In the Dock : Ernest Dowson

Non Sum Qualis eram Bonae Sub Regno Cynarae       by Ernest Dowson


And well you might look shame-faced, Dowson my boy...

Last night, ah, yesternight, betwixt her lips and mine
There fell thy shadow, Cynara! thy breath was shed
Upon my soul between the kisses and the wine;
And I was desolate and sick of an old passion,
Yea, I was desolate and bowed my head:
I have been faithful to thee, Cynara! in my fashion.

All night upon mine heart I felt her warm heart beat,
Night-long within mine arms in love and sleep she lay;
Surely the kisses of her bought red mouth were sweet;
But I was desolate and sick of an old passion,
When I awoke and found the dawn was gray:
I have been faithful to thee, Cynara! in my fashion.

I have forgot much, Cynara! gone with the wind,
Flung roses, roses riotously with the throng,
Dancing, to put thy pale, lost lilies out of mind;
But I was desolate and sick of an old passion,
Yea, all the time, because the dance was long:
I have been faithful to thee, Cynara! in my fashion.

I cried for madder music and for stronger wine,
But when the feast is finished and the lamps expire,
Then falls thy shadow, Cynara! the night is thine;
And I am desolate and sick of an old passion,
Yea, hungry for the lips of my desire:
I have been faithful to thee, Cynara! in my fashion.

Anyone who can call for madder music and for stronger wine, must be a good chap in my book; and as for flinging roses riotously, well, which of us hasn't, which of us hasn't? You can see that Ernest here has his heart in the right place in some respects.

But this poem  - technically brilliant though it certainly is, and contain a number of splendid lines though it may  - infuriates me as it should all right-thinking persons, on account of the outrageous sentiments expressed therein.

Namely, that although the poet has been out all night carousing with common harlots, the hapless Cynara is expected to put up with it and forgive him because it's "just his way of being faithful".  He even seems to imply that she ought to be grateful for his peculiar form of loyalty. AND he complains about her spoiling his evening by occupying one of his passing thoughts between the bought red lips and his own. It really is A Bit Much.

If Cynara had spent the weekend romping with the soldiery, and then come home saying "Oh it's OK, I have been faithful to thee, Ernest! in my fashion" would he much care for that? I think not. I think she'd be out on her ear, and serve her jolly well right.

So it's a shame, but with this poem Dowson has overstepped the mark.

He's let Cynara down, he's let us down, and he's let himself down.