Chapter IV: Ovid. 43 B.c.--18 A.d

The school of Pythagoras and of Plato, although it was not the fashionable or popular religion of Rome, counted amongst its disciples some distinguished Italians, and the name of Cicero, who belonged to the “New Academy,” is sufficiently illustrious. The Italians, however, who borrowed their religion as well as their literature from the Greeks, were never distinguished, like their masters, for that refinement of thought which might have led them to attach themselves to the Pythagorean teaching. Under the bloody despotism of the Empire, the philosophy which was most affected by the _literati_ and those who were driven to the consolations of philosophy was the _stoical_, which taught its disciples to consider _apathy_ as the _summum bonum_ of existence. This school of philosophy, whatever its other merits, was too much centred in self--paradoxical as the assertion may seem--to have much regard for the rest of mankind, much less for the non-human species. Nor, while they professed supreme contempt for the luxuries and even comforts of life, did the disciples of the “Porch,” in general, practice abstinence from any exalted motive, humanitarian or spiritual. They preached indifference for the “good things” of this life, not so much to elevate the spiritual and moral side of human nature as to show their contempt for human life altogether.

That the Italian was essentially of a more barbarous nature than the Greek is apparent in the national spectacles and amusements. The savage scenes of gladiatorial and non-human combat and internecine slaughter of the Latin amphitheatres, of which the famous Colosseum in the capital was the model of many others in the provinces, were abhorrent to the more refined Greek mind.[21] In view of scenes so sanguinary--the “Roman holiday”--it is scarcely necessary to observe that humanitarianism was a creed unknown to the Italians; and it was not likely that a people, addicted throughout their career as a dominant race to the most bloody wars, not only foreign but also internecine, with whom fighting and slaughter of their own kind was an almost daily occupation, should entertain any feeling of pity (to say nothing of justice) towards their non-human dependants. Nevertheless, even they were not wholly inaccessible, on occasion, to the prompting of pity. Referring to a grand spectacle given by Pompeius at the dedication of his theatre (B.C. 55), in which a large number of elephants, amongst others, were forced to fight, the elder Pliny tells us:--

“When they lost the hope of escape, they sought the compassion
of the crowd with an appearance that is indescribable, bewailing
themselves with a sort of lamentation so much to the pain of
the populace that, forgetful of the imperator and the elaborate
munificence displayed for their honour, they all rose up in tears
and bestowed imprecations on Pompeius, of which he soon after
experienced the effect.”[22]

Cicero, who was himself present at the spectacle of the Circus, in a letter to a friend, Marcus Marius, writes:--

“What followed, for five days, was successive combats between a
man and a wild beast. (_Venationes binæ._) It was magnificent.
No one disputes it. But what pleasure can it be to a person of
refinement, when either a weak man is torn to pieces by a very
powerful beast, or a noble animal is struck through by a hunting
spear?... The last day was that of the elephants, in which there
was great astonishment on the part of the populace and crowd, but
no enjoyment. Indeed there followed a degree of compassion, and a
certain idea that there is a sort of fellowship between that huge
animal and the human race.” (Cicero, _Ep. ad Diversos_ vii., 1.)

Testimonies which might induce one almost to think that, had not they been systematically and industriously accustomed to these horrible and gigantic butcheries by their rulers, even the Roman populace might have been susceptible of better feelings and desires than those inspired by their amphitheatres, though these savage exhibitions were perhaps hardly worse than the combats and slaughter in the bull-rings of Seville or Madrid, or at the courts of the Mohammedan princes of India recently sanctioned by the presence of English royalty. It is worth noting, in passing, that while the _gladiatorial_ slaughters were discontinued some years after the triumph of Christianity, the other part of the entertainment--the indiscriminate combats and slaughter of the _non-human_ victims--continued to be exhibited to a much later period.

If we reflect that the rise of the humanitarian spirit in Christian Europe, or rather in the better section of it, is of very recent origin, it might appear unreasonable to look for any distinct exhibition of so exalted a feeling in the younger age of the world. Yet, to the shame of more advanced civilisations, we find manifestations of it in the writings of a few of the more refined minds of Greece and Italy; and Plutarch and Seneca--the former particularly--occupy a distinguished place amongst the first preachers of that sacred truth.[23]

Publius Ovidius Naso, the Latin versifier of the Pythagorean philosophy, was born B.C. 43. He belonged to the equestrian order, a position in the social scale which corresponds with the “higher middle class” of modern days. Like so many other names eminent in literature, he was in the first instance educated for the law, for which, also like many other literary celebrities, he soon showed his genius to be unfitted and uncongenial. He studied at the great University of that age--Athens--where he acquired a knowledge of the Greek language, and probably of its rich literature. The most memorable event in his life--which, in accordance with the fashion of his contemporaries of the same rank, was for the most part devoted to “gallantry” and the accustomed amatory licence--is his mysterious banishment from Rome to the inhospitable and savage shores of the Euxine, where he passed the last seven years of his existence, dying there in the sixtieth year of his age. The cause of his sudden exile from the Court of Augustus, where he had been in high favour, is one of those secrets of history which have exercised the ingenuity of his successive biographers. According to the terms of the imperial edict, the freedom of the poet’s _Ars Amatoria_ was the offence. That this was a mere pretext is plain, as well from the long interval of time which had passed since the publication of the poem as from the character of the fashionable society of the capital. Ovid himself attributes his misfortune to the fact of his having become the involuntary witness of some secret of the palace, the nature of which is not divulged.

His most important poems are (1) _The Metamorphoses_, in fifteen books, so called from its being a collection of the numerous transformations of the popular theology. It is, perhaps, the most _charming_ of Latin poems that have come down to us. Particular passages have a special beauty. (2) _The Fasti_, in twelve books, of which only six are extant, is the Roman Calendar in verse. Its interest, apart from the poetic genius of the author, is great, as being the grand repertory of the Latin feasts and their popular origin. Besides these two principal poems he was the author of the famous _Loves_, in three books; the _Letters of the Heroines_, _The Remedies of Love_, and _The Tristia, or Sad Thoughts_. He also wrote a tragedy--_Medea_--which, unfortunately has not come down to us. All his poems are characterised by elegance and a remarkable smoothness and regularity of versification, and in much of his productions there is an unusual beauty and picturesqueness of poetic ideas.

The following passage from the fifteenth book of the _Metamorphoses_ has been justly said by Dryden, his translator, to be the finest part of the whole poem. It is almost impossible to believe but that, in spite of his misspent life, he must have felt, in his better moments at least, something of the truth and beauty of the Pythagorean principles which he so exquisitely versifies. In the touching words which he puts into the mouth of the jealous Medea--the murderess of her children--he might have exclaimed in his own case--

“Video meliora proboque
Deteriora sequor.”[24]

“He [Pythagoras], too, was the first to forbid animals to be served
up at the table, and he was first to open his lips, indeed full
of wisdom yet all unheeded, in the following words: ‘Forbear, O
mortals! to pollute your bodies with such abominable food. There
are the _farinacea_ (_fruges_), there are the fruits which bear
down the branches with their weight, and there are the grapes
swelling on the vines; there are the sweet herbs; there are those
that may be softened by the flame and become tender. Nor is the
milky juice denied you; nor honey, redolent of the flower of thyme.
The lavish Earth heaps up her riches and her gentle foods, and
offers you dainties without blood and without slaughter. The lower
animals satisfy their ravenous hunger with flesh. And yet not
all of them; for the horse, the sheep, the cows and oxen subsist
on grass; while those whose disposition is cruel and fierce, the
tigers of Armenia and the raging lions, and the wolves and bears,
revel in their bloody diet.

“‘Alas! what a monstrous crime it is (_scelus_) that entrails
should be entombed in entrails; that one ravening body should grow
fat on others which it crams into it; that one living creature
should live by the death of another living creature! Amid so great
an abundance which the Earth--that best of mothers--produces does,
indeed, nothing delight you but to gnaw with savage teeth the sad
produce of the wounds you inflict and to imitate the habits of
the Cyclops? Can you not appease the hunger of a voracious and
ill-regulated stomach unless you first destroy another being? Yet
that age of old, to which we have given the name of _golden_, was
blest in the produce of the trees and in the herbs which the earth
brings forth, and the human mouth was not polluted with blood.

“‘Then the birds moved their wings secure in the air, and the hare,
without fear, wandered in the open fields. Then the fish did not
fall a victim to the hook and its own credulity. Every place was
void of treachery; there was no dread of injury--all things were
full of peace. In later ages some one--a mischievous innovator
(_non utilis auctor_), whoever he was--set at naught and scorned
this pure and simple food, and engulfed in his greedy paunch
victuals made from a carcase. It was he that opened the road to
wickedness. I can believe that the steel, since stained with blood,
was first dipped in the gore of savage wild beasts; and that was
lawful enough. We hold that the bodies of animals that seek our
destruction are put to death without any breach of the sacred laws
of morality. But although they might be put to death they were
not to be eaten as well. From this time the abomination advanced
rapidly. The swine is believed to have been the first victim
destined to slaughter, because it grubbed up the seeds with its
broad snout, and so cut short the hopes of the year. For gnawing
and injuring the vine the goat was led to slaughter at the altars
of the avenging Bacchus. Its own fault was the ruin of each of
these victims.

“‘But how have you deserved to die, ye sheep, you harmless
breed that have come into existence for the service of men--who
carry nectar in your full udders--who give your wool as soft
coverings for us--who assist us more by your life than by your
death? Why have the oxen deserved this--beings without guile and
without deceit--innocent, mild, born for the endurance of labour?
Ungrateful, indeed, is man, and unworthy of the bounteous gifts of
the harvest who, after unyoking him from the plough, can slaughter
the tiller of his fields--who can strike with the axe that neck
worn bare with labour, through which he had so often turned up the
hard ground, and which had afforded so many a harvest.

“‘And it is not enough that such wickedness is committed by men.
They have involved the gods themselves in this abomination, and
they believe that a Deity in the heavens can rejoice in the
slaughter of the laborious and useful ox. The spotless victim,
excelling in the beauty of its form (for its very beauty is the
cause of its destruction), decked out with garlands and with gold
is placed before their altars, and, ignorant of the purport of
the proceedings, it hears the prayers of the priest. It sees the
fruits which it cultivated placed on its head between its horns,
and, struck down, with its life-blood it dyes the sacrificial knife
which it had perhaps already seen in the clear water. Immediately
they inspect the nerves and fibres torn from the yet living being,
and scrutinise the will of the gods in them.

“‘From whence such a hunger in man after unnatural and unlawful
food? Do you dare, O mortal race, to continue to feed on flesh? Do
it not, I beseech you, and give heed to my admonitions. And when
you present to your palates the limbs of slaughtered oxen, know and
feel that you are feeding on the tillers of the ground.’”--_Metam._
xv., 73-142.