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| Image of James Henry, poet of Menippea (1866) |
Henry, James. “It is just in Heaven to favor so the
eyes.” [Poem written while walking from Revere to Verona, July 22 and 23, and
in Dresden, Oct. 22, 1865]. Menippea. Dresden: C.C. Meinhold & Sons,
1866, p. 213-14. https://books.google.com/books?id=4G1MAAAAcAAJ&pg=PA213
If one is to spend time on earlids -- and evidently that’s on the current docket, as my previous posts show (see here and here) – one could do worse than to spend time with doctor-and-poet James Henry. His not-particularly-well-known poetry collection Menippea is a staunchly 19th-century product, and one of the untitled poems from the middle of the collection spends 54 lines considering earlids and their absence.
I quote it here in its entirety:
…. “Nullis inclusit limina portis. Nocte dieque patent… Nulla quies intus, nullaque silentia parte.”
[There is no closing the thresholds of the gates. They are open day and night... There is no peace within, and no silence outside. -- Ovid, Metamorphoses, Bk 12, ll. 45-50]
With lids to keep out dust and glare and flies,
And leave the poor ears open, night and day,
To all each chattering fool may choose to say,
To all assaults of sturdy hurdygurd, 5
And grand-piano octave, chord, and third,
And rapid volley of well-quavered note,
Out of wide gaping, husband-seeking throat,
And fiddle squeak, and railway whistle shrill,
Big drum and little drum and beetling mill, 10
Trumpet and fife, triangle and trombone,
And hiss and shout and scream and grunt and groan?
Be gracious, Heaven! And, if no law forbid,
Grant the distracted ear such share of lid
That we may sometimes soundly sleep at night, 15
Not kept awake until the dawning light,
By rattling window-sash, or miauling cat,
Or howling dog, or nibbling mouse or rat,
Or cooped-up capon fain like cock to crow,
Or carts that down the paved street clattering go, 20
Or nurse, in the next room, and sickly child,
Warbling by turns their native woodnotes wild.
Judge us not by thyself, who darest not sleep,
But open always, day and night, must keep
Both eye and ear, to see and hear how go 25
All things above the clouds, and all below;
Lids for thine ears, as for thine eyes, were worse
Than useless, an impediment and curse;
We, with less care, our eyes are free to close
At night, or for an after-dinner doze, 30
And for this purpose thou hast kindly given,
And with a bounty worthy of high Heaven,
Each eye a pair of lids. One lid might do
For each ear, if thou wilt not hear of two,
One large; well fitting lid; and night and day, 35
As bound in duty, we will ever pray;
And thou with satisfaction shalt behold
Our ears no less protected from the cold
Than our dear eyes, and never more need’st fear
That to thy word we turn a hard, deaf ear; 40
Never more fear that discord should arise
And jealous bickerings between ears and eyes,
Both members of one body corporate,
Both loyal subjects of one church and state;
Never more see us, on a frosty day 45
Stuffing in cotton, or hear caviller say:
“I’d like to know why fallen less happy lot
On ear than on snuffbox and mustardpot;
What is it ever ear thought or ear did,
To disentitle it to its share of lid?” 50
Earlids, kind Heaven, or who knows what --?? But no!
Silence, rebellious tongue, and let ear go
And plead its own case. Lidless, Heaven’s own ear,
And, whether it will or not, must always hear.
James’ use of Ovid as epigraph is only that of metaphor; Ovid doesn’t call to “earlids” specifically, but he does explore the realm of rumor. Rumor is available night and day, says Ovid; there’s no threshold closure to keep rumor out. Indeed, such murmurings amplify as we attend to them (as we must). In other words, gossip will have its sneaky way with folks.
Ovid, Metamorphoses Book XII [= Ovid on Rumor]
40 caelestesque plagas, triplicis confinia mundi;
unde quod est usquam, quamvis regionibus absit,
inspicitur, penetratque cavas vox omnis ad aures:
Fama tenet summaque domum sibi legit in arce,
innumerosque aditus ac mille foramina tectis
45 addidit et nullis inclusit limina portis;
nocte dieque patet; tota est ex aere sonanti,
tota fremit vocesque refert iteratque quod audit;
nulla quies intus nullaque silentia parte,
nec tamen est clamor, sed parvae murmura vocis,
50 qualia de pelagi, siquis procul audiat, undis
esse solent, qualemve sonum, cum Iuppiter atras
increpuit nubes, extrema tonitrua reddunt.
Atria turba tenet: veniunt, leve vulgus, euntque
mixtaque cum veris passim commenta vagantur
55 milia rumorum confusaque verba volutant;
e quibus hi vacuas inplent semonibus aures,
hi narrata ferunt alio, mensuraque ficti
crescit, et auditis aliquid novus adicit auctor.
Illic Credulitas, illic temerarius Error
60 vanaque Laetitia est consternatique Timores
Seditioque recens dubioque auctore Susurri;
ipsa, quid in caelo rerum pelagoque geratur
et tellure, videt totumque inquirit in orbem.
There is a place in the middle of the world, ’twixt land and sea and sky, the meeting-point of the threefold universe. From this place, whatever is, however far away, is seen, and every word penetrates to these hollow ears. Rumour dwells here, having chosen her house upon a high mountain-top; and she gave the house countless entrances, a thousand apertures, but with no doors to close them. Night and day the house stands open. It is built all of echoing brass. The whole place is full of noises, repeats all words and doubles what it hears. There is no quiet, no silence anywhere within. And yet there is no loud clamour, but only the subdued murmur of voices, like the murmur of the waves of the sea if you listen afar off, or like the last rumblings of thunder when Jove has made the dark clouds crash together. Crowds fill the hall, shifting throngs come and go, and everywhere wander thousands of rumours, falsehoods mingled with the truth, and confused reports flit about. Some of these fill their idle ears with talk, and others go and tell elsewhere what they have heard; while the story grows in size, and each new teller makes contribution to what he has heard. Here is Credulity, here is heedless Error, unfounded Joy and panic Fear; here is sudden Sedition and unauthentic Whisperings. Rumour herself beholds all that is done in heaven, on sea and land, and searches throughout the world for news.
Ovid Metamorphoses, vol. 2, transl. Frank Justus Miller, The Loeb Classical Library (New York: G.P. Putnam’s Sons, 1926): vol. 2, pp. 184-185.
ANALYSIS:
James Henry may have been inspired by Ovid, but he goes his own way in the poem. He considers in the beginning the difference between eyes (with lids) and ears (without), and alludes to Ovid’s chattering fools who amplify rumors in so many difficult ways, but he moves quickly (lines 5-12) to the music that might be blocked out – the hurdygurdy, the piano and its chords, the voice and its ornamental runs (sung by a young lady to impress the men). Fiddles, percussion, brass band, and an array of other noises (“hiss and shout and scream and grunt and groan”) assault the ear.
He turns (lines 13-22) to thinking of the earlid, which could help us sleep by protecting us from household and neighborhood noises (blowing windows, cats and dogs, vermin, the neighbors chickens, night-time carts, and children – the urban equivalents through sheer pervasiveness of woodland sounds). We are not like God (lines 23-33), who needs to be always available and is omniscient; we’re able to tune out, to drop our attention and ignore the world around us. Even a single lid would be better for us, and we’d give thanks through prayer for having such a tool (lines 34-40). This happy circumstance would let us treat sight and hearing in parallel, both with the option of closing down at need. Thus, if snuffboxes and mustardpots warrant lids, don’t we humans too? (lines 41-50). But no, the poet concludes, we should be satisfied as-is; lidless ears we have, always open to the world around us – for good or for ill (51-54).
Earlids here are functioning as a poetic meditation on human vulnerability and connection. They start as a whimsical notion – a solution to the cacophony of life – but evolve into a reflection on how we stay open to the world around us. Henry’s playful logic – his comparisons to mustardpots and snuffboxes – underscores the absurdity of wishing away our inherent human-shaped design. Instead, the poem turns our "deficiency" into a virtue: our lidless ears remind us of our shared humanity. Because of their absence, we are (happily) unable to fully shield ourselves from the beauty and the clamor of existence. In a world of noise, our earlidless status keeps us tethered to both the chaos and the harmony around us. We are always listening, always, therefore, alive.
BIBLIOGRAPHY
Henry, James. “It is just in Heaven to favor so the eyes.” [Poem written while walking from Revere to Verona, July 22 and 23, and in Dresden, Oct. 22, 1865]. Menippea. Dresden: C.C. Meinhold & Sons, 1866, p. 213-14. https://books.google.com/books?id=4G1MAAAAcAAJ&pg=PA213
Ovid Metamorphoses, vol. 2, transl. Frank Justus Miller, The Loeb Classical Library (New York: G.P. Putnam’s Sons, 1926): vol. 2, pp. 184-185.
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