mythological emblems. The fable was explained by Porphyry; and the Emperor
Julian afterwards invented and published an allegory of this mystic tale.
According to them, the voluntary emasculation of Atis was typical of the
revolution of the sun between the tropics, or the separation of the human
soul from vice and error. In the literal acceptation in which it is
presented by Catullus, the fable seems an unpromising and rather a
peculiar subject for poetry: indeed, there is no example of a similar
event being celebrated in verse, except the various poems on the fate of
Abelard. It is likewise the only specimen we have in Latin of the
Galliambic measure; so called, because sung by Galli, the effeminate
votaries of Cybele. The Romans, being a more sober and severe people than
the Greeks, gave less encouragement than they to the celebration of the
rites of Bacchus, and have poured forth but few dithyrambic lines. The
genius of their language and of their usual style of poetry, as well as
their own practical and imitative character, were unfavourable to the
composition of such bold, figurative, and discursive strains. They have
left no verses which can be strictly called dithyrambic, except, perhaps,
the nineteenth ode of the second book of Horace, and a chorus in the
_Œdipus_ of Seneca. If not perfectly dithyrambic, the numbers of the
_Atis_ of Catullus are, however, strongly expressive of distraction and
enthusiasm. The violent bursts of passion are admirably aided by the
irresistible torrent of words, and by the cadence of a measure powerfully
denoting mental agony and remorse. In this production, now unexampled in
every sense of the word, Catullus is no longer the light agreeable poet,
who counted the kisses of his mistress, and called on the Cupids to lament
her sparrow. His ideas are full of fire, and his language of wildness: He
pours forth his thoughts with an energy, rapidity, and enthusiasm, so
different from his usual tone, and, indeed, from that of all Latin poets,
that this production has been supposed to be a translation from some
ancient Greek dithyrambic, of which it breathes all the passion and poetic
phrensy. The employment of long compound epithets, which constantly recur
in the _Atis_,—
“Ubi cerva sylvicultrix, ubi aper nemorivagus,” ——
is also a strong mark of imitation of the Greek dithyrambics; it being
supposed, that such sonorous and new-invented words were most befitting
intoxication or religious enthusiasm(500). Anacreon, in his thirteenth
ode, alludes to the lamentations and transports of Atis, as to a
well-known poetical tradition:
“Ὁι μεν καλην Κυβηβην
Τον ἡμιθηλυν Ἀττιν
Ἐν ὀυρεσιν βοωντα,
Λεγουσιν έκμανηναι.”
Atis, it appears from the poem of Catullus, was a beautiful youth,
probably of Greece, who, forsaking his home and parents, sailed with a few
companions to Phrygia, and, having landed, hurried to the grove
consecrated to the great goddess Cybele,—
“Adiitque opaca sylvis redimita loca Deæ,”
There, struck with superstitious phrensy, he qualified himself for the
service of that divinity; and, snatching the musical instruments used in
her worship, he exhorted his companions, who had followed his example, to
ascend to the temple of Cybele. At this part of the poem, we follow the
new votary of the Phrygian goddess through all his wild traversing of
woods and mountains, till at length, having reached the temple, Atis and
his companions drop asleep, exhausted by fatigue and mental distraction.
Being tranquillized in some measure by a night’s repose, Atis becomes
sensible of the misery of his situation; and, struck with horror at his
rash deed, he returns to the sea-shore. There he casts his eyes, bathed in
tears, over the ocean homeward; and comparing his former happiness with
his present wretched condition, he pours forth a complaint unrivalled in
energy and pathos. Gibbon talks of the different emotions produced by the
transition of Atis from the wildest enthusiasm to sober pathetic complaint
for his irretrievable loss(501); but, in fact, his complaint is not
soberly pathetic—to which the Galliambic measure would be little suited:
it is, on the contrary, the most impassioned expression of mental agony
and bitter regret in the wide compass of Roman literature:
“Abero foro, palæstrâ, stadio et gymnasiis?
Miser, ah miser! querendum est etiam atque etiam, anime:
Ego puber, ego adolescens, ego ephebus, ego puer;
Ego gymnasii fui flos, ego eram decus olei;
Mihi januæ frequentes, mihi limina tepida,
Mihi floridis corollis redimita domus erat,
Linquendum ubi esset, orto mihi Sole, cubiculum.
Egone Deûm ministra et Cybeles famula ferar?
Ego Mænas, ego mei pars, ego vir sterilis ero?
Ego viridis algida Idæ nive amicta loca colam?
Ego vitam agam sub altis Phrygiæ columinibus,
Ubi cerva sylvicultrix, ubi aper nemorivagus?
Jam jam dolet quod egi, jam jamque pœnitet.”
One is vexed, that the conclusion of this splendid production should be so
puerile. Cybele, dreading the defection and escape of her newly acquired
votary, lets loose a lion, which drives him back to her groves,—
“Ubi semper omne vitæ spatium famula fuit.”
Muretus attempted a Latin Galliambic Address to Bacchus in imitation of
the measure employed in the _Atis_ of Catullus, and he has strenuously
tried to make his poem resemble its model by an affected use of uncouth
compound epithets. Pigna, an Italian poet, has adopted similar numbers in
a Latin poem, on the metamorphosis of the water nymph, Pitys, who was
changed into a fir-tree, for having fled from the embraces of Boreas. In
many of the lines he has closely followed Catullus; but it seems scarcely
possible that any modern poet could excite in his mind the enthusiasm
essential for the production of such works. Catullus probably believed as
little in Atis and Cybele as Muretus, but he lived among men who did; and
though his opinions might not be influenced, his imagination was tinged
with the colours of the age.
_Atis_ is the name of one of the tragic operas of Quinault, which, I
believe, was the most popular of his pieces except _Armide_; but it has
little reference to the classic story of the votary of Cybele. The French
Atis is a vehement and powerful lover, who elopes with the nymph Sangaride
on the wings of the Zephyrs, which had been placed by Cybele, who was
herself enamoured of the youth, at the disposal of Atis. It seems a poor
production in itself, (how different from the operas of Metastasio!) but
it was embellished by splendid scenery, and the music of Lulli, adapted to
the chorus of Phrygians, and Zephyrs, and Dreams, and Streams, and
Corybantes.
64. _Epithalamium Pelei et Thetidis_.—This is the longest and most
elaborate of the productions of Catullus. It displays much accurate
description, as well as pathetic and impassioned incident. Catullus was a
Greek scholar, and all his commentators seem determined that his best
poems should be considered as of Greek invention. I do not believe,
however, that the whole of this epithalamium was taken from any one poet
of Greece, as the _Coma Berenices_ was from Callimachus; but the author
undoubtedly borrowed a great deal from various writers of that country.
Hesiod wrote an Epithalamium, Ἐις Πηλεα και Θετιν(502), some fragments of
which have been cited by Tzetzes, in his _prolegomena_ to Lycophron’s
_Cassandra_; and judging from these, it appears to have suggested several
lines of the epithalamium of Catullus. The adornment, however, and
propriety of its language, and the usual practice of Catullus in other
productions, render it probable, that he has chiefly selected his beauties
from the Alexandrian poets. Valckenar, in his edition of Theocritus,
(1779,) has shown, that the Idyls of Theocritus, particularly the
_Adoniazusi_, have been of much service to our Latin poet; and a late
German commentator has pointed out more than twenty passages, in which he
has not merely imitated, but actually translated, Apollonius Rhodius(503).
The proper subject of this epithalamium is the festivals held in Thessaly
in honour of the nuptials of Peleus and Thetis; but it is chiefly occupied
with a long episode, containing the story of Ariadne. It commences with
the sailing of the ship Argo on the celebrated expedition to which that
vessel has given name. The Nereids were so much struck with the unusual
spectacle, that they all emerged from the deep; and Thetis, one of their
number, fell in love with Peleus, who had accompanied the expedition, and
who was instantly seized with a reciprocal passion. Little is said as to
the manner in which the courtship was conducted, and the poet hastens to
the preparations for the nuptials. On this joyful occasion, all the
inhabitants of Thessaly flock to its capital, Pharsalia. Every thing in
the royal palace is on a magnificent scale; but the poet chiefly describes
the _stragula_, or coverlet, of the nuptial couch, on which was depicted
the concluding part of the story of Theseus and Ariadne. Ariadne is
represented as standing on the beach, where she had been abandoned, while
asleep, by Theseus, and gazing in fixed despair at the departing sail of
her false lover. Never was there a finer picture drawn of complete mental
desolation. She was incapable of exhibiting violent signs of grief: She
neither beats her bosom, nor bursts into tears; but the diadem which had
compressed her locks—the light mantle which had floated around her
form—the veil which had covered her bosom—all neglected, and fallen at her
feet, were the sport of the waves which dashed the strand, while she
herself, regardless and stupified with horror at her frightful situation,
stood like the motionless statue of a Bacchante,—
“Saxea ut effigies Bacchantis prospicit Evoe;
Non flavo retinens subtilem vertice mitram,
Non contecta levi velatum pectus amictu,
Non tereti strophio luctantes vincta papillas;
Omnia quæ toto delapsa e corpore passim
Ipsius ante pedes fluctus salis alludebant.”
The above passage is thus imitated by the author of the elegant poem
_Ciris_, which has been attributed to Virgil, and is not unworthy of his
genius:
“Infelix virgo tota bacchatur in urbe:
Non styrace Idæo fragrantes picta capillos,
Cognita non teneris pedibus Sicyonia servans,
Non niveo retinens baccata monilia collo.”—v. 167.
Catullus, leaving Ariadne in the attitude above described, recapitulates
the incidents, by which she had been placed in this agonizing situation.
He relates, in some excellent lines, the magnanimous enterprize of
Theseus—his voyage, and arrival in Crete: He gives us a picture of the
youthful innocence of Ariadne, reared in the bosom of her mother, like a
myrtle springing up on the solitary banks of the Euphrates, or a flower
whose blossom is brought forth by the breath of spring. The combat of
Theseus with the Minotaur is but shortly and coldly described. It is
obvious that the poet merely intended to raise our idea of the valour of
Theseus, so far as to bestow interest and dignity on the passion of
Ariadne, and to excuse her for sacrificing to its gratification all
feelings of domestic duty and affection. Having yielded and accompanied
her lover, she was deserted by him, in that forlorn situation, her deep
sense of which had changed her to the likeness of a Bacchante sculptured
in stone. Her first feelings of horror and astonishment had deprived her
of the power of utterance; but she at length bursts into exclamations
against the perfidy of men, and their breach of vows, which
—— “Cuncta aerii discerpunt irrita venti.
Jam jam nulla viro juranti femina credat,
Nulla viri speret sermones esse fideles:
Qui, dum aliquid cupiens animus prægestit apisci,
Nil metuunt jurare, nihil promittere parcunt.
Sed simul ac cupidæ mentis satiata libido est,
Dicta nihil metuêre, nihil perjuria curant.”
This passage has been obviously imitated by Ariosto, in his _Orlando_—
“Donne, alcuna di voi mai più non sia
Che a parole d’amante abbia a dar fede.
L’amante per aver quel che desia,
Senza curar che Dio tutto ode e vede,
Avviluppa promesse, e giuramenti,
Che tutti spargon poi per l’aria i venti.”
After indulging in such general reflections, Ariadne complains of the
cruelty and ingratitude of Theseus in particular, whom she thus
apostrophizes—
“Quænam te genuit solâ sub rupe leæna?
Quod mare conceptum spumantibus exspuit undis?
Quæ Syrtis, quæ Scylla, vorax quæ vasta Charybdis?”
These lines seem to have been suggested by the address of Patroclus to
Achilles, near the commencement of the sixteenth book of the Iliad—
“—— Ὀυκ αρα σοι γε πατηρ ἠν ἱπποτα Πηλευς,
Ὀυδε Θετις μητηρ· γλαυκη δε σε τικτε Θαλασσα,
Πετραι δ’ ἠλιβατοι, ὁτι τοι νεος ἐστιν απηνης.”
Catullus, having put the expression of this idea in the mouth of a
princess abandoned by her lover, it became a sort of _Formula_ for
deserted heroines among subsequent poets. Thus Ovid, in the eighth book of
his _Metamorphoses_—
“Non genitrix Europa tibi est, sed inhospita Syrtis,
Armeniæ tigres, austroque agitata Charybdis;”
and thus Virgil makes Dido address Æneas—
“Nec tibi Diva parens, generis nec Dardanus auctor,
Perfide, sed duris genuit te cautibus horrens
Caucasus, Hyrcanæque admôrunt ubera tigres.”
Tasso, who was a great imitator of the Latin poets, attributes, from the
lips of Armida, a similar genealogy to Rinaldo—
“Nè te Sofia produsse, e non sei nato
Dell’ Azzio sangue tu. Te l’onda insana
Del mar produsse, e ’l Caucaso gelato,
E le mamme allattar de tigre Ircana.”
Boileau had happily enough parodied those rodomontades in the earlier
editions of the _Lutrin_; but the passage has been omitted in all those
subsequent to that of 1683—
“Non, ton père à Paris ne fut point boulanger,
Et tu n’es point du sang de Gervais, l’horloger;
Ta mère ne fut point la maîtresse d’une coche:
Caucase dans ses flancs te forma d’une roche,
Une tigresse affreuse en quelque antre ecarté,
Te fit sucer son lait avec sa cruauté.”
I do not think the circumstances in which Armida pours forth her
reproaches are judiciously selected. The Ariadne of Catullus vents her
complaints when her betrayer is beyond reach of hearing, and Dido, though
in his presence, before he had taken his departure: But Armida runs after,
and overtakes Rinaldo, in which there is something degrading. She
expresses, however, more tenderness and amorous devotedness amid her
revilings, than any of her predecessors—
“Struggi la fede nostra; anch’io t’affretto;
Che dico nostra? Ah non più mia: fedele
Sono a te solo, idolo mio crudele!”
When she has ended her complaints of the cruelty and ingratitude of
Theseus, Ariadne expresses a very natural wish, that the ship Argo had
never reached her native shores—
“Jupiter Omnipotens, utinam ne tempore primo
Gnosia Cecropiæ tetigissent littora puppes.”
Thus, apparently, imitated by Virgil—
“Felix, heu nimium felix! si littora tantum
Nunquam Dardaniæ tetigissent nostra carinæ.”
But both these passages, it is probable, were originally drawn from the
beginning of the Medea of Euripides—
“Ἐιθ’ οφελ’ Αργους μη διαπτασθαι σκαφος
Κολχων ες αιαν κυανεας συμπληγαδας.”
Catullus proceeds with a much closer imitation of Euripides—
“Nunc quo me referam? quali spe perdita nitar?
An patris auxilium sperem, quemne ipsa reliqui?”
which is almost translated from the Medea—
“Νυν ποι τραπωμαι; ποτερα προς πατρος δομους
Ὁυς σοι προδουσα και πατραν αφικομην.”
The grief and repentance of Ariadne are at length followed by a sense of
personal danger and hardship; and her pathetic soliloquy terminates with
execrations on the author of her misfortunes, to which—
“Annuit invicto cœlestûm numine rector;
Quo tunc et tellus, atque horrida contremuerunt
Æquora, concussitque micantia sidera mundus,”
an image probably derived from the celebrated description in the Iliad—Ἠ
και κυανεησιν, &c. This promise of Jupiter was speedily accomplished, in
the well-known and miserable fate of Ægeus, the father of Theseus.
We are naturally led to compare with Catullus, the efforts of his own
countrymen, particularly those of Ovid and Virgil, in portraying the
agonies of deserted nymphs and princesses. Both these poets have borrowed
largely from their predecessor. Ovid has treated the subject of Ariadne
not less than four times. In the epistle of Ariadne to Theseus, he has
painted, like Catullus, her disordered person—her sense of desertion, and
remembrance of the benefits she had conferred on Theseus: But the epistle
is a cold production, chiefly because her grief is not immediately
presented before us; and she merely tells that she had wept, and sighed,
and raved. The minute detail, too, into which she enters, is inconsistent
with her vehement passion. She recollects too well each heap of sand which
retarded her steps, and the thorns on the summit of the mountain.
Returning from her wanderings, she addresses her couch, of which she asks
advice, till she becomes overpowered by apprehension for the wild beasts
and marine monsters, of which she presents her false lover with a faithful
catalogue. The simple ideas of Catullus are frequently converted into
conceits, and his natural bursts of passion, into quibbles and artificial
points. In the eighth book of the _Metamorphoses_, the melancholy part of
Ariadne’s story is only recalled, in order to introduce the transformation
of her crown into a star. In the third book of the _Fasti_, she deplores
the double desertion of Theseus and Bacchus. It is in the first book of
the _Art of Love_, that Ovid approaches nearest to Catullus, particularly
in the sudden contrast between the solitude and melancholy of Ariadne, and
the revelry of the Bacchanalians. Some of Virgil’s imitations of Catullus
have been already pointed out: But part of the complaint of Dido is
addressed to her betrayer, and contains a bitterness of sarcasm, and
eloquence of reproof, which neither Catullus nor Ovid could reach.
The desertion of Olimpia by Bireno, related in the tenth canto of the
_Orlando Furioso_, has, in its incidents at least, a strong resemblance to
the poem of Catullus. Bireno, Duke of Zealand, while on a voyage from
Holland to his own country, touches on Frisia; and, being smit with love
for Olimpia, daughter of the king, carries her off with him; but, in the
farther progress of the voyage, he lands on a desert island, and, while
Olimpia is asleep, he leaves her, and sets sail in the darkness of night.
Olimpia awakes, and, finding herself alone, hurries to the beach, and then
ascends a rock, whence she descries, by light of the moon, the departing
sail of her lover. Here, and afterwards while in her tent, she pours forth
her plaints against the treachery of Bireno. In the details of this story,
Ariosto has chiefly copied from Ovid; but he has also availed himself of
several passages in Catullus. As Ariosto, in his story of Olimpia,
principally chose Ovid for his model, so Tasso, in that of Armida, seems
chiefly to have kept his eye on Virgil and Catullus. But Armida is not
like Ariadne, an injured and innocent maid, nor a stately queen, like
Dido; but a voluptuous and artful magician,
—— “Che nella doglia amara
Gia tutte non obblia l’arte e le frodi.”
It has been mentioned, that the desertion of Ariadne was represented on
one compartment of the coverlet of the nuptial couch of Peleus—on another
division of it the story of Bacchus and Ariadne was exhibited. The
introduction of Bacchus and his train closes the episode with an animated
picture, and forms a pleasing contrast to the melancholy scenes that
precede it. At the same time, the poet, delicately breaking off without
even hinting at the fair one’s ready acceptance of her new lover, leaves
the pity we feel for her abandonment unweakened on the mind.
65. _Ad Ortalum_. This is the first of the elegies of Catullus, and indeed
the earliest of any length or celebrity which had hitherto appeared in the
Latin language. Elegies were originally written by the Greeks in alternate
hexameter and pentameter lines, “versibus impariter junctis.” This
measure, which was at first appropriated to deplore misfortunes,
particularly the loss of friends, was soon employed to complain of
unsuccessful love, and, by a very easy transition, to describe the
delights of gratified passion:
—— “Querimonia primùm,
Post etiam inclusa est voti sententia compos.”
Matters were in this state in the age of Mimnermus, who was contemporary
with Solon, and was the most celebrated elegiac poet of the Greeks. Hence,
from his time every poem in that measure, whatever was the subject, came
to be denominated elegy. The mixed species of verse, however, was always
considered essential, so that the complaint of Bion on the death of
Adonis, or that of Moschus on the loss of Bion, is hardly accounted such,
being written in a different sort of measure. In the strict acceptation of
the term, scarcely any Greek elegy has descended to us entire, except
perhaps a few lines by Callimachus on the death of Heraclitus.
This elegy of Catullus may be considered as a sort of introduction to that
which follows it. Hortalus, to whom it is addressed, had requested him to
translate from Callimachus the poem _De Coma Berenices_. He apologizes for
the delay which had taken place in complying with the wishes of his
friend, on account of the grief he had experienced from the premature
death of his brother, for whom he bursts forth into this pathetic
lamentation:—
“Nunquam ego te, vitâ frater amabilior,
Aspiciam posthac; at certe semper amabo,
Semper mœsta tuâ carmina morte canam;
Qualia sub densis ramorum concinit umbris
Daulias, absumpti fata gemens Ityli.”
This simile is taken from the 19th book of the Odyssey—
“Ὡς δ’ ὁτε Πανδαρεου κουρη, χλωρηις αηδων,
Καλον αειδησιν, έαρος νεον ἰσταμενοιο,
Δενδρεων ἐν πεταλοισιν καθεζομενη πυκινοισιν
Παιδ’ ολοφυρομενη Ιτυλον φιλον,”
and it appears in turn to have been the foundation of Virgil’s celebrated
comparison:—
“Qualis populeâ mœrens Philomela sub umbrâ
Amissos queritur fœtus,” &c.
This simile has been beautifully varied and adorned by Moschus(504) and
Quintus Calaber(505), among the Greeks; and among the modern Italians by
Petrarch, in his exquisite sonnet on the death of Laura:—
“Qual Rossignuol che si soave piagne,” &c.
and by Naugerius, in his ode _Ad Auroram_,
“Nunc ab umbroso simul esculeto,
Daulias late queritur: querelas
Consonum circa nemus, et jocosa reddit imago.”
66. _De Coma Berenices_, is the poem alluded to in the former elegy: it is
translated from a production of Callimachus, of which only two distichs
remain, one preserved by Theon, a scholiast, on Aratus, and the other in
the _Scholia_ on Apollonius Rhodius(506).
Callimachus was esteemed by all antiquity as the finest elegiac poet of
Greece, or at least as next in merit to Mimnermus. He belonged to the
poetic school which flourished at Alexandria from the time of Ptolemy
Philadelphus to that of Ptolemy Physcon, and which still sheds a lustre
over the dynasty of the Lagides, in spite of the crimes and personal
deformities with which their names have been sarcastically associated.