-736) which
the poet enumerates in the course of his' narrative make concrete the trans-
fer of a culture" ( r945: ro8). The Aesculapius episode is, in fact, the sum-
mation of a repeated pattern of exodus from Greece to Italy that occurs in
the last three books of the Metamorphoses. 6 Aeneas's journey from Troy
(r3.623-r4.6o8), which starts the trend, contains Glaucus's passage from
Euboea to Southern Italy ( r4.r-ro ), Macareus's arrival with Ulysses in
Italy ( I4.I58-6o ), and Diomedes's settlement in Apulia ( I4~5IO-II). In
Book r 5, Greeks continue to migrateto Italy: the Achaean M yscelus founds
Translating Past into Present I97
Croton (15.r2-57); Pythagoras, an exile from Samos, settles in the same
city ( r 5.60-62); and Hippolytus reappears in Aricia as the minor Italian
deityVirbius (r5.540-44). Other examples ofwestwardjourney are Pha-
ethon's in Book 2 and Arethusa's in Book 5, but the pattern of journeys to
Italy at the end of the poem is clearly a structural feature of the narrative that
contrasts with the random geography of the earlier part of the poem. What
is remarkable about this motif of Greek movement to Italy is that it over-
shadows the scant collection of native Roman anditalian myths; the effect
of the movement is one of continuity rather than mpture.
But one does not need to wait until the end of the poem to witness this
cultural transformation. One of the arguments of this book has been that
the present shared by poet and audience is an important interpretive frame-
work. From the very beginning, Ovid deploys a number of strategies to give
his poem contemporary force: the poet's own references to the future;
prophecies by characters; similes or analogies that draw on present Roman
experience as a point of reference; aetiologies that connect past and present;
color Romanus or Greek myth in Roman dress; anachronisms; and special-
ized concepts and diction from Roman military, civic, or legal discourse. 7
The effects of these modernizing touches vary. Often they create an atmo-
sphere of parody and comedy, in which poet and audience share amuse-
ment at the incongruity between Greek myth and Roman setting. 8 Alter-
natively, Greek myth may provide a new medium for a sociology of Rome
( cf. Griffin r986: 85-86).
Solodow's reading of Romanization in the Metamorphoses is perhaps
the most detailed one available in English ( r988: 74-89, especially, 82-86).
His sensitive analysis reveals that the phenomenon occurs more or less
throughout the poem. However, he uses his evidence to support the thesis
that Ovid wished to make myth "purely human and contemporary" so as to
illuminate the "unique moments in the life of the individual" ( 75). Accord-
ing to Solodow, Ovid's Romanization has no political or cultural signifi-
canee: it is, as he calls Ovidian humor, "a universal solvent'' that neutralizes
the cultural and religious valences of Greek myth and enables the poet to
concentrate on "things concrete, small, and human.'' This is a view that
chimes with much that has been said about the universality of Ovid'sMeta-
morphoses. Yet it would be startling indeed if Ovid did not seek to address an
audience of Romans with Roman concerns. A new attention to topical
details may reveal a greater degree of interchange between poetic and cul-
tural modes of envisioning the world, and a subtle commentary on private
and public life in Roman society.
The contemporary references that appear in the first and second books
 Chapter 8
Translating Past into Present 199

( the last explícitly Roman allusion is the Capitoline geese at 2.538-39) are
Amatoria, when he anticipated the parading of a statue of Danaeia Persis
well known and have been frequently discussed. Yet the first example of
after an imagined defeat of the Parthians by Gaius Caesar (Ars 1.225).
overt topicality in the poem has received líttle comment. In the cosmogony,
Given the spread of Augustan geopolítics in the popular Roman imagina-
the demiurge does not grant the winds complete freedom, but separates tion, the appearance of N abataea regna and Persis need not fall into the
them into different quarters of the sky. Eurus is the first to take his place in
.category of geographicallearning, but rather may impart an imperial over-
the east: "Eurus ad Auroram Nabataeaque regna recessit ¡ Persidaque et
tone to the demiurge's disposition of the winds.
radiis iuga subdita matutinis" ( r.61-62, "Eums withdrew to Aurora and
This is the first of a series of contemporary references in the first half of
the royal N abataean realm and Persis and the mountain ridges lying be-
Book 1. The heavy degree of Romanization at the beginning of the Meta-
neath the morning's rays"). What is of interest here is the way Ovid identi-
morphoses is part of a strategy to motivate the audience to view the past
fies the East. First, there is Aurora, which is the Roman name for Eos and a
through the lens of the present. The interpenetration of past and present is
common mythological metonymy for the Base The second designation, particularly evident in Ovid's summary of the four ages or races of man. He
the periphrasis "Nabataeaque regna:' introduces a sudden change in per-
describes the iron age in terms-greed, immorality, and civil war (r.128-
spective. It represents the first explícitly modern reference in the poem and
5o) - that evoke the contemporary moral decline lamented by Roman his-
commands a different kind of attention.
torians. The most famous topical reference is the statement that a father-in-
It has been suggested that Ovid's purpose is to display his doctrina in
lawwasnotsafefromhisson-in-law (r.145, "nonsoceragenero [tutus]" ),
Callimachean fashion by making a recondite reference to the N abataeans,
which alludes to Julius Caesar and Pompey ( cf. Catull. 29.24) . Scholars have
inhabitants of Arabia Petraea ( southern Jordan). 9 Yet how recondite would
been quick to point out other contemporary Roman allusions as well. 12 The
N abataea be for an Augustan audience? The N abataean kingdom had been
episode of the epic concilium deorum that follows is similarly saturated with
in the collective Roman consciousness since Pompey's eastern settlement in
topicality. First comes the mapping of the Palatine onto heaven ( 1. 168-76).
62 B.c. and was more or less an independent clíent kingdom of Rome.
This is followed by the simile which treats an assassination attempt against
Strabo ( 16.4.21) reports that many Romans sojourned there and that the
Caesar ( 1 .200-20 5). These references form part of a grand analogy between
Nabataeans were subject to Rome. G. W Bowersock ( 1983: 54-57) argues
the gods and the Roman aristocracy. The concilium deorum itself is repre-
that Strabo's statements must mean that N abataea became a province of the
sented in the guise of contemporary política! procedure in the Roman
Roman Empire in 3 B.c. In A.D. 1, perhaps as a result of the Arabian
Senate. Jupiter, like Augustus, sets the agenda and presides over the other
expedition of Gaius Caesar, Augustus decided to restare the N abataean
gods primus interpares. Later scenes portraying gods in councillikewise have
king Aretas IV to his rule. Could it be, then, that Ovid's mention of the
a strong Roman flavor. 13 By combining the epic convention of the assembly
Nabataea regna is not a recherché piece of learning but an allusion to the
of the gods with the Roman "reality'' of emperor and senate, Ovid shows
recently restored clíent kingdom in the eastern reaches of the empire?
how myth can be made to accommodate contemporary política! meanings.
At any rate, Nabataea is not the sort of place-name that one finds in
10 One of the most common ways that past and present are fused in the
poetry befare Ovid. Surely Ovid deploys it for its contemporary appeal to
Metamorphoses is through aetiological commentary. Typically, at the end of a
an audience of Romans who understood that the country was a clíent
metamorphosis, the narrator or one ofhis characters memorializes the event
kingdom on the eastern fringe· of the empire. Furthermore the notion of
by observing how the effect of the change of form endures clown to the
clíent-kingship fits well with the earlíer personification of the winds as
present day. This continuity between past and present is signaled through a
quasi-independent kings ( cf. L59, "sua quisque regant diverso flamina
tractu") . 11 o VI"d's emph as1s
. on contemporary geography continues with his number of conventional formulae. The overwhelming favorite in theMeta-
morphoses is nunc quoque ( "even now''), followed by forms of the verb ma-
mention of the country of Persis, which at that time was the Achaemenid
nere ("remain''), and adhuc ("still") .14 The first example of such aetiologiz-
province of Parsa, ruled by kings dependent u pon Parthia. The mention of
ing commentary comes from Jupiter in the middle of his description of
Persis completes the picture of the eastern limits of the empire. Here one
Lycaon's metamorphosis: "et nunc quoque sanguine gaudet'' ( 1 .236, "and
might remember the tone of triumphalism that Ovid took up in the Ars
even now he rejoices in blood"). In his commentary on the passage, Ander-
200 Chapter 8
son ( 1997: 175) comments: "These words, so common asto be formulaic in
Ovid's descriptions of metamorphosis, indicate that essential elements of
the human being are continuous in the new form." However, the "nunc
quoque" spoken by Jupiter to an interna! audience is not just limited to the
before and after phases of the metamorphosis; it is deictic and points to the
continuation ofLycaon's bloodthirstiness to the present moment of the nar-
rating instance. Moreover, this deixis does not limit itself to the interna!
narrative frame. The force of the "nunc quoque" invites the assent of the
narratoria! audience as well, for the predatory nature of the wolf is a com-
monplace, as is evinced by its appearance in epic similes ( cf. 6.527-28).
Indeed, Jupiter tells a story that explains the metaphorical significance of the
wolf in the Greco-Roman imagination ( cf. E. A. Schmidt 1991: 56-78,
especially 6o) .
The tension between then and now pervades the discourse of theMeta-
morphoses. There is the "then" of the poem's story-world and the "now'' of
the narra.ting instance. The poet continually oscillates between the two as
his narrative ostensibly moves from the distant mythical past to the pres-
ent. To a certain extent this aetiological framework is a standard fi.xture in
the stories that Ovid inherits. In his summaries of stories compiled from
Nicander's Heteroeumena and Boeus's Ornithigonia, Antoninus Liberalis
employs aetiological formulae such as i::n vuv or axpt vuv ("even now'')
to connect past with present. Nicander's aim was to link metamorphosis
stories with the origin of a locallandmark, religious rite or object; Boeus,
on the other hand, sought to explain the habits or augural significance of
birds through their human origins ( cf. Forbes Irving 1990: 19-37). Hence
Ovid's frequent use of phrases such as nunc quoque may be regarded as a
conventional device of the stories that he is telling. However, because the
Metamorphoses evolves toward the present, the aetiological "then and now''
is a continua! reminder that the world of which Ovid tells is converging
with the world in which he tells.
Although the majority of Ovid's aetia focus on features of the natural
world, not a few are devoted to the origins of religious or cultural points of
interest. The first metamorphosis of the poem, told by Jupiter, offers a
tendentious reading of the origin the wolf, but in the early part of the poem,
Ovid also includes aetia that have a direct bearing on the identity of the
audience and their social milieu. We have already seen how the first example
of metamorphosis narrated by the poet has a bearing upon the audience.
Deucalion and Pyrrha repopulate the earth by casting stones that gradually
soften and take the shapes of m en and women ( 1. 399-413). Ovid ends this
miraculous tale with an aetiology that could be understood as continuous
Translating Past into Present 201
with the present: "inde genus durum sumus experiensque laborum 1 et
documenta damus, qua simus origine nati" ( 1.414-15, "Therefore we are a
hard race and inured to labors and we give evidence of the origin from
which we were born'') . The first words "inde genus durum" echo an early
passage in the Gem;gics, in which Vergil similarly moralizes about the myth
of Deucalion: "unde homines nati, durum genus" ( G. 1.63). Behind the
phrase "durum genus" lies, of course, the allusion to the Greek aetiological
etymology made famous by Pindar, which derives the word for "people"
(A.aó<;) from "stone" (A.éiw;) .1 5 But the Ovidian narrator takes the tradi-
tional thought of "hardness" one step further.. He adds that this new race is
"experiensque laborum?' The phrase functions as a gloss on the Gem;gics,
whose keynote is labor ( cf. G. 1. 1 18-59). Ovid thus connects the traditional
Greek myth with Vergil's own vision of the present, in which labor is a
metaphor for man's struggle with nature, the precariousness of civil and
social order, and the threat of anarchic forces. Ovid's myth ofDeucalion and
Pyrrha is thus given a didactic and moral tinge that reminds its audience of a
particularly Vergilian way of viewing the world.
Ovid draws a more explicit connection between metamorphosis and
the Roman present in the following tale. After Daphne assumes the form of
the laurel tree, Apollo ~loses the event in hymnic style by announcing her
everlasting association with him, his hair, his lyre, and his quiver ( L557-
59). This much is conventional. Next, instead of associating Daphne with
sorne Greek rite or custom, such as the Daphnephoria, Apollo looks to
Rome:
"tu ducibus Latiis aderis, cum laeta Triumphum
vox canet et visent langas Capitolia pompas.
postibus Augustis eadem fidissima custos
ante fores stabis mediamque tuebere quercum."
(Met. 1.560-64)
[''You will accompany the generals of Latium, when the joyful voice
will chant 'Triumph; and the Capitoline will see the long parade. And
in the same capacity most faithful to Augustan doorposts you will
stand guard befare the doors and willlook at the oak in the middle?']
This passage represents the second example of imperial panegyric in the first
book of theMetamorphoses. The words are spoken by Apollo ( not the poet)
as a prophecy. These predictions ex eventu obviously ring true to the nar-
202 Chapter 8
ratorial audience, because laurel is a feature of the Roman triumph and it
does adorn the doors of Augustus. But there are surprising consequences
attached to Ovid's method of showing continuity between past and present.
The Republican symbol of victory and the Imperial insignia of Augustus are
rooted in the mythological world of metamorphosis and reinterpreted as a
sign of Apollo's first love ( 1.452, "primus amor Phoebi"). The deeper
significance of laurel, a central Augustan ideological symbol, is not the
victory of the forces of order over chaos, as dramatized in Apollo's slaying of
Python. On the contrary, laurel signifies the victory of Amor over Apollo
and the Olympian order that the latter represents.
Even in Book 2, Ovid continues to make explicit connections between
Greek myth and the Roman present. The tale of Phaethon ends with the
metamorphosis of his sisters, the Heliades, into poplar trees by the river
Eridanus. Their tears ( sap) fall into the river and become amber. Diodoms
Siculus (5.23.4) tells the same story and concludes with the aetiological
observation that amber was worn in the Greek world to mourn the death of
the young. Ovid, by contrast, observes that Roman brides wear amber
( 2.. 366) . Amber recurs later in the poem, when Pygmalion courts his ivory
statue ( 10.252-69). He brings her shells, pebbles, little birds, flowers, col-
ored balls, and last of all amber ( 10.263, "Heliadum lacrimas"). Pygmalion
is playing the role of the elegiac lover to a puella dura, but the mention of
amber may remind the narratoria! audience of his desire to make the statue
his (Roman) bride, and this indeed is how the tale ends (10.295).l 6 The
insertion of the Roman feature is subtle, but this is precisely how Ovid
Romanizes his material throughout the poem. Although Pygmalion is a
denizen of distant Cypms, his behavior corresponds to and modifies the
Roman paradigm of the fmstrated elegiac lover. What is surprising is that
Pygmalion's narrator is Orpheus, a mythological Thracian singer, who em-
broiders his story with anachronistic Roman details. The explanation is that
the primary narrator implicitly endows his interna! narrators with Roman
assuniptions. Indeed, the conventions of Roman love elegy permeate the
Metamorphoses to such a degree that one may lose sight of how much they
contribute to Ovid's transformation of Greek myth into a contemporary
Roman idiom. 17
After the Capitoline geese in Book 2, explicit references to Rome and
aetiologies for Roman rites, customs, and objects are rare. In Book 9, Ovid
recounts the origin of the cornucopia (9.87-92). Originally a Greek sym-
bol, the horn of plenty was a common Roman emblem, which was readily
incorporated into Augustan iconography as a sign of prosperity ( cf. Galin-
Translating Past into Present 203
sky 1996: 1 1 1-17) . For the most part, however, Roman aetiologies are
reserved for the final two books. This should hardly astonish. Most of
Ovid's mythic material has nothing todo with Rome. One may accordingly
ask why Ovid chooses to present his material in an explicitly Roman light in
the first two books of the poem, especially because this material is not
intrinsically more Roman than what follows. I would suggest that he seeks,
at an early stage, to satisfy the audience's curiosity about how metamorpho-
sis relates to the Roman present; second, he provides a preview of what is to
come at the end of the poem.
One such projection into the future occurs in the Phaethon tale. In the
epic catalogue of scorched mountains ( 2.217-26), the poet-narrator ends
his account with the mountain ranges that define continental and peninsu-
lar Italy: "aeriaeque Alpes et nubifer Appenninus" ( 2.226). Similarly, the
litany of dried-up rivers concludes with the rivers ofHesperia:
fors eadem Ismarios Hebmm cum Strymone siccat
Hesperiosque amnes Rhenum Rhodanumque Padumque
cuique fuit remm promissa potentia, Thybrim.
(Met. 2.257-59)
[The same catastrophe dried up the rivers ofThrace, Hebms together
with Strymon, and the rivers of the west, the Rhine, Rhone, and Po,
and the river to whom the empire of the world was promised, the
Tiber.]
The final position of honor is reserved for the Tiber. The reference to the
future power of Rome ("remm promissa potentia") sets up an ironic con-
trast between then and now. 18 Formally, these anticipations of the end of
the poem make for good ring composition. On another level, they establish
the Roman present as a reference point for the reception of Greek myth.
Even though Ovid does not pursue Roman aetiologies through the
greater part of the poem, he never allows the Roman frame of reference to
disappear from view. One way that he brings his song down to his own
times is to update Greek myth by putting it in contemporary dress. There is
scarcely an episode in the poem that does not exhibit Roman touches. In
epic narration, one of the acceptable ways of interjecting a contemporary
point of view is through símiles. At the beginning of the Theban cycle,
Ovid compares the birth of armed Thebans, sprung from dragon's teeth
204 Chapter 8
sown in the earth, to embroidered figures on a curtain raised at the theater
on festival days ( 3.11 1-14). In a later scene, the jetting blood of Pyramus is
likened to water spouting from a split lead pipe (4.122-24).l 9 Lead pipes
(plumba) commonly distributed water to public fountains, baths, and the
private houses and farms of aristocrats. 20 One of the striking things about
this particular simile is that it is placed in the mouth of a daughter of Minyas
who is narrating in the vicinity of Cadmean Thebes, where Roman ameni-
ties such as lead pipes had not yet been introduced. On a couple of occa-
sions, Ovid's mythological narrators make reference to Roman awnings of
the typefoundin the amphitheateror in atria (5.389 [Calliope]; 10.595-96
[Venus] ) . The Ovidian narrator refers to spectacles in the amphitheater:
the wild beast hunt ( 1 r .25-27) and the anger of a bull who is shown the red
cloth (12.102-4). 21 The hazards of chariot racing also inform the tales of
Phaethon and Hippolytus. In addition to blood sport and the circus, there
are signs of cultural refinement and luxury. Ovid alludes to the manufacture
of statues ( 1.404-407; 3.4r8-r9); a panel (tabula) painted with nude
Cupids ( 1o. 51 5-16) ; a mirror (4. 349, "speculi") ; ivory and flowers en-
cased in glass (4. 354-55) ; and drinking cups either cut from precious stone
or encrusted with jewels ( 8.573, "gemma") - all of which suggest the ex-
pensive material culture to which the upper-class Romans had become
accustomed. There is also mention of mundane items such as sulfur torches
( 3.373-74), furnaces, and lime kilns ( 7.106-10). Even features of conven-
tional modern warfare, such as Balearic slings and bullets (2.727-28;
4. 709-1 o), catapults ( 3. 549), and the military trumpet ( 3. 53 5) make their
way into Ovid's versions of Greek myths. In short, the list of details from
contemporary life come from all walks of life, ranging from the rustic Italian
dinner of Philemon and Baucis to the rhetorically stylized declamations of
Ajax and Ulysses.
Like theAeneid, theMetamorphoses is a stunning act of cultural transla-
tion. Both poems rely on an audience that is thoroughly Hellenized, and
both relate the Roman present to a Greek mythological world view. The
Aeneid aims to explain the origin of Rome and its imperial destiny. The
Metamorphoses, on the other hand, consolidates Rome's position as the cul-
tural bearer of Greek civilization on an even grander scale. Ovid does not
seek to escape into the fantasy world of Greek myth but continually meets
the challenge of giving myth a contemporary significance- though not
necessarily one that reflects Augustus's cherished ideals for the present. The
claims that theMetamorphoses is truly a universal poem, or conversely a per-
sonal and private poem, require closer examination. To be sure, explicit Ro-
Translating Past into Present 205
man references disappear midway through the second book and do not re-
appear again until the last two books of the poem. But Ovid does not need
to be so heavy-handed in referring to the present; because he has established
his framework at the beginning of the poem, his audience will respond to
his more nuanced touches of Romanization. More important, as a poem
composed in the Latin language, theMetamorphoses necessarily involves the
appropriation, incorporation, and transvaluation of Greek myth. 20
Here again the structuralist distinction between story and discourse may
be worth remembering. The argument of this book has been that the con-
ceptual unity of theMetamorphoses derives from the discourse- and specifi-
cally from the here and now- of the narrating instance. On this premise,
how can it be that the communication between narrator and audience is cul-
turally neutral or muffied? Do narrator and audience forget their identities
and memories as Romans? The answer to this question is, of course, yes and
no. We have seen that part of the poem's strategy is to transform the narrat-
ing instance and consequently to put the audience into the shoes of the
poem's mythological characters. This is, I submit, a fundamental reason
why it is possible to suspend disbelief in the poem's fabulous fictions. How-
ever, the narrator continually reminds his audience of the "reality'' of the
present ( another fiction), which is a Roman now to be distinguished from
a Greek then. The rhetoric of "befare and after" that informs the descrip-
tion of a metamorphosis is the pivot for the poem's own lasting transforma-
tion of Greek myth. Ovid coneludes the poem by saying that he will be read
aloud wherever Roman power extends over conquered lands (15.877,
"quaque patet domitis Romana potentia terris"). This claim to universal
popularity is bold, but could it not also be that Ovid's work is itself an
expression and example of "Romana potentia"? Far from viewing himself
and his audience as the captives of Greek culture, Ovid implies quite the
reverse. 21 Once the metamorphosis of Greek myth is complete, his will be
the form that later generations of Romans will read. So a new type of
Greco-Roman poem is born. To be sure, it may be difficult to distill the
Roman from the Greek, but this is as it should be. The identity of a changed
form persists in its new body.
 AppendixA
Interna! N arrators and Audiences
in theMetamorphoses

The followÍilg list . reguir~s sorne explanation. 1 In the t1arrato~ colUlllil. I

distin~sh-be~~~t;:-''h~terodlegetlc"--( an:arrat~~-~utside ·¿filie st6iy) and
"homodiegetic" (a narrator who lS préSe~f-.J.s-acn~a~efWitli:ifi tlie stóty),
in accOrdancewít:fitiie-critical rus~ctlons o{benette: (1980: 244-45).
U nless óilierwíse .mdicated, infernal ilarratots ate second degree ( N 2 ) • I
have included in the catalog sorne speakers who are not technically narra-
tors (Ajax, Ulysses, and Pythagoras) but whose speeches represent alterna-
tive forms of narrative within the body of the poem. There is one case of an
embedded speaker to whom I have not allocated a separate entry in my
table. N arrator 1 3 ( an unidentified speaker) reports the story of the Lycian
frog-men that he heard from a Lycian guide; rather than assign two narra-
tors to the same story I chose to list them under the same heading. There is
an unidentified narrator ( 14) who tells the tale of Marsyas ( 6. 385-400) in
what appears to be free indirect discourse. 2 I have excluded ecphrases of
works of art such as the tapes tries by Minerva and Arachne because they are
presented in the poet's voice. I do not list the prophecies of Ocyroe ( 2.642-
54), Themis (9.403-17), Helenus (15.439-49), andJupiter (15.816-42),
although they may be considered future-tense narratives. I have also omit-
ted the dramatic monologues of heroines (Medea, Althea, Byblis, Iphis,
Myrrha, Hecuba) the l~!!~E__g[Byl>lis,. and the lovesong of Polyphemus
because these forms of discourse do not qualify as narrative.

Narrator Auclience Story1Subject Lines ( number) ·

I. Jupiter Olympian gods Lycaon !.209-243 (35)
( homocliegetic)
2. Mercury ( hetero- Argus Syrinx !.689-700 ( I2)
cliegetic)
3· a, b, and c. Crow Raven a. Cecropides a. 2.549-65 ( 17)
(homocliegetic) b. Daughter of b. 2.566-88 ( 23)
Coroneus
c. Nyctimene c. 2.589-95 (7)
 208 AppendixA Internal N arrators and Audiences 209

Narrator Audience Story 1Subject Lines ( number) Narrator Audience Story 1Subject Lines ( number)

4· Acoetes Pentheus Bacchus and Ly- 3.582-691 (no) 14· Another unidenti- Unidentified Marsyas 6.385-400 (!6);
(hornodiegetic) dian sailors fied narrator re- audience in free indirect
Unnamed daugh- Daughters of Pyramusand 4.55-166 (n2) spondingto discourse
reror-Mmyas·------- Minyas Trusse-·---------- Niobe's tragedy
(Eeferoillegétic) ( heterodiegetic)
a and b. Leuco- Daughters of a. Mars and Venus a. 4.169-189 (2I) !5. Aeacus Cephalus, sons of Plague on Aegina; 7.518-660 ( I43)
noe, daughterof Minyas b. Phoebus, Leuc- b. 4·!90-270 (8!) (hornodiegetic) Pallas, sons of Myrmidons
Minya;{h.eiet:ü-=-~ othoe, and Clytie Aeacus
~'Cf!~g~g~l=-~-------- !6. a and b. Cephalus Phocus, sons of a. Procris, hound, a. 7.690-793
·a and b. Alcithoe, Daughters of a. Catalog of tales a. 4.276-284 (9) ( hornodiegetic) Pallas andspear (104)
daüghter oí Mill~ , Minyas (Daphnis, Sithon, b. Death of Procris b. 7. 796-862 ( 67)
yas-Tlietera=· -·····- Celmis, Curetes, !7. a and b. Achelous Theseus, Pi- a. Echinades a. 8.577-89 (13)
aregenc:r·----- Crocus, and ( hornodiegetic) rithous, Lelex b. Perimele b. 8.590-6!0
Smilax) e and d. Achelous (2!)4
b. Salmacis and b. 4.285-388 ( heterodiegetic) c. Proteus C. 8. 728-37 ( IO)
Herrnaphroditus (!04) d. Mnestra, d. 8.738-878
8. a. Perseus Court of Cepheus a. Perseus's adven- a. 4.772-89 (18); Erysichthon (141)
(hornodiegetic) tures: Medusa; presented in indi- e. Achelous e. Hercules, e. 9.281-323 (43)
travels rect discourse ( hornodiegetic) Cornucopia
b. Perseus b. Neptune and b. 4.793-803 (n) !8. Lelex ( hetero- Theseus, Pi- Philernon and 8.6!8-724 ( !07) 5
(heterodiegetic) Medusa diegetic) rithous, Achelous Baucis
9· aandb.Muse Minerva a.Pyreneus a. 5.269-93 (35) !9. Alcrnene lole Birth of Hercules 9.28!-323 ( 43)
( hornodiegetic) b. Musesand b. 5. 300-678 ( hornodiegetic) and Galanthis
Pierides (379) 20. Iole (horno- Alcrnene Dryope 9.326-93 ( 68)
IO. Pierides ( hetero- Nyrnphs, Muses Gigantornachy 5.319-26 (8lines diegetic)
diegetic; N 3 ) indirect dis- 2!. a-g. Orpheus Trees including Boys and girls !0.!48-739 (592)
course); 5.326-31 ( heterodiegetic) Cyparissus, birds,
( 6lines direct beasts a. Ganyrnede a. 10.155-61 ( 7)
discourse) b. Hyacinthus b. IO.I62-2I9
Calliope ( hetero- Nyrnphs, Pierides, Hymn to Ceres: 5·34I-66I (221) (58)
diegetic;N 3T______ other Muses a. Rapeof c. Cerastae c. !0.220-37 (!8)
Proserpina d. Propoetides d. !0.238-42 (5)
b. Cyane e. Pygrnalion e. 10.243-97 (55)
c. Stellio f.Myrrha f. !0.298-502
d. Ascalaphus (205)
e. Lyncus g. Venusand g. !0.503-739
Arethusa .(horno- Ceres Arethusa 5·575-64! ( 67) Adonis (237)
cliegetrc:; N 4 r·· V.:t:!1Jl§ __(!l.91Il0- Adonis Atalanta and 10.560-707 ( I48)
di~g~tic; N
3 Hippornenes
!3. a. uñraenñlied a. Unidentified Lycian farrners a. 6.317-81 ( 65) )
narrator respond- audience 23: Ceyx Peleus and Chioneand !!.291-345 (55)
ing to Niobe's (hornodiegetic) cornpanions Daedalion
tragedy (hetero- 24. Onetor Peleus and corn- Wolf !!.352-78 (27)
diegetic) 3 ( hornodiegetic) panions and Ceyx
b. Lycian guide b. Unidentified b. 6.331-81 (51) 25. Anoldrnan Anoldrnan Aesacus and !!.751-95 (45)
( heterodiegetic) narrator 13 ( heterodiegetic) Hesperia
 210 AppendixA

Narrator Audience Story1Subject Lines (number)

26. N estor Achilles and a. Caeneus
AppendixB
a. 12.182-209
(homodiegetic) Achaeans (28) Generalizing Second Person
b. Lapiths and b. !2.2!0-535
Centaurs (2!9) 6 Singular
c. Periclymenus c. !2.542-76 ( 35)
and Hercules
27. Ajax Achaean generals Judgment of Arms 13.5-122 ( II8)
andarmy
28. Ulysses Achaean generals Judgment of Arms !3.!28-38! (254)
andarmy
29. Anius Anchises and Daughters of !3.644-74 (3!) The use of the generalizing second person singular is not unusual in epic.
(homodiegetic) Trojans Anius
Galatea Scylla and nymphs Galatea, Acis, and The device is a well recognized one in the epic poet's rhetoric of fiction: it
!3.750-897 ( !48)
-O~c:>Il1odiegetic) Polyphemus enhances vividness and increases audience participation. There is, however,
3!. Glaucus Scylla Glaucus !3.9!7-65 (49) surprisingly little agreement in antiquity about what to call the device. The
(homodiegetic) Homeric commentator Aristonicus, a descendant of the Aristarchan tradi-
Sibyl Aeneas Sibyl and Phoebus !4.!30-53 (24) tion, does not name it. The bT scholia, on the. other hand, calls second
(homodiegetic)
person address "apostrophe as if to a person'' (bT on Il. s.Ssb 'tO 'tll<;
33· Achaemenides Macareus and Polyphemus !4.!67-220 (54)
(homodiegetic) Trojans anocr'tpo~fl<; Ól<; npo<; npócrronov), drawing an analogy with the more com-
34· Macareus Achaemenides and Travels with 14.223-440 (2oS) mon device of apostrophe to a character in the narrative. The first critic to
(homodiegetic) Trojans Ulysses employ the phrase "apostrophe to the listener" appears to be the twelfth-
a.Aeolus a. 14.223-32 ( IO); century Homeric commentator Eustathius ( Comm. on Hom. Il. 1. 736.6-
inindirect 9; 2.28.11-13, 15-18). However, the term "apostrophe" is not what the
discourse
b. Laestrygonians author of On the Sublime uses. The so-called Longinus devotes a whole
b. !4.233-242
(Io) chapter to explicating the rhetorical e:ffect of second person address, which
c. Circe's island c. !4.242-440 he calls antimetathesis or change of persons ( 26. 1, 'JÍ 'tiDV 1tp00"001tffiV UV'tt-
(!99) ,. u::'tá8ecrt<;). He also refers to itas an "address" to the listener ( 26.3, npocr-
35· Servant of Circe Macareus Picus and Canens !4.3!8-434 (!27) <pÓlVTlO"t<;) . By contrast, he reserves the term apostrophe for the figure of
(heterodiegetic;
N3) addressing the dead in an oath (16.2).
36. Diomedes Venulus Companions of These are the main testimonia for the rhetorical figure of second per-
14.464-5II (48)
(homodiegetic) Diomedes son address in the ancient and Byzantine traditions of literary criticism.
37· Vertumnus Pomona Iphis and !4.695-764 ( 70) The majority of rhetorical theorists do not list or describe the device as a
(heterodiegetic) Anaxarete special figure. The explanation for this apparent oversight is simple. In
38. Anoldman N urna Foundation of !5.!2-57 (46) ancient oratory, the speaker always addresses a definite public, whether a
(heterodiegetic) Croton
39· Pythagoras Humanity Vegetarianism, political body or jury. Thus, the use of the generali.Zing second person is not
!5.75-478 (404)
metensomatosis, rhetorical in the sense that it does not deviate significantly from the norm of
mutability formal address to a jury. However, the case is quite di:fferent in literary
40. Hippolytus Egeria Hippolytus- !5.493-546 (54) genres in which the poet or historian narrates in the third person to an
(homodiegetic) Virbius abstract and undefined public that he does not ordinarily address in the
second person. Consequently, the shift to the imaginary second person
212 Appendi:x: B
constitutes a marked change in narrative stance and invites the audience to
participate in the narrative, whether to visualize what is described or to
experience a particular emotion.
Referring to this change of stance as an "apostrophe" to the audience
or reader will probably continue to be acceptable and convenient, but it is
worth noting sorne difficulties with this usage. Ancient rhetoricians apply
the term "apostrophe" (literally, a "turning away'') to the trope of redirect-
ing speech from the primary addressee to a secondary addressee; for exam-
ple, an orator may turn away from his primary audience and address an-
other person who is present ( such as an opponent) or someone who is
absent (whether living or dead) or he may speak to a deity, personification,
or inanimate object. 1 Ancient and modern critics of epic tend to employ the
term apostrophe along the lines of the rhetoricians. Consequently, to call
the generalizing second personan "apostrophe to the audience" is poten-
tially contradictory, especially when the audience is the primary addressee,
even if it is not directly acknowledged as such. A di:fferent reservation ap-
plies to the phrase "apostrophe to the reader;' because, at least in Ovid's
carmen perpetuum, it represents a too precise definition of an indefinite
"you.''2 Furtherinore, Ovid does not designate his addressee as lector in the
Metamorphoses, as he does later in his exile poetry. A graver objection to
"apostrophe" is the fact that it is easily confused with the direct address of a
character in the story-world. 3 Poet and audience are on the same narrative
level and fictionally accessible to each other ( extradiegetic), but a character
in the narrative ( diegetic) is on a di:fferent level and not able to respond to
the narrator's addresses. 4 Finally, if we take the narrator to be presenting his
narrative to the narratee, his use of the second person does not constitute a
turning away. On the other hand, an address to a character in the narrative
constitutes a definite deviation from the normal path of narrative com-
munication. For these reasons, the term "apostrophe" may be better re-
served for the trope of addressing deities, characters, abstractions, and ob-
jects other than the main audience. 5 Of the terms surveyed, antimetathesis is
perhaps the most precise and unambiguous, but it has failed to gain wide
currency. 6 The plain English "imaginary second person'' has found favor
and can be easily varied with other adjectives (generalizing, generic, índefi-
nite, ideal, or vivid) .7
Notes
Introduction
1. For an audience-oriented interpretation of the death of Argus, see Konstan
(1991); cf. Frankel (1945) 85; Ahl (1985) 154; Nagle (1988d) 99-100. On Ovid's
self-irony, see Galinsky (1975) 174.
2. For "consistency-building'' in the process of reading, see Iser ( 1978) 16-18,
118-19,122-30,185.
3· Ideal with the story-world in more detall in my forthcoming monograph
Narrative Dynamics in Ovid)s Metamorphoses ( 1999).
4· Cf. Rosati (1983), which contains insightful remarks about the reader's
experience of the play of illusory appearances in theMetamorphoses.
Chapter 1. Metamorphosis in the R.eader
1. When I call the poet-narrator "Ovid;' Ido so with the customary qualifica-
tions. First, the poet's persona is a fiction that mayor may not represent the commit-
ments of the flesh-and-blood author. Second, the narrator of the Metamorphoses
should not be confused with Ovid's other poetic personae. In this chapter, I use the
term "reader" to mean the implied audience that is defined in Chapter 3.
2. Cf. Liimmli (1962) vol. 2, 1 n. 1; Buchheit (1966) 83-84; Mensching
(1969) 165-67; Kenney (1976) 46-47.
3· On Ovid's stylistic exploitation of hyperbaton in the Metamorphoses, see
Kenney ( 1973) 128-30. .
4. Cf. Verg. Ecl. 6.3-5. The relationship between the Augustan recusatzo and
the polemical prologue of Callimachus's Aetia is investigated by Wimmel ( 1960),
who discussesAmores 1.1 on pp. 138 and 300-302; see also McKeown ( 1989) 7-II,
who has further bibliography on the topic; account also must be taken of Cameron
( 1995) 453-83, esp. 456-57, who reexamines the Hellenistic antecedents of
recusatio.
5. Cf. Hinds ( 1992) 91 -92; for the transcodification of epic values in elegiac
discourse, see also Conte ( 1994) 37-38; on the bed as battlefield, cf. Cahoon
( 1988).
6. For this type of analysis of Latin sentences, see Batstone ( 1988) 227-43,
especially 229-30; Woodman and Powell ( 1992) 213.
7. Cf. TLL 6.1.549.46ff. Much has been said about the stylistic register ofjert
animus- whetherit is prosaic, elegiac, or epie; cf. Fleischer ( 1957) 33; von Albrecht
(1961) 272-75; Due (1974) 94-95. There is no mention ofthe epic parallel inAen.
214 Notes to pages 11-14
6.67s "si fert ita corde voluntas;' much less its antecedent in Lucr. 3.44 "si fert ita
forte voluntas?' Austin ( 1977) on Aen. 6.67S recognizes the parallel of Met. 1. 1.
Ovid's own echo of the proem in Met. I.77S "si modo fert animus" is likewise
modeled onAen. 6.67s.
8. Ovid's choice of phrase parallels the swerve of free will described by Lu-
cretius in his argument for the random swerve (clinamen) of atoms: "ubi ipsa tulit
mens" ( 2.260, ''When the mind itselfhas moved us"). Also relevant is Horace's echo
of the Lucretian passage when he writes to his bailiff about his yearning for the
Sabine farm: "istuc mens animusque 1 fert'' (Ep. 1.14.8-9, "In that direction my
mind and heart moves me").
9. On "mutatas" and the vocabulary of metamorphosis, see Anderson ( 1963)
1-4.
ro. For the most recent discussion of this commonly recognized characteristic
of Ovidian metamorphosis, see Solodow ( 1988) 183-86.
11. Cf. Bomer onMet. 1.1; OLD s. v. 9a.
12. This is what Said ( 197s: 12) calls a "beginning intention;' which he defines
as "the created inclusiveness within which the work develops?'
13. For a compelling case that metamorphosis operates at the level of style, see
Tissol ( I 997) . On metamorphosis as a "functional principie operative in all aspects
ofthe poem;' cf. Galinsky (I97S) I0-13, 43,62-63. Boillat (1976: 13-24) gives an
overview of Ovid's variations on the theme of metamorphosis.
14. For other proems that begin with a preposition, see Myers ( 1994a) 6 n. 14;
however, Ovid's use of the preposition in is unprecedented in classicalliterature.
I s. On the reception and influence of the Callimachean phrase (supplemented
by Pfeiffer), see Wimmel ( 1960) ro6.
16. For the topos of novelty, see Nisbet and Hubbard ( 1970) on Hor. Odes
1.26.ro; Clausen (1994) on Verg.Ecl. 6.1-2; cf. Bing (1988) 22.
17. Cf. Lucr. 1.926-27 ( = 4.1-2) "avía Pieridum peragro loca nullius ante 1
trita solo" ("I traverse the pathless places of the Pierides, which have not been trod
by anyone's foot before "); the Callimachean implications of this Lucretian passage
are explored by Kenney ( 1970) 369-70 and Brown ( 1982) 80-82; cf. Verg. G. 3.40-
41 "saltusque sequamur 1 intactos" ("and let us go in pursuit of pristine vales"), and
Thomas (1988) adloc.
18. On the primus-motif, which is a variation on the novelty topos, see Kroll
(1924) 12-14; Wimmel (1960) Stichwortindex s.v. ''primus-Motiv, Erstheitsidee";
andNewman (1967) 341-43.
19. Anderson (1963) 1-2. The word transformatio appears to be a Late Latín
coinage ( cf. Aug. Trin. I s.8) . Mutatae formae is the phrase that Ovid uses to refer to
theMetamorphoses in the Tristia ( cf. I.I.II7, 1.7.13, 3.14.9 ). The Greek title of the
poem is first attested in Sen. Apoc. 9. s; cf. Quint. 4. I. 77.
2o; On the distinction between thematic and programmatic proems, see Conte
(1992) 149·
21. For a recent survey of metamorphosis in Hellenistic and Roman literature,
see Forbes Irving ( 1990) 19-37; cf. Myers ( 1994a) 21-2s.
22. Cf. Lyne ( 1978b) 167-87, especially 183; on the New Poets and their
sources ofinspiration, see Clausen (1964) 181-96, and (1982a) 178-87; cf. Crow-
ther (1970) and (1976).
Notes to pages 15-23 215
23. Cf. Cameron ( I99S) 4S8-S9· On Parthenius and Vergil, see also Wiseman
(1979) ISI-S3 andDyer (1996).
24. Cf. Knox (1986) 12-14; Farrell (1991) 342; Helzle (1993) 123-24.
2s. Anderson reads "illa" (medieval variant) instead of"illas" (paradosis) for
the first time in the sixth edition of his Teubner text. Arguments for "illa" can be
found in Hartman (r9os) 83-84; Luck (r9s8) 499-soo; Kenney (1976) 46-so;
Tarrant (1982) 3SI; Knox (1986) 9; Kovacs (1987) 4s8-6o; cf. Anderson (1993)
109; ( 1997) 9, rso-si. For a recent defense of "illas;' however, see Lee ( 1993); cf.
Latacz (1979) 138-39 n. 12; Graf (1988) 63 n. rs.
26. As von Albrecht ( 1964: 96) points out, the use of a demonstrative pronoun
is the second most important means for connecting a parenthesis to the context of
the sentence that it interrupts; the first is the repetition of a word.
27. On ritual obligation in the invocations of Greek poets, see Obbink ( 1993)
S9-60.
28. Cf. J. F. Miller ( 1991) 1-2, with further literature. For Ovid's wordplay on
humanandmetricalfeet,seeHinds (198s) 18-19; (1987) 16-17.
29. For this critica! commonplace, see Kenney ( 1973) 1r6; cf. Otis ( 1970) 74-
76 andAnderson (1972) 24-30, (1997) 30-37.
30. See Knox (1986) and Hinds (1987) ns-34, although their emphases
differ.
31. Cf. Kenney ( 19S8) 2os-6. For favorable winds and poetic progress else-
where in Ovid, cf. F. 2.3; 3.790; 4.18; 4.729-30. ·
32. On pleonasm and beginnings, see Austin ( 19 ss) onAen. I. 372.
33· Cf. Barkan (1986) 27.
34· Cf. Due (1974) 96; Galinsky (I97S) 2-3; Latacz (1979) 142-4s.
3S. On Macer and his Ornithigonia, see Courtney ( 1993) 292-94.
36. On "empty slots;' see Conte ( 1994) n6-17.
37· For discussion ofthe ways in which Ovid departs from, e.g. Nicander, see
Galinsky (I97S) 2, 103, rso; Myers (1994a) 31-34; cf. Hinds (1987) 14-rs, S3·-S4;
and Wheeler ( 1997).
38. On the Hesiodic associations of theMetamorphoses, see Ludwig ( I96S) 74-
7S; P. R. Hardie (1986) 66-67; Graf (1988) 63.
. 39. Cf. Liv. 6.1. "ab condita urbe Roma ad captam eandem;' wherein, as Kraus
(1994a: 83) points out, the historian opens the sixth book anda new pentad by
summarizing the period of time covered by the previous five books. Also relevant
are Hirt. Gall. 8,praef. 2, "ab rebus gestis Alexandriae confeci usque ad exitum ...
vitae Caesaris" and Flor. praef. 1.1, "a rege Romulo in Caesarem Augustum?' Cícero
petitions Lucceius to write a history "a principio ... coniurationis usque ad reditum
nostrum" (Ep. ad Fam. s.r2.4, "from the beginning of the conspiracy to my re-
turn"). The topos of defining the starting point and end point in a historical proem
is discussed by Herkommer ( 1968) 6sff.
40. Cf. Flor. Epit. 3.12.3, "centum annos a Carthaginis ... excidiis ... deduxi-
mus in Caesarem et Pompeium"; Aug. De Civ. 18.2, "per Graecos ad Latinos ac
deinde ad Romanos ... temporum seriem deduxerunt''; Cassiod. Inst. I 7, "chronica
Eusebii ... usque ad tempora sua deduxit eximie Hieronymus?'
41. Cf. Nuttall ( 1992) 26-27. Vergil fl.irts, however, with serial narration again
at the end ofAeneid 1, when he has Dido request that Aeneas tell the story of the fall
216 Notes to pages 23-28
ofTroy from the very beginning: "immo age et a prima die, hospes, origine nobis 1
insidias" (Aen. 1.753-54, "Come now, my friend, and tell me the treacherous plot
from the very beginning'').
42. Horace canonizes Vergil's epic beginning in the Ars Poetica ( r 36ff.). Like
Aristotle (Poet. 1451ar6-2r), he disapproves of the cyclic poet who starts his narra-
tive from the very beginning: "nec reditum Diomedis ab interitu Meleagri, 1 nec
gemino bellum Troianum orditur ab ovo" (AP 146-47, "neither does he begin the
return of Diomedes from the death of Meleager, nor the Trojan war from the twin
egg''). Ovid's impulse to begin from the beginning of creation patently violates this
rule, which informs both Homeric and Vergilian epic.
43. See Hofmann (1985) 225; cf. P. R. Hardie (1993) 13: "Ovid introduces
the last book of theMetamorphoses with the long Speech of Pythagoras that reworks
the Speech of Homer with which Ennius introduces the first book of his epic;" see
also P. R. Hardie ( 1995) 2ro-ri.
44. Cf. F. 1.1-2, "Tempora cum causis ... canam" ("I will sing the times
together with their causes"). Por the reference in the Metamorphoses, see Barchiesi
( 1991) 6; ( 1994) 254 = ( 1997b) r88; and P. R. Hardie ( 1993) r 3; for examples of
this wordplay in Ovid's Tristia and the Fasti itself, see Hinds ( 1988) 21, ( 1992) 87
n. 7; Barchiesi (1994) 43, 49,270 = (r997a) sr, 58,263, (r997b) 200.
45. On the "simultaneous composition" and complementarity of the Meta-
morphoses andFasti, see Hinds ( 1987) ro-rr, 42-44, andpassim; cf. Bomer (r988);
Keith (1992) 48-52, 68-8r; Myers (r994a) 63-93.
46. Scholars generally interpret this phrase, in Greek as well as in Latin, as a
technical one that signals the epic genre that Callimachus rejects and Ovid under-
takes: see Pfeiffer (1949) on Call. Aet. 1.3-5; Herter (r968) 351-358; Wimmel
(r96o) 76; von Albrecht (r96r) 272; Otis (1970) 45-46; Kenney (1973) rr6;
Kovacs (1987) 460-62; andHinds (r989) 270-71. Portheviewthattheseterms do
not denote epic, see Due (1974) 95-96; Knox (r986) ro; and Heyworth (1995)
72-75. Knox and Heyworth regard theAetia asan ÜEtcr¡.ux ÓtTJVEKÉ<;, a view first
forwarded by Wilkinson ( 1955) 152. Cameron ( 1995: 339-61) makes the case that
ÜEtaJ. UX 8tTJVEKÉ<; refers neither to epic nor to the Aetia, but to inartistic elegiac
narrative; he explains further that Ovid's carmen perpetuum gives a new, more posi-
tive sense to the Callimachean calque. The last point is anticipated by Mensching
( 1969) r68-69 and Latacz ( 1979) 145.
47. Cf. Latacz ( 1979) 142; Barchiesi ( 1989) 6o n. ro; Holzberg (forthcoming,
1998).
48. On the Callimachean implications of Ovid's "deducite:' see Newman
(r967) 404; Due (1974) 95; Gilbert (1976) rrr-12; Kenney (1976) 51-52; Nicoll
( 1980) r8o; Hofmann (r985) 223-24; Hinds ( 1987) 19-20,22, 12r; Mack ( 1988)
107-8; Parrell (1991) 342; Peeney (1991) 189; Myers (r994a) r-s; and Cameron
(1995) 360-61. Por an objection to the view that "deducite" is a programmatic
word, see Kovacs ( 1987) 462, and the response ofHeyworth ( 1995) 73 n. 57·
49. On the ancient reader's search for a generic frame of reference at the
beginningofawork,seeSlater (1990) r6-r8. Conte (1994: ros-28) explainsthat
genre is a unified system of representation, structured by characteristic themes,
diction, modes of behavior, and formal devices, all of which serve as a common
Notes to pages 28-3 5 217
frame of reference for author and reader, within which the meaning of a literary
work is generated.
so. Ovid is not consistently anti-Lucretian in the cosmogony; for an inten-
tionallapse, see Wheeler ( 1995b).
5 r. Por an Augustan reading of the cosmogony, see Maurach ( 1979) r 34-40;
Schmitzer ( 1991) 37-39.
52. See P. R. Hardie ( 1986) 204-9.
53· Cf. Barchiesi (1994) 278 = (r997a) 272 = (r997b) 208.
54· Cf. W R. Johnson ( 1970) 143: "Presiding over the deterioriation is Jupi-
ter . . . and under his rule the poem will unfold, a mirror of the disintegration of
reality, of the illusion of classical order, and of the viciousness of gods and men to
man. TheMetamorphoses is a poem about the hopeless helpless condition of human
beings, in which classical forms and classical themes are used to mock, sometimes
poignantly, sometimes bitterly, the failure of classicism and its artificial revivals; it is
a poem in which an ironic, almost "mannerist'' toying with formal order and formal
beauty underlines a deep intuition of the possibilities of hazard and of deformation
in human existence"; Rhorer ( 1980) 309 n. 23: "The rule of Jupiter is not an
expression of the right order of the Cosmos but of the powerful forces of strife
which themselves seek to destroy that Cosmos. Jupiter is a king, to be sure, but one
whose sovereignty is based upon superior might rather than the moral order of
creation"; McKim (1985) 99: "[Ovid] proceeds in Book r to replace the philoso-
pher's God with the Ovidian Jove and company, and sets these mythical divinities to
work transforming that rational cosmos into a radically irrational one tailored to the
demands of poetic imagination as opposed to philosophical speculation?' In re-
sponse to the repetition of this pattern in Book 2, Brown similarly concludes ( 1987:
216-17): ''And though a semblance of order is restored after fire and fl.ood, the
world has lost its pristine perfection. Rife with passion, violent, unpredictable- it is
now an untidier, more ambiguous place, in which the gods have forfeited their
moral claim to supremacy and providential grand design is replaced by the make-
shift of metamorphosis?'
Chapter 2. The Fiction ofViva-Voce Performance
1. Cf. Santirocco ( 1980) so; Van Sickle ( 1980) s-6; Powler ( 1995) 34.
2. The secondary literature on reading aloud is quite large: a good starting
point for those interested in Ovid is Allen ( r 972) , who provides bibliography on
p. ron. 25; to his list I would add N orden (1923) r:6 and ''Nachtrage:' r-3; more
recent discussions include Quinn (r982) 88-93; Kenney (r982a) r2; Wiseman
(r985) 124-29; Lefevre (1990) 13-15; Starr (1991); and Pantham (1996) 38,
41-42.
3. On reading aloud and reciting in Roman education, see Bonner ( r 977)
212-26; Quinn (1982) 102-4; and Wiseman (r985) 124-26.
4. A similar point is made by Moore (r989: 87-88) with reference to the
ancient reception of the Gospels.
s. Clausen (r982b) 309; (1994) xxi.
218 Notes to pages 35-44
6. On Vergil's own recitations, see Goold ( 1992) rro-12.
7. On the performance of the Eclogues, see Steinrnetz (1968) rrs-25, esp.
rr7; Quinn ( 1982) 152-54; Horsfall ( 1995) 17.
8. SeeArethusa 13 (1980) devoted to ''Augustan Poetry Books"; G. D. Wil-
liarns ( r 992) ; Fantharn ( r 996) 6 3-67.
9. On the recitatio, see Funaioli ( 1914); Carcopino ( 1940) 193-201; Dalzell
(1955); G. W. Williarns (1978) 303-6; Quinn (1982) 158-65; McKeown (1987)
63-73; Vogt-Spira ( 1990) passim; White ( 1993) 59-63; Bartsch ( 1994) 80-82, with
240-42nn. 41-47; Fantharn (1996) 9-ro.
ro. See McKeown ( 1987) 63-73.
r r. Ovid claims to have written nothing for the stage (Tr. s. 7.2 7, "nil equidem
feci, ut tu seis ipse, theatris"); this statement, if it can be trusted, implies thatMedea
was intended for recitation. The debated shift of Augustan-age drama from stage to
recitation hall is discussed by Tarrant ( 1978) 26o-6r and Fantharn ( 1982) 7· For a
new interpretation of Ovidian tragedy through the work of Marlowe, see Cheney
( 1997).
12. Forthe topos see Nisbet and Hubbard (1978) 335-36.
13. SeeMcKeown (1989) 393.
14. In Tristia 3.14, Ovid expresses doubt about his future farne because the
Metamorphoses reaches the lips of the people in an uncorrected form; he then won-
ders if anything of his is on their lips (Tr. 3.14.23-24 "nunc incorrecturn populi
pervenit in ora, 1 in populi quicquarn si tarnen ore meurn est''). On the hazards of
the text, see Tissol ( 1997) 48-49. Also relevant is a forthcorning paper of Farrell
(1997).
rs. Cf. Ong (1982) I7I.
r6. For a historical overview of reader-response criticism, see Suleiman ( 1980)
3-45; Tompkins (1980) ix-xxvi; Culler (1982) 64-83; andFreund (1987).
17. Although I rely on the model of Genette ( 1980) 25-32, these critical
distinctions are also discussed in Chatrnan (1978); Prince (1982); Rirnrnon-Kenan
(r983); andBal (r985).
r8. On the epic tone of dicere, see vonAlbrecht ( 1961) 269-73, who responds
to Fleischer ( 1957) 27-59.
19. Cf. TLL s.v. "dico" 977.65; OLD s.v. 7b; Allen ( 1972) 7-8 and n. 2r; and
Clausen (1994) onEcl. 3·55·
20. Cf. Verg. G. 3.46 "mox tarnen ardentis accingar dicere pugnas 1 Caesaris"
("Soon nevertheless I shall gird myself to tell of the hot battles of Caesar").
21. On the epic-style beginning of theFasti, see J. F. Miller ( 1991) 9 and Myers
( 1994a) 6 n. 14.
22. Cf. Liv. Andron. Od. "virurn rnihi, Carnena, insece versuturn'' ( quoted by
Gell. NA r 8. 9; s) ; Homer also opens the "Catalogue of Ships" with the verb "tell":
"Ecme'te vuv ¡.tot Mouam (Il. 2.484,"Tell me now Muses").
23. Cf. West (r98r) 113-14.
24. For the plectrum and lyre as proper to epic poetry, see Harrison ( 1995)
rr9-22; cf. Sil. Pun. 11.433-82.
25. Cf. Fraenkel (1957) 403-5; Wille (r96r) 178; and Wilkinson (1963) 104.
26. The poem was originally dedicated to Augustus, but after the emperor's
Notes to pages 44- so 219
death, Ovid rewrote portions of the Fasti in exile to take into account new circurn-
stances in Rome; for details see Lefevre (1976), (r98o); and Fantharn (1985); cf.
Fantharn (r983) 205-6, 2ro-rs.
27. On shaking in the presence of Apollo, cf. Callirn. Hymn 2. r.
28. Ovid's choice of the epithet "Clarius" may follow the exarnple ofVergil's
irnitation of Callirnachus in Ecl. 6. Vergil identifies Apollo by the cult narne "Cyn-
thius" (Ecl. 6.3), which is a learned variation on the Callimachean Lycius (Aet. fr.
1.22); cf. Clausen ( 1994) onEcl. 6.3. Like Vergil, Ovid may have found his alterna-
tive cult title in another text of Callimachus ( e.g., Hymn 2. 70). Fantharn ( r 98 s:
249) suggests that Ovid may have chosen the title because he knew that Germanicus
hada special association with the cult of Apollo Clarius.
29. Lowrie ( 1997: 59-61) argues that Callirnachus continues to locate his
poetry within the older tradition of poetry as song, even though he introduces writ-
ing tablets into his meeting with Apollo. If this is right, Ovid innovates when he
makes his ''Apollo" a reader. As suggested earlier, the motive for this innovation
may be the implicit condition of the exiled poet, whose text signifies his "absent
presence;''
30. For the association of Verrius Flaccus with the Fasti Praenestini, cf. Suet.
Gram. 17; on Ovid's debt to Verrius, see Wallace-Hadrill (1987) 225-29; and
Herbert-Brown (1994) rs-26.
3r. For ancient and modern explanations of the origin of dies atri, see Frazer
(1929) vol. 2, 79-82; andMichels (1967) 62-66.
32. In his letter to Augustus, Ovid draws the emperor's attention to the fact
that each month of the year ends with its own book: "curnque suo finem mense
libellus habet'' (Tr. 2.550). Thus the progress of time, subdivided into months,
corresponds to the spatial progress of the poem, subdivided into papyrus rolls.
33. For other cross-references in theFasti, see Newlands ( I995) 209-ro.
34. Cf. Harries (1989) 167-71 andNewlands (1995) 66-67.
35. Newlands (1995: sr-86) argues that, as the months wear on, the poet in-
creasingly relies on oral informants whose conflicting views lead toa crisis of au-
thority, in which no single canonical view of the Roman past is allowed to emerge.
36. Although Ovid is silent about the division ofhis poem into books, the issue
of book division is nonetheless an irnportant feature of the work that bears on the
relationship between its fiction of oral performance and its irnplicit textuality. I treat
this topic in Chapter 3.
37· Cf. Ross ( 1975) 78; Hinds ( 1987) 8-9, s8 and ISI n. 22; ( 1988) I7-I8;
Thomas (1988) on G. 1.247; Horsfall (1990) and (1991) 33-34; Keith (1992) 29-
30,52-53, ro6-7; and O'Hara (r996a) 79.
38. For an overview of the tradition beginning with Homer, see N orden ( r 957)
onAen. 6.14. J. F. Miller ( 1993) offers a less anachronistic and perhaps more fitting
description of this allusive technique with the term "the vocabulary of memory."
39. See Knox (1986) r2; cf. Hunter (1993) 148-so.
40. On the irnplications that these songs have for Ovid's own art, see Hofmann
(1985) 226-30 andNagle (r988d).
41. See Heyworth (1995) 72-73; cf. Scheid and Svenbro (1996), especially
131-38.
220 Notes to pages so-6s
42. It is worth noting the caveat of Martín ( 1989) r: "our !liad is no longer an
action, as it must have been if it was ever an oral composition-in-performance.
Insteadit is an artifact.'' Cf. Hubbard ( 1992) 17: "[T]helliad is both artifact, visible
only to the eyes of its Homeric craftsman, and action, performed befare a living
audience who took no interest in its written form. This paradox is in sorne sense at
the root of all great works of art, which constitute themselves as both action and
artifact, process and product, becoming and being.'' Although I would agree that
thelliad is notan oral composition-in-performance, the fiction of narrating is repre-
sented in terms of performance, and the poem's textuality is always implicit.
43. On the significance of writing in this passage, see also D. T. Steiner ( 1994)
37-38.
44. This pun on Byblis's name is discussed by Ahl (1985) 2II and Tissol
(1997) 44·
45. Por further discussion of the significance of Apollo's flower-text, see Janan
( 1988) 120-24 and Tissol ( 1997) 176-77·
46. On this etymologizing wordplay, seeAen. 1.261-62 and O'Hara ( 1996a)
I2I; cf. Keith ( 1992) 87-92.
47. Here I am indebted to Parrell (1997), who reads theMetamorphoses as
valorizing the poet's disembodied voice over the corporeality of the text. However,
the poet's voice cannot exist except through his readers .
. 48. Cf. Wheeler ( 1997).
49. This question is addressed by Lowrie ( 1997: 49-76) in her stimulating
study of the fiction of singing in Horatian lyric.
so. Cf. Beye ( 1982) 2-4, 26.
5 r. Por sorne reservations about Bing's approach, see Cameron ( r 99 5) 32-3 8
and Lowrie ( r 997) 6o n . 27.
52. On imitation of the form of the annales maximi, see Skutsch ( 1985) 6.
53· Por Ennius's supposed disapproval ofNaevius, see Cic. Brut. 71-76; New-
man (1967) 65; and Skutsch (1985) onAnn. 206. Por a more skeptical (Cicero-
nian) approach, see Goldberg (1995) 90-92.
54. Goldberg ( r 99 s: 90-92) challenges the view held by Skutsch ( r 968) s-7,
and backed up byPeeney (1991) roo-ror, thatmakes Ennius a proponentofGreek
philologicallearning in the Callimachean vein.
55. Cf. Gale (1994) roS; Newman's thesis (1965: 99-105) thatLucretius uses
canere to defend Ennius from the criticism of the Neoteric poets is not persuasive; cf.
the revision of his argument ( r 990) 429-3 r.
s6. Herington (1985) I3; cf. West (1981) II3-15.
57. Dahlmann (1970 ); Newman (1967) 99-206; NisbetandHubbard (1970)
on Hor. Odes r. r. 35; but see O'Hara ( 1990) 176-84, who argues that the Augustan
poets exploited the old associations of the vates with deception and illusion.
58. Cf. Enn. Scaen. 319;Ann. 206-7, with the commentary of Skutsch ( 1985)
372; and Lucr. 1.102__:_9.
59. Newman (1967) 15, 35, 104; P. R. Hardie (1986) r6.
6o. On this new view of the poet, see Ross ( 1975) 23-31.
61. Quinn ( 1982) 157: "The original performance becomes, however, some-
thing which is imagined, and is not wholly realized in any reader's performance of
the text.''
Notes to pages 65-73 22I
62. This statement may strike sorne as paradoxical because Ovid's poetry is, in
fact, written. But the poet's self-conscious remarks about writing are just as much a
fiction as his patently false remarks about singing. Cf. Rabinowitz (1986) n8:
"Pictions are always imitations, in the specific sense that they pretend to be some-
thing they are not.''
Chapter 3. The DividedAudience
1. Cf. Block ( 1986) r 56: "the narrator's voice is the poem, and embodies the
responses that shape a communal experience.''
2. Cf. de Jong ( 1989) 44·
3. The distinction between author and persona was first made by Durling
( 1958) in his study of the praeceptor amoris in theArsAmatoria; cf. Pyler ( 1971) and
Myerowitz (1985).
4. Sorne scholars do not believe that Catullus is making a distinction between
poetry and life; cf. Wiseman (1985) 123-23 and Griffin (1986) 17-18. Ancient
imitations of the Catullan topos, however, indicate that it was interpreted this way;
cf. Mart. 1.4.8, 11.15.13; Plin. Ep. 4.14.4-5; 5.3.2; Apul.Apol. 11.
5. On the speciousness ofthe poet's claim to being morally upright, see G. D.
Williams (1994) 168-71.
6. On the intertextuality of the Heroides, see Kennedy ( 1984) and Barchiesi
(1986).
7· Cf. Mack (i988) 135: "I think Ovid wants us to be wary of the main
narrator as well.''
8. See above Chapter r, n. 45.
9. Cf. Harries (1989: 168-71), who reads the didactic vates as a mask that
conceals the poet's true intentions. In his investigation of causae, Ovid is like a
"supplicant priest who prays for a divinely sent revelation of the 'true' 'Aóyor:; and
faithfully reproduces it.'' Although he appears to guarantee the authority of the story
he tells, he uses this strategy to introduce unreliable narrators and achieve paradoxi-
cal effects; hence behind the mask is "the independent, disorientating intelligence of
the 'vates operosus dierum'" ( 189) .
ro. On subversiveness in Ovid's poetry, see Hinds (1988) 25-27 and (1992)
148-49, although he does not distinguish between implied author and persona; cf.
Wallace-Hadrill (1987) 229: "Behind his poetry líes a system of values, neither
explicit nor formulated articulately, but a recognizable product of the sophisticated
and Hellenized day, into which it was virtually impossible to integrate the person of
Augustus. Whether we react by condemning the poet as a failed panegyrist, or by
finding amusement in the inconcinnities, will depend on our own values and estima-
tion of Augustus.'' Here Wallace-Hadrill equates the implied author with a set of
values that conflict with those of Augustanism; cf. Harries ( 1989). Barchiesi ( 1994:
34-36 = 1997a: 43-44) takes a different approach altogether. He views the imperial
addressee of the Fasti as a character in the poem and, in his opinion, Ovid's real
addressee is an anonymous public. This means that Barchiesi makes the communica-
tion between narrator and addressee- the discourse itself- an object of communi-
cation between implied author and audience.
222 Notes to pages 74-79
11. N o tice of the debate can be found in Keith ( 1992) 4-5.
12. Cf. Segal (1971), (1978); Due (1974) 80-81; Leach (1974); Zumwalt
(1977); Rosati (1981); Nagle (1983), (1988a), (1988b), (1988c), (1989); Gamel
(1984); Ahl (1985) 202-4; Hofmann (1985) 226-30; Hinds (1987) 91-93, 121-
32; Janan (1988); Barchiesi (1989); Konstan (1991); Keith (1992); and Myers
(1994a) 61-132. · 27. Cf. Rosati (1981) 297-309; Nagle (1988c) 35, (1989) 99-1oo; Feeney
13. My discussion of audiences is based upon the theoretical considerations of
Rabinowitz (1977), (1986) 177-78; Chatman (1978) 253-62; Prince (1980) 7-
25; and Booth ( 1983) 137-47. For a practica! treatment oflevels of audience in the
Odyssey, I have found Doherty ( 1995) helpful.
14. For the concept of "interpretive communities:' see Fish ( 1980), espe-
cially 147-73; cf. Culler (1975) for his theory of"literary competence.'' Note also
Freund ( 1987: 36) who points out that Fish and Culler "overinvest'' the public pole
of interpretation at the expense of the "characterological" or subjective side of
interpretation.
15. On medieval and renaissance allegorizers of Ovid, see Moss ( 1982), espe-
cially 23-36; Rudd (1988) 28-29; Coulson (1991) 4-6 and Tissol (1997) 8.
16. Cf. Viarre (1966) andRobathan (1973) 200-201.
17. For bibliography on Ovid'sNachleben, cf. Schanz and Hosius ( 1959) 26o-
64; Stroh (1969) 131-62; Hofmann (1981) 2214-45; and Martindale (1988a)
286-87; cf. Hexter ( 1986) 1o-11. For discussions of Ovidian reception, see Rand
(1925) 108-74; Wilkinson (1955) 366-444; Robathan (1973); Moog-Grünewald
( 1979); B. Guthmüller ( 1981); and the collection of essays in Martindale ( 1988a).
18. On Chaucer and Ovid, see Fyler ( 1979) and Cooper ( 1988).
19. By implied audience I mean primarily a hypothetical audience projected by
the text. Here I rely on Booth's general idea of the implied ("postulated") reader
(1983: 137-47, 177-78), supplemented byChatman (1978: 249-51). Alsorelevant
is Iser's theory of the implied reader ( 1978: 27-38), which is in part "a role offered
by the text'' ( or "a network of response-inviting structures which impel the reader to
grasp the text'') and in part the unique enactment of that role by a real individual
who brings to the text his own experience, consciousness, and outlook. Iser's own
practica! interpretations tend to limit the freedom of the reader and to emphasize
model responses dictated by the text: cf. Suleiman ( 1980) 24; Holub ( 1984) 85ff.;
and S. Weber (1987) 199. When I use the term "implied audience" I am thinking of
the textual side oflser's "implied reader:' because the individuality of readers is cov-
ered by the rubric of"actual audience.'' Doherty's use of the term "implied audience"
( 1995: 19-20) corresponds more nearly to what I call "narratoria! audience.''
20. Cf. Hunter (1993) 102.
21. The willingness to believe in stories, rather than disbelieve, is a defining
feature of audiences in ancient rhetorical criticism; cf. Ahl ( 1984) 197 and Feeney
( 1993).
22. On expressions of disbelief, see Stinton ( 1976) 60-65.
23. The phenomenon of the reader's divided belief in the Metamorphoses is
perceptively discussed by Feeney ( 1991) 224-32; cf. Myers ( 1994a) 19-20, 93, 159.
I deal with this topic in greater detall in Chapter 7.
24. Cf. Rabinowitz ( 1977) 127 n. 14; Freund ( 1987) 77 and 161 n. 5.
N ates to pages 79-90 223
25. The address of Augustus near the beginning of the poem ( 1.204) is excep-
tional, although it certainly suggests that the emperor is conceived of as a privileged
member of the poet's audience. I discuss the significance of Augustus's presence in
the audience in Chapter 7.
26. For an overview of the interna! narrators and audiences, see Appendix A.
(1991) 229-32; andMyers (1994a) 70, 159, 163.
28. Cf. Rosati (1981) 303; Hofmann (1985) 227-30; Hinds (1987) 131;
Nagle (1988d) 121; andMyers (1994a) 163-64.
29. Examples ofthird-degree narrative are: 6.313-81, an unidentified speaker
tells an unidentified audience the story he heard from a Lycian guide about the
transformation of Lycian farmers into frogs; 10.560-707, Orpheus lets Venus tell
her story about Hippomenes and Atalanta to Adonis; 14.318-434, Macareus tells
Achaemenides a story he was told by an acolyte of Circe about Picus and Canens.
30. On the supposed superfluity of the implied author-reader distinction, see
Rimmon-Kenan (1983) 87-89; Genette (1988) 130-34; andByre (1991) 216.
31. Cf. Fowler (1995) 32: "In Martial's poetry, as in Horace's Odes, there is a
constant tension between the assumed circumstances of reception and the actual
existence of the poems as written texts, and we should not try to remove that
tension."
32. On the book-roll as a unit of composition, see Kenney (1982a) 18; cf. Van
Sickle ( 1980) 5-12.
33. Frequently a story's end coincides with the end of a book-roll ( cf. 3-4, 4-5,
s-6, 7-8, 9-10, 10-11, 14-15); thus there may be stronger pauses between books
than sorne critics allow.
34. Holzberg (forthcoming, 1998) deals with this issue in the fullest detall
to date. On individual book-design and the organization of books within larger
schemes, cf. Rieks ( 1980) and Crabbe ( 1981).
35. Cf. Kraus ( 1994b) 267, who observes that in Tacitus's Germania the Fenni
and the half-beast people live at the edge of the earth and the edge of the treatise
( i.e., its final chapter).
36. Cf. the Vergilian model of the ecphrasis of the Daedalean doors to the
temple of Apollo situated at the opening ofAeneid 6 ( 20-3 3).
37· Cf. Brown ( 1987) 215-17,219 and Wheeler ( 1995a) 112-13.
38. Phaethon commands his mother "meque adsere caelo" (1.761, "make the
sky my own:' i.e., "declare meto be of celestial origin''), suggesting his desire for
divinity. For sons of gods that become stars, cf. Hor. Odes 3.25.6 and Verg. G. 1.32.
Ovid does not pursue the tradition of Phaethon's transformation into a constella-
tion (Auriga) in theMetamorphoses.
39. A good analysis of this phenomenon can be found in Galinsky ( 1975) 94-
95; cf. Fowler ( 1989) 96-97.
40. On Ovid's technique of suppressing or alluding to the names of well-
known mythological characters, see Bernbeck ( 1967) 44-48.
41. Actual and implied audiences are obviously not compelled to identify with
Jupiter's desire, or even Europa's own attraction to Jupiter. The narrator momen-
tarily invites his audience to identify with Jupiter's desire. As readers, we may resist
 224 Notes to pages 91-97
the invitation and find Jupiter's sexual excitement absurd or loathsome or strangely
fascinating.
42. Ovid implicitly valorizes his own version of the narrative in Book 6 when
he makes this image the first vignette in Arachne's tapestry of gods seducing women
(6.r03-7).
43· As P. R. Hardie ( r99oa: 226) points out, the opening of Ovid's third book
is modeled on that of the third book of the Aeneid: both involve the idea of exile
from one's homeland and the quest to found a new city.
44. Cf. the rape oflo: "tenuitque fugam rapuit pudorem" ( r.6oo, "and he held
her :flight and snatched ~er chastity''); the rape of Callisto: "nec se sine crimine
prodit'' (2.433, "nor does he betray himselfwithout sinning"). On the brevity of
Jupiter's sexual encounters, see Garson ( r976) r2 and Mack ( r988) ro5-6.
46. On the problem of the meaning of cornua, see Besslich ( r973); cf. Kenney
(r982a) r6, 31.
Chapter 4. Assembling anAudience
r. See Bernbeck (r967) r25-26; Galinsky (r975) r9-2r, 99; Segal (r985)
60-62; Knox (r986) 6; Mack (r988) II7, r35, r4r-42; Solodow (r988) 2,37-73;
Peeney ( r99r) 225; and Cameron ( r995) 353-54; cf. the "poetological" approaches
of Spahlinger ( r 996) and Galinsky (forthcoming).
2. As Kate Priedemann puts it in her theoretical study of the role of the
narrator in epic, "The narrator is the one who evaluates, feels, and watches. He
symbolizes the epistemological view familiar to us since Kant that we do not grasp
the world as it is in itself, but rather as it has passed through the medium of an
observing mind" ( r 96 5: 26) .
3· On the conventional view of"epic objectivity:' see Effe ( r983); the history
of the distinction between "objective" and "subjective" narrative in Homeric crit-
icism is surveyed by de Jong ( r989) r -28. Por a recent critique of the term "epic
objectivity:' seeHunter (r993) ror-5.
4. Por those in thelliad, see de Jong (r989) 4r-99; Richardson ( r990 ); and
Edwards ( r 99 r ) r- ro; for those in the Odyssey, see Doherty ( r 99 5) .
5· Por the vocative of lector, cf. Tr. 1.7.32; 4.1.2; 5.1.66; Ep. P. 3.4.43; lector
amice, Tr. 3.1.2; candide lector, Tr. r.rr.35; 4.ro.r3r.
6. Exceptions to the rule are few. There are two second person future indica-
tives in a future-less-vivid condition: 3. r4r -42 and 6.453 ( cf. r 5.293-94). The other
is Ovid's use of the pronoun tu with a generalizing subjunctive at 4.400 ( cf. 5.589).
7· Cf. Barkan (r986) 27-37; Schmidt (r99r) 70-78; Myers (r994a) 27-28
andpassim; P. R. Hardie ( r995); and Tissol ( r997) r9r-204.
8. On the preference of Germanicus to Tiberius as an addressee, see Herbert-
Brown (r994) r79-85; Pantham (r985) observes revisions oriented toward
Tiberius.
9. Contrast Newlands (r995) 55: "despite the formal opening addresses to
Germanicus and Augustus, Ovid writes for a general readership with whom he has
already established a complicitous relationship."
Notes to pages 97-103 225
ro. According to Pantham ( r985) 272, Germanicus also may be addressed at
6.763-64; cf. Newlands (r995) 203.
rr. The proem in F. 2.r-r8 probably should not be regarded as having been
shifted from Book r: see Fantham (r985) 257-58 and Herbert-Brown (r994) 32;
fortheoppositeview,cf.Bomer (r957-58) onF. r.r8andSyme (r978) 21.
r2. Cf. Bing (r993) 99-r03 andKonstan (r993) r6.
r3. On poeticmemory, see Conte (r986) 23-95 andParrell ( r99r) r7-24. Iser
( r978: 53-85) refers to shared memory and "extratextual" reality as the "repertoire
ofthetext''; cf. Lotman (r982) andSlater (r992) r-23.
r4. The explicit link that the poet establishes with his earlier poetry involves a
transgression against the rule of epic anonymity observed by Homer, Apollonius,
and Vergil. Ovid's self-representation recalls rather the scene of poetic initiation in
Hesiod's Theogony (22-35), wherein the poet names himself as protégé of the
Muses. On epic anonymity, cf. Kroll (r978) 26-27; Austin (r968) roS-ro; and
Mensching ( r969) r67 n. 2.
r5. On Ovid's Callimacheanism, see McKeown (r987) 32-37 and Hinds
( r988) 22-23. lnArs 3.329, Ovid advises women toread Callimachus.
r6. See Due ( r974: r5-42) for a reconstruction of what Ovid's historical
audience would have read. On Roman rhetorical education, see Bonner (r977)
2r2-49; for cultural bilingualism, see Pantham ( r996) 5-6 and 24-34.
r7. Cf. McKeown ( r987: 6r) on theAmores: ''We should not. .. overestimate
Ovid's doctrina. He was nota chalcenteric scholar, and did not require even the most
informed of his readers to be so either?' See also Kenney ( r982b) 457.
r8. Cf. vonAlbrecht (r964) r2o, r95-96; andBernbeck (r967) r27.
r9. Examples of generalizing second person address by the poet-narrator in-
elude: r.r62; 2.855-56; 3.45; 3.r4r-42; 4.399-4oo; 4.559; 5.5-6; 5.r93-94; 6.23;
6.r04; 6.296; 6.390-9r; 6.452-54; 6.667; 7.82; 7.85; 8.r9r; 8.322-323; 8.468;
9.209; rr.83-84; rLII4; rr.r26; rr.267; rr.5r7; r1.570; r2.620; r3.685; r4.647-
48; r4.650.
In the direct speech of characters: 1.242; 3.453; 5.429; 5·437; 5.589; 7.577-78;
7.79r; 8.8o5-8o6; 9.37-38; 9.288-89; ro.25o; ro.562-63; ro.654; rr.337; r3.664;
r3.835; r5.293-94; r5.369-70; r5.527-29. Cf. ro.5r5-r8.
20. The sense of the past potential is not only hypothetical but contrary-to-
fact; for example, "you would have known (scires), if you had been there (adfuisses) ?'
According to Hofmann and Szantyr (r965) § r85.iv.b, the subjunctive in a past
potential is imperfect rather than pluperfect for vividness. However, in a poem
that claims to bring the past clown to the present, the mixed condition is entirely
appropriate.
21. Cf. Marouzeau (r95r) ro4; Gilmartin (r975) r2o-2r; andBlock (r982)
r3 n. 25.
22. Ovid's negotiation with the audience involves an evocation of a poetic
tradition going back via Vergil to Hesiod. Ovid's primary model is Vergil's first
Geo1lJic: "Deucalion vacuum lapides iactavit in orbem, 1 unde homines nati, durum
genus" (G. 1.62-63, "Deucalion threw stones on the empty earth, from which
humans were born, a hard race"; cf. E. 6.4r). Vergil's "durum genus" looks back to
Lucretius's account of the origin of the human race from the earth: ''At genus hu-

226 Notes to pages 103-107
manum multo fuit illud in arvis 1 durius, ut decuit, tellus quod dura creasset;'' (DRN
5.925-26, "But the human race was at that time in the fields much hardier, as was
fitting, because the hard earth had created it''). But Vergil "remythologizes" Lu-
cretius by returning to the Greek myth of Deucalion and Pyrrha and a famous
etymological wordplay; cf. O'Hara (1996a) 255. According to Pindar, Deucalion
and Pyrrha founded the stony race of men ( KncrcrtcrácrOav A.íOtvov yóvov, Ol. 9.45),
and these were called "peoples" (A.aot ()'óvÚJ.LacrOev, Ol. 9.46) because they carne
from "pebbles" (A.&.e~). McKeown (1987: 47) observes that the etymological con-
nection between A.aó~ ("people") and A.&.a~ ("stone") is fundamental to the myth
and may be traced back to Hesiod (fr. 234 M-W). Ovid's use of the first person
plural is a departure from his primary Vergilian model, but may derive from an
unknown passage in Callimachus of which the following fragment is preserved:
AAOI dEUKaA.írovo~ ocrot yevÓJ.LecrOa (fr. 496 Pf"the peopleslstones ofDeucalion as
many as we were"); Pfeiffer is uncertain of the accentuation of AAOI, considering
A.&.ot ( rather than the transmitted A.aot) equally possible. Ovid fleshes out the
etymological wordplay in his own description of stones transformed into human
form and thereby demonstrates the explanatory power of metamorphosis as a way
to understand human nature; cf. E. A. Schmidt ( 1991) 35.
23. Cf. Ovid's description of Ceres mourning for Proserpina in F. 4.457-58
"quales audire solemus 1 Threicias fusis maenadas ire comis" ("Justas we are ac-
customed to hear that Thracian Maenads go with scattered hair?')
24. Cf. Fowler ( 1990: 45) on "deviant focalization?'
25. SeeDoblhofer (1960) 223-27; Galinsky (1975) 178; Rosati (1983) 170-'-
71; andSolodow (1988) 71; cf. BomeronMet. 3.106.
26. For a critique of "distance" and "detachment'' as the goals Ovid's poetic
discourse, see Tissol ( 1990) 45-58.
27. On divided belief, see also Feeney's stimulating discussion ( 199 3) ; cf.
Newsom ( 1989) 107-43.
28. The term is borrowed from de Jong ( 1989) 61 -68; it is discussed as a signal
of the narratee by Prince ( 1980) 14.
29. Cf. the prophecies of a return to the golden age in Vergil's fourth Eclogue
andAeneid ( 1.257-96; 6. 788-805), and in Hor. Carm. Saec. 57-60. On the topos of
the golden age, see Gatz ( 1967); Kubusch ( 1986).
30. Cf. Due ( 1974) 70; Galinsky ( 1981) 199-200; Wallace-Hadrill ( 1982) 27;
andSchmitzer (1990) 41-43.
31. The "si quaeras . . . invenies" construction has didactic color; it appears
again in the speech of Pythagoras (15.293-94). For the didacticism of the verb
quaeras, see J. F. Miller ( 1982) 406. For invenies in didactic poetry, see Lucr. 1.450;
2.348; 2.677; 2.1081; and4.478; cf. Ov. F. 1.9.
32. Ovid is the first to develop this type of parenthetic rhetorical question after
thepenthemimeralcaesura (cf.Met. 3.6;4.653; 7.25; 7.167;Her. 12.n7), whichwas
in turn imitated by poets of the Silver Age; d. von Albrecht ( 1964) 58 ff.; Lyne
(1978a) on [Verg.] Cir. 190.
33. For Actaeon's erotic motivation, cf. Hyg. Fab. 171 and Nonnus, Dion.
5. 305 ff., both of which are later than Ovid but may testify to a Hellenistic tradition
of voyeurism; see the source-critical arguments of Otis ( 1970) 367-69.
Notes to pages 108-rr4 227
34. As Anderson ( 1997: onMet. 3.189-93) notes, the most Diana attributes to
Actaeon is boasting that he saw her naked; cf. Callim. Lav. Pall. 97-102, where
Athena tells Chariclo that she is bound to punish Tiresias because he saw what no
one is permitted to see. For a different interpretation of Diana's motives, see Heath
( 1991).
35. Bomer onMet. 3.254 is right to observe that the verb "laudant'' is absolute
and does not mean "praised her justice:' as Otis translates ( 1970: 137). The support-
ers of Diana champion her stern virginity ("dignam severa virginitate") -not her
justice.
36. According to von Albrecht ( 1964: 47), :fifty-seven percent of parentheses
begin and end at one of three points: verse beginning, penthemimeral caesura, and
verse end.
37. N eedless to say, there may be editorial disagreement about individual
cases. In his Teubner edition, Anderson does not punctuate fifteen of von Albrecht's
parentheses, and marks eleven of his own. It should be observed that von Albrecht
( 1964: 73-74) does not include "word parentheses" which may be verbal ( e.g.
precm;fateor) or nominal ( e.g. mirabile) mirum), the latter being more closely related
to interjections. Examples of interjectional nominal word parentheses include: "mi-
rabile" (3.326); "mirum" (7.790; 11.51); "fidemaius" (3.106); "resquefidemaior"
(4.394); "indignum" (5.37); "mirum potuisse" (6.583); "foedumque relatu"
(9.167); "miserabile visu" (13.422); "res similis fictae" (13.935); "dictu mirabile"
(14.406); and "cognitaresusu" (15.365). .
38. I rely u pon the calculations of Avery ( 19 37) 96, but have corrected errors in
her calculations. There is a small margin of error, because she counts speech in part
of a line as a whole line (see p. 99 n.) .
39. Lausberg (1960) § 762, pp. 372-73; d. Hampel (1908) 8-9 and Block
(1982) 7-9.
40. Cf. A. Parry ( 1972); Block ( 1982) 15-22; Edwards ( 1987) 37-38; and de
Jong (1989) 13, 18,45,60.
41. Cf. Culler ( 1981) 149-50 and Richardson ( 1990) 172-74.
42. M y calculations are approximate and do not take into account the use of
apostrophe in the dramatic monologues of characters. Hampel ( 1908: 41) estimates
the rate of apostrophe in theMetamorphoses at once per 120 lines; however, he does
not take into account differences between the speech of the narrator and the direct
speech of characters. Only the following character-narrators employ the figure:
Minyeides (4) , Calliope ( 3), Achelous ( 1 ) , Orpheus ( 6), N estor ( 5), Galatea ( 2),
and Pythagoras ( 3) . Ajax ( 3) and Ulysses ( 5) also make frequent use of the figure.
Heinze's discussion ( 1960: 354) of apostrophe in the Metamorphoses vasdy under-
estimates the frequency of Ovid's usage of the figure.
43. On contrary-to-fact conditions in Homeric narration, see de Jong 1989:
68-8!.
44. Dicitur: 2.706; 6.403; interna! narrators: 4.57; 4.799; 5.539; 8.742; 14.334;
15.291; fama est: 2.268; 3.7oo; 10.45; interna! narrators: 4.305; 9.316; 15.356;
15.431;ferunt: 1.152; 1.158; 2.331; 3·399; 6.4o8; 8.278; 9.220; 9.636; 9.658; 15.48o;
15.798; interna! narrators: 4.266; 10.338; 15.278; 15.40!; 15.436. fertur: 2.184;
3.252; 3.334; 6.561; 7.430; 7.446; 8.15; 12.34; interna! narrators: 4.245; 6.337;
 228 Notes to pages II4-II9
rr.763; r5.r4;jeruntur: 2.452; 4.486; interna! narrator: ro.248; r0.33r;jama fere-
bat: (interna! narrator) r2.r97; r2.2oo; memorant: 2.r76; 2.684; 3.3r8; 4.273;
6.7r4; 7.408; interna! narrators: r3.47; r5.325; r5.36o; r5.4r4; memoro: r4.8r3;
vetustas: r.4oo; r5.632;prior edidit aetas: 9.225. Interna! narrators also use forms of
the adjective notus to characterize famous stories: 2.59r; 4.r89; 4.287; r4.679;
r4.696.
45· There is no study of Ovid's technique in theMetamorphoses comparable to
Horsfall's ( r 990) on the Aeneid. For preliminary soundings, see Zumwalt ( r 977 )
2r2; Hinds (r987) 58 and r5r n. 22, (r988) r7-r8; Nagle (r989) roo; Keith
( r992) 29-30, 52-53, ro6-7; and J. F. Miller ( r993). · 9. Cf. Otis (r970) 82-90; R. Coleman (r97r) 47r; andDue (r974) r2o.
46. Nagle (r988c: 24-26) argues that the epic conventions of banquet talk:
have been reversed: ordinarily the host asks the guest questions about who he is and
where he comes from. Myers (r994a: 74-75) locates Perseus's questioning in the
framework of the Callimachean banquet. Due (r974: 78) suggests that Ovid is
creating a tension between the epic and Callimachean types of banquet.
Chapter s. Discourse and Time
r. Cf. Herter (r968) 350-53; Ludwig (r965) 75-86; Hollis (r970) xi-xii;
Due (r974) 96; Kenney (r976) 5r; P. R. Hardie (r993) r3; andCameron (r995)
359-6!.
2. Crump (r93r: 204-r6) introduces the following divisions: r-r.45r, pro-
logue and cosmogony; 1.452-6.420, the gods; 6.42r-rr.r93, heroes and heroines;
r r. r94- r5 .879, histbrical figures. On the poem's historical dimension, cf. Wilkinson
(r955) r48; Otis (r970) 47; andGalinsky (r975) 85. Forachronologicalapproach
to the structure of the Metamorphoses, see Ludwig's analysis ( r965). On Ovid's
attention to genealogical continuity, see Grima! ( r958) 245-57. For an iconoclastic
approach to the question of temporal schemes, see Schmidt ( r99r) 43-47; r22-23.
3· For the technique of alluding to the future, see Wilkinson (r958) 234;
Solodow ( r988) 62-64; and Keith ( r992) 45-46 n. r r.
4· Cf. Buchheit ( r966) 84 and P. R. Hardie ( r986) 380. Renaissance readers
of the Metamorphoses likewise took the poem's cosmological and historical frame
seriously; cf. Burrow ( r988) roo.
5. For the use of words such as interea, cum, and dum, which link contempo-
raneous events, see Grundy Steiner ( r958) 229 and n. 22, with bibliography.
6. In a seldom-cited r9r9 paper, Johannes Stroux ( r968: 3r6-r7) writes that
the Metamorphoses "is an original attempt to unify artfully two essentially different
forms, which the Greek feeling for style, with its correct separation of poetic genres,
felt to be opposites . . . an epic of broad conception in the manner of the classic
Greek authors, and the highly refined, elliptical, and detailed narrative technique of
the modernist Alexandrians?' Stroux identifies the chronological dimension of the
Metamorphoses with the epic genre which Ovid enlivens and enriches with the narra-
tive techniques of Alexandrian epyllion, including digressions; inset narrative;
table-talk:; singing contests; descriptions of works of art; and the insertion of free-
standing myths that have no real temporal relation to the main narrative. The
Notes to pages II9-I27 229
Metamorphoses therefore exhibits characteristics of both classical grand epic and of
Alexandrian miniature epic, as Ovid alternares between stories in historical sequence
and stories that digress in an Alexandrian manner.
7. The pointis noted by R. Coleman (r97r) 463 n. r. Wilkinson (r958: 238)
blandly asserts that the principie of chronologicallinearity takes charges as soon as
Ovid reaches Laomedon's Troy (r r. r 94).
8. Cf. Martini (r927) r88-9o; Crump (r93r) r93-:-94; R. Coleman (r97r)
47r; Galinsky (r975) 79-ro7; Williams (r978)·246-47; Knox (r986) 2, 43; and
Mack ( r988) ro8-r7.
ro. Cf. Schmidt (r99r: 79-r38), who likens the thematic movement of the
poem to a symphony. On thematic dissonance, however, see Tissol ( r997) 89-r 30.
rr. For structural schemes, see Ludwig (r965); Otis (r970); and Crabbe
( r98r); for critiques of structural schemes, cf. Galinsky ( r975) vii, 8o-8r; Solodow
(r988) 9-r4; andSchmidt (r99r) 79-86.
r2. Barchiesi ( r994: 246-47 = r997b: r8r-82) suggests that Ovid deliberately
confuses the plan of the poem, just as Daedalus designs the labyrinth to lead its
victim into error ( 8. I 62-68) .
r3. Cf. Cic. Ad Att. r.r6.8; for the opposition between oratio perpetua and
altercatio, which is conducted with shorts answers or retorts, cf. Liv. 4.6.r; 8.33.ro;
Quint. 6.2.4 (who refers to oratio continua); Tac. Hist. 4. 7; andAnn. 4. 8. Cícero also
uses the designation oratio perpetua for a speech that is not intermpted by the taking
o{evidence and the testimony of witnesses; cf. In Verr. !.33.2-4; I.55.rr-I2; and
2.r.24. Rhetoricians make a division between two types of speech: oratio perpetua
(continua), which is the sphere of rhetoric, and oratio concisa, which is proper to
philosophical dialectic ( question and answer); Cf. Cíe. De Fin. 2.r7; Quint. 2.20.7;
andSen.Ep. 89.r7.
r4. On interlocutors in the Fasti, see Rutledge ( r980) 322-3r; J. F. Miller
(r982) 400-r3, (r983) r56-92; andNewlands (r995) 5r-86.
r5. On transitions, see Lafaye ( r97r) 82-84; Castiglioni ( r9o6) 365-74; F. J.
Miller (r92r) 464-76; Schnuchel (r922); Klimmer (r932); Schmidt (r938);
Steiner (r958) 227-30; Wilkinson (r958) 23r-4r; Frécaut (r968); Galinsky
(r975) 99-ro3; Herter (r983) 3r5-338; andSolodow (r988) 4r-46.
r6. E.g., Ludwig (r965) r3; Otis (r970) 8o-8r; Mack (r988) rr2; Cameron
(r995) 360. For more balanced appraisals, cf. Herter (r968) 348-50; Doblhofer
(r96o) 78n. 4; Galinsky (r975) 99-ro3; andSolodow (r988) 26-28.
r7.SeeGrundySteiner (r958) 2r8andn. 3;Tissol (r997) indexs.v. "Regio";
on Regio's printed editions, cf. Grundy Steiner ( r95r) 229-3!.
r8. For the usual examples, see Lafaye (r97r) 8r-82; Galinsky (r975) 85;
Kenney (r986) xxviii-xxix; Mack (r988) ro9-rr; Solodow (r988) 29.
r 9. On chronological inconsistency as a deliberate technique of learned poetry,
cf. C. Weber (r983) andO'Hara (r994) 209-ro.
20. Cf. RE Suppl. 6. r240; Ludwig ( r965) 78; OCD 3 s.v. "Castor of Rhodes?'
2r. For recent discussion of the chronological inconsistency ofNuma meeting
Pythagoras, cf. Knox (r986) 66-67; Myers (r994a) r36-37; and Galinsky (r998).
22. Here it is possible, as Knox ( r986: 66-67) points out, that Ovid introduces

230 Notes to pages 127-138
another anachronism: Dionysius of Halicarnassus (Ant. Rom. 2.59.3) points out
that the foundation of Croton in 704 B.C. occurred four years after Numa's acces-
sion to kingship.
23. Cf. the commentators Bomer, Haupt and Ehwald ( 1966), Kenney ( 1986)
onMet. 2.296. ContrastGrimal (1958) 247.
24. The lines in question are modeled onAen. 8.135-36 "Electram maximus
Atlas 1 edidit, aetherios umero qui sustinet orbis" ("Mightiest Atlas, who supports
the heavenly sphere on his shoulder, begat Electra"), wherein Aeneas explicitly
refers to Atlas as Electra's father andas an ancestor ofhis and Evander's. For Vergil's
transference of the sense of axis (''world-axis") to caelum ("sky"), which Ovid
follows, see P. R. Hardie ( 1983).
25. Nonnus includes the same humanizing detail in his Phaethon episode:
Atlas squats on his hams and is hunched like a struggling weightlifter (Dion.
38.352-53). This image could derive from a Hellenistic source that both Ovid and
Nonnus imitated. On the question of Ovid, Nonnus, and lost Hellenistic sources,
see Knox (1988) 536-51.
26. Confundo (literally "pour together") alludes to the Stoic etymology of
chaos from the Greek verb xéro ("pour"); cf. Zeno, SVF 1.29; Plut. Mor. 955e;
Bomer onMet. 1.24; and Helzle ( 1993) 129.
27. Iapetionides appears nowhere else in Latin literature and appears to be
modeled on Hes. Theog. 528; cf. 543; 559; 614; and W&D 54.
28. The inspiration for this mythic variant is probably a passage in Book 4 of
theAeneid, in which Vergil presents a strangely humanizing description of Mount
Atlas (4.246-51). Vergil starts from the premise that Atlas is a mountain, but then
personifies him as an old man describing his shoulders, chin, beard. Ovid presents a
mythic explanation for Vergil's description. See Serv. onAen. 4.246ff., who refers to
Ovid's account; cf. alsoAustin (1955) onAen. 4.250. OCD 3 s.v. "Atlas" suggeststhat
there might be a fifth-century Greek version of this myth (PMG 847); cf. LIMC s.v.
''Atlas" for a Greek vase (c. 450 B. C.), which appears to represent Atlas as a witness
to the beheading of Medusa by Perseus.
29. Cf. P. R. Hardie (1995) 213, who quotes lines 15.147-49, but suppresses
the final half-line that refers to the shoulders of Atlas because it does not fit his
thesis: "Pythagoras' ecstatic fancy that he wanders through the stars is close to
Ovid's prophecy of his own celestial destination in the epilogue to the poem?'
30. Cf. Hor.Ep. 2.1 andChrist (1938) 134-35.
31. For hot debate over this error, see scholia onll. 13.658-59.
32. On Ovid and Homeric scholarship, see M. Lausberg ( 1983); Wheeler
( 1995a) 97-98; Fantham ( 1996) 6.
33· Cf. Plin. Nat. Hist. 29.60; for further discussion of the aetiological signifi-
cance of the weasel, see Myers ( 1994a) 32-33.
34· For the standard chronology, which is followed by Callimachus in the
He~ale, see C. Weber ( 1983) 264-66; however, as he shows ( 267-70), both Apol-
loruus and Catullus create chronological contradictions by making the story of
Theseus and Ariadne antedate the Argonautica. Ovid manages to learnedly incor-
porate both the Callimachean and the Apollonian-Catullan chronologies in the
Metamorphoses.
Notes to pages 140-145 231
Chapter 6. Directions to the Audience
1. The Ovidian narrator does not use the first person singular as often as one
might expect; cf. 2.214; 3.569; 6.561; 15.857.
2. For discussion of Homer's usage, see Frankel ( 1968) 442 n. 206; Block
( 1982) 13-14; Scully ( 1986) 138-39 n. 6; de Jong ( 1989) 54-60; Richardson
(1990) 76-77, 174-78; Edwards (1991) 2; andByre (1991) 215-19.
3· Irelyon thelistofByre ( 1991: 219-20 ), whoinvestigatesthenarratological
implications of Apollonius's adaptation of the Homeric second person; one should
also consult the remarks ofFrankel (1968) 100-101 andn. 193; 441-42 andn. 206;
473, as well as those ofBeye ( 1982) 25-27 and Hunter ( 1993) 132 and n. II9.
4. Luc. 1.492, "credas"; 8.147, "putares"; 9.4II-12, "credere ... velis"; 9.412,
"sequaris?' Housman ( 1970) emends the text of 7. 335 "locasset'' to "locasses" and
argues that the generic second person is not below the sublimity of heroic epic;
however, the verb "locasses" does not fit the pattern of epic usage, either in diction
or in tense.
5. Stat. Theb: 3.253, "credas" (cf. 5.338; 6.457; 6.596; 7.18; and 12.792);
4.829, "putes" ( cf. 5.145; 7.599; 8.156; 8.462; 9.218; 9.337; 10.560; 10.917; and
12.462); 6.II6, "invenias"; 7.528, ''videres"; 10.169, "putares?' I have found no
comparable examples in theAchilleid.
6. Sil. Pun: 1.622 "cernas" (cf. Verg. Aen. 4.401); 2.430, "credas" (4.85;
9.445; 12.666; 14.129; 15 .389; 16.56o; and 17.44).
7. Claud. De Rapt. 2.29 "putes"; 2.124, "credas" ( cf. 2.374).
8. Itis possible toread "respicias" at Val. Fl. 4.184, butrecent editors (Court-
ney and Ehlers in their respective Teubner editions) prefer Madvig's emendation
"per piceas" as a solution to the corrupt paradosis "respiceas?'
9. Cf. Curtius (1938) 231 n. 5; (1960) 8, 143; (1962) 13; and (1990) 443-44·
Dante was the first epic poet to break with this tradition and address his audience as
"reader"; cf. Auerbach ( 1967) .
1o. The Byzantine commentator Eustathius goes farther than his ancient coun-
terparts in calling the figure "an apostrophe to the listener" ( Comm. on Hom. Il.
2.28.n-13). He argues that there are two levels of address: fictionally speaking
(¡..t:u8tK&~), the Muse addresses the poet; in reality (aA.118&~), the poet addresses his
listener (2.28.15-18; cf. 1.736.6-9). Although the bT-scholia and Eustathius agree
in using the term apostrophe for generalizing second person address, I prefer to
avoid confusion with apostrophe to characters in the story-world; for further discus-
sion of the terminological problem, see Appendix B.
11. On ena1lJeia in rhetorical and literary theory, see Zanker ( 1981 ) ; Meijering
(1987) 29-52; Vasaly (1993) 19-20, 89-104; sources are collected in Lausberg
(1960) s.v. evidentia, §§810-19, pp. 399-407; for discussions of ena1lJeia in histo-
riography, cf. Woodman ( 1988) 25-28 and index s.v. ''vivid description;" in Roman
landscape description, Leach (1988) 10-18 andpassim.
12. Cf. Theocritus 1.42, where is described in Homeric fashion the image of a
fisherman on a cup: "you would suppose ( <paÍa~ K<X) that he fishes with all the
strength of his linibs?' After Apollonius and Theocritus, such second person appeals
become conventional in the ecphrasis of a work of art.
232 Notes to pages 145-153
13. Cf. Beye (1982) 25; Hunter ( 1993) 132; and Gilmartin ( 1975) 109-10 and
n. 30.
14. Cf. Richardson ( 1990) 174-75. The verb <1'11!-LÍ in the Homeric formula
usually means "deem, suppose, think" ( cf. Schol. A onll. 17. 366; Cunli:ffe ( 1980)
s.v. 7; LSJ s.v. II.b.
15. Cf. Beye (1982) 25; contrastFra.nkel (1968) 473 andByre (1991) 221.
16. Hunter (1993: 132) observes thatApollonius imitatesJ/. 4.429-30: o'ÓOÉ
KE <pa.ÍT\<; 1 'tÓcrcrov 'Aaov enecr8m ("you would not think that so great an army
followed"). But there is a second Homeric model for the syntactic structure of the
comparison. In her speech to Helen, Aphrodite describes the appearance of Paris as
foliows: ov8é Ke cpaÍ'T]q 1 clVOpt ¡..ta.XEO'O'<Í¡..tEVOV '"CÓV y EA8etV, clAAfx XüpÓVOE (J/.
3.392-93, ''you would not have thought he carne from a fight with aman, but that
he was going toa dance"). For bird imagery in similes, cf. Hom. Il. 2.459-63.
17. Vergil's use of this device is relatively infrequent in the rest of his corpus.
Only one comparable example occurs in the Eclogues. Vergil invites his audience to
visualize the magical effect that the song of Silenus has upon its auditors: "tum vero
in numerum Faunosque ferasque videres 1 ludere'' ( 6.27-28, "then indeed you
would have seen Fauns and wild beasts dancing to the rhythm"). Macrobius s. 14.9
cites G. 1. 387 as an imitation of Homer: "et studio incassum videas gestire lavandi"
( "and you would see them (se. swans) vainly fulfilling their passion to bathe") ; but
this is clearly a variation on Varro Atacinus: "liceat ... cernere inexpletas studio
certare lavandi" (fr. 22.1-2 Morel = fr. 14. r -2 Courtney) and is perfectly in keeping
with the didactic second person address.
18. Given the realization of Dido's perspective, it is possible to re-read the
simile of the ants from her perspective; on the ants as an image of martial rapacity,
which intimates the sack of Carthage, cf. Lyne (1987) 19 and n. 41 and Putnam
( 1995) 67-68.
19. For discussion of these examples, cf. Clausen ( 1987) 158 n. 67 and Wood-
man ( 1989) 141-42.
20. For theory and terminology, see Genette ( 1980) 161-2n, especially 185-
89; Rimmon-Kenan (1983) 71-85; andBal (1985) 100-15.
21. See above Chapter 4, n. 19.
22. On the description of metamorphosis, cf. Quirin ( 1930); Hollis ( 1970)
xv-xvii; Kenney (1973) 142-45; Haege (1976); Barkan (1986) 19-27; andMyers
(1994a) 30-40.
23. For second person appeal at the moment of metamorphosis, cf. 4-559
(companions oflno); 5.429, 437 (Cyane); 6.667 (Procne and Philomela); 11.84
(Maenads); 1I.II4, 126 (Midas); afterametamorphosis: 5.193-94 (Nileus); 7-791
(hound of Cephalus) 14.648, 650 (Vertumnus).
24. Cf. 11. 126, "fusile per rictus aurum :fluitare videres" ("you would have seen
liquid gold :flowing through his mouth"), wherein Midas attempts to drink wine.
25. Here one might compare Ovid's use of authenticating expressions such as
"they say'' ( "ferunt'') to give invented stories ( cf. 1. 1s8) the patina of traditionality.
On this technique in Vergil, cf. Horsfall ( 1990) and ( 1991) 33-34.
26. On the textual problems in 11.83-84, see Bomer ad loe. In 11.83, I prefer
the medieval variant "porrectaque" to the paradosis "longos quoque" ( read by
Notes to pages 153-r6o 233
Anderson) . In 11. 84, the variant "fallare" is superior to the paradosis "fallere" ( read
by Anderson) because it is Ovid's habit to use the generalizing subjunctive rather
than the future; the latter occurs only twice in the future-less-vivid conditions at
3.141-42 and 15.292-93.
27. Ovid uses the word in this sense at 14.630 ("bracchia compescit'') in the
context of Pomona's tree-pruning.
28. On Ovid's technique of repeating the same verb in a different sense, see
Schwaller ( 1987) 201-6.
29. Ovid refrains from exploiting the device in the first two ecphrases of the
poem: the doors of the palace of the sun ( 2.5-19) and the tapestry of Minerva
( 6. 70-102). The fourth and final ecphrasis of the poem, the ecphrasis of the cup of
Alcon, begins with a second person appeal: "urbs erat, et septem posses ostendere
portas" ( 13. 68 s, "there was a city, and you could point out its seven gates") . Here
the audience is prompted to identify the city of Thebes by its most famous charac-
teristic.
30. Cf. Anderson (1972) onMet. 6.104; Solodow (1988) 2o8; Leach (1988)
444; and Harries ( 1990) 68.
31. Cf. Rosati (1983) 140; Barkan (1986) n; and Mack (1988) 103. On
metamorphic forms as works of art, see Solodow ( 1988) 203-14.
32. SeeBomeronMet. 2.855 andRosati (1983) 70-71.
33· For the use of the verb miratur in ecphrases, cf. Verg. Aen. I.4Ss-s6,
"artificumque manus intrase operumque laborem 1 miratur" and 8.729-30 "talia
per clipeum Volcani, dona parentis, 1 miratur?'
34. Cf. Elsner ( 1991) 160.
35. Cf. Od. 19.562-67; Verg.Aen. 6.893-98; and O'Hara ( 1996a) 182-83.
36. This version is reported by Arnobius (Adv. Nat. 6.22) and Clement of
Alexandria (Protr. 4.51), whose source is the Cypriaca of Philostephanus, a student
ofCallimachus. Fordetails, see Otis (1970) 418. J. M. Miller (1988: 205), however,
makes the case that Philostephanus's story was distorted by the Christian apologists
and that it was originally an aetion of the hieros gamos of the island's king and its
goddess.
37. Cf. Y:r. 1.2.19-20 "quanti montes volvuntur aquarum! 1 iam iam tacturos
sidera summa putes" (''What great mountains of water roll! At any time now you
would think that they will touch the stars") .
38. See Bomer onMet. 11.517; cf. 11.497-98, ":fluctibus erigitur caelumque
aequare videtur 1 pontus" ("the sea is raised wave upon wave and seems to reach the
sky''). For second person appeal used to soften hyperbolic statements, cf. Mayer
(1981) on Luc. 8.147. On hyperbole, see P. R. Hardie's useful discussion (1986)
241-54·
39. Cf.Aen. 1.103 ":fluctusque ad sidera tollit''; for another wave that reaches
heaven, cf. Eur. Hipp. 1206-8. On the mixing of sea and heaven, cf.Aen. 5.790-91;
Musaeus, Hero and Leander 315; and P. R. Hardie (1986) 94 and n. 26 (with
references to ~ate Greek epic) .
40. On Vergilian imitation of Apollonius, see Nelis (forthcoming, 1999).
41. A close parallel to "scires a sanguine natos" appears in the Fasti, where Ovid
invites the audience to confirm the paternity of Romulus and Remus: "Marte satos
234 Notes to pages r 62- r 72
scires: timor afuit, ubera ducunt'' (F. 2.419, "you would have known that they were
sons of Mars: fear was absent, and they pulled her teats") ; cf. A m. 1. 13.47 "iurgia
finieram; scires audisse: rubebat'' ("I had finished my complaints; you would have
known thatshe [se. Dawn] hadheard: shewas blushing");Her. 16.78, 16.270, 21.4.
See also McKeown (1989) onAm. 1.13.47-48 and Kenney (1996) onHer. 16.78.
For scires in satirical prose, cf. Petr. 91.1 and Sen. Apoc. 12.r. Basic discussion of
Ovid's diction in theMetamorphoses can be found in Bomer ( 1959); Kenney ( 1973)
120-28; andKnox (1986) 27-47.
Chapter 7. The Danger ofDisbelief
1. I am grateful to Jennifer Ebbeler for conducting the research on this ques-
tion and for graphing the results book by book.
2. Ovid's audience would have recognized a Varronian separation (Theologia
tripertita) between the gods of Greek myth and the gods of the Roman state reli-
gion; cf. Lieberg ( 1973). However, when Ovid makes pietas a subject of his mythic
narrative, he also strikes the political and religious keynote of Augustan ideological
discourse, blurring the division between the mythic and civic theologies. Cf. Ov.Ars
r.637-42, wherein Ovid affects belief in the existence of the gods and the utility of
cult.
3· Tr. 2.64; 4-7-II-2o;Am. 3.6.17-18; 3.12.21-42; cf. Frankel ( 1945) 180 n.
90; McKeown ( 1979); and Feeney ( 1991) 224-29.
4. Cf. Hinds (1988) 23-26 and Bretzigheimer ( 1993), especially 23 and 72.
5. The question of Ovid's political commitment to the regime has received
three kinds of answer: for Ovid as panegyrist, see G. W Williams (1978) 83-96; as
unconcerned with politics, see Galinsky (1975) 251-61; asan anti-Augustan, see
Segal ( 1969b). A survey of the secondary literature on the question can be found in
Schmitzer ( 1990) 1-12.
6. On the Callimacheanism of the banquet and its tales, see Hollis ( 1970) 98-
99 andpassim onMet. 8.547-884; Crabbe (1981) 2288-90; andMyers (1994a) 90-
92.
7. For the philosophical underpinnings of Pirithous's objection, cf. Hollis
( 1970) onMet. 8.615.
8. Cf. Gamel (1984) 129; Solodow (1988) 65; andMyers (1994a) 93.
9. For a more detailed discussion ofbelief and disbelief in ancient fiction, see
Feeney ( 1993).
1o.AsHollis (1970: onMet. 8.6rr-I2) notes, thephrase"contemptordivum"
may allude to the myth of Pirithous's attempt to abduct Persephone from Hades.
Pirithous's attitude also foreshadows Achelous's tale ofErysichthon, who is likewise
a Mezentian despiser of the gods ( 8. 739-40) andan outrageous villain on the order
of Jupiter's Lycaon in Book 1.
11. As the scene unfolds, it becomes clear that Ovid's treatment of the concilium
deorum also may have antecedents in satire, especially Lucilius's Concilium Deorum,
which deals with the fate of L. Cornelius Lentulus Lupus. For an overview of the
different traditions that lie behind Ovid's treatment of the concilium deorum, see
Notes to pages r 72- r 76 235
Bretzigheimer ( 199 3) 26-3 1; on the Lucilian connection, cf. Ahl ( 198 5) 95-97 and
Degl'Innocenti Pierini ( 1987).
12. Ovid combines the divine assembly atAeneid 10.1-5 with Evander and
Aeneas's tour of the site ofRome inAeneid 8.337-58; cf. Galinsky ( 1975) 19r.
13. Suet.Aug. 29.3; cf. Bomer onMet. r.177-8r. On Ovid's possible allusion
to Augustus's right to convene the Senate at any time, see Bretzigheimer ( 1993) 59-
6o.
14. Bomer onMet. 1.178. In the Fasti, Ovid describes the partitioning of the
Palatine as follows: "Phoebus habet parte, Vestae pars altera cessit: 1 quod superest
illis, tertius ipse [se. Augustus] tenet'' (F. 4.951-52, "Phoebus occupies part of the
house; another part has been given to Vesta; the remaining third part the master
Himself occupies").
15. Cf. Bretzigheimer (1993: 60-61 and 72) who argues againstMüller (1987)
277; see also Wallace-Hadrill ( 1982) 28.
16. On the possible echo of Cato the Elder, see Ahl ( 1985) 76.
17. For the metaphor, see Bomer onMet. 1.190 and Bretzigheimer ( 199 3) 31-
32; 61-62. Different readings are attested for 1.190. "Cuneta prius temptata" is
preferred by sorne editors in the first half line ( e.g. Haupt and Ehwald 1966 and
Anderson). I prefer the reading of "temptanda:' arguments for which can be found
in Lee ( 1953) 149-50.
18. Cf. Ahl ( 1985) 78; Anderson ( 1989) 93-94; the passage is misread by
G. W Williams (1978) 91.
19. Bernbeck ( 1967: 54-55) points out that interna! narrators frequently make
appeal to their audience's foreknowledge of a tale- for example, the crow's "nota
loquor" ( 2.570) - but that the same appeal also functions as communication be-
tween the poet and his audience to indicate that the story in question is traditional;
cf. Keith ( 1992) 29-3 I.
20. Onnondum phrases andfuture participles, see Solodow (1988) 61-64 and
Keith (1992) 45-46n. 1I.
2r. For a different view of"nondum vulgata:' see Bretzigheimer ( 1993) 67.
22. Vergil's literary discrimination echoes the Callimachean slogan <HXK<XÍvro
náv'ta 'ta 01l!J,Ócrta (Epigr. 28.4, "I hate all things public"), which Horace translates
"odi profanum vulgus et arceo" (Odes 3.r.1, "I hate and ward off the profane
masses"); cf. Thomas ( 1988) on G. 3.4.
23. Mentions of plots againstAugustus can be found in Sen. Clem. r.9.6; Suet.
Aug. 19; Plin. 7.149; andDio 55.4.3, 14.1; fordiscussion, seeKienast (1982) 66, 87,
106, rr1-13, 120-21; for further bibliography, see Bretzigheimer (1993) 59 n. 138.
24. See Lee (1953) and Bomer onMet. r.2oo; Due (1974) 71-72; and G. W
Williams (1978) 91. For the phenomenon of an ambiguous reference to Julius
Caesar andAugustus in Vergil'sAeneid r.286-96, see O'Hara ( 1990) 155-63.
25. See Feeney (1991) 199 and n. 41, although the argument for Augustus
does not begin with Due ( 1974) 71-72, as he states, but can be traced at least as far
back as Regio ( 1493); other scholars who favor Augustus include Heinze ( 1970)
315 and n.8; Lee (1953) onMet. r.2oo; Dopp (1968) 106 n. 13; Bomer onMet.
r.2oo; Herter (1982) 1rr; Solodow (1988) 56; Anderson (1989) 93; Schmitzer
( 1990) 77-78; and Bretzigheimer ( 1993) 67-68. Those who favor a reference to
 Notes to pages r76-r89
Julius Caesar include Haupt and Ehwald ( 1966) onMet. 1.201ff.; Wilkinson ( 1955)
223-24; Ludwig ( 1965) 89 n. 18; Buchheit ( 1966) 89; Otis ( 1970) 99, 304; Little
(1972) 393; Galinsky (1975) 252; Davis (1980) 127-29; Nicoll (1980) 179; Ahl
( 1985) 78-81; Knox ( 1986) 18; Hill ( 1985) 176; and Ginsberg ( 1989) 228-29.
26. Due (1974: 71-72) favors the conspiracy ofFannius Caepio (and Varro
Murena) in 23 B. C.; Schrnitzer ( 1990: 79-89) opts for Iullus Antonius in 2 B. c.; cf.
Bretzigheimer ( 1993) 70.
27. Seven of nineteen examples of apostrophe in the !liad come at the conclu-
sion of asimile; see Henry ( 1905) 7-8.
28. Suet. Aug. 89.3 "recitantis et benigne et patienter audiit, nec tantum car-
mina et historias, sed et orationes et dialogos" ("He listened politely and patiently
to those who read their works publicly, not only of poetry and history, but of
speeches and dialogues as well").
29. Cf. Verg. G. 1.24-42; 1.503-5; and4.559-62. Frequentlyitis observed that
Ovidnot only imitates the statesman simile inAen. 1.148-53, but also makes explicit
who is meant bythe unnamed virgravis; cf. Galinsky (1975) 191 and Knox (1986)
17.
30. On impartiality as a criterion for truthfulness, see Woodman ( 1988) 73-
74, and index s. v. "truth, impartiality."
31. This is not the Vergilian Arcadia, much less the pastoral Arcadia of the Ital-
ian and English Renaissance. On the signi:ficance of Arcadia in Vergil, see Jenkyns
( 1989) and Clausen ( 1994) 289-90; cf. Kennedy ( 1987).
32. On the razing ofthe house and exile in Roman society, cf. Plut. Cic. 47; in
Greek society, see the testimonia and discussion of Connor (1985) 79-102, espe-
cially 83-84.
33. Ahl (1985: 72) observes that when Lycaon flees and reaches the "silentia
ruris" ( 1.232, "the silence of the countryside"), his howling, "exulutat'' ( 1.233),
contains the word exul ("exile").
34. See 3.253-55 and4.272-73; cf. Hom.Il. 4.20-24 and Verg.Aen. 10.96-97.
35. For this phenomenon in recitations of the Imperial period, see Bartsch
(1994),especially63-97; cf. WoodmanandMartin (1996) onTac.Ann. 3·53·!.
36. Ovid's source for the story is the HomericHymn to Dionysus, in which there
is an anonymous pilot who protests against the impious behavior of the Tyrrhenian
sailors. This is a perfect example of Ovid's technique of varying an epic model by
putting it in the mouth of a character who retells it in the first person. Ovid also wed
this narrative to the framework of the Euripidean interview between Bacchus and
Pentheus in the Bacchae. Acoetes could thus be identi:fied with the god Bacchus, as
commentators suggest, on the basis of 3.658-59. If one believes that Acoetes is
Bacchus, Pentheus's disbelief is in sorne sense justi:fied because Bacchus-Acoetes is a
liar.
37. Kenney ( 1986: :x:x:viii) observes that the summary version of the Daphnis
story ( 4.276-8), dismissed as well-known, is an obscure version.
38. Here I adopt the reading "miracula" in sorne MSS, instead of "oracula"
( read by Anderson); cf. Bomer onMet. s. 181.
39. On the problem of free speech in the Fasti, see also Feeney ( 1992).
40. Zumwalt (1977) 216-17 andMack (1988) 128-31.
Notes to pages r90-r98 237
41. For predictions of Augustus's apotheosis in earlier literature, cf. Verg. G.
1.24-42 and Hor. Odes 1.2.45-52.
42. On the conspicuous absence of a reference to the aeternitas of Rome, and
the implication of its eventual fall, see Anderson ( 1963) 27; Segal ( 1970) 288;
R. Coleman (1971) 473; Curran (1972) 78-79; Due (1974) 66-67, 163; Galinsky
( 1975) 44; Zumwalt ( 1977) 218-19; Lateiner ( 1984) 22; and Solodow ( 1988) 168.
For a different view, cf. J. F. Miller ( 1994) 486-87.
43· Cf. Frankel (1945) 224 n. 94 and Barchiesi ( 1997) 187-88. Feeney (1991:
209, 225) suggests that the Muses are the lost 11th book of Livy.
44. In comparable fashion, the Ovidian Mars (Met. 14.813-14; cf. F. 2.487-
88) remembers the promise, made by Jupiter in Ennius'sAnnals, to make Romulus
a god: "unus erit, quem tu tolles in caerula caeli 1 templa" (Enn.Ann. 54-55, "there
will be one man, whom you will raise into the azure regions of the sky''). For further
discussion of these passages, see Conte ( 1986) 57-59.
45. Cf. Fowler (1997) 10. On Jupiter's speech in the Aeneid, see O'Hara
( 1990) 129-63.
Chapter 8. Translating Past into Present
I. Cf. Hinds ( 198 s), who argues that Ovid's strategy in the Tristia is to re-
write the "un:finished" Metamorphoses as an exile poem. However, Ovid clearly repre-
sents the Tristia as an episode that reopens and continues the end of the Meta-
morphoses. Not only is the idea of exile integral to the concept of metamorphosis ( cf.
Skulsky [ 1981]), but the closing books of theMetamorphoses are dominated by tales
of exiles, including Cipus who chooses an exile from Rome rather than become king
(15.565-621).
2. For mutability as a theme of growing interest in Augustan literature, see P.
R.Hardie (1992).
3. On linguistic translation as a process of transformation, see George Steiner
(1992).
4. The expropriation and subordination of the Hellenic heritage was a hall-
mark of the Republic, as Gruen ( 1992) argues. This process obviously did not end
with the backlash of Lucilian satire, but regained momentum in the late Republic
and Augustan age.
s. Cf.Met. 2.642and 15.744;Ars 1.173-74; andF. 2.683-84. Forthemotifof
urbisetorbis see Bréguet (1969); P. R. Hardie (1986) 364-66; andKeith (1992) 71-
73· On Romeas a world city, see Nicolet ( 1991) 29-56.
6. Cf. Segal (1969b) 275; Gassner (1972) 104-11.
7. The most comprehensive study of Ovid's Romanizing point of view is
Ebert ( 1888) 15-35; his thesis is weakened considerably, however, by his untenable
position that there is very little that is Greek in the poem; cf. von Albrecht ( 1981 b).
See K. M. Coleman ( 1990) for an exemplary study of how Ovid Romanizes his
Greek material with reference to Roman legal practice.
8. On this sort ofparody, see Branham (1989) 131-35.
9. Helzle (1993) 128 and 133 n. 42. Lee (1953: onMet. 1.61) comments on
 Notes to pages 198-208
Nabataea: "Ovid uses the word loosely for its poetical e:ffect. The Nabataeans did
not live very far east; they were an Arab people well-known as traders. Their main
city was Petra, which lies midway betweeen the Dead Sea and the Gulf of Akaba.
Through Petra carne caravans with Arabian spices, perfumes and precious stones, on
their way to Gaza or Damascus. In 25 B. C. the Nabataeans helped Aelius Gellius in
an expedition against Arabia Pelix."
10. Nabataea's first appearance in Roman literature is, in fact, in the Caesarian
prose account of the Alexandrian war: "equites ab rege N abataeorum Malcho evo-
cat'' (Bell.Alex. 1.1, "he summoned cavalry from Malchus, king of the N abataeans").
11. On Ovid's winds, see Wheeler ( 1995b).
12. Por further treatment of contemporary references, see Schmitzer ( 1990)
45-50, although sorne ofhis conclusions are highly speculative.
13. Cf. 9.241-61 (apotheosis ofHercules); 9.418-40 (gods complain about
aging heroes); 14.581-96 ( deificationofAeneas); 14.806-17 ( deificationofRomu-
lus); and 15.761-842 (deification ofJulius Caesar). Por discussion ofthe political
implications of these scenes, see Peeney ( 1991) 206-14.
14. ''Nuncquoque": 1.235 (N2 ); 2.706; 4.561; 4.6o2; 4.750; 4.802 (N2 ); 5.328
(N2 ); 5.677 (N2 ); 6.374 (N2 ); 7.467; 7.656; 9.226; 9.664; 10.160 (N2 ); 11.144;
13.622; 14.73. Cf. "etiam nunc" (6.312) and "nunc" (13.715). ''Adhuc": 2.255;
6.669; 8.719 (N2 ); 14.562; 14.760 (N2 ); 15.249 (N 2 ).Manere: 1.627; 3.399; 4.538;
9.320 (N2 ); 11.795; 14.759; 15.621. Cf. durare (10.218). These formulae are dis-
cussed by Solodow (1988) 176 and 249 n. 30; Myers (1994a) 66 n. 22; Schmidt
( 1991) 71 n. 8; and Tissol ( 1997) 197 n. 57.
15. See above Chapter 4, n. 22.
16. On elegiac conventions in the Pygmalion story, cf. Knox ( 1986) 53-54 and
Sharrock (1991) 36-39, especially 43-46. Griffin (1986:136-37) reads the same as
an allegory of Roman marriage.
17. Por the characterization of the gods as elegiac lovers, cf. Apollo in 1.452ff.
and Knox 1986: 13-17. Mercury primps for Herse (2.731-36) justas Ovid recom-
mends in theArsAmatoria; cf. Knox 1986:28.
18. Cf. Ov. F. 4.563-72, in which the geographical catalog of Ceres's wander-
ing ends with Ovid's apostrophe to the Tiber. On the conclusion of catalogs, with a
view to the future power of Rome, see Gassner ( 1972) 114.
19. Por a di:fferent interpretation of this simile, see Newlands ( 1986).
20. On lead pipes in Roman water supply, see Hodge (1992) 307-15; for
figures on Roman water consumption, cf. Lamprecht ( 1993) 98.
21. Allusions to the amphitheater suggest that Ovid's audience had a taste for
scenes of physical torture and cruelty; cf. Segal ( 1969a) 93.
AppendixA
r. Similar catalogs are found in Lafaye ( 1971: 249-50) and in Nagle ( 1989:
1o1-24) ; however, the former is incomplete and the latter is inaccurate.
2. On free indirect discourse, see Powler ( 1990).
3. Nagle ( 1989: 109) errs when she identifies the speaker as "nescio quis Lycia
Notes to pages 208-212 239
de gente" ( 6. 382) . The Latin reads "Sic ubi nescio quis Lycia de gente virorum 1
rettulit exitium" ( 6.382-83, "Thus when someone or other related the destruction
concerning the Lycian race of men").
3. This passage is presented by the poet-narrator in his own voice, even though
he says that the tale was told by someone at this anonymous storytelling session. It
could be that the poet himself is telling the story as though he were participating in
the fictional storytelling session. N agle ( 1989: 109) misreads the passage, thinking
that it is another Lycian who is telling the story.
4. The number of lines varies according to which of the two recensions one
follows. The two textual traditions are set out by Hollis ( 1970: 102-4). In his
recension A the story of Perimele is eleven lines; in his recension B it is twenty-one
lines.
5. There are two recensions at 8.693-94 and 8.696-99.
6. Most editors consider seven lines in this passage to be interpolated: 12.23o-
31 and 12.434-38.
AppendixB
r. Cf. Quint. 4.1.63 "sermonem a persona iudicis aversum, quae anocr-cpoqní
dicitur?' See also Hampel ( 1908) 8-9 and Lausberg ( 1960) § 762, pp. 372-73.
2. Por "apostrophe to the reader;' see Rosati (1983) 140-42, 145; cf. Laird
( 1993) 29.
3. Cf. Richardson ( 1990) 174-7 5.
4. There is an exceptional case in the Metamorphoses, in which Ovid tells his
characters Iphis and Telethusa to make o:fferings in temples. Not only do they
comply but Iphis composes a dedicatory hexameter (9. 791-94).
5. Cf. Lausberg (1960) §759, p. 376.
6. An exception is Henderson ( 1995) 101.
7. CF. Russell ( 1964) 144 and Gilmartin ( 1975).
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Williams, G. W. 1968. Tradition and Originality in Roman Poetry. Oxford.
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Acknowledgments
The book first took shape during a fall-semester leave from Penn State in
1995. I would like to thank the J?ean of the College of the Liberal Arts and
the Head of Classics and Ancient Mediterranean Studies for a release from
teaching. Thanks are also due to the Department of Classics of Princeton
University and to Elaine Fantham for making possible a research visit there
during that time. In early 1997, I completed the first draft of the book as a
visiting fellow in the Department of Classics and Ancient History at the
University of Durham. I am gtateful to Tony Woodman for arranging the
visit. I am also indebted to the University of Durham for a research grant
and to Víctor Watts, Master of Grey College, for the Sydney Holgate Fel-
lowship during Epiphany term. While I was researching and writing the
book, I benefited from the conversation and generosity of Jane Chaplin,
Andrew Ford, Philip Hardie, Richard Hunter, Christine Kraus, David
Levene, Michele Lowrie, John Moles, Damien Nelis, Peter Rhodes, Chris-
topher Rowe, Clemence Schultze, Niall Slater, and N eil Wright. Corre-
spondence with Niklas Holzberg and James O'Hara also has been invalu-
able. At various stages of the project, I have received critica! advice and
support from my Penn State colleagues- Philip Baldi, Patrick Cheney,
Fredrick De Armas, Robert Edwards, David Engel, Garrett Fagan, and
Paul Harvey. Audience members at University of California at Santa Bar-
bara and the North-East Classical Research Seminar (U.K.) have made
post-mortem comments on oral presentations of two chapters that were
most helpful. Mary Bellino and Paula Debnar helped revamp the title of
the book. During different phases of the book's growth, W. S. Anderson,
Jennifer Ebbeler, Elaine Fantham, Joseph Farrell, Garth Tissol, and Tony
Woodman generously offered responses, corrections, and other marginalia
that have improved it immeasurably. My last debt of gratitude is reserved
for my family and friends, who reminded me when it was time to finish.
 Index Locorum
Apollodoms,Bibliotheca 3.194: 52
Apollonius Rhodius,A127onautica r. 182-84:
159; 1.558: 138; 1.725-26: 145; 1.765-67:
145, 155; 3.1265-67: 145-46, 149; 4.238-
40: 146-47; 4.997: 146
Aristotle:Poetics 1451 a 16-21: 216n.42; 1453
a7-rr: 107; 1460a7-rr: 164, 186;Rhet0-
ric1415a12-14:28;1415a14-16:28
Arnobius,AdversusNationes 6.22: 233 n.36
Augustine, De Civitate Dei 18.2: 215 n.40
BellumAlexandnnum r.1: 238 n.1o
Callimachus:Aetia fr. r.1-6 Pfeiffer: 25; r.3:
25, 99; r.21-22: 44, s8; r.22: 219 n.28;
r.24: 26; 1.27-28: 14; fr. 75.53-56: 47; fr.
92.2-3: 47; fr. 496: 226 n.22; Bpigram-
mata 28.4: 235: n.22; LavacrumPalladis
97-102: 227 ll.34.
Cassiodoms, Institutiones 17: 215 n.40
Castor of Rhodes, Chronological Bpitome,
Fragmenta Graecorum Histoncorum 250:
126
Catullus, Carmina r.s-6: 126; 16.5-6: 68;
29.24: 199
Censorinus,DeDieNatali 21.1: 126
Cicero: De Finibus 2.17: 229 n. 13; De N at-
ura Deorum 31; De Republica 2.28-29:
127; Bpistulae adAttticum r.16.8: 229
n.13; Bpistulae adFamiliares 5.12.2-6: 22;
5.12.4:215 n.39;In Verrem 1.33.2-4:229
n.13; r.ss.rr-12: 229 n.13; 2.1.24: 229
n. 1 3; Pro Archia 18: 61; Tusculanae Dis-
putationes 4.2: 127
Claudian,DeRaptuProserpina 2.29: 231 n.7;
2.124: 231 ll.7
Clement Alexandrinus, Protrepticus 4.51: 23 3
ll.36
Diodoms Siculus,Library ofHistory 1.3.6:
22; 1.3.8: 22; 3.60.1-3: 135; 4.1.2: 126;
4.1.4: 126; 5.23.4: 202
Dionysius ofHalicarnassus,Antiquitates Ro-
manae 2.59.3: 229-30 n.22
Donatus, Vita Ve127ilii 22-24: 64; 26: 35; 27:
37;32: 37;105-9: 176
Ennius,Annales 12 Skutsch: 6o; 54-55: 237
n.44; 206-7: 6o; 209: 6o;
Eustathius,Adiliadem 1.736.6-9: 211;
2.28.II-I3, 15-18: 2II, 231 n.10
Floms, Bpitoma Bellorum OmniumAnnorum
DCC,praefatio r.1: 215 n.39; 3.12.3: 215
ll.40
Gellius, Aulus,NoctesAtticae 18.5: 61;
18.9.5: 218 n.22
Hesiod: Theogony 22-35: 49,225 n.14;
517-20: 132; 528: 230 n.27; 746-48:
132; CatalogueofWomenfr. 234M-W: 226
n.22
Hirtius, Bellum Gallicum 8,praefatio 2: 215
ll.39
Homer: !liad r.1: 43; 2.144-46: 158; 3.220:
144; 3.392-93: 232 n.16; 4.223-25: 143,
147; 4.429-30: 232 n.16; 5.576-79: 135-
36; 13:658-59: 135-36; 15.697-98: 144;
Bk. 16: 1rr; 17.43-60: 191; 18.489: 128;
20.228-29: 159; Odyssey r.1: 43; 1.26-43:
171; 1.351-52: 14; 5.275: I28
HomencHymn toApollo: 169-76: 96
Homenc Hymn to Dionysus: 236 n. 36
Horace: Ars Poetica 1 36ff.: 216 n.42; 146-
48: 21; 146-47: 216 n.42; Bp. 1.14.8-9:
214n.8; Odes 3.1.1: 235 n.22; 3.30: 68;
3.30.13-14: 196
Hyginus,Fabulae 150: 132; 171: 226n.33
Livius Andronicus, Odyssia 1: 218 n.22
Livy,Ab Urbe Condita,praefatio r.1: 22;
praef. r.9: 22, 24; r.18.2-5: 127; 4.6.1: 229
n.13; 6.I.1: 215 ll.39; 8.33.10: 229 n.13
262 Index Locorum
"Longinus;' On the Sublime r6.2: 2rr; 26.r-
3: !42-43, 2!!
Lucan,DeBello Civili r.492: 23r n.4; 7-335:
23! ll.4; 8.!47= 23! ll.4; 9-4!!-!2: 23! ll.4
Lucilius, ConciliumDeorum: 234-35 n.rr
Lucretius,De&rumNatura r.24: 62;
!.!02-6: 63; !.!07: 63; I.I!7-I8: !96;
!.!20-26: 63; !.!36-45: 62; !.!42: 62;
!.823-29: 62-63; !.926-27 ( =4.!-2):
2!4ll.I7; 2.260: 2I4n.8; 3.44: 2!3-!4
n.7; Bk. s: 2r; 5.548: 2r; 5.925-26: 225-
26u.22
Macrobius, Saturnalia s.r4.9: I4I, 232 n.r7
Martial, Epigrammata r r. r 07. r: 92
Naevius, CarmenBelliPunici: 70
Nonnus,Dionysiaca 5.3osff.: 226 n.33;
38.352-53: 230 n.25
Ovid:Amores r.r.r-2: 9; 2.r.rrff.: I7
ArsAmatoria r.3o: r6; r.225: r98-99;
2.r28: 74; 3.329: 225 n.rs; 3.345: 36
Fasti r.r: 25; r.r-2: 43; r.7-rr: 97; r.ro:
44; I.II-!2: 45; !.!9: 44; !.20: 44;
r.3r: 97; r.45: 97; r.49: 97; r.6r-62:
45-46; !.63: 97; !.75: 97; !.93-94: 45;
!.285: 97; !.289: 47; !.3!5: 97; !.3!8:
97; r.590: 97; r.s9r: 97; r.6r6: r35;
r.63r: 97; r.6s7-62: 47; r.6s8: 47;
!.723-34: 47
Fasti 2.r-r8: 225 n.rr; 2.r-2: 47; 2.7: 47;
2-73-78: 46; 2.!27...:.44: 98; 2.4!9: 233-
34ll-4I; 2.863-64:47
Fasti 3.87-96: 45; 3.429: 47; 3-459-5!6:
46; 3-7!!-!2: 46
Fasti 4.8r-84: 97; 4.!65-78: 46; 4-377-
86: 46; 4-457-sS: 226 n.22; 4.625-26:
46; 4.627-28: 46; 4.95r-s2: 235 n.r4
Fasti s.r59-82: 46; s.r83-378: 46; 5.72r-
22: 47; 5-727: 47
Fasti 6.59-63: 45; 6.!97-98: 46; 6.2r9-
34: 46; 6.649: 47
Heroides rr.2: 53-54
Metamorphoses r.r-4: 8-30; r.r: 8-9, rr-
r6, r8, 2r, 4I, r82; r.2-3: r6-2o, 99,
rro, rr7; r.3-4: 20-30; r.4: 4I, so, 99,
r24; r.s-4sr: 3o; r.s-6:48; r.9: 3r, 32;
!.2!: 30; !.25: 3!, 32; !.35: !23; !.59:
r98; r.6r-62: r98; r.76-86: 30; r.76-
77: I74; !.79: 30; r.82: roo; r.89-rso:
Index Locorum
Metamorphoses 4.33: r82; 4.53: r82; 94; ro.ro6-42: rs6; ro.r43-44: 94;
32; r.89-ror: ro6-7; r.ror-2: 33; !28-
4.!22-24: 204; 4-!90-270: !82-83; ro.r48-783: ro3; ro.2o4-s: ss;
so: I99; r.r3r: 32; r.rsr-62: 32; r.rs8:
4-27!-73= !83; 4-276: !82; 4.287: !82; ro.2o6-8: ss; ro.2rs-r6: ss; ro.2so-
232n.25; r.r6o-62: ror, ro2, ro3;
4-297-300: !57; 4-349: 204; 4-354-55: 53: rss; ro.252-69: 202; ro.263: 2o2;
!.!62: I59-6o; !.!63-243: !29, I7I;
204; 4-4!6-542: !52; 4-46!: !69; 4-465: ro.595-96: 204; ro.srs-r6: 204;
r.r63-64: r6r; r.r64: r75; r.r66: r72;
!69; 4-543-62: !52; 4-545-48: !52; ro.560-707: 223 n.29; ro.654-55: I59
r.r67: r72; r.r68-76: r72; r.r72-73:
4.559: r52, 232 n.23; 4.56r: r52; 4.6r4- Metamorphoses r !.25-:-27: 204; r r.67-84:
I73; !.!76: !76; I.I7T !73; !.!78: !73;
2o: r83; 4.62r-62: r33; 4.632: r33; rs3; rr.83-84: I53, 232-33 n.26;
r.r79-8o: r73-74; r.r82: I74; r.r88:
4-64!: !83; 4-642-48: !83; 4-644-45: !!.84: 232n.23; II.II4: 232n.23;
I74; !.!90-9!: !74; !.!90: 235 ll.I7;
234; 4-649-50: !83; 4-653-54: !34; rr.r26: n.23, n.24; rr.r94-205: r38;
!.92-93: I74;I.r98: !74-75; !.!99-
4.654-ss: r83; 4.657-62: r33; 4.709- !!.2!3-!7: !38; !!.2!2-!5: !35;
200: !74; !.200-205: !!2, !75-76, !99;
ro: 204; 4.765-803: r83-84; 4.765-66: !!.2!7-65: !38; !!.265: !38; !!.497-
r.204: 73,223 n.25; r.209-43: 32;
rrs; 4.770-7r: rrs; 4.772-73: r33; 98: 233 n.38; rr.sr7-r8: rs8; rr.7o6-
!.2!!-!8: !77-78; !.220-25: !78;
!.220-2!: !69-70; !.226-3!: !79; 4.780-8!: !84; 4-787: !33-34; 4-790- 7:55
9!: !!5;4-793-94: !!5 Metamorphoses !2.39-63: 56, r64; r2.ro2-
!.232-45: r8o; r.232-33: 236n.33;
Metamorphoses s.I-235= !89; s.r-!2: !84; 4: 204; !2.!77-SI; !2.2!0-535;
!.236: !99; !.242: !02; !.253-347: 32;
s.s-7: rs7; s.r78-8o: r84; s.rsr: r84, r2.536-77: r89; r2.542-56: r36
r.3r8-r9: rro-rr; r:323-26: r29;
236 n.38; 5.!93-94: rss, 232, n.2r; Metamorphoses r3.23-24: I37; !3.53-54:
!.348-4!5: 32; !.399-4!3: !03,200-
s.r95-97: r84; 5.2oo: rss; 5.269-678: r38; r3.397-98: ss; r3.399-403: r38;
20!; I.400-40I: ros; r.4oo: rro; I.4I4-
!03; 5-269-93: 82; 5-3!9-30: 82; !3.495: II3; !3.623-!4.608: !96;
rs: ro3, 2or; r.4r6-37: 32; r.438-44:
5-338-66r: Sr; 5.389: 204; 5.425-37: r3.685: 233 n.29;
33; !.438-39: II2; !.440-47: II2;
r52; 5.429: r52, 232 n.23; 5-437: I53, Metamorphoses r4.r-ro: r96; I4.I58-6o:
!.448-89: II2; !.450-SI: !07; !.452:
232 n.23; 5.576: r88; 5.577-64r: Sr, r96; r4.3I8-434: 223 n.29; !4.443-44:
I 88, 202; !.488-89: I !2; !.492-96: I 04;
r88; s.63r-33: r89 ss; r4.s8r-96: 238 n.r3; r4.707: 57;
!.557-59: 2or; r.s6o-64: 2or; r.s68-
Metamorphoses 6.7-23: r6o; 6.23: r6o; r4.8o6-r7: 238 n.r3
87: r25; r.597: rrr; r.649-50: so;
6.24-25: r6o; 6. 70- ro2: 232 n.29; Metamorphoses rs.9-59: r27; rs.r2-57:
r.6ss-s7: so; r.676-723: so-Sr; r.7oo-
6.!03-7: 224 ll.42; 6.!03-4: !54; !97; !5.23-57: !36!5.60-478: !90;
7I2: So; !.7!3: Sr; !.720-2!: II3;
6.3r3-8r: 223 n.29; 6.382-83: 238-39 rs.6o-74: r27; rs.6o-62: r97; rs.66-
!.722-23: II3, !30; !.734-46: !29;
n.2; 6.45!-54: ro4; 6.455-57= ro4; 67: !90; !5-73-74: !90; !97; !5-75-
!.774: 88; !.775: 89, 2I4n.7; !.779: 88
6.549-62: sr; 6.sss: sr; 6.577-78: sr; 478: 96, !27; !5.75: 96; !5.!35: 96;
Metamorphoses2.5-r9: 233n.29; 2.r7r-72:
6.582: sr; 6.583: sr; 6.584-85: sr; rs.r39; rs.r49: r35; rs.rs3: 96;
!28, !29; 2.2!6-26: !32; 2.279-300:
6.586: 52; 6.589: 52; 6.595: 52; 6.667: rs.r6o-62: r9r; rs.r86: 96; rs.2oo: 96;
!32;2.296-97: !32;2.298-99: !32;
232 n.23; 6.72r: I37 !5.362: 96; !5-430: !90; !5-434: !90;
2.327-28: ss; 2.366: 202; 2.398-4oo:
Metamorphoses 7.ro6-ro: 204; 7.79r: rss, !5-434: !90; !5-43!-35: !90; !5-437:
rro; 2.4or-4o: !28; 2.433: 224n.44;
232ll.23 I9I; !5.436-38: I9I; !5.439-49: !90;
2.495: r29; 2.496-sos: r28; 2.523-26:
Metamorphoses 8.!74-82: r38; 8.309: r38; !5-443: !90; !5-479-8!: !27; !5-453-
!29; 2.528-30: !29; 2.53!-35: I3I;
8.365-68: II4; 8.573-76: !67; 8.573: 54: !9!-92; !5-493: !92; !5-454-55:
2.542-632: !30; 2.542-47: I3I; 2.549-
204; 8-577-89: !67; 8.590-6!0: !67; r92; rs.s6s-62I: 237n.r; rs.62o-2r:
65: I3r;2.566-88: I3r;2.569-88: r88;
8.6rr-r9: r67-68; 8.6rr-I2: r69; 92; !5.622-754: !96; !5.622-65: !92;
2.570:235 ll.I9; 2.589-95: I3I; 2.597:
8.6!2-!3: !69; 8.620-724: !70; 8.620- !5.649-59: !96; !5.699-73: !96;
!82-83; 2.598-630: I3I; 2.63r-32: !3!,
720: r68; 8.72r-22: r68; 8.724: r68; rs.745-46: ros; rs.745: ro3; rs.76r-
r82; 2.727-28: 294; 2.73!-36: 238 n.r7;
8.725-26: !70; 8.739-40: 234ll.I 842: 238 n.r3; rs.8o7-42: r92; rs.8r3:
2.844: 89; 2.852: rs4; 2.sss-s6: rs4;
Metamorphoses 9.87-92: 202; 9.!34-272: r92; rs.8r4: r92; rs.843-so:r93;
2.sss: 93; 2.sss: r54; 2.862-63: 90;
!35; 9.!98: !34; 9.23!-33: !37; 9-24!- rs.Ssr-6o: r93; rs.86r-7o: r93;
2.873-75: 90; 2.874: 93
6!: 238 n.r3; 9.273-323: r36; 9.273: rs.867: r93; i5.87o: 57; rs.87r-72: 57;
Metamorphoses 3.r-4: 9r; 3.2: 9r; 3-III-
!34; 9-277: !36; 9.289: !36; 9-322-23: rs.87r: r93; rs.877: 205; rs.877-78:
!4: 204; 3-!4!-42: !07; 3-!75-76: !07-
r36; 9.4r8-4o: 238 n.r3; 9.5!5: 53; 37; rs.878: 85, roo; rs.879: 58
8; 3.2sr-52: ros; 3.253-55: roS; 3.254:
9-5!6: 53; 9-523-25: 54; 9-574-75: 54; &mediaAmoris 37!-72: r8; 373-74: r8;
227 ll.35; 3.373-74: 204; 3.407-IO:
9.573: 53; 9.6or-9: 54; 9.6sr: rr3; 379: r8;r89-96: r7-r9;6oo-6o6:57
!57; 3-4!8-!9: 204; 3-549: 204; 3-579-
9-79!-94: 239 ll.4 Tristia r.r.rr7-2o: 44; r.r.ri7: 44;
Sr: r82; 3.6s8-s9: 236 n.36; 3.692:
Metamorphoses ro.86-734: 49; ro.86-r42: !.!.!!9-20: !95; !.2.!9-20: 233 ll-37
!82; 3-693: !82; 3-694-95: !82
 Index Locorum
Ovid ( cont.)
I.7.II-40: 44; !.7.25-26: Ss; !.7.35:
ss; 1.7.39-40: ss-s6
Tristia 2.353-56: 6S-69; 2.549-52: 97;
2.sso: 219 n.32; 2.56o: 24
Tristia 3.14.19: 44; 3.14.23-24: 54, 21S
n.r4;
Tristia 4.w: 6S; 4.1o.sS-s9: 36
Tristia 5.7.27: 21S n.rr
Parthenius ofNicaea, Erotika Pathemata)
proem. 2: 15; II: 15; 13: 15; 15: 15
Petronius, Satyrica 75.4: 34; 9I.I: 233-34
ll.4I
Pindar, Olympians 9.45-46: 226 n.22
Plautus, Pseudolus 40 I -4: 59-60
Plutarch, Quomodo Adulescens Poetas Audire
Debeat rsc-d: 169
Polybius, Historiae 3.32.2-3: 23
Propertius, Carmina 4.1.69: 43
Quintilian, Institutio Oratoria 2.20. 7: 229
n.r3; 4.1.63: 239 n.r; 4.I.77-7S: 122-23;
6.2.4: 229 n.r3; S.2.15: roS
Scholia in Homerum, ad Iliadem 4.223: 142;
s.Ss: I4I, 2II
Seneca the Elder, Controversiae 2.2.S-12: 36
Seneca the Younger,Apocolocyntosis 9.5: 214
ll.I9; !2.!: 233-34ll.41
Servius, adAeneidem I.I, 22-25: r6;
4.246ff.: 230 n.2S; 4.401: 142; adEclogas
6.s: 26; 6.rr: 35
Silius Italicus,Punica 1.622: 231 n.6; 2.430:
231 n.6; 11.433: S2
Statius, Thebaid 3.253: 231 n.s; 4.S29: 231
n.s; 6.rr6: 231 n.s; 7.52S: 231 n.s;
10.169: 231 ll.5
S trabo, Geographia 16.4.21: 19S
Suetonius,Augustus S9.3: 236 n.2S; De
Grammaticis 2: 6 I
Tacitus,Annales 4. S: 229 n. I 3; Dialogus De
Oratoribus 31.2: 35; Germania 46: 223
n.35; Historiae 4.7: 229 n.13
Theocritus,Idylls 1.42: 231 n.12
Valerius Flaccus,A1¿1onautica !.130-33: 13S;
1.255-59: 13S; 4.1S4: 231 n.S
Varro: De Gente Populi Rnmani fr. 3: 126; De
LinguaLatina 6.29: 46;DePoematis: 64;
SaturaeMenippeae fr. 39S.3-4: 24
VarroAtacinus,fr. 22.1-2Morel: 232n.17
Vergil:Aeneid I.I: 9; I.I4S-53: 31,236
n.29; 1.257-96: s6, 192; r.26r-62: s6;
I.2S6-90: !90; !.372-74: 23; !.753-54:
215-16 n.41; 4.246-51: 230 n.2S; 4.401:
142, 147; 4.402-5: 147; 4.4oS-rr: rrr,
II2, I4S; 4.4S5-S6: II3; 6.20-33: 223
ll.36; 6.675: 2I3-I4ll.4I; 7.41-42: 43;
7.44: 43; 7.62S: 169; 7.SoS-rr: 159;
S.135-36: 230 n.24; S.337-5S: 235 n.12;
S.649-so: 14S; S.676-77: 14S; S.691-93:
14S-49; S.729-30: 149; 9.4S5-S6: II3;
IO.I-5: 235 ll.I2; 10.2: 172; !!.527-29:
150
Eclogues 6.3-5: 26, 42, ss; 6.3: 219 n.2S;
6.s: 19; 6.S: 42; 6.27-2S: 232 n.r6;
6.3!-SI: 15, 4S-49
Geo1¿1ics 1.40: 19; 1.63-64: 225-26 n.22;
!.63: 201; I.IIS-59: 201; I.3S7: 232
n.r6; 3.4: 175; 3.!0-rr: 196; 3.40-41:
214n.r7; 3.46: 21S n.2o; 4.srr: 52;
4·514: 52
General Index
Achelous, 167-71
Achilles, 13S, 1S9
Acoetes, 1S2, 236 n.36
Actaeon, 75, 107-S
Adonis, 159
Aemilius Macer, Ornithigonia, 21-22
Aeneas, 23, 55, 135, 190-91, 196; inAeneid,
23
Aesculapius, I os, I 96
Aetiology, 15, So, 199-203; as motive for
narrative, 107, rrs-r6; 186
Agamernnon, inlliad, 143-44
Ahl, F., 74
Ajax,ss, I37-3S,2o4,207
Albrecht, M. von, 4-5, 6, 7, 79, ros, ro8-rr,
227 n.36, 227 n.37
Alcmene, 136
Alexandria, 196; Museum of, 59; scholar-
poets of, 6o. See also Homeric scholarship
Alpheus,8I-82,I56-57,ISS
Althea,207
amber, 202
Amor, 202. See also Cupid
Amor~,9,36,6S,70,86
anachronism, II7-IS, 125-30, 132-34,
135-39, 19!
anachrony, offrame tale, II9, 130-32, 136
Anderson, W S., 70, 140, I6I, 171, 174, 178,
ISO, 200-201, 2!5 n.25, 227 n.34
Antimetathesis, 141-42, 2II-I2. See also
generalizing second person singular
Antoninus Liberalis, 200
Apollo: and Callimachus, 25, 58, 6o, 219
n.2S; and Coronis, 130-31, 182; and
Cupid, 202; and Daphne, 107, rr2, 188,
201-2; and Germanicus, 44,219 n.2S; and
Python, I !2, 202; and Vergil, 26, 42, sS,
219n.2S
Apollonius Rhodius,A1¿1onautica: audience
of, 96, 140-41, 145-47; Jason's cloak, so,
145, 149; Jason's arming scene, 145-46,
149; narration of, 58, rrs, 151; song of
Orpheus, 43, 4S, 49
apostrophe,III-I3,I7Ó-77,2II-I2
Arachne,so,I54, r6o, rSr,207
Archias, 61
Arethusa,SI-S2,I56-s7,ISS-89,I97
Argus, death of, I, 6, So-Sr, rr 3, I 30-3 I,
ISI
Aristonicus, 141-42, 2II
Aristotle, Poetics, 107, 164, IS6-87; Rhetoric,
2S
Arnulf of Orléans,Allegoriae, 75
ArsAmatoria, 36, 65, 6S-69, 72, 23S n.17
Asinius Pollio, 36
Atalanta, name of, wo; speed of, 159
Atlas, 132-35, 13S
audience, inApollonius, 96, 145-47; in di-
dactic, 9S-99; in epic, 95-96; inFasti, 97-
9S; in Homer, 95-96, 143-44; in Vergil's
Aeneid, 96, 147-51
audience, inMetamorphoses: 74-87; actual,
75-76; address of, 96-97, IOI-3, ISI-6I;
attention of, I -2; Augustas as member of,
24,6S,73,97-98,I66-67,I72-77,IS5,
rS6, 236 n.28; credulous, 166-70, !So;
implied, 77-7S, Só-93; interna!, 79-So,
rrs-r6, 164, 167-72, 207-w; narratoria!,
7S-79, 86-S7; participation of, 94-95,
99-II4,II5-IÓ,I22,I24-25, 134,137,
I57-5S;floman,s-6,IOO,I26,I9S,234
n.2; skeptical, !66-71, r8r-8s. Seealso
implied audience; interna! audience; nar-
ratoria! audience
Auerbach, E., 231 n.9
Augustan age, aetiologies for, 194-96, 2oo-
203; as end ofMetamorphoses, 24; distin-
guished from Elepublic, ws; new meta-
morphoses of, 193, 194-95; poetic ideals
of, ss, 64-65; reader of, s-6; world
shared by poet and audience, 30, 74, I 35,
194-205
266 General Index
Augustus: andActium, rso, 196; apostrophe
of, 96, rr2, 172, 176-77; assassination at-
tempts against, 175-77, 199; as audience,
24,68,73,97-98,I66-67,I72-77,I85,
r86, 236 n.28; deification of, 195; as em-
peror, 6, 3I, 56-57, 106-7, I66-67, 190,
192-93, 198-99, 204; and Jupiter, 172-77,
195; Res Gestae of, 57, 192
Austin, R. G., 56
Bacchus, 126, 152, 153, r82, 236 n.36
Barchiesi, A., 6, 45-:-46, 92, r66, r87, I90-
9I, 221 n.ro, 229 n.r2
Batstone, W., r2, 213 n.6
belief, of interna! audiences, r 66-72, r 83; of
narrator, 71, r6s; of narratoria! audience,
78-79, 85, ros-6; as politically safe, 172,
r8r
belief and disbelief, problem of, ros-6, rr4,
I64-74,177-8I
Bentley, R., 179
Bernbeck, E. J., s-6, 7, I24, 223 n.40
Bersuire, P., OvidiusMoralizitus, 75
Beye, C. R., 147
Bing, P., 58-59
Block, E., nr-12, 221 n.r
Boeus, Ornithigonia, 21-22,200
Bomer, F., 140, 179, 227 n.35,
book, as papyrus roll, 34; "horns" of, 92-93
book,divisions: inFasti,46-47, 2r9n.32; in
Homeric epic, 87; inMetamorphoses, 87-93
bookculture, 28; inAugustan age, 35, 38; in
Hellenistic age, 58-59; libraries, 37
Booth, W., 67, 70, 222n.r3, 222n.r9
Bowersock, G. W., 198
Brown, R., 48, 217 n.54
Burrow, C., n8, 228 n.3.
Byblis,s3-55,86, rr3,207
Cadmus, 91, 126
Caieta, 55
calendars (fasti), 45-48
Callimachus, rs, 72;Aetia, I4, 20, 25, 27,
44-4S,47,4S,sS,s9,6o,rs6
Calliope, song of, 43, 49, Sr-84, 152-53,
rs6-57,r88-89
Callisto, roo, r28-3o
Calvino, I., rs-r6, roo
Calvus, ro, rs
Cameron, A. 213 n.4, 2r6 n.46, 220 n.sr
canere, 42-44
General Index
carmen deductum, 26, 27-28, 29, 48, r r 9 Dante, 231 n.9 Finnegan, R., 95
carmen perpetuum, 2, 27, 29, rr7, rr9-25, Daphne, 75, 94, ro4, ro7, rr2, rr3, 131, r88, :first person plural, 103-5, rr3-14
I2I,2I2 20I-2 ":first reading." See reading
carmen perpetuum et deductum, 29 deducere, 23, 26-27, 196, 215 n.40 Fish, S., 4, 9-ro, 224 n.r4
Castor of Rhodes, r 26 Deucalion and Pyrrha, 32, 103, ros, no-rr, flood, 170
Catullus,6r-62,68-69,r26 129, 2oo-2or, 225--:26 n.22 focalization, 39, r s r. See also point of view
Cecropides, r 3r Diana, 107-8, r89 Ford,A., 95
Censorinus, r26 dicere, 41-43 Fowler, D. s6-S7, 9I, rsr, 223 n.3I, 226
Cephalus, and Laelaps, r S5 dies atri, 45-46 n.24, 238 n.2
Ceres, 8r-8z, 156-57, r88-89. See also Cal- Diodorus Siculus, 22, r26 Frankel, H., r96
liope, song of disbelief, as dangerous, 72, 164-65, 170, Freund, E. 224 n.r4
Ceyx, ss, rss I72, r8r; ofimpliedaudience, 78-79, ss; Friedemann, K., 224 n.2
"Chaos to Cosmos;' 31-32, n8 of interna! audiences, r 8 r -8 s; in Jupiter, future participles, 137
Chatman, S., 4, 39, 67, 78, Sr, 222 n.r3, 222 I77-8r;ofLycaon,I70,I7I,I77-78;as Fyler, J., 69
n.r9 morallyquestionable, 164, r69-7r; ofnar-
Chaucer, 77 rator, 71, r6s-66; of narratoria! audience, Galanthis, r 36
chronology, framework of, 21-24, II7, I25- ros-6, rs6, 173; ofPirithous, r67-7r. See Gale,M.,62
39; discontinuity of, rr9-2o; relative, also belief and disbelief Galinsky, G. K, 69-70, 71, 85, 96, 123, r26,
175; systematic, 126. See also anachronism discourse, defined, 39; distribution of, 109, r6s, 194, 2r4n.r3
Cícero, De Natura Deorum, 3.I; on oratío per- r62-63, r89; and story, II4, 205 Gallus, rs
petua, r2r, 229 n.r3 dissent. See disbelief Gamel, M.- K., 76
Cinna,Ljmyrna, 14-15 doctrina, 125, 134, r82 generalizing second person singular, 79, 8s,
Cipus, 92,237 n.r Doherty, L., 222 n. r 3, 222 n. 19, 224 n.4 IOI-3, I40-6I,2II-I2; inApollonius,
Claudian, I4I Due, O. S., 2, s, 29,41-42,56,225 n.r6, 228 145-47, rso-sr; inClaudian, r4r; asepic
Clymene, 88, 89 n.46 device, 140-43; discussed by Eustathius,
Coleman, K. M., 237 n.7 231 n.ro,2n;inHomer, 140-43, rso-sr;
Coleman, R., II9, 195 Ebert, A., 237 n. 7 discussedinHomericscholia, r4r; inLu-
concilium deorum. See gods Effe, B., 224 n.3 can, r4r; inmedievalLatinepic, 141; dis-
Conte, G. B., 28, 77-78, 2r6 n.49, 2r6 n.so, enat;geia, 143, 149, 231 n.rr cussed by Macrobius, I4I; inMetamor-
225 n.r3 Ennius,Annals, 23, 24, 27, 28, 59, 6o-6r, 6r, phoses, 79, 85, ror-J, II3-I4, 140, rsr-6r,
continuity: chronological, 22-26, rr7-r8; in 63,64 225 n. r9; discussed in "On the Sublime;'
metamorphosis, r2-r3, 19, 153, r8o, 205; epistolarity, :fiction of, 36, 53-55, 57-58, 65 142-43, 21 r; discussed by Servius, 142; in
of narrating instance, 104, 121-22; of nar- epyllion, rr9-20 Silius Italicus, I4I; in Statius, I4I; in Theo-
rative, 87,213 n.3; ofpastwith present, Erysichthon, 234 n.ro critus, 231 n.r2; notin Valerius Flaccus,
194-205; thematic, I20-2I, 123; oftransi- Eryx, I84-85 r4r; in Vergil, I47-51,232n.r7
tions, 122-24 Euphorion, rs Genette, G., 4, 29, 72,207
contrary-to-fact conditions, r 14, r 19 Euripides, Bacchae: 236 n. 36 Germanicus, 44-45,73,97-98
Cornelius Nepos, Chronica, r26 Europa,89-9I,93,IOO,r26,rs4 Gigantomachy, 32, 43, 82, 84
Cornificius, Glaucus, rs Gods, assembly of ( concilium deorum), r 6 r,
cornix. See crow jama,48,s6-s7, rr4, 159, r9o r64, 171, 174, r8o-8r, 199; invokedin
cornucopia, 202-3 Fama, house of, 56, r64 proem, r6-r7, 19,26-27
Coronis, 130-31, r82 Fantham, E., 44, 219 n.28, 224 n.8, 225 n.ro, Goldberg, S. M., 220 n.54
corvus. See raven 225 n.rr, 225 n.r6 golden age, 33, ro6-7
Croton, city of, r 27, r 36; host of Hercules, Farrell, J., 27, sS, 59,220 n.47, 225 n.I3 Graf, F. 71, r66
136 Fasti: audience of, 44-45, 65, 73-74, 97-98; Greeks, in Italy, 197
Crow (cornix), 131-32, r8r-82, r88 as calendar, 45-48; andMetamorphoses, 25, Griffin, J., 221 n.4, 238 n.r6
Crump, M., 228 n.2 71-74, r2r, r86-87; narrator of, 72-74, Grimal, P., 133,228 n.2
Cupid, 9,17 r2r, r86-87; textuality of, 40, 44-48, 65 Gruen, E. S., 237 n.4
Cyane, r 52-53 jata,26,ss-s7,r92-93
Cyparissus, 94, rs6 Feeney, D. C., 6, ros, ro6, rs6, r68-69, 170, Hardie, P. R., 24, 31, rr8, 132, 135, 149,216
Cytheris, 35 195, 222 n.23, 226 n.27, 236 n.39 n.43, 224 n.43, 230 n.24, 230 n.29, 237 n.2
268 General Index
Harries, B., 221 n.9
Hecuba, II3
Heinze, R., 5, 7, 72, I6o, 165-66,227 n.42
Helenus, 190-91,207
Heliades, 94, 202
Herbert-Brown, G., 224 n.8
Hercules: anachronism of, I 35-38; arrows
of, 137-38; andAtlas, 134; birthof, 136;
death and deification of, I 35, I 36-3 7; re-
membered by N estor, 136, 189; and Troy,
137-38
Herington, J., 59
Hermaphroditus, 157
Heroides, 36, 53-54, 65, 70
Hesiod, 27, 49,225 n.14; audience of, 96;
Catalogue ofWomen, 22; Theogony, 22, 96;
Works andDays, 96, 98
Hesione, 138
Hexter, R. J., 69, 76
Heyworth, S., 16-17
Hinds, S. E., 6, 83, 86, Ioo, 181, 215 n.3o,
221, n.IO, 237 n.I
Hippolytus-Virbius, 187, 192, 197
Hippomenes, 159
Hollis, A. S., 140
Holzberg, N., 68, 89, 92,223 n.34
Homer: audience of, 95-96,151; andEn-
nius, 63, generalizing second person, 140-
42, 143-44; Iliad, u I, 143-44, 159, 164;
as narrator, 23, 67, 95; nodding, 135-36;
Odyssey, u 5, I 64, I 8 3; performance of, 64,
186-87; shieldofAchilles, 31, so, 128
HomericHymns, 95-96,188
Homeric scholarship: 87, 92, 136; Ovid
familiarwith, 136. See also Aristonicus;
Eustathius; Macrobius
Horace,Ars Poetica, 21, 54; poetic self-image
of, 22,63
Horsfall, N., 140,228 n.45, 232 n.25
Hubbard, T. K., 220 n.42
human race: as audience ofPythagoras, 190;
race ofblood, 101-2, 103, 159-60, I6I;
races of metal, 32; race of stones, 103,
2oo-2oi, 225-26 n.22; andAugustus,
175-76; wickedness of, 102, 171, 188
Hunter, R., 146, 224n.3, 232n.I6
Hyacinthus, 55
implied audience, 41, 77-78, 81, 85-87; and
narratoria! audience, 84-93, 152, 153, 221
n. I o, 222 n. I 9. See also reader
impliedauthor, ofMetamorphoses, 41, 67, 78,
8 I; distinguished from narrator, 67-74, 77,
86-93; inFasti, 73,221 n.Io.SeealsoOvid
Inachus, 50-51
indeterminacy, inMetamorphoses, 28-30, 120
lnO,I52
interna! audience ( s), I -2; 74, 80-84, I 90,
207- IO; as Achilles, 189; as Adonis, 159;
as Argus, 1-2, 8o-8I, 181; as Ceres, I56-
57, 188; as assembly of gods, I6I, 164,
171, 174, I8o-8I, 199; as Ethiopians,
IIS-I6, 133-34, 184-85; as human race,
190; as Minerva, 81-84, 16o; as Min-
yeides, 182-83; as nymphs on Helicon,
81-84, 152-53, 189; as Pentheus, 81, 182,
236 n. 36; as Pirithous, Theseus, and Lelex,
167-71; as raven, 81, 131, 181-82
interna! narrator ( s), 74, 8 I -84, I 62-64,
167-68, 185-93, 207-IO; as Achelous,
167-68; as Acoetes, 81, 182, 236 n.36; as
crow, 181-82; asArethusa, 81-82, IS6-
57, 188-89; as Calliope, 81-84, 152-53,
156-57, 188-89; heterodiegetic and
homodiegetic, 82, 207; as Jupiter, 106,
164, I69-70,l7I-8I,l88,I99-200;as
Lelex, 168; as Muse, 81-84; as Perseus,
IIS-I6, 133-34, 184-85; as Pierides, 82-
84
lo, and Jupiter, 105, 129-30, 188; as writer,
50-5!,86
Iole, 136
Iphis, daughter ofLigdus, 55,239 n.4; lover
of Anaxarete, 57-58, 207
Iser, W, 3-4, 125,222 n.I9, 225 n.13
John of Garland, Integumenta Ovidii, 7 s
Johnson, P., 83
Johnson, W R., 107, 217 n.54
Jong, l. J. F. de, 144, 151,224 n.3, 224 n.4,
226 n.28, 227 n.43
Julius Caesar, ss-57, lOS, 192-93, 195, 199
Juno, 89, 105, 136, 152; viewpointof, II3,
!28-30
Jupiter, andAugustus, 172-77, 199; as bull,
88-90, 154; as character, 32, 89-91, 105,
128-30; as narrator, 106, 164, 169-70,
I7I-8I, 188, 199-200; as reader of fate,
55-57, 192-93; and thunderbolt, 179, 193
Keith,A., 6
Kenney, E. J., 9, 29-30, 52, 124
General Index
Knox, P. E., 215 n.30, 229-230 n.22, 230
n.25, 238 n.I6, 238 n.17
Konstan, D., 6, 81, 90
Kraus, C. S., 223 n.35
Lateiner, D., 12
Leach,E.W,82-83,I8I
Lee, A. G., 237-38 n.9
Lelex, 168-70, l7I
Livy, 22,24
Lowrie, M., so, 219 n.29, 220 n.49
Lucan, 141
Lucretius, audience of, 98; and Ennius, 63,
64; andEpicurus, 62-63, 135; as Ovidian
model, 21, 24, 27, 28, 30-31, u8; poetic
self-image of, 62-63
Ludwig, W, I I 8, 228 n.2
Lycaon,32,Io6,I29-30,I64,I69-70,I7I-
8l, 199-200, 236 n.33
Lycian farmers, 207
Mack, S., III, II4, 125,221 n.7
Malamud, M., 83
man, race of. See human race
Marsyas, 181, 207
Martin, R., 220 n.42
Martindale, C., 76
McKeown, J. C., 86, 225 n.17, 226 n.2o
McKim, R., 217 n.54
Medea,207
Medea, Ovid's, 36
Medusa, IIS-I6, 133, 183-85
"Mega Nepios;' 98
Mercury, andArgus, I, 6, So, II3, I8I, and
Jupiter, 89, 170
metamorphosis: audience response to, I67-
7I, 182-3, 184-85; inAugustanage, 193,
194-95; continuityof, 12-13, 19, 153,
180, 205; of elegies into hexameters, I6-
2o; generalizing second person in, 152-
5s; of Greek culture into Roman, I 96-
205; ofinternalaudiences, 181-85; of
Metamorphoses, Ss-86; as metaphor, I5-
I6, 33; ofnarrating instance, 185-90; of
poet into text, 37; as poetic theme, 13, I4-
I5, 152, 194-96; syntactic and semantic,
12-13, 15; oftime, 125-26, 130, 132,
138-39; in transitions, 124; as translation,
196-205; in Tristia, 195
Metamorphoses: andAeneid, 15, 24, 28, 31,
56,I90-9I,I92, 194-95;andAmoru,9,
70-71; as collective poem, 2, u9-2o; as
continuous poem, 2-3, 33, Ioo, II7-30;
cultural status of, 194-205; distribution of
discourse in, 162-64, 185-93; and sixth
Eclogue, 15, 27, 48-49; and Ennius, 23-
24; and epic cycle, 164, 189-90; andFasti,
26-27,44-48,72-74,186;generalizing
second person in, I sI -6 I; and Hellenistic
catalog poetry, 21 -22; indeterminacy of,
22, 27-30, 120; intended for recitation,
37-38; andLucretius, 2I, 24, 27, 30-31;
narrating instance of, 3-4,40-42,43-44,
48-so, 57, 58, 65, 66, 78, u7; narrative
communicationin, 66-85,94-99, ISI-
61, 162-93; as performance, 3-4, 41, 48-
50,65,78-79,85,94-95,I96;program
of, u-30; reception of, 38, 69, 74-77; as
text, 3-4, 37-38, 44, 85-93, 195; and Tris-
tia, 44, 85-86, 195,237 n.I; as universal
history, 22-24, 26, 29, u8; writing in, so-
sS
Miller, J. F., 72, 191, 219 n.38
Minerva, as audience, 81-84, 103; as venge-
ful, u6, 131-32, I6o; tapestryof, so, 207
Minyas, daughters of (Minyeides), 181,
!82-83
Muestra, I oo
Molossian, hostage, I 79
Muses, 81-84, 103
Myers, K. S., 6, 21, 228 n.46
M yrrha, 55, 207
Myscelus, 196-97
myth, Greek: as allegory of imperial power,
74, 164; chronology of, 126, 175; com-
monplace themes of, 175, 182; continuous
with present, 103, 194-205; as poetic
theme,2,IS;Romanized,I97-205;so-
phisticated treatment of, 100, 124. See also
doctrina
Nabataea, 198-99,237-38 nn.lO-II
Naevius, CarmenBelliPunici, 6o
Nagle, B. R., 6, 20, 228 n.46, 238 n.I, 238-
39 ll.2, 239 ll.3
narrating, 39
narrating instance, 4, 39-40; in theMeta-
morphoses, 3-4, 40-42, 43-44, 48-so, 57,
58, 65, 66, 78, u7; continuous with the
story-world, 103, 194-205
narrator, ofMetamorphoses ("Ovid"): 41,
67-68,71-72, 73; abdicates authority,
270 General Index
narrator (cont. )
162-64, 185-93; communicates with nar-
ratoria! audience, 79, So, 94-n6, 140,
r 5 r -6 r; compared with narrator of Fasti,
72-73,77,86-93,r86-87;disbeliefo~
78-79; disregards book divisions, 87; het-
erodiegetic, 72; differs from interna! nar-
rators, 74, 162-64, 185-93; as mimetes,
164, I86;
narratoria:l audience, 78-79, 86-87; ambiva-
lence of, 164-65, I7I-8r; capacities of,
99-roo, 175; andchronology, II9, 125-
39; interests of, ns-r6, 197-205,238
n.21; andimpliedaudience, 84-93,152,
153, 221 n.IO, 222 n.r9; and interna! au-
diences, 79-84, 152-53, 156-57, 159, r6r,
167-72, r8r-8s, 189, 190; role of, 79,
162; as Roman, roo, 104-5, 195-205;
sharing character's point ofview, 83-84,
II3, 153, 154, 156-57, r6r, 190; signs of,
ro r-14. See also audience; generalizing
second person singular
Narcissus, 157
negation,ro6-8,II3-I4
N eoterics, 14-r 5; epyllia of, II9
Neptune, as lover, II6, 131, r88; and Troy,
138
Nestor, as hero, II4; as narrator, 136, 170,
189
New Poets. See Neoterics
Newlands, C. E., 45, 72, r86, 219 n.35, 224
n.9, 238 n.19
Newman, J. K., 6o, 220 n.ss
Newsom, R., 169
Nicander, Heteroeumena, 21, 120, 200
Nileus, 155, 184
Nonnus, 230 n.25
N urna Pompilius, 127-28
Nyctimene, 131-32
Oceanus and Tethys, 128, r 30
Ocyroe, 192,207
O'Hara, J. J., 52, 191, 220 n.57, 226 n.22,
229n.19
"Ornithigonia;' r 3r. See also Aemilius
Macer; Boeus
Orpheus: inApollonius, 48, 49; as arche-
typal poet, 27, 64-65, 73; inMeta-
morphoses, 94, 103, 153, 155-57, 159,
202
Otis, B., 52
Ovid: elegiac corpus of, r6-r9, 65,69-70,
r6o-6r, 202; in e:xile, 54, 86; historical au-
thor, 67, 213 n. r; identified with poetry,
37; poetic personae of, 68-70, 72-74, 213
n.r; reception of, 38, 69, 75-77; and Ver-
gil, 17-19. See also implied author; narra-
tor; individual works
Ovide moralisé, 75, 76
Pallas.SeeMinerva
parenthesis, 4-5, r6, 79, ro8-II, II3-I5
Parthenius ofNicaea, 15
Peleus, 138
Pentheus, Sr, r82
performance: reading as, 3; fiction of in
Metamorphoses, 3-4,41, 48-so, 65,78-79,
85, 94-95, 196. See also recitation
Persephone. See Proserpina
Perseus, as hero, 184-85, 189; mistaken for
Hercules, 135, 183; as narrator, ns-r6,
133-34, 183-84
Persis, 198-99
Phaethon,ss,88-89,9I,rro, 128,129,197,
202
Philemon and Baucis, r68, 170, 204
Philoctetes, 137-38
Philomela, 51-53, 86, 104
Philostephanus, Cyptiaca 233 n.36
Phoebus, sun god, 88-89, no, 182-83
Pierides, Sr-84, r8r
Pindar, 201
Pirithous, r68-7o, 171
Plautus, 59-60
point ofview, inMetamorphoses, 83-84, II3,
153, 154, 156-57, r6r, 190; in Homer and
Apollonius, rsr; inAeneid, 147-51. See
also focalization
Polybius, 23
Polyphemus, 207
Prince, G., 4, So, 222 n. r 3, 226 n.28
Procne, 51-53
proem, in theMetamorphoses, 8-31; conven-
tions of, 13-14,22-23,25-28
Prometheus, ro o
prophecy, 56-57,190-93, 207
Proserpina,152, r88
Pygmalion,rss-s6,rs6,2o2
Pylaemenes, inlliad, 135-36
Pythagoras,96, 103,127,135,190-92, I9I,
197,207
Python,32-33, II2,II3,202
General Index 271
Quinn, K., 220 n.6r Slater, N., 216 n.49
Quintilian, roS, 122-23, 229 n.13, 239 n.r Smith, R. A., 7
Solodow, J., 67-68, 71, 94, 104, 137, 154,
Rabinowitz, P., 221 n.62, 222 n.r3 157, 163, I66, I7I, 176, 189, I97
raven (corvus), Sr, 130-32, rSr-82 Sophocles, Tereus) 52
reader: as addressee of Ovid's e:xile poetry, Statius, 141
85-86, 96; "apostrophe" to, 85, 212; in story, defined, 39,205
Augustan age, s-6, 34, 38; believing and story-world, 66, ro6, rr3; dramatic illusion
disbelieving, 6, r66-69; first addressed in ofbroken, ror, II4, II7; audiences in,
epic by Dante, 23 r n.9; implied in the ns-r6; viewing of, rsr, 154, 159. See also
Metamorphoses, 77-79, 84-93; persona story
of, in didactic <llld in Fasti, 97-99; meta- Stroux, J., 228-29 n.6
morphosis in, 8-r6, 30-33; psychology Suetonius, 6r
of, 4-5; theoretical models of, 39· See also Syrinx and Pan, 2, 6, 8o-8r, 90, 104, 131,
audience;reading r88
reading: book-rolls, 34, 36, 86-93; as "con-
sistency building;' 3, 121-22; experience Tarrant, R. J., 69
of"first reading;' 4, 9-ro, r8-r9, 27, 34, Telamon, 137, 138
89; from Lycaon's perspective, 177-81; Tellus, 32, 132, 133
outloud, 52, 56-57; as performance, 3-4. Tereus, 51-53, 104
See also recitation; performance Thebes, 91, 126,233 n.29
recitation, 34-37, 38, 58-59, 6r-62, 63-65, Themis, 207
85-86, 176 Theocritus, 2 3r n. r 2
recusatio, Augustan, 25, 175,213 n.4 Thescelus, 184
Regio, R., 75, 124, 229 n.I7 Theseus, 167, 170
RemediaAmoris, 17-19 Thetis, 138
rhetorical question, 105-6, II3-I5 Thracian women, 153
Rhorer, C. 217 n.54 Tiberius, 98
Romanization, 172-74, 197-205 time, in epic, 23-24; inMetamorphoses, 22-
Rome, Augustan, 30, 194-205; calendar dis- 25, II7-I9, 125-39; as past and present,
played in, 45, 47; literary society in, rs, 194-205; reading in, 9-ro, 121. See also
35-36, 58, 59, 6r, 64; Ovid e:xiled from, calendars; chronology; Fasti
86; history of, 22, rso; greatness of, I9I- Tissol, G., 6, 53,54-55,156, 214n.r3, 226
9 3. See also Augustan age n.26
Rosati, G., 6, 239 n.2 tradition, references to, 48, r 14, r 59, 219
n.38, 232 n.25
Schmidt, E. A., 200, 226 n.22, 228 n.2, 229 transformation. See metamorphosis
n.IO transitions, II7, rr8, II9, 122-25
Schmitzer, U., 217 n.sr, 236 n.26, 238 n.r2 Tristia, 65, 96;Metamorphoses in, 44, 85-86,
second person singular. See generalizing sec- 195,237 n.1
ond person singular Trojan war, 136, 137, 164, 189-90
Segal, C., 238 n.2r Troy, foundation of, 137-38; and Laome-
Shakespeare,27,36 don, 135, 138; firstsackof, 137, 138; fall
Sharrock, A., 14, 39, 238 n.r6 of, 190-91
Silenus, 48-49, 73; Vergilian song of, 15, 27,
29, 31,48-49 Ulysses, 137-38,204,207
Siliusltalicus, 141
singing, fiction of, 41-44, 48-so; and writ- Varro,24,46,64, 126
ing, sS-6s vat~,43,58,6o,63,64-65,71,78,190-91,
skepticism. See disbelief 193
Skutsch, 0., 6o Venus, 55, 159; in Lucretius, 62
272 General Index
Vergil: and Ennius, 23; as epic "singer;' 42-
43; and Homer, 22, 23,63-64, II4; and
Ovid, 15, r8; poetry of recited, 35-36, 37,
64-65,!76
Vergil,Aeneid: 9, 15, 23, 24, 31, II4, 159,
I64,I83,I89,I94,I95;apostrophei11,
nr-12; first perso11 11arrative in, I88;
ge11eralizing seco11d perso11 singular in,
I40-4I, 147-51; prophecy in, I9I; shield
of Ae11eas, so, 148-so; as model inMeta-
morphoses, 9, 56, 192
Vergil, Eclogues, 35-36; sixth, I5, 26-27, s8,
6 3. See also Sile11us, so11g of
Vergil, Geor;gics, 52; addressee of, 98, 176; as
model inMetamorphoses, I9, 201
Verrius Flaccus, 45,46
Vertumnus and Pomo11a, 57
Wackernagel, J., 109
Wallace-Hadrill, A., 46-47,221 11.10
Weber, C., 22911.19,23011.34
Wilkinso11, L. P., n8, 165,22911.7
Williams, G. W, 2, 194
Winkler, J. J., ro6
Wiseman, T. P., 61-62,22111.4
Wo11der, 13, 28, ro6, 144, 153, 154, 158,
I 59, r68, I 83-8 5. See also Belief and dis-
belief
Woodman, A. J., 23, 23211.19, 236 11.30
Woodman, T., and Powell, J., 213 11.6
wordplay, etymologizing, 52, 53, 132; se-
mantic, 153
writi11g, so-6s; in inscriptio11s, ss; 011 tab-
lets, 44-45,53-55,57, s8-6o; bywome11,
so-ss
Stephen M. Wheeler teaches classics
and ancient Mediterranean studies
at Pennsylvania State University.

Design: Catharine Drybrough Shepherd

Illustration: Plate for Book 1 in Ovid's
Metamorphosis Englished, Mythologiz'd,
And Represented in Figures, by George Sandys.
Oxford: By John Lichfield, 1632. Plates engraved
by Salomon Savery from designs by Franz Cleyn.
Photograph courtesy of Victor Watts, Grey College,
University of Durham.