This paper was written for an independent study in Latin in Fall 1999 (my first semester of college, incidentally). The course involved reflecting on the effect of Latin literature on later literary greats. I chose Ovid and Chaucer as they were both favorites of mine at the time.
Cupid’s Art:
Game or Tragedy?
Two differing opinions from the pens of Ovid and Chaucer.
In Geoffrey Chaucer’s lifetime, one of the poets that seemed to have the most effect on his personal philosophy and works was Publius Ovidius Naso. Though we have very little in the way of true biographical knowledge of Chaucer’s everyday life and mannerisms, he makes many references to Ovid throughout his works and claims to have slept with a copy of the Metamorphoses close at hand should sleeplessness overtake him(Wilkinson 190-1).
Ovid, in his lifetime, set out to break poetic traditions. In an age concerned mostly with suffering verses of dactylic hexameter that depicted the glory of Mother Rome and the triumph of pietas, Ovid initially wrote poems in elegiac couplet on the art and pursuits of love: how the goodwill of another person was to be wooed and kept. However, perhaps due to his flippant poetry and his endorsement of risque, immoral behavior in the Artes Amatoriae, or perhaps due to some hidden intrigues of the Augustan court (Ovid also left no real accounts of his everyday life outside of his poetry), Ovid was sent into exile. His later poems are suggested to signify regret of the free and immoral love-pursuits he encouraged earlier in his life.
Because Chaucer knew not only Ovid’s poetry but learned jointly a suggested outline of Ovid’s life (including hypotheses on the nature of Ovid’s exile and the saddened poet’s apparent bitter regret of his earlier works)–and perhaps also due to Christianity’s influence on Chaucer–the Medieval poet’s view of love-games differed greatly from that of a young Ovid. This difference can be clearly noted through an analysis of an introduction each from both poet’s significant works: the beginning of the Artes Amatoriae from Ovid, and the commencement of Troilus and Criseyde from Chaucer.
I. Ovid: A Typical Introduction and Analysis
Ovid writes his love poems in the elegiac couplet allegedly not due to personal choice, but, as he tells us in his Amores, "I was preparing to give forth arms and violent war in solemn meter.../ Cupid is said to have laughed and to have taken one foot." Thus, due to the poet’s use (or Cupid’s theft), his love poetry is portrayed from the outset as a merry romp through lilting couplets rather than a heavy marching through the dactylic hexameter much favored at the time. The advent of Ovid’s Artes Amatoriae continues in this vein of a flippant attitude toward love, opening much as any how-to manual might:
Siquis in hoc artem populo no novit amandi,
Hoc legat et lecto carmine doctus amet.
Arte citae veloque rates remoque moventur,
Arte leves currus: arte regendus amor.
Herein, Ovid establishes his work as a sort of manual, a guide to the love-stricken casualties in the merry war of Cupid. He promises skill if the student will but hearken to his teachings, relating the art of loving to harnessing a number of nimble attributes, such as those necessary for sailing a ship or driving a chariot. Ovid reaffirms for the reader that his book truly teaches how love is but an art (and one that can be mastered) through his repetition of "arte" through the the third and fourth lines.
Curribus Automedon lentisque erat aptus habenis,
Tiphys in Haemonia puppe magister erat:
Me Venus artificem tenero praefecit Amori;
Tiphys et Automedon dicar Amoris ego.
Ovid follows his initial invitation by invoking comparisons meant to foster confidence in his skill; the names of Tiphys and Automedon fall from his lips with equal assurance. Automedon, his skill with a chariot well proven in his fighting before the walls of Troy, and Tiphys, the chosen steersman for the Argo, were two brave and stoic men who could do naught else but inspire confidence in one who could match their formidable skills. Such high skill does Ovid claim with love. He also proclaims that Venus herself has set him as the experienced master of Love, exaggerating this dubious honor with his strategic placement of the word "ego": he closes his assertion with this first person pronoun to place even more importance on himself.
Ille quidem ferus est et qui mihi saepe repugnet:
Sed puer est, aetas mollis et apta regi.
Phillyrides puerum cithara perfecit Achillem,
Atque animos placida contudit arte feros.
Qui totiens socios, totiens exterruit hostes,
Creditus annosum pertimuisse senem.
Quas Hector sensurus erat, poscente magistro
Verberibus iussas praebuit ille manus.
Aeacidae Chiron, ego sum praeceptor Amoris :
Saevus uterque puer, natus uterque dea.
Ovid next relegates love to having a youthful nature that thus might easily be controlled by man’s experience, would he but attend to his lessons and exercise discipline. In this case, Ovid explores a stronger, more well-known, set of metaphors–this time linking the mastery of love to the character of Achilles. Though this man had great savagery and strength, still was he controlled by disciplined knowledge. Ovid paints a picture of music soothing the savage beast within Achilles (music–a gentle art and something as delicate as love-play), and of his dutiful submission before and elder. His moving allusion to the ignominies Achilles was willing to suffer lends credence to the poet’s personal claim of rational dominion over Love’s rages. Just as Chiron taught Achilles, so Ovid self-importantly states did he teach Love. Ovid effectively links the words of his last comparison–the word for "each"("uterque") being surrounded in each case by the words for "savage" and "boy" ("saevus" and "puer") and the words for "son" and "goddess" ("natus" and "dea"). Positioning the words in such a manner visually illustrates the traits each "puer"(Achilles and Cupid) share.
Sed tamen et tauri cervix oneratur aratro,
Frenaque magnanimi dente teruntur equi ;
Et mihi cedet Amor, quamvis mea vulneret arcu
Pectora, iactatas excutiatque faces.
Quo me fixit Amor, quo me violentius ussit,
Hoc melior facti vulneris ultor ero :
Now that Ovid has established how he himself is skilled(as much so as are Tiphys and Automedon in their respective endeavors) and how Love, though as savage and strong-willed as Achilles, will bow before experience, he firmly puts Love in his place as a servitor. Ovid confidently points out how though a bull be proud, still he will yield to the plough; a magnificent horse likewise will hold the bridle in his teeth. Once you have conquered the art of love, Ovid infers, then Love himself will serve you reliably. The poet’s lessons will see the diligent student of Love through to his proper reward. Ovid freely admits that love will wound, but to no avail. A little bit of pain is to be expected, even cherished–after all, when you feel the wound more deeply, you can play the part ever more zealously. The poet’s delay of "pectora" until the beginning of the next line brings his point closer to home as the reader is left with the overwhelming impression of a stab to the heart.
Non ego, Phoebe, datas a te mihi mentiar artes,
Nec nos aeriae voce monemur avis,
Nec mihi sunt visae Clio Cliusque sorores
Servanti pecudes vallibus, Ascra, tuis :
Usus opus movet hoc : vati parete perito ;
Vera canam : coeptis, mater Amoris, ades !
Not only does Ovid declare his mastery over Love, not only does he not invoke anyone to help his work, but he blatantly states that this topic is outside the jurisdiction of divine help. He tells Phoebus Apollo, nature, and even the Muses themselves that they have had no part in inspiring his Artes Amatoriae (he denies any part of their help with his strident repetition of "nec...nec" ). Instead, he accepts that the only the inspiration has come from his own experiences–only these have given him the knowledge to write this manual for young lovers. He does thank Venus, mother of Love, for it is only through her that Love came to exist, and, thus, only through her that he had these experiences to write about. His simple arrogance, though no doubt scathing to the gods, nevertheless leads the reader toward a trust in Ovid where he sits, replete with certain mastery over Love. My tale is true (inherent in "Vera canam...") and I am Love’s master, Ovid sings.
Este procul, vittae tenues, insigne pudoris,
Quaeque tegis medios instita longa pedes.
Nos venerem tutam concessaque furta canemus,
Inque meo nullum carmine crimen erit.
Towards the end of his introduction, Ovid imperiously bids the young maids not to be near. After all, he seeks to arm the men in their pursuance of game such that wears those very "insigne pudoris"("emblems of modesty"). Though he sings only of safe games with not a hint of crime, still the hare must not be warned of the hounds.
Throughout his poetry, Ovid loved to use metaphors, cross-referencing stories to weave a very labyrinth of illusory relationships. The examples he draws from give weight and phantom substance to his thoughts, substantiating whatever philosophy he may condone. Chaucer, also was fond of metaphors, using them loosely as moralistic parables. Such was the case in his Troilus and Criseyde, an analysis of which follows.
II. Chaucer: A Typical Introduction and Analysis
Chaucer’s poetry moves along heavily, nothing like Ovid’s light-hearted couplet, in stanzas consisting of seven lines each. Instead of the previous poet’s jaunty self-assurance, Chaucer opens his poem with a wailing and gnashing of teeth:
The double sorwe of Troilus to tellen,
That was the king Priamus sone of Troye,
In lovinge, how his aventures fellen
Fro wo to wele, and after out of Ioye,
My purpos is, er that I parte fro ye.
Thesiphone, thou help me for tendyte
Thise woful vers, that wepen as I wryte!
Unlike the playful tone set forth in Ovid’s tale, foretelling a rather enjoyable series of lessons in the mostly delightful rigors of finding and detaining a lover, Chaucer immediately sets the tone of his poetry to be one of sadness and misery. He sets his poem in Troy, a falling city, making up one half of Troilus’ "double sorwe". Chaucer straightforwardly states that his main figure, Troilus, shall go from sorrow to joy("fro wo to wele"), dramatizing how Troilus shall suffer fleeting happiness descending into abject misery by tacking on "and after out of joy." He truly affirms his poem as naught but a tale of woe as he goes on to call on a Fury, an agent of vengeance, to watch over his work. Far from the self-assured Ovid who did not thank aught but his own experience, Chaucer begs for the help of the Fury as his verse grows even sadder("...this woful vers, that wepen as I wryte!").
To thee clepe I, thou goddesse of torment,
Thou cruel Furie, sorwing ever in peyne;
Help me, that am the sorwful instrument
That helpeth lovers, as I can, to pleyne!
For wel sit it, the sothe for to seyne,
A woful wight to han a drery fere,
And, to a sorwful tale, a sory chere.
Tisiphone, the avenger of murder, is perhaps truly the most appropriate Fury for Chaucer to call upon–after all, love is one of the leading causes of death, be it in war, by a duel, or self-inflicted. Unlike jealous Megaera, or ever-angered Alecto, Tisiphone seems the most detached and capable of executing justice. As Chaucer states, Tisiphone is also "sorwing ever in peyne," rather like a lover who suffers his love unrequited or rejected or wronged. Chaucer goes on to refer to himself as a "sorwful instrument," indicating that he does not like to detail such tortures to innocents, but must do so for their own sakes–must warn them what might result of loving. Yet he casts himself as the lover’s voice, scribing the wounded ones’ complaints so that all might see and be forewarned.
For I, that god of Loves servaunts serve,
Ne dar to Love, for myn unlyklinesse,
Preyen for speed, al sholde I therfor sterve,
So fer am I fro his help in derknesse;
But nathelees, if this may doon gladnesse
To any lover, and his cause avayle,
Have he my thank, and myn be this travayle!
Chaucer also names himself a servant of Love’s slaves: he wishes to help those whom love afflicts, and, unlike Ovid, makes no claims to show them how to rule Love. He says that he will not pray to Love, for Love would leave him to sooner starve than grant the requested help–thus already establishing love as an unreliable ideal. In a few brief lines, Chaucer manages to poignantly and succinctly express his entire perception of love: he forsakes any claim of being a servitor of Love, clearly illuminates love as being no source of support, reasserts his misery at his position, but grants that his travail may do someone some sort of good and, for that chance for his work to be of help to another wretch, he is grateful.
But ye loveres, that bathen in gladnesse,
If any drope of pitee in yow be,
Remembreth yow on passed hevinesse
That ye han felt, and on the adversitee
Of othere folk, and thenketh how that ye
Han felt that Love dorste yow displese;
Or ye han wonne hym with to greet an ese.
Chaucer next calls on those lovers who, far from being suffering wretches, actually delight in their relationships and are at peace with each other and life. He demands that, if these lovers truly have heart (and room in them for any beside each other), they should take pains to remember the grief they have suffered before and thus treat those less fortunate lovers with a measure of compassion. In a heavy-browed, rather forboding manner, Chaucer closes this particular stanza with a veiled warning that perhaps such peace is deceptive–perhaps these contented young lovers have inner doubts over the worth of what love has made them suffer or whether their situation is truly as stable as they accept it to be("...Han felt that Love dorste yow displese;/ Or ye han wonne hym with to greet an ese").
And preyeth for hem that ben in the cas
Of Troilus, as ye may after here,
That love hem bringe in hevene to solas,
And eek for me preyeth to god so dere,
That I have might to shewe, in som manere,
Swich peyne and wo as Loves folk endure,
In Troilus unsely aventure.
Chaucer continues chastising any lover that is content, calling on him to pray for those lovers in similar straits to Troilus. He also lets more of his story slip, revealing that perhaps a lover so wretched as Troilus will only find solace in the higher embrace of Heaven, thereby allowing death to lay a heavy hand on the proceedings he sets forth to detail. Chaucer calls on the Christian God to aid those lovers (not to mention his own endeavors in educating them on the pitfalls of loving), and to lend strength to his metaphorical story of Troilus. Not only does Chaucer follow in the traditional poetic steps of the old Latin masters by invoking a pagan figure (here the Fury, Tisiphone) but he also pays homage to his own moral religious structure by calling on his God.
And biddeth eek for hem that been despeyred
In love, that never nil recovered be,
And eek for hem that falsly been apeyred
Thorugh wikked tonges, be it he or she;
Thus biddeth god, for his benignitee,
So graunte hem sone out of this world to pace,
That been despeyred out of Loves grace.
Chaucer continues his veiled lecture (directed at those supposedly content in their love lives) on how love is truly a horrid thing, too full of tricks and games that harm, by citing those wretches who are either so deeply wounded by Love’s poisoned arrows that they shall never recover or those who have been slandered by Love’s intrigues and so wounded. The only respite from these woes, the only solution that Chaucer can offer is that of the cleansing entrance into the kingdom of God–for the maimed lover, the world afterwards would hold no delight or peace. The only true surcease can be granted by the Heavenly Father who does not traffick with man’s base interpretation of love.
And biddeth eek for hem that been at ese,
That god hem graunte ay good perseveraunce,
And sende hem might hir ladies so to plese,
That it to Love be worship and plesaunce.
For so hope I my soule best avaunce,
To preye for hem that Loves servaunts be,
And wryte hir wo, and live in charitee.
Chaucer relinquishes his lecturing to request prayer also for those at peace, fervently wishing for those who claim content to stay at peace. Not trusting in human’s poor abilities to please one another, he asks that God send any peaceful twain both perseverence to see them through their times together and the ability to make each other happy. He affects knowledge of the pain of those who are in love, knowledge of what horrible things they might go through, and so he lends them all his compassion by writing down their woes so that others might be helped to avoid Love’s traps if they’re so unfortunate as to suffer Love’s dart. He also contends that lovers should live in charity, due to the fact their happiness hinges upon Love’s sufferance.
And for to have of hem compassioun
As though I were hir owene brother dere.
Now herkeneth with a gode entencioun,
For now wol I gon streight to my matere,
In whiche ye may the double sorwes here
Of Troilus, in loving of Criseyde,
And how that she forsook him er she deyde.
Chaucer sums up his introduction by returning to defining the metaphor that his tale of woe and love’s treacheries is couched in. He casts himself in the compassionate light of a brotherly tale-teller, who seeks only to educate those young lovers on the true nature of love games and their players. He reiterates that his tale is woven of double sorrow and of a man, named Troilus, steadfast in his love, who is wronged by a woman and forsaken by her. The curious wording "...how that she forsook him er she deyde" seems to infer, from Chaucer’s moralistic ground, how lack of faith leads soon to a passing from this world. Thus does Chaucer leave his negative view of love-spawned games spreading as a miasma over the consciousness of his readers.
III. An Analysis of Differences
Chaucer follows in the footsteps of the old Latin masters, yes, by placing an invocation and rather summarizing his work at the outset of his poem. Though he may have favored Ovid, that venerable poet’s works were not the only he read–and thus a great structural influence cannot be derived. Chaucer did not write in couplets, but in seven-lined verse. He did not use a great number of metaphors (Chaucer’s entire poem was sort of a metaphor), and his use of personification was even less than Ovid’s.
However, Ovid’s hand can clearly be seen on Chaucer’s subject matter. Though not readily apparent through a close examination of the introduction, Troilus and Criseyde is truly a poem debunking the verity of Ovidian love-games. From a moralistic higher ground, Chaucer is sure that only pain and suffering can follow from Ovid’s advocated love-play (after all, Chaucer had the benefit of looking at Ovid’s entire life, and could see where the Artes Amatoriae landed her poet). So, through the character of Troilus (a young man frightfully unskilled in the so-called arts of love, who has only a brash sincerity), Chaucer illustrates how truth and falsity can never match and so fall apart in misery. Troilus’ truth is immediately seen as vain when he falls in love with Criseyde, a woman skilled in a more Ovidian art of loving. She soon leaves him as her flame of lust burns out (no true and enduring love could she harbor, educated as she was), and the poem ends with Troilus’ death by the hand of Achilles (Calabrese 49).
Works Cited
Calabrese, Michael A. Chaucer’s Ovidian Arts of Love. Pensacola: University Press of Florida, 1994.
Kidd, D.A., MA. Latin Dictionary. London: Collins, 1989.
Page, T.E., Ed. Ovid: The Art of Love and Other Poems. The Loeb Classical Library. Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1929.
Wilkinson, L.P. Ovid Surveyed: An Abridgement of Ovid Recalled. Cambridge: University Press, 1962.