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Page 19
Ovid's exile is one of those mysteries of history which has most keenly
excited the curiosity of the ages. Ovid himself, without knowing it,
has rendered it more acute by his prudence in not speaking more clearly
of the cause of his exile, making only rare allusions to it, which may
be summed up in his famous words, _carmen et error_. It is for this
reason that posterity has for twenty centuries been asking itself what
was this error which sent the exquisite poet away to die among the
barbarous Getae on the frozen banks of the Danube; and naturally they
have never compassed his secret. But if, therefore, it is impossible
to say exactly what the error was which cost Ovid so dearly, it is
possible, on the other hand, to explain that unique and famous episode
in the history of Rome to which, after all, Ovid owes a great part of
his immortality. He was not the victim, as has been too often
repeated, of a caprice of despotism; and therefore he cannot be
compared with any of the many Russian writers whom the administration,
through fear and hatred, deports to Siberia without definite reason.
Certainly the error of Ovid lay in his having violated some clause of
the _Lex Julia de adulteriis_, which, as we know, was so comprehensive
in its provisions that it considered as accessories to the crime those
guilty of various acts and deeds which, judged even with modern rigor
and severity, would seem reprehensible, to be sure, but not deserving
of such terrible punishment. Ovid was certainly involved under one of
these clauses,--which one we do not, and never shall, know,--but his
error, whether serious or light, was not the true cause of his
condemnation. It was the pretext used by the more conservative and
puritanical part of Roman society to vent upon him a long-standing
grudge the true motives of which lay much deeper.
What was the standing of this poet of the gay, frivolous, exquisite
ladies whom they wished to send into exile? He was the author of that
graceful, erotic poetry who, through the themes which he chose for his
elegant verses, had encouraged the tendencies toward luxury, diversion,
and the pleasures which had transformed the austere matron of a former
day into an extravagant and undisciplined creature given to
voluptuousness; the poet who had gained the admiration of women
especially by flattering their most dangerous and perverse tendencies.
The puritanical party hated and combatted this trend of the newer
generations, and therefore, also, the poetry of Ovid on account of its
disastrous effects upon the women, whom it weaned from the virtues most
prized in former days--frugality, simplicity, family affection, and
purity of life. The Roman aristocracy did not recognize the right of
absolute literary freedom which is acknowledged by many modern states,
in which writers and men of letters have acquired a strong political
influence. The theory, held by many countries to-day that any
publication is justifiable, provided it be a work of art, was not
accepted by the Romans in power. On the contrary, they were convinced
that an idea or a sentiment, dangerous in itself, became still more
harmful when artistically expressed. Therefore Rome had always known
the existence of a kind of police supervision of ideas and of literary
forms, exercised through various means by the ruling aristocracy, and
especially in reference to women, who constituted that element of
social life in which virtue and purity of customs are of the greatest
consequence. The Roman ladies of the aristocracy, as we have seen,
received considerable instruction. They read the poets and
philosophers, and precisely for this reason there was always at Rome a
strong aversion to light and immoral literature. If books had
circulated among men only, the poetry of Ovid would perhaps not have
enjoyed the good fortune of a persecution which was to focus upon it
the attention of posterity. The greater liberty conceded to women thus
placed upon society an even greater reserve in the case of its
literature. This Ovid learned to his cost when he was driven into
exile because his books gave too much delight to too many ladies at
Rome. By the order of Augustus these books were removed from the
libraries, which did not hinder their coming down to us entire, while
many a more serious work--like Livy's history, for example--has been
either entirely or in large part lost.
[Illustration: Drusus, the younger brother of Tiberius.]
After the fall of the second Julia up to the time of his death, which
occurred August 23, in the year 14 A.D., Augustus had no further
serious griefs over the ladies of his family. The great misfortune of
the last years of his government was a public misfortune--the defeat of
Varus and the loss of Germany. But with what sadness must he have
looked back in the last weeks of his long life upon the history of his
family! All those whom he had loved were torn from him before their
time by a cruel destiny: Drusus, Caius, and Lucius Caesar by death; the
Julias by the cruelty of the law and by an infamy worse than death.
The unique grandeur to which he had attained had not brought fortune to
his family. He was old, almost alone, a weary survivor among the tombs
of those dear to him who had been untimely lost through fate, and with
the still sadder memories of those who had been buried in a living
grave of infamy. His only associates were Tiberius, with whom he had
become reconciled; Antonia, his sweet and highly respected
daughter-in-law; and Livia, the woman whom destiny had placed at his
side in one of the most critical moments of his life, the faithful
companion through fifty-two years of his varied and wonderful fortune.
We can therefore understand why it was that, as the historians tell us,
the last words of the old emperor should have been a tender expression
of gratitude to his faithful wife. "Farewell, farewell, Livia!
Remember our long union!" With these words, rendering homage to the
wife whom custom and the law had made the faithful and loving
companion, and not the docile slave, of her husband, he ended his life
like a true Roman.
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